“Yes, I think it might be.”
Lewis swore, and then apologized.
“Do you recognize him?” said Caleb.
Lewis peered at the pictures for a long time, and a recollection of his conversation with Martin passed through his mind.
Finally he said, “No, I don’t recognize him.”
“He never came to SLaM’s office to see anyone?”
“No, I think I’d have remembered him,” said Lewis quite truthfully.
“I’m sure you’ll remember these though,” said Caleb reaching into his briefcase again. He pulled out two slim documents, copies of the material Shand had sent him. One was a research paper that Martin Massey had commissioned, and the other his own report to the board of SLaM about how they could take advantage of, and make money from, the drugs and rave culture.
Lewis stared at them.
“Where did you get these?” he whispered.
“Bridget’s solicitor sent them to me,” said Caleb. “I think she took copies of these documents and sent them to him before she was murdered. Look at the note on the front of this document.” He pointed at the report.
Lewis read it: “‘What have you done, MARTIN?’” He looked up. “That’s Bridget’s handwriting, and the ‘Martin’ she’s referring to is Martin Massey.”
“One of your former employees?” said Caleb.
“Yes,” said Lewis frowning, “yes I know Martin.”
If Lewis had harboured any doubts about applying more pressure to Martin, those doubts were now gone. Now he was going to squeeze Martin Massey for every last drop of information.
Caleb watched carefully as Lewis took a deep breath and then picked up the drawing of the Assassin from outside Alex’s café and stared hard at it.
“You were very fond of Bridget, weren’t you,” said Caleb.
Lewis was silent for a moment.
“I loved her,” said Lewis finally. “I still do.”
“I’m sorry,” said Caleb.
“Don’t be,” said Lewis. “I’m glad of the chance to admit the truth.”
“Tell me this then,” said Caleb, “how much do you hate the man who killed Bridget?”
Lewis smiled, and shook his head.
“Oh, I try not to hate him at all. I don’t dare hate him. If I did, I know it would consume me, and I’d spend the rest of my life trying to track him down, and either fail to find him, or probably get myself killed.”
“Suppose you did find him,” said Caleb. “What would you do then?”
Lewis grimaced. “Well that depends, doesn’t it.”
Caleb raised an eyebrow and waited for Lewis to go on.
“I am different from all of you, Caleb, I am not one to turn the other cheek. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, that’s more my style.” He took out a silver case, opened it and took out a cigar.
“Don’t worry, I won’t light it in here,” he said. “Who knows what I would do if I found the guy. I don’t think I’d know until the opportunity presented itself.”
“So do you know what’s going on here?” said Lewis, staring at Caleb. “And before you answer, I don’t buy this bumbling old provincial solicitor act, you’re much sharper than that even if the youngsters around you don’t realize it.”
“Okay,” said Caleb, “I’ll be honest with you. I don’t really know much more than anyone else, but I believe we, I mean SUMMER and those associated with it, are under some kind of attack. I believe there is a spiritual dimension to this attack, I think the person who is organizing this attack is an associate of, possibly in command of the man who killed Bridget.”
“And you think Martin has something to do with this?” said Lewis.
“I think SLaM, or at least some of your former employees, are connected with this, primarily this fellow Martin. I need your help to fill in some more of the gaps.”
Lewis looked down at the photos again and then back at Caleb.
“Oh I can help you, Caleb,” he said. “I’d be very happy to.” He got up, put the cigar in his mouth and turned to go.
But Caleb Wicks wasn’t finished with him yet. There was one more thing he was burdened with, one more thing that he now judged was worth the risk of saying.
“A moment more please, Lewis, I want to tell you something about Alex’s parents, about their death and how it affected Alex. You must repeat this to no one.”
“Okay,” said Lewis, intrigued. He sat down again.
“The driver whose car killed Alex’s parents had three times the legal limit of alcohol in his bloodstream. He was injured in the accident but made a full recovery. They locked him up for a period of time, but he’s out now. Whilst he was inside, and for a short period after his release, Alex seriously considered visiting him, harming him in some way.”
Lewis stared, and then laughed, nervously, shaking his head. “No, really? I find that very hard to believe. I mean, come on, she was only a kid. And besides, she would have forgiven – any of you would have forgiven. That’s what you do, isn’t it?”
“Well, I can tell you,” said Caleb, “that at some point, before it all went too far she came to me and confessed that she had discovered the name of this man, his home address, the date of his release and his previous place of work.”
“Really?” said Lewis. “How long after her parents’ death was this?”
“Years later,” said Caleb, “and by the time she came to talk to me about this, she tells me she had developed a rather comprehensive knowledge of poisons. I think she had decided that was going to be her approach.”
“That’s crazy,” said Lewis. “Why are you telling me this now?”
“I want you to know that whatever you think of Alex, she does understand vengeance. It was a long time before she finally forgave this person; and she only did that to find release for herself from the anger and the guilt.”
“Well that’s good for her,” said Lewis, stretching his face into a smile.
“It wasn’t just good,” said Caleb, “it was essential. Even the religious, as you call us, can feel anger, and the thirst for vengeance, the sweet thrill of pulling a trigger, plunging a knife, adding a few drops of poison maybe. Taking the life of the one who took a life we cared about.”
“To forgive is to act in one’s own interests,” continued Caleb, “as well as those of the wrong-doer, to release a burden of anger that nobody should have to cope with. You carry such a burden.”
“I WANT to carry my anger,” shouted Lewis suddenly. “I want to feel that passion. I want to crush this man and destroy him if I can, because he murdered the woman I loved!”
“You think,” said Caleb, unmoved by this outburst, “that the motivation to hate is a rich vein you can tap into, and you are right. But it will come at a cost, and you know that. In my experience, vengeful anger will feed on a person’s character until they don’t know who they are anymore, and none of it will bring back the dead. Tell me, what kind of life do you wish to live?”
“My own life, Caleb, my way.”
“And what is your way, Lewis? What does it tell you about Bridget’s murder?”
“I don’t know,” muttered Lewis, and then stood up. “You might be right, Caleb – all of you – but I do not choose to give up the energy and passion of revenge, even though it may harm me. I want that vengeance more than I want anything else.”
Caleb rose slowly from the chair and picked up his coat and bag.
“I think you might discover something else that you want more than vengeance,” said Caleb, deciding to play his final card. “I think you might fall in love again, and that love will force you into a choice about what you do.”
Lewis was genuinely astonished. “Fall in love?” He laughed out loud.
Caleb smiled and nodded.
“Oh yes,” he said, “don’t tell me you have chosen to forfeit the potential for love in the future, surely you can still love?”
Lewis looked at him, speechless.
“What wou
ld anyone who might love you in the future think of your actions?” said Caleb. “What might you think of yourself? How, indeed, would you meet them if you were dead? If you really want revenge, that is what it might cost you.”
“I’m not going to fall in love again,” said Lewis.
“Are you sure about that, isn’t the potential right there in you even now?”
“I’m not in love with anyone!” said Lewis, shaking his head.
“No, but there is someone you are fond of.”
Lewis looked at him. “Are you messing me around?”
“No,” said Caleb, “I am absolutely serious. I think you are fond of Alex and you will do all you can to help and support her.”
Now it was Lewis’ turn to laugh. “I’m not in love with Alex,” he said. “I’m fond of her, I’ve wanted to sleep with her for five years, but now…”
“Now you just want to do what you can for her,” said Caleb.
“It doesn’t mean I love her, and anyway, you of all people know she wouldn’t even so much as look at me,” said Lewis, with a rueful smile. “This is a ridiculous conversation.”
“Well, maybe you’re right,” said Caleb, “but don’t confuse morality with indifference. She is fond of you. Now I think I have said enough and I had better be heading off, I might see if there is any of Mrs Wicks’ pie left. Goodnight, Lewis.”
“Back to the wife, Caleb?” said Lewis.
“Precisely,” said Caleb, winking, “back home to my wife.”
He eased up slowly from his chair, picked up his case and coat, and wandered slowly towards the door. “Don’t stay too long old chap!” he called as the door closed behind him, and Lewis Ashbury was left on his own.
12
Alex knew that her company was running out of money.
She was no accountant, but then she didn’t need to be to work out what the numbers were telling her. The cash was slipping away. It trickled like sand through fingers as the business incurred a hundred necessary expenses; each one was essential and each one was bleeding the business dry.
She was so immersed in it all that the ringtone of her mobile made her jump.
“Hello, this is Alex.”
“Alex, how are you, darling?” Alex smiled at the familiar voice of Bernice, the old friend with whom she’d become reacquainted. “How’s the dizzy world of global media entertainment?”
“Expensive,” said Alex.
“Expensive?” repeated Bernice. “Well, everything that’s worth having is expensive.”
“Not everything; love isn’t expensive!” retorted Alex, cringing as she heard herself.
“Alex,” said Bernice, and she let out a long sigh at the end of the line, “every form of love is expensive, and I don’t just mean in terms of hard currency. I thought you of all people knew that.”
Alex didn’t answer. She was too tired to engage with this now.
“Anyway,” said Bernice eventually, “chin up, my dear. At least you are doing something you really want to do. Better to burn out than to fade away, yeah?”
Alex smiled, a call from Bats Templeton was actually a welcome relief after the stress of the past few days. She was glad to hear from her friend, and she told her about what had happened to Conner.
“Alex, my God, it’s simply horrible,” said Bernice when the story was over. “The poor guy, how is he coping with it all?”
“I think physically he’s fine,” replied Alex. “We’ll know more in a few days when the medical results come through. Emotionally though it’s hit him hard. I think it’s going to take him a long time to recover.”
“I’d be bloody furious if it happened to me,” said Bernice, indignantly. “How dare they! So what are the police doing, has he been able to tell them anything? Have they made an arrest?”
“Wasn’t much he could give them,” said Alex. “I don’t know what these people used on him, but it pretty much wiped his memory for most of the time he was there.”
“I think you’re right, it’s going to take him a while to bounce back onto the horse again.” She paused in mid-comment. “God, what kind of a mixed metaphor was that? Anyway, I think this rather impacts on what I was going to speak to you about.”
“Oh, what did you want to talk about?” said Alex.
“Well, this party of course! But I’m wondering whether perhaps we shouldn’t put the burden of playing at our event on your poor brother at the moment. Do you think it might be too much for him?”
“To be honest with you, I don’t know what he will be able to manage in the next few weeks or even months. He’s booked into a quiet place in the country, a sort of retreat, just to get away from it all for a few days. Maybe after that he will be able to face things again. He also had some strange phone calls and text messages as well, so that didn’t help. It’s really pushed him to the edge; I’m hoping that a few days away will do him good.”
“Hmm, I’m not sure it would work for me,” said Bernice. “I’d get bored pacing around some house out in the sticks somewhere, I’d want to be out there trying to find the people who did this.”
“I’m sure you would!” said Alex, with all sincerity. “Or you’d be working off your feelings by climbing a mountain or immersing yourself in some fencing tournament.”
“Oh gosh yes! Work it off with the foil. But then I’d still go after the people that did this.” She paused for a moment, and then said, “I feel really sorry for him, Alex, I know you think I’m as tough as old boots, but I do have a soft sensitive side as well.”
“Of course you do,” said Alex, trying to sound convinced.
“No, it’s true,” said Bernice. “People don’t realize this about me. They think I’m hard as nails just because I like to play a bit of sport.”
“You can certainly do that,” said Alex. “I think you learnt it all at school.”
“Well, maybe,” said Bernice. “But it’s not all mountains and sword fights you know. Anyway, I need to get on; let’s see how Conner is in a week or so, shall we? I’ll talk to you soon.”
“Look after yourself, Bernice.”
“And you look after that brother of yours, darling, the poor thing!”
Alex put the phone down, and then, without thinking she picked it up again and looked for Lewis’ number. She found it but paused for a moment with her finger over his contact name.
She did not really know why she was calling him, and so, rather reluctantly, she put her phone down again and turned back to the subject of SUMMER’s non-existent cash flow.
After nearly four hours of rehearsal, Conner rested his guitar on its stand, and looked at his fingertips; they were hard and red, and they tingled with the repeated plucking of strings. Normally the tingling gave him a sense of achievement, of work well done, but today he felt nothing. No achievement, no nerves, no excitement in the music – nothing.
“That’s it,” he said, looking over at bass player Al Weaver. The rehearsal had been scheduled for three hours, and so now they were an hour over.
Al responded by tossing an empty water bottle across the studio where it hit the carpet-tiled floor and skittered over towards Mark the drummer, who frowned at it.
“Had enough then, Al?” said Conner.
Al responded with a withering look. They had all tried to be careful with Conner, but tempers were frayed after such a long session.
Baz stretched over his keyboard and growled, “Why do we have to spend four hours on a three-hour practice?” He ran a hand over his shaved head.
The other two looked at Conner, silently asking the same question.
“It’s because I’m such a rubbish guitarist,” said Conner, smiling, “and I’d embarrass you lot if I didn’t work this hard at it.”
Baz laughed into his microphone, and the whole studio rang with the sound of feedback.
Mark glanced at the empty water bottle by his foot; then on an impulse, he guided his toe under it and, shouting at Conner, he flicked the bottle up into the air.
>
“On yer ’ead, son!”
The bottle spun in a high arc, and Conner leant forward so that it glanced off his forehead and onto the sofa by the studio door.
“GOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAL!” Mark and Conner shouted in unison.
Conner laughed. He had told them all not to pussyfoot around with him, just to treat him the same as ever, but it was hard for them, and him. He had started a lap of honour after his “goal” when his mobile rang, and he was still running when he answered it.
“Yeah?”
“Hello, Cain,” the voice said with cool civility.
Conner stopped in his tracks. The others noticed his sudden change of mood.
“Who are you?” said Conner, suddenly full of indignation.
“I am the man who knows who you are. I know that you are a deceiver and a thief, and I know that your actions have compromised everything you would seek to do.”
“What?”
“I know you!”
“I think you’ve got the wrong number, mate,” said Conner, and switched his phone off.
When this had all started, he’d decided not to do the obvious thing and change his number, somehow the defiance of it appealed to him, but now he was beginning to doubt the wisdom of that thinking.
“What was that all about?” said Al.
Conner shook his head and forced out a smile. “Some crazy fan got my number.”
“I wish some crazy fan would get my number,” said Mark casually, “So who is she, this fan? I presume it’s a she.”
Conner didn’t seem to notice him, he just stared out into the space in front of him.
“Hello, Conner,” said Mark. “Earth to Conner, come in.”
“What? Yeah, what did you say?”
The others smirked at him.
“Hey, you’re not in love, are you?” said Al.
“No,” said Conner.
“What about that girl you met in Paris?” said Baz. “Poppy, was that her name? What’s going on with her?”
“We’re just friends,” said Conner.
Al looked at Baz, who looked at Mark.
“Really,” said Conner. “I mean nothing is going on between us.”
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