Cain's Redemption

by A J Chamberlain

  “I’m nearly there,” said Caleb, “and I know you are busy, so I’ll be brief with the rest of it. What I know is that Martin Massey had an association with you that is now severed. Massey made phone calls to you, at least one of which was from his office phone rather than his mobile. We can trace that call and investigate the owner of the number he dialled. If that is traced to you, we will use it as evidence for another more serious charge that might be levelled against you.”

  Now this was a long shot, and Caleb knew it, but he thought he’d throw it in for good measure, and he also felt obliged to speak in Martin’s defence.

  “Oh, and before you go after poor old Martin Massey, I will tell you now that he is not at home. Of course, you may know this already. Additionally none of this information has come from him; he has stayed annoyingly tight-lipped through this whole business.”

  Caleb Wicks sighed. He had the strangest sensation, as if he had to tell some sad news to a small child and he wanted to do it gently.

  For a moment they were both silent.

  “Is that it?” said Lench, finally. “Well I would like to say it’s an impressive range of charges, but it doesn’t really amount to much does it, Mr Wicks? You work in the law. Would you take this on as an assignment if you didn’t have to?”

  “Now,” he continued before Caleb could reply, “let me tell you something else, Mister Wicks”, he spat Caleb’s name, “I shall return the compliment and not sport with your intelligence. You know who I serve. When I act for my God, I do so in the arena of contemporary culture. And do you know what? We shall always win in that arena. We shall appear to be more daring, more fun, more radical, more cool; we have more rebels and showmen and freaks than your God will ever have.”

  “Heaven for the climate and hell for the company, Mr Lench?” said Caleb.

  “Something like that, yes,” said Lench with a smile. “We are stronger, and more focused, and more powerful than you will ever be, hamstrung as you are with your notions of love and forgiveness. When some of your friends make wild and unfounded accusations about us, we shall be conciliatory and look innocent. We shall look like victims and the church will look like fools. And still we will have our magicians and our daredevils, our intrigue and our liberty. And what will you have? What will you be? Bickering amongst yourselves. Your church is safe, irrelevant, neutered. Pathetic! You shall never beat us. Now, good day to you, sir. As you rightly guessed, I have business to attend to.”

  Caleb pondered these last words. They contained some seeds of truth and he felt their sting, but while Lench was ready to finish, Caleb had one more card to play; everything depended on what he would say next. He was about to respond when Lench spoke again.

  “Get out of my car.” The locks clicked up again.

  Caleb obliged, but his thoughts were on delivering this one final comment, to make sure this man understood what he was saying. He lifted himself out of the passenger seat knowing that if this next revelation didn’t crack Darius Lench there would be nothing more he could do. He turned back to Lench who was looking at his watch.

  “Oh, there’s one more thing, I almost forgot. Your friend Joseph, you know who I mean? Were you aware that he visited Alex Masters two nights ago?”

  Still Lench looked at him, impassively, but Caleb could detect just a slight twitch in his right eye.

  That’s more like it, thought Caleb.

  “Apparently Joseph, or whatever his name is, went to see Alex Masters,” said Caleb, leaning in through the open car door, speaking quietly now but with as much force as he could muster. “It seems they had a nice chat and he decided not to kill her, but I have no idea what he did after that, do you?”

  Lench stared at Caleb blankly and interior of the car became a bubble of silence.

  “The expression on your face tells me you have no idea about this visit,” continued Caleb. “Well, I am sure you will appreciate that I am not a liar. One of your magicians, one of your daredevils, visited Alex Masters, probably against your explicit instructions. He went there to murder her but in the end chose not to, perhaps he was saving his passion for someone else?”

  Lench looked into the abyss of unresolved issues and difficulties. What had Josef done? How much, if anything, had he said about Bridget’s murder? Or the group? And where had he gone afterwards. He realized that he had not heard from Marie for the past thirty-six hours. There was nothing unusual in this, but he resolved to give her a call.

  “Are you now finished, Mr Wicks?” he said, sounding tired.

  Caleb leant in just a little further.

  “Listen carefully, Darius Lench,” he said, “you might think you have this all covered but you do not. Alex Masters knows who abused her brother. She has guessed that her friend Bernice and your associate, Marie, are the same person. Your man Joseph has gone rogue. Now, I will ask you again – what do you think Joseph did after he visited Alex Masters? Did he pay Martin Massey another visit? Perhaps he visited your acolyte, Marie Templeton, to discuss the fact that she let his name slip. You might want to contact her when we’ve finished this conversation.”

  Lench suppressed an intense desire to reach for his mobile phone. He forced himself to stop thinking about the implications of this conversation, and to get rid of this man once and for all.

  “I’ll tell you what, Mr Wicks,” said Lench, spreading his smooth palms in a gesture of magnanimity, “I know you’ve come a long way from your little provincial town to make your request and I am inclined to grant it; let’s call a truce shall we? I will leave you and your associates in peace if you will do the same for me and mine.”

  Caleb was about to answer when a few words poured out of heaven and shouted in his mind:

  “If you think I came chiefly to bargain for my friends,” said Caleb, “then you are wrong. The main reason I came to see you is because God has required me to give you a warning. You must stop your evil practices and repent, and turn away from the devil. You must do it today, right now, because if you don’t, your life will be forfeit.”

  Lench stared at him.

  “Get out,” he said, and turned away again.

  “Take this seriously,” said Caleb. “I doubt you’ll get another warning.”

  “Good day to you,” said Lench. “Now please close the door of my car, and go away.”

  “I am sorry,” called out Caleb. “Don’t be sorry, Mr Wicks,” said Lench. “I congratulate you, you’ve won, for now. And winning is everything, everything.”

  Caleb didn’t turn back. He kept walking, briskly, towards his own car. He felt bruised, and raw. He did not feel like the winner. Nobody had won, at least not in terms of this encounter.

  The wind had strengthened and blew down the narrow street, and a disposable cup rolled and bumped down the road towards him. He leant into the breeze, and breathed in the smells and warmth of the mighty, restless city.

  When he got back to his car he was amazed at how uncomfortable the seats were after the luxurious feel of the Mercedes. He pushed the fate of Darius Lench to the back of his mind, and drove back to the parking space he had used earlier; the ticket that he had bought was valid for a few more minutes and he was praying that the space was still free.

  Lench was already thinking about the calls he needed to make, strategies to deal with Josef, and the need to speak to Marie. He was thinking through the actions required for damage limitation. “Life goes on,” he told himself, “and so does business. Nothing changes.”

  “Nothing changes,” he muttered to himself. “I do not repent and I do not change.”

  After the stress of the morning he was not surprised to feel the familiar pain return, in his chest and down his right arm, more intense even than before, and he began to feel a little lightheaded as he fumbled with the security lock at the front door of the office.

  20

  Lewis Ashbury stood on the rough ground encircling a rusted bin at the end of his garden. The clouds had gathered and there was a breeze blowing in
from the north, giving the cold air a sting that made him grimace.

  Over the years this old bin had seen him finish off weeds, brambles, twigs, and compromising documents of all kinds. Lewis did not trust his secrets to the refuse collectors; after all, he reasoned, rubbish can be stolen, dug up, examined.

  He was holding some photos in his hand, and he was thinking about Bridget.

  He recalled that, in death as well as life she broke all the rules. She had been outrageous and determined and successful and he had admired all that she had achieved. He had loved her and he missed her, and finally he had allowed himself to feel real sorrow over losing her.

  It was the exploration of that sorrow, a final facing of the truth that had drawn him to this act of remembrance.

  He tossed the two photos onto the dried kindling, each representing a facet of her life: Bridget the model, and Bridget the businesswoman. But he would best remember her as Bridget the survivor. She had often called herself that.

  “I’m a survivor, Lewis, don’t you forget it.”

  The irony of the remark brought the sting to his eyes again. He had cried more times in the last few days than he had in twenty years.

  Unbidden, a memory came to him of them both together just after SLaM had started. They had worked stupid hours, willing this business into existence, living and breathing their company. Then one day they had just shut the office and left, driving to the airport and not even knowing where they were going, passports in hand. They booked flights for a long weekend in Budapest and there they had seen the sights, eaten the food, drunk the wine, and had delighted themselves with what the city had to offer, and each other.

  Lewis poured some petrol over the two photos and threw a lighted match onto the wood. The first one took immediately, the hungry flames soon licking at the image of her.

  He wanted to say the words but just as he was summoning his courage there was a noise behind him, and he turned to see Alex Masters standing at the end of the garden, waving at him.

  “I’m glad you could make it,” he said, and smiled. He beckoned to her, and just the sight of her conjured up more tears, but he could hide these behind the smoke now pouring up from the bin in front of him.

  She came and stood next to him and looked down at the blackened curls of the photo, and he accepted the tissue she offered him.

  “Aiden tells me the latest numbers are looking pretty good,” he said, poking around at the flames.

  “I think we’re going to be okay,” said Alex. “Thank God.”

  “And Poppy and Conner,” he said, laughing, “I hear they’re doing pretty well also.”

  She nodded and smiled.

  “I’m glad you’re here,” he said without glancing at her, “I really am. God, you were one hell of an excellent PA, Alex Masters.” He sighed.

  “These pictures were precious to you,” she said, “why are you burning them?” One of the photos was now not much more than blackened flakes, fluttering in the wind.

  “Oh they were precious to me,” he said, “but now I think it’s time to give them up.”

  He wiped his eyes again and looked up at her.

  “I think the timing for this is good,” he continued. “It feels like we are in a season for new beginnings, fresh starts.”

  “Yes,” she said, “I think it does.”

  Lewis turned back to the flames, and Alex took his arm as she stood next to him, feeling the breath of heat on her face.

  “I suppose you know all about this,” said Lewis, “mourning for those you’ve loved.”

  “Yes,” she said, “I do.” She held on more tightly to his arm and together they watched as the flames reached the second and last photo. The centre darkened and lifted, blistering as the fire found its way through. They watched Bridget’s image fade, and then what was left of the paper curled and lifted in the breeze before it finally broke up and floated away.

  Epilogue

  NEWS ROUNDUP

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  London Bullion Market members Stern Shearman and Partners have announced the appointment of Mr Daniel Fallon to the position of Lead Market Maker for their Precious Metals Group. The appointment was prompted by the recent untimely death SSP executive, Darius Lench. At the time of his death, Mr Lench had been facing allegations of market fixing, and the appointment has been seen as an opportunity for Stern Shearman to draw a line under a particularly turbulent period for the firm. Industry observers are expecting a clear-out of the existing team once Mr Fallon is in place.

  WestComm Financial: Commodities Briefing

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  John and Aveline Templeton who are currently serving with us in Burkina Faso have been granted compassionate leave to return to the UK following the tragic death of their daughter Bernice. We would ask you to pray for John, Aveline and the family at this time.

  Four Points Gospel Mission Newsletter

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  Fledgling media firm SUMMER has posted impressive trading results in the last quarter. CEO Alex Masters has hired industry veteran Lewis Ashbury to help with their music division; and a strong showing from this area of the business together with a successful launch into the Fair-Trade clothing sector has meant that the sun is definitely shining for this new start-up.

  WestComm Financial: Media sector briefing

  Stay In Touch

  You can stay in touch with A. J. Chamberlain by visiting:

  www.andrewjchamberlain.com

  * * *

  And on social media at:

  Twitter@storycraftpress

  Instagram@thestorycraftpress

  * * *

  And on Goodreads at:

  https://www.goodreads.com/andychamberlain