Dying Games (Jefferson Tayte Genealogical Mystery Book 6)

by Steve Robinson

  Rudi frowned. ‘I booked a last-minute flight and came as soon as I could. Good thing I did.’

  ‘It’s too late,’ Tayte said, slurring his words. ‘Did Emmy tell you about Jean?’

  ‘Yes, but how can you be so sure she’s dead?’

  Tayte waved his bottle of Jack Daniel’s at Rudi as if dismissing any other possibility. The sudden action almost unbalanced him. ‘I just know,’ he said with an air of despondency. ‘It’s been three months.’

  Rudi took another step towards Tayte, and Tayte was reminded of just how athletic his brother was. They were both tall, though Rudi was marginally taller. His thighs were as big as Tayte’s, but where Tayte’s were soft, Rudi’s were thick and muscular—strong like tree trunks. As for being fraternal twins, Tayte thought Rudi had got the better deal when the genes were being handed out, although Tayte couldn’t deny that Rudi had undoubtedly looked after himself better over the years.

  ‘So you’re just giving up?’ Rudi said. ‘Is that it? Do you always give up so easily?’

  Ordinarily Tayte had never been one to give up on anything. If something was wrong or out of place, he had to put it right, or at least try to, whatever the risk. He’d spent his entire adult life trying to find out who he was, trying to identify his bloodline, and he hadn’t given up on that. But his parents were dead. His only true friend, Marcus Brown, was dead. Now Jean.

  He took another gulp of Jack Daniel’s. ‘I have no one left to live for.’

  ‘Really? Now you’re hurting my feelings.’

  Tayte’s shoulders slumped. He hadn’t meant it like that. Of course there was Rudi, but he’d only recently made his acquaintance. Nevertheless, Rudi was his brother, and it was a timely reminder to Tayte that he did have someone left to live for, however little they knew one another at this fragile juncture in their lives.

  ‘Look,’ Rudi said, holding out his hand again, clearly hoping Tayte would take it and come away from the edge. ‘Even if you’re right. Even if Jean is dead. Don’t you want to know what happened? Don’t you want that closure?’

  Tayte shook his head as another tear came to his eye. ‘It won’t change anything.’

  ‘Or it just might. Now come with me and let’s find out together.’

  Rudi stepped forward again until they were both dangerously close to the edge of the cliff. His hand was still outstretched and it was now well within Tayte’s grasp.

  ‘No!’ Tayte said. ‘Stay back! This is for the best.’

  ‘The best for whom? Has it occurred to you that this is precisely what someone wants you to do? You’ve been driven to this.’

  ‘Yes, and I give in. I can’t play this game any more.’

  ‘That’s just the bottle talking. Give it to me.’

  Tayte held out the bottle of Jack Daniel’s. Then he began to turn away to face the sea and the peace he longed for. As he did so, instead of taking the bottle, Rudi grabbed Tayte’s wrist, and with all his considerable strength pulled him back from the edge, sending them both tumbling until they came to rest several feet away.

  ‘You’re squashing me,’ Rudi said, sounding short of breath.

  ‘Let me go and I’ll get up.’

  ‘If I let you go, do you promise to stay away from that edge? I know Emmy would like to see you again. I took a taxi as far as the road would allow. Do you have a car nearby?’

  ‘No. I walked up from Eastbourne. It’s not far. I’ve been walking a lot lately.’

  ‘Well, a little more air won’t hurt us. What do you say we take a stroll back to Eastbourne and get ourselves a hot drink? Then in the morning, when your head’s clear, we’ll figure out what we’re going to do, one step at a time.’

  Tayte swallowed hard. He gave a sigh. ‘And what if I don’t like what we find? Do you promise not to try and stop me again?’

  ‘I’m your brother, Jefferson. You know that’s a promise I can’t make.’

  ‘Okay, then will you at least stop calling me Jefferson? Only Marcus called me Jefferson.’

  ‘What’s wrong with Jefferson? I think it suits you, and who knows? Maybe someday we’ll be good friends, too, as well as long-lost brothers. Then we’ll look back and see how fitting it was for me to go on calling you Jefferson, just as your good friend Marcus did.’

  Tayte sighed again. He still felt so very low, but somehow this interruption had, for now, taken the edge off his desire to kill himself. He gave a nod. ‘Okay, just let go of me. I’ll roll off you and you can get up first.’

  Tayte felt Rudi’s arms go limp and he rolled to one side, his back to the grass now as he looked up into the blackening sky, wondering how on earth they were even going to begin their quest to discover what had become of Jean.

  ‘Come on,’ Rudi said, offering his hand again.

  This time Tayte took it, and with relative ease Rudi pulled him to his feet.

  Tayte still had the bottle of Jack Daniel’s clenched tightly in his other hand. There was a good measure left in the bottom. Rudi gestured to it and Tayte handed it over. Then as they began to head back down, to calm his own nerves, Rudi drained what was left and hurled the empty bottle out over the cliff, sending it spinning into the sea below.

  Parked in a lay-by off Beachy Head Road, Michel Levant was toying with the large gold ring he always wore on his left index finger: his Sun King ring. It was the size of a full sovereign with black enamel detail, and in the centre was engraved the likeness of King Louis XIV of France, surrounded by a flaming sun. It was no ordinary ring. As lethal as a bite from the most venomous of snakes, it held a deadly secret that had served him well in the past, having saved his life on more than one occasion, which was why he never took it off. Amongst the kind of people Levant so often found himself keeping company with, he never knew when such a beautiful yet deadly trinket might come in handy. He pursed his lips, admiring himself in the rear-view mirror as he continued to wait. He was bored out of his mind, but the wait was worth it.

  Levant often hired people to follow and watch others for him, but he’d wanted to be here in person this time and, despite his boredom, being so close to Jefferson Tayte at what was surely his untimely end was worth any hardship. He’d watched Tayte head up to Beachy Head several times that week—Beachy Head, where around twenty people commit suicide every year. To have driven Tayte to such hopeless desperation was the ultimate prize the game he’d been orchestrating had to offer, and to Michel Levant, nothing denoted more power than the ability to rob a man of his will to live.

  He thought back to the start of the game, which he considered to have begun in London after he’d effectively had Marcus Brown killed for the contents of his briefcase. When Marcus’s American friend had sought to make sense of his death, he had denied Levant so much.

  ‘Deny me! Michel Levant!’ he said under his breath.

  He couldn’t believe the nerve of the American, but now it was his turn—now he had denied Tayte. He had denied him everything he held dear, his home, his work, and his bride-to-be.

  ‘Or not to be,’ he said, smiling to himself. ‘That is very much the question.’

  He sat up from the slump his ageing yet outwardly youthful frame had slipped into and peered out of the windows to see if anyone was around. It was fully dark now, and with the darkness in such places came solitude. A few other cars periodically passed on the road that led down to Eastbourne, but this was a scenic route and there was little now to see. There was still no sign of Jefferson Tayte, which he took to be a victory.

  He considered the excellent part Adam Westlake had played in the game, and how he really couldn’t have achieved this fine ending without him. Levant had spent months going through the US newspaper archives looking for mention of Jefferson Tayte, trying to identify anyone he felt had an axe to grind with the genealogist. He’d found a few possible candidates, but none so perfect as Adam Westlake. Westlake had been so hungry for Tayte’s blood when Levant first went to see the man that it had been difficult at first to talk him aroun
d to his way of thinking—to playing his game. As the game progressed, however, he knew Westlake had enjoyed making Tayte suffer, just as he would have enjoyed the large payment he’d offered him on completion of the game, had he lived long enough to claim it.

  Levant’s eyes were back on the rear-view mirror. ‘Ah, such a pity,’ he told his reflection. ‘I could have used a man like that again.’ He genuinely hoped Westlake hadn’t suffered too much when the time came to terminate his employment, rigging the explosives timer he’d supplied Westlake with to detonate an hour early, catching him at a time when he knew he would still be close to the centre of the blast.

  He looked away from the mirror, but as he did so, movement drew his attention back to it. He sank lower in his seat again, and moments later he heard voices, growing louder. One of them was American, he was sure of it.

  ‘Merde!’ he cursed.

  Very slowly he peered over the edge of the door, and through the glass he saw a familiar tan suit. His first thought was to question why anyone would go up to a place like Beachy Head in January without a coat. Then as it sank in that this was indeed Jefferson Tayte, walking and talking and still very much alive, his blood began to boil. If he’d had a gun in the glovebox he knew he would have leaped out of the car right there and then and used it, but to Michel Levant, guns were a loathsome vulgarity.

  He took a series of deep breaths to calm himself. Who is that with him? he wondered, knowing it was highly unlikely that Tayte had just bumped into someone on Beachy Head in the dark by chance. Someone knew Tayte was there. But who?

  Levant had no idea who this man with Tayte was, but he planned to find out. He watched the other man put his arm around Tayte’s shoulders momentarily as they passed, pulling him towards him as if to embrace him. The gesture told Levant they were close, and that excited him. If there was now someone else whom Tayte cared for, someone else he could use to prolong Tayte’s suffering before his end, then this man’s appearance served only to make the game more interesting.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  If Tayte was ever asked to pick a colour for January, based on his latest visit to England, he’d have to choose grey. It was already mid-morning the following day when he surfaced from his bedcovers, and in his stars-and-stripes boxer shorts opened his curtains to a rain-streaked window and yet another suffocating sky bereft of contrast or delineation. It was as if one enormous cloud had fallen over Eastbourne, bringing with it the kind of damp chill that he imagined would remain in his bones until spring.

  He trudged to the small washbasin in the corner of the spare room he’d been staying in at Emmy’s sister’s house, part of a small development of mock-Tudor homes on the southwest outskirts of town, and splashed cold water in his eyes to wash the sleep from them. It had been another fitful night, made worse on this occasion by the bottle of Jack Daniel’s he’d all but finished the day before. He’d been troubled by nightmares, the kind no one should have to endure, about Jean and the terrible things his subconscious mind continually conjured for him. He tried to block them out, as he did every morning, but this time, the harder he tried, the more his head ached with the dull, continuous throb that had greeted him upon waking.

  Peering at himself in the small mirror above the washbasin, he shook his head at his reflection and knew he had to get his act together. His face was unshaven to the point where the dark stubble could almost pass as a beard, and his hair looked as if it hadn’t seen a comb in weeks. He felt as rough as he looked. His eyes were red and he was cold, almost to the point of shivering, despite having just left the warmth of his bed. He’d given himself a chill, plain and simple, but he brushed it off as he ran a comb slowly through his hair and began to dress, thinking only that if he’d known he would be coming back down from Beachy Head the night before, he would have dressed more appropriately.

  Tayte could smell fried bacon as soon as he opened his bedroom door and stepped out on to the landing. As he headed down the stairs, he hoped he hadn’t missed breakfast because, while he felt there were many things wrong with him that morning, there was absolutely nothing wrong with his appetite. He found Rudi in the living room, looking quite the lumberjack in fitted chinos and a blue checked shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He was on his knees tending the log burner. He supposed Emmy and her sister were in the kitchen.

  ‘Good morning,’ Tayte said, feeling more than a little embarrassed at his behaviour and the reason Rudi was there. ‘Look, I’m really sorry,’ he added, meaning to go on, but Rudi stopped him.

  ‘There’s no need to apologise,’ he said as he stood up. ‘You’ve been through a lot. I understand.’

  ‘But I’ve dragged you all the way over here, and—’

  Rudi stopped him again. ‘I came because I wanted to. If you have an apology to make it’s for not telling me sooner. Perhaps I could have helped.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ Tayte said, nodding thoughtfully. ‘At least accept my thanks. In the cold light of a new day I almost missed, I’m glad you came.’ He undid the button on his suit jacket and sat in one of the armchairs by the fire, crossing his arms as he did so for extra warmth. His head continued to thump. ‘So, who’s looking after the gallery while you’re away?’

  Rudi sat in the armchair opposite him. ‘No one.’

  ‘You closed your art gallery to come here? Weren’t there any auctions scheduled?’

  ‘I expect so, but it’s no longer my concern. I sold it a month ago. Everything.’

  Tayte fully understood why Rudi wanted no further part in the business. Tayte’s visit to Munich the year before had heralded a difficult time for his brother, but he hadn’t expected to hear that Rudi had sold everything.

  ‘I gave half the proceeds to various charities,’ Rudi added. ‘The other half I haven’t decided on yet.’

  ‘I know you worked hard for that business, however it was founded,’ Tayte said. ‘You shouldn’t leave yourself short.’

  Rudi smiled. ‘Half is still more than enough. For now, I’m happy to follow my interest in mountaineering, which is something I’ve had very little time for of late. And who knows? Maybe I’ll find myself a wife, settle down and raise a family.’

  The door opened then and both men stood up as Emmy came in carrying two colourfully patterned plates, which matched well with the room’s bright and cheery decor. Now in her late sixties, she was a short, full-figured woman with ash-blonde hair styled in a bouffant to give her extra height, and a round face that to Tayte always seemed close to a smile.

  ‘I thought you’d need a bacon butty, seeing the state you were in last night,’ she said. ‘It was all Marcus ever wanted the morning after he’d had too much wine.’ She gave them each a plate of sandwiches, adding, ‘You had me so worried, JT. If my knees were better, instead of calling your brother I’d have gone up there after you myself.’

  ‘I’m really very sorry,’ Tayte offered. ‘Did I apologise last night?’

  ‘No, you had a quick cup of tea and Rudi put you straight to bed.’

  ‘Tea! I must have been in a bad way.’

  ‘Tea is what you needed. It’s no use drinking coffee before bed. Especially as much as you drink. All that caffeine.’

  ‘I thought tea contained more caffeine than coffee.’

  ‘Not as a drink. Mind you, I doubt much would have kept you awake, the state you were in. How are you feeling? You look terrible.’

  ‘I feel about as well as I deserve to,’ Tayte said, and then he bit into one of the sandwich triangles and knew exactly why this was all Marcus ever wanted whenever he’d had too much to drink. ‘This is good,’ he added as soon as he came up for air. ‘Thank you, Emmy. You’re too kind.’

  Emmy gave him a warm smile. Then she leaned in and kissed his forehead. ‘Someone’s got to look after you, haven’t they?’

  ‘Where’s Joyce?’ Tayte asked. ‘I need to apologise to her, too.’

  ‘You’ll have to wait until this afternoon for that. She’s gone to her Women’s Institute co
mmittee meeting.’

  Tayte gave a nod, his mouth full again.

  Emmy continued to smile as she watched them both eat. ‘Look at the pair of you,’ she said. ‘You’re like chalk and cheese. Who would have guessed you were twins?’

  ‘I couldn’t believe it myself when Jefferson first told me,’ Rudi said. ‘But he has the DNA test report to prove it.’

  ‘How Marcus would have loved to see that,’ Emmy said. ‘It would have made him so happy.’

  ‘It sure would,’ Tayte agreed, smiling back at her.

  ‘And to have met you, Rudi. Marcus had been helping JT to look for his family for such a long time.’

  ‘I’m only sorry I never had the chance to know him,’ Rudi said. ‘But I’m very glad to know you. Marcus was a very fortunate man.’

  Emmy laughed to herself. ‘You’ll have me blushing if you keep that up. Now, I must get on. I’ve got the kitchen to clear up and I promised Joyce I’d go and buy some more winter pansies to fill in some of the gaps in the garden this morning.’

  ‘Please leave the kitchen to us,’ Tayte said.

  ‘It’s no bother. Can I get you something hot to drink before I go out?’

  ‘We can manage, Emmy. Please. You’ve done enough.’

  ‘Okay. Well, I’ll see you both later.’

  With that Emmy left them to finish their sandwiches by the fire. Once they had, Rudi said, ‘Now then. Let’s get down to business. Tell me everything that’s happened.’

  While they cleared up in the kitchen, Tayte began to fill Rudi in on the events that had called him back to Washington, DC, in October the previous year, leaving nothing out. During their conversation he began to feel considerably better, which he put down to the warm environment and Emmy’s bacon sandwiches. With some degree of hesitation, Tayte also told Rudi about Michel Levant, and for a change it was good to have someone listen to his theory about the man he believed was the real Genie without dismissing the idea out of hand. Tayte made an instant coffee for himself and a mug of tea for Rudi, and as they sat by the log burner in the sitting room with their drinks, Tayte finished the story of how he came to be standing so close to the edge of the cliff at Beachy Head the night before.