by Tony Salter
Redial. It was definitely in the office. In Julie's desk. The drawers were also unlocked and I found the right one on my second try. There it was – an old-school glass and metal brick like Mum's, sitting at the back of the drawer, vibrating quietly against the polished walnut of the drawer and flashing its green and red phone symbols at me like a challenge.
I picked it up and carefully unplugged the charging lead, trying to remember to keep breathing. The on switch was fiddly and needed to be pushed in using a fingernail. A fingerprint lock symbol flashed up, but that wasn't why I dropped it clattering back into the drawer. Two smiling youthful faces filled the screen. One was my mother, and the other looked a lot like a younger version of Julie.
'Daz? Is that you?'
'Yeah it's me. What's wrong? You sound awful.'
'Can you come round?'
'What, now?'
'Yes, now now. Please. I need your help and I don't want to talk about it on the phone.'
'No problem, boy. I can skive off in a few minutes. I'll be about half an hour.'
'Thanks Daz. The door code is 1974. Come straight up.'
'OK. See you in a bit.'
The phone was fingerprint locked and I had nothing better to do while I waited so I reconnected the charging lead and went back to the living room. I cleared up as much of the coffee as I could and tried to polish out the white streaks and blobs in the walnut. I was beginning to realise that I was fighting a losing battle when I heard the doorbell.
I suspect Daz was anticipating a huge disaster when he came through the door. He was red-faced and breathing heavily and looked as though he'd been running.
'So where's the fire?' he said, looking around. 'I thought you'd murdered your girlfriend or something.'
'Don't be ridiculous. Although she might murder me when she sees what I've done to the table.'
He saw the cloths and polish spread out and walked over. 'No need to panic,' he said. 'It might need to be French polished again, but it'll be fine. Is that why you dragged me out of work and nearly gave me a heart attack?'
'No. Of course not,' I said. 'I'll show you.'
As we walked through the flat, I could hear Daz mumbling, more to himself than to me. 'Bloody ridiculous place. Twenty people could live here. What's the bloody point?'
'You know that I was going to get Mum's old phone analysed?'
'Yeah. I remember.'
'There were two bits of tracking software on the phone. One linked out to Dad's phone and the other went to another number.'
'I know. Your dad told me,' he said.
We'd arrived at Julie's office. I opened the drawer and took out the phone.
'This is the phone,' I said. 'I dialled the number and this phone rang.'
'What?'
'I dialled the phone number from the tracking software and this phone rang. That's how I found it.'
'Bloody hell. What's it doing here?'
'There's more,' I said, pressing the on button and handing it to him. 'Look.'
It took him a few breaths to get any words out and even then they were a mess. 'But ... Fabiola ... how? ... here ... Jax ...' He grabbed my arm – too hard. 'It's bloody Jax. Why has your girlfriend got a picture of Fabiola and Jax on her phone?'
'So it really is Jax?'
'Of course it bloody is. Not a face I'd ever forget.'
'I thought it must be,' I said. 'I've playing everything over in my mind while I waited for you, and it's the only explanation that works. It's Jax, but it's also Julie. They're the same person.'
'Oh fuck.' Daz slumped into the nearest chair. 'You can't be serious?'
'But I am.' I showed him a couple of pictures I'd managed to sneak of Julie without her full war paint and with her guard down. 'Recognise her now?'
'I think so. She must have had plastic surgery or something but, if you look carefully at the eyes, I'm ninety per cent sure.' His eyes flicked wildly around the room and he leapt up out of the chair. 'Jeezus H Christ. I don't know what's going on but I know we need to get out of here right now. We'll call the cops.'
'Me neither, Uncle Daz. I don't know what's going on either.' I took the phone gently from him, plugged it back in and closed the drawer. 'But I'll tell you one thing for nothing. I'm going to bloody well find out.'
A Monster Reborn
March 9th 2014
The police called around this evening, just as Daz said they would.
To begin with it was quite funny. There was a tall, lanky man and a short, dumpy, bubbly blonde. It was all a bit Carry On Policeman. I've never done anything wrong, so wasn't worried.
They were both quite senior and working for some sort of anti-terrorism team. The tall man did most of the talking and the woman jumped in from the sidelines from time to time. I could feel her watching me though.
The mood changed when they started talking about the ammonia-filled light bulbs. What sort of warped person would think up something like that? And then when she described what had happened to that poor policeman ...
That sort of thing was why I couldn't stay involved with the protest movements. Knowing there were monsters like that always waiting to hop on our coat tails and to twist all of our good intentions into violence and sadism. I couldn't stand it.
And then the two of them started implicating Jax in the attack and saying Jax had actually never existed and she had a false identity. It was way too much to deal with and I was grateful Sam woke up and distracted us. If it was true, how could I have loved her so much? What did that make me?
The only thing I remember after that was the way the blonde policewoman talked about the attack. There was something else there. Something personal. I could hear from the anger in her voice that the victim had been more than just a colleague.
It was a miserable morning and I got soaked in the hundred yards from Warwick Avenue tube to the little coffee shop on Formosa Street. I much preferred Little Venice to Knightsbridge. It had become almost as expensive and posh, but it hadn't always been and the area had managed to stay more bohemian than brash. I'd had my fill of money show-offs.
Daz was already there. I could see him through the windows, bent over a coffee cup and looking out of place in his own unique fashion. I'd managed to calm him down the previous evening and to persuade him to hold back on calling the police. He'd known Jax, but I knew Julie; the rules were different for people like her and, without a proper plan and solid evidence, she'd shrug off any accusations and probably sue us for slander. I also still didn't know what we were accusing her of anyway.
I sat down opposite him and ordered a short macchiato, putting the odds of getting something which wasn't a large cup of milk and foam at about one in ten.
'Did you speak to her?' I asked.
'Yeah. She remembered me from before. She retired last year, lives just down the road and is keen to meet. When I told her about Julie and the phone, she got very excited.'
'I think I know why,' I said. 'Mum wrote about her in the diaries. She thought DI Simpson and the dead policeman were an item.'
'That would explain a lot,' said Daz. 'She certainly remembered Jax Daniels. Even after thirty years.'
'Well, we'll find out soon enough. When can we see her?'
'Now,' said Daz. 'Finish your coffee and we'll go.'
I looked at the large cup of foamy milk which was nothing like a macchiato, took a sip and pushed it away. I would probably never learn.
The flat was on the fifth floor of a curving, white stucco terrace. No lift, and it was tiny, but still way outside the price range of a police officer – even a senior one.
'I inherited the flat from my father,' she said, pouring three strong teas. She must have been a mind reader. 'I love living here. Lots of trees and we've got a beautiful private garden at the back. Shame about the stairs, but it keeps me fit.'
'Thank you, detective,' I said, taking the offered tea.
'It was Detective Superintendent when I last looked,' she said. 'But I'm retired now, so plea
se call me Liz.'
'Nice to meet you, Liz.' I lifted the mug of tea in a half toast.
'And nice to see you again,' she said.
'Have we met before?' I said, my confusion adding a squeaky inflexion to my voice.
Liz smiled. 'You were only ten months old at the time, so I'm not offended that you don't remember. I was so sorry to hear about your mother. We only met once, but she seemed to be a special person.'
'Thank you,' I said. 'I suppose Daz has told you what's been going on – the diaries, the phone, what we found in Julie's flat?'
She nodded and sat forward in her chair. 'And I think you were right to hold back before going to the police. By the time they blundered in, any evidence would be long gone. And with someone like Julie Martin, the investigating officers would probably have found a 'suggestion' on their desks. A suggestion to drop it and move onto something else.'
'That was what worried me,' I said. 'I've seen how she deals with people who cross her.'
'I've waited all of my life to get hold of this woman,' Liz said, almost spitting out the words. 'I'm not going to let her slip through my fingers again.'
Daz had been standing by the window and turned to face us. 'But what has she done?' he asked. 'I know you suspect she was involved in the attack on that copper years ago, but what's it got to do with Fabiola? And what's that phone doing in her flat?'
Liz turned to Daz. 'First of all, "that copper" was my fiancé, so that's why I care so much.'
'I'm sorry,' he said. 'I think Fabiola suspected something along those lines.'
She moved straight on. '... And secondly, I've been looking for this woman for my whole working life and, if she had tracking software on your mother's phone, it was there for a reason. My fiancé wasn't her first victim.'
'So you found out who she actually is?' I said.
'Yes. Or at least we're ninety-nine per cent sure. She was born Janice Cargill in Leicester in 1989. Not a great upbringing by all accounts. Her father beat her mother regularly and almost certainly abused Janice from an early age.'
'Are we supposed to feel sorry for her now?' Daz said. 'I wasn't expecting that from you.'
'I don't feel sorry for her,' said Liz. 'We all make our choices, however much shit is thrown at us on the way. It appears Janice chose violence and retribution. She knocked her father unconscious with a hammer, castrated him and left him to bleed to death on the kitchen floor. She was fifteen at the time.'
'Jeezus,' said Daz, hunching forward. 'I knew she wasn't right, but that's horrible.'
'It's best you know what you're dealing with,' said Liz.
'So, whose phone is it in Julie's flat?' I couldn't stop myself thinking about all of those times I'd been with her – everything exposed and vulnerable – and felt acid bile rise in my throat as I squeezed my knees together.
'The police may be able to run a trace on the number but I'm ready to bet it's Jax's old phone. We need to get hold of it and break the security.'
'Easier said than done,' said Daz.
'But worth it. The phone probably has evidence that Jax was tracking Fabiola and there might also be some record of her anarchist activities. I don't understand why she hasn't destroyed it. It seems unlike her.'
'I think she's never stopped loving my mother,' I said. 'I'm getting a nasty feeling that's why she's together with me. It can't be a coincidence. She must have engineered it.'
'That would fit with the Jax I knew,' said Daz. 'Obsessive, controlling bitch. Oh, and did I mention heartless?'
'You're probably both right,' said Liz. 'And that makes it even more complicated. And definitely dangerous. The safest thing would be to go to the police now. I'm still good friends with my old boss and I'm sure he'd listen. It would be great if we had the phone first though ...'
'But could it be used as evidence if we stole it?' Daz asked.
Liz was on her home turf now. 'Normally not,' she said. 'But if Sam takes the phone, it wouldn't be theft. He's got free run of the flat and the phone isn't locked away. It's treading a fine line legally, but it's the best I can think of. No-one would get a search warrant with what we have at the moment.'
'So you want me to go home, pretend everything's normal, take the phone and run?' I said.
'Not quite,' said Liz. 'I think it would be best if we swapped it for an identical one – with a dead battery maybe – and you played the boyfriend for a while longer. Until we've had time to see what's on it.'
'Easy for you to say. What if she catches me?' As I learnt more about Julie's past and thought about the tracking software and her relationship with me, I could feel the black dread growing inside me like a tumour. I had no proof, but I knew Jax/Julie had been behind my mother's misery and death. And then she'd seduced me? Why? What sort of sick person would do that? I shivered.
'That wouldn't be good.' Liz was the police detective again. 'Jax Daniels is a dangerous person. She's proven how resourceful she can be and you'd be at serious risk if she suspected anything.'
I was afraid, but my growing outrage and sense of betrayal outweighed the fear. I also felt foolish and dirty; I really had been only a toy for her – a puppet character in some sick Greek tragedy which she'd concocted in her twisted mind.
'I'll be fine,' I said, with more confidence than I felt. 'I have to do this.'
Daz and I didn't speak as we walked back down the five flights of stairs. I felt as though I'd agreed to jump off a cliff blindfolded with only vague assurances that the water below was deep enough and not dotted with jagged rocks.
As we stepped out onto Warrington Crescent, he broke the silence.
'Are you thinking what I'm thinking?' he said.
'I think so.'
'Your mother wasn't crazy, was she?'
'I don't think so.'
'But, at the time, none of us believed her. We let it happen.'
'How could you have known?'
'When your dad finds out, it's gonna kill him.'
We walked as far as the tube before he spoke again.
'This stays between us for now,' he said, squeezing my arm so hard it hurt. 'Just the three of us. We don't tell your dad. No-one.'
'Agreed,' I said. 'We'll figure out how to tell him when we've got that bitch cornered.'
My promise wasn't more than an hour old when I realised I needed to break it.
About ten minutes after I got back to the flat, my phone buzzed with a message from Dave Bukowski; 'Signing docs with your missus tomorrow. Fancy going out for a few after? No grappa.'
I'd forgotten all about the deal. That was a problem. Was I going to let Dave sign his life's work away to Julie and Pulsar without warning him? It was me who'd persuaded him to go ahead after all.
I messaged him back; 'Can you meet now? South Ken somewhere?'
His response was immediate; 'Sure. Zak's in ten.' Fortunately, world-famous professors didn't seem to have a lot of work to do.
We sat by the window and I allowed Dave five minutes to share his considered doctoral opinion about each and every 'bit of posh totty' and 'yummy mummy' in the cafe. This being South Kensington on a sunny day, the general rankings were high.
That done, I swore him to secrecy and gave him a short history lesson: my mother's life and death; her phone and diaries; the phone in the flat; Jax's involvement in the riots and, of course, the fact that Jax and Julie were the same person.
'... The thing is that I can't actually prove any of this. I'm certain it's true, but I don't have anything concrete yet. I just couldn't let you go ahead and sign without saying something.'
'Thanks,' he said. 'You've got no idea how much that means.'
For a moment, I thought he was about to cry. 'Are you OK?' I asked. 'You look terrible.'
'I'm sorry,' he said, shaking his head. 'You couldn't have known, but what you told me touched a bit of a nerve.' He ran his fingers through his hair a couple of times before looking up at me. 'Sorry. I'm OK now.'
'Do you want to tell me about it?'
/>
'Not so much to tell. A tragic little story, really. It's just that ... when you told me about your mother ... it all came flooding back. My sister, Dana, killed herself when she was seventeen. She was two years older than me and I worshipped her.'
'Oh God. I'm sorry,' I said.
'Thanks. And I really do appreciate you telling me about Julie,' he said. 'There's more, you see. The reason why she did it was because of a stupid, vicious campaign of cyberbullying at school. No real reason why she was singled out, but it went on for almost three years and everything she tried to do to make it better only made it worse.'
'That's terrible. How awful.'
'And totally pointless. I went to the same school and knew a lot of the people responsible but nothing ever happened to them. Apart from anything else, they were all minors.'
'Yeah. I can just hear people saying how cruel children can be and how they didn't mean anything by it. Doesn't help your sister though, does it?'
'Too right. That's exactly how it was. I'll tell you one thing though - there's no way I'm working with Julie Martin now. I've got offers from two of her competitors and I'll do whatever I can to make things difficult for her.'
'Remember that I don't have proof.'
'I know, but you wouldn't have told me if you weren't sure and, for some unfathomable reason, I trust you. The deal's off.'
'Good,' I said. 'But you need to find a credible reason to delay signing for the time being. The last thing we need is for her to get suspicious.'
'Don't worry,' he said. 'She won't suspect a thing.'
The Beginning of the End
Something's not right.
I just picked up a message from Dave Bukowski. We were supposed to sign contracts this afternoon – the lawyers have agreed everything – but he called with some lame excuse about wanting to check on his tax status before signing. It's clearly bullshit as his lawyers did that months ago. He's a crappy liar; he's stalling and I don't know why.
