by JD Nixon
“What was she doing at the hotel?” I was struggling to take in the implications of what I was learning.
“She told me that she was having a weekend there with some of her friends. One of them is getting married soon. She ditched them pretty quickly once she set eyes on me.”
I was sickened. “What are you going to do with these photos?”
“That’s where you come in. You’re going to hand them to your brother. He won’t meet with me and I want them delivered to him in person.”
“No. I won’t do that.” My stomach was churning with terrible emotions.
“I will give them to your mother then.”
“No!” God! That would be the death of her. How could he even think of doing such a thing?
“It’s your choice, Matilda,” he said, cruelly calm. He had never looked more uncaring and detached. He had never looked less human.
I stared at him bitterly. I hated him then. “Brian.”
He reached into his drawer and pulled out another photo. “I want to add this one as well.”
He pushed it over to me. He had obviously used the camera’s timer, because it was a photo of him, fully dressed, sitting on the bed staring into the camera, next to the slumbering Gayle, whose face was clearly identifiable. He had a truly evil half-smile on his face. It was his piece de resistance.
“Why do you even take a camera out with you?”
“I take a camera everywhere. You never know when it will come in handy.” He pulled out his wallet and showed me a very thin digital camera, barely thicker than a credit card. It wasn’t something you could buy in a shop and would have cost him thousands. Not that I cared at that moment.
“You’re going to destroy their marriage. They’ve been married for eight years.”
“I’m not interested in that. And you shouldn’t either. What kind of a decent wife would do such a thing to her husband? He’s better off without her. I’m doing him a favour. She didn’t feel guilty. She loved every second of what I did to her. She begged me for more. She begged me to see her again.”
“Stop it! Shut up!” I shouted and stumbled out of his office. I slumped at my desk, my head in my hands. I couldn’t believe what he was making me do. I hadn’t fully realised before what a heartless bastard he was.
Heller came out of his office and dropped the envelope on my desk. “Do it today, please,” he demanded, before walking away.
Physically ill, I picked up my mobile and rang Brian.
“What do you want?” he snapped. We hadn’t parted on the best of terms the last time I’d seen him.
“I need to see you today, Brian. Just for ten minutes. Please.”
“Come to the station at five-thirty. I have a few minutes to spare then.”
“Okay. Thanks. See you then.” But he had already hung up on me.
Somehow I made it through the rest of the day. My eyes kept wandering back to the envelope, sitting innocently on my desk hiding its guilty secret. I had decided to go straight to Will’s house from the police station, so when it came time to leave, I went to the basement to get my car. On the way to the station, I kept going over and over in my head what I would say and what Brian’s reaction would be.
I introduced myself at the reception counter and waited patiently until Brian came out from the rear offices. He took me back to his desk, which was in an open plan office with other detectives milling around working. I asked if we could go somewhere more private. I didn’t want him to suffer in public. He sighed impatiently and took me into a tiny, smelly, windowless interview room.
“What is it, Tilly? I’m busy,” he demanded, sitting down heavily on one of the old metal and vinyl chairs, resting his elbows on the battered table and drumming his fingers. I took a chair on the opposite side of the table. We probably needed something between us in case he became really angry with me. He’d been a homicide detective for about as long as he’d been married, and either his job or his marriage, or maybe both, had driven all remnants of joy from his life. I hadn’t seen him smile in years. I felt like a worm adding to his troubles.
I pulled the envelope out of my handbag and pushed it across the table at him. “Heller asked me to give you this.”
He frowned and picked the envelope up. “What’s in it?”
“I don’t know,” I lied. “Heller gave it to me and asked me to drop it off. I was heading out to have dinner with a friend.”
He stood up.
“He wants you to open it while I’m here.”
“Why?” He was immediately suspicious. I couldn’t blame him. He had to know that Heller had nothing but hatred for him. And the feeling was extensively mutual.
“I don’t know. That’s what he said. He’s my boss so I do as I’m told.” I swallowed nervously, my stomach all stirred up.
He sat back down again with visible irritation and slowly opened the envelope. He glanced inside and noticed that it contained photos. He took one out, careful not to let me view its contents. Anger swept across his face, though he said nothing. He slammed the first photo face down on the table and quickly grabbed the others, flipping through them in fury, silent until he got to the last one.
“That bastard,” he said, his voice quiet with white-hot anger.
“Is everything okay, Brian?” I asked, with sham ignorance but genuine concern.
He pointed an enraged finger at me. “No, everything is not fucking okay! You tell that motherfucking prick that you work for that this is not over! Not by a fucking long shot!”
“Brian . . .” I entreated.
He cut me off. “Get the fuck out of here. Now!”
“Brian . . .” I tried again.
“NOW!” he screamed, spittle flecking his lips, his face crimson with rage. I got the fuck out of there.
I kept replaying the scene in my head on my drive to Will’s place. This was going to tear my family apart. I didn’t like Gayle, but she didn’t deserve what was heading her way. Neither did her two little beautiful girls, my young nieces.
When I pulled up outside Will’s house, I had to sit in my car for ten minutes trying to subdue my emotions. I couldn’t dump this stuff on him; it wasn’t fair. He didn’t even know my family. I took a deep breath and stepped out of the car, a jaunty smile forced onto my face. As I knocked on the front door, I noticed a delicious aroma wafting out of his house. Will greeted me very warmly and I had a quick peek at dinner, which was simmering on the stove, before he dragged me to his bedroom and gave me an even warmer welcoming present.
Afterwards, I lay on my back, eyes closed, savouring the relaxing powers of my very satisfying orgasm. Will laid on his side, his leg thrown possessively over me, idly drawing circles around my nipple with his finger.
“I missed you,” he said. He kissed me tenderly.
“I missed you too.”
“Was that you on TV the other night?”
“Yes.”
“Wow! I liked your dress. It was . . . um . . .”
“Revealing?”
“Yeah.” He grasped one of my breasts gently. “I was worried these puppies were going to pop out!”
I laughed. “So was I. Especially in front of the PM.”
“That would have made the news. Not to mention the PM’s day.”
I stretched pleasurably.
“So that was Heller?” he asked in a casual tone that didn’t fool me.
“Yep. That’s him.” I decided to keep it light.
“For some reason, I had an image of him as much older and uglier. Maybe it’s the way you speak about him.”
“I haven’t really said much about him, have I?”
“No.” A pause. “I’m surprised about that now that I think about it. He’s very memorable. It just seems like something you might have mentioned.”
I looked at him. “What should I have said? Hi Will, nice to meet you. By the way, did you know that my boss is completely gorgeous?”
“You think he’s gorgeous?”
�
��You’d have to be blind or insane not to acknowledge the fact that he is definitely gorgeous.”
“Have you and he ever –”
“No! He’s my boss, Will.”
“Your gorgeous boss.”
“Yes, and you’re my gorgeous boyfriend,” I snapped. “What’s the problem?”
He smiled, defusing my growing irritation, leaning down to kiss me. “No problem.”
“Good.”
“He seemed very friendly with you.”
“We are very friendly. Normally. But I’m quite angry with him at the moment.”
“I’d rather you be angry with him then friendly.”
“You should be happy then. I’m very angry with him.”
“Who was that man with you at the ceremony? It seems that every time I turn around there’s some guy with his hands on you.”
I sighed. “He was my client. I was looking after him for the two weeks I was away.”
“What do you mean ‘looking after him’? You’re not an escort are you?”
“No! I was his bodyguard.” Will made the mistake of laughing. “What’s so funny?”
“You? A bodyguard? Looked more to me like he was wanting to guard your body!”
I sat up and glared at him. “That’s my job, Will. Looking after people. It’s not a joke. I disarmed a man who was threatening his life. How do you think I got these bruises on my face?”
He was smart enough to immediately realise that he’d made a big mistake. “Tilly . . .”
“I have had the shittiest day you could possibly imagine. And I don’t need yet another man making a joke about my job. I’m not a fucking hooker!”
I jumped out of bed and furiously pulled on my clothes.
“Tilly, please! I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to insult you,” Will pleaded. I ignored him, grabbed my shoes and handbag, and stormed out of his house, slamming his front door behind me. I threw myself into the car and drove off with a screech of burning rubber. Have I mentioned that I have a real temper?
I slammed the car door when I parked back at the Warehouse and stomped loudly up the entire four flights of stairs. I checked my mobile. Will had left two messages. I deleted them without listening. I poured myself a very large glass of wine and sat down on my lounge and flicked on the TV.
There was a knock on my door.
“Go away!” I yelled out. I wasn’t in the mood for socialising. Another knock. I ignored it. Then he just walked in. It was Heller of course. Who else monitored my every move?
“Why do I even bother having a door?” I asked him angrily.
“You’re home early. Weren’t you going to the boyfriend’s house?”
“Mind your own business.”
“Lover’s tiff?”
“I said, mind your own business.”
“You gave your brother the photos?”
“Yes.”
“How did he react?”
“How do you think he reacted?” I yelled. He smiled cruelly. “He wants you to know that you’re a motherfucking prick and that it’s not over, not by a fucking long shot.” He laughed. “Piss off, Heller. I’m sick of you!” I shouted at him. “I hate you!”
He stared at me for a long moment, then spun and left, closing the door quietly behind him.
Chapter 15
My mother rang early the next morning. She was in tears, almost hysterical.
“Mum, what’s the matter? Is everything okay?” I asked anxiously, knowing full well what the matter was.
“No Tilly, everything’s terrible! Brian and Gayle have separated. He moved out of their house last night and came back here. He won’t tell me what’s going on, but I think that she’s had an affair.” Another torrent of sobbing.
“They’ll sort it out, Mum,” I said, although I found it hard to muster any level of optimism in my voice.
“How could she do that to him? He’s been a good husband and father, and to treat him like that. You should see him. It would break your heart. He’s so upset.”
I listened to another ten minutes of the same thing, repeated over and over – how could she? I should see him. It’s terrible. What about the children? I felt like a lowlife.
After she finally rang off, I went down to the office with the intense feeling that my life was rapidly unravelling. It’s difficult to think or work when you’re furious with both of the important men in your life.
Niq was already at his desk, quietly completing his schoolwork. I smiled at him, sat at my desk and watched him fondly as he chewed on his pencil and scratched his head over a maths problem.
“Hey sweetie, remember I promised to take you shopping when my job with Clarrie was finished? And we were going to spend all of Heller’s money?”
He looked up and nodded eagerly.
“If you put in a good morning’s work, how about we go this afternoon?”
“That would be great, Tilly! Thanks.” He returned to his books with renewed enthusiasm.
Daniel walked in and I smiled at him. Heller followed soon afterwards and I pointedly ignored him. But he was probably getting used to that by now and it didn’t seem to bother him.
I spent the morning finishing my report on my two weeks with Clarrie so that Daniel could finalise the account. Clarrie had already paid a hefty amount for my services, but there were always incidentals to settle after a job finished, including the unexpected cost of the six men who’d attended the awards ceremony. I dropped my signed report on his desk and went upstairs to make Niq some lunch. We ate it unhurriedly, before moseying down to the garage. I grabbed the keys to the little hatchback that Heller let me drive.
We had a lot of fun together at the shopping centre. Niq bought some t-shirts and a pair of jeans. He also bought some CDs, DVDs and books, even though he usually purchased most of those things electronically. The kid loved to shop.
I only purchased a few unimportant things that Heller didn’t supply, including more concealing makeup and some female hygiene products. I’m sure he would supply me with those too if I asked, but he didn’t think of it and I was too embarrassed to actually face him and ask. So I bought them for myself. I didn’t mind – after all he provided me with everything else.
We stopped for a coffee and a milkshake at a small cafe and chatted about his schoolwork, the Warehouse and life in general. We discussed Heller and Niq admitted that he thought of him like a father.
He looked at me shyly, his eyes peeping up at me through his black fringe. “I sort of like to think of you as my mum, Tilly.”
I was extraordinarily touched. “Oh Niq. That’s one of the loveliest things anyone has ever said to me,” I replied, suddenly emotional. “I don’t think I’d be a very good mother to anybody, but if I ever was one, you are exactly the kind of son I’d want.”
We smiled affectionately at each other and finished our drinks. Heading back to the car, I kept my eye out for trouble. Last time we’d been at this shopping centre, we’d been hassled by a gang of losers and I hadn’t handled it well. After that episode, Heller had threatened me with not being allowed to take Niq out anymore if I led him into danger again. I never wanted that to happen and so was now extra vigilant.
I helped Niq carry his purchases, as there were far too many bags for him to manage by himself. We flung them in the hatchback of the car and made our way out of the carpark. I drove for a few minutes, Niq and I singing along loudly to a My Chemical Romance CD, when on checking the rear view mirror, I noticed a black sedan following close behind us. It didn’t look like an ordinary suburban car with its dark tinted windows and its licence plate that merely read ‘SS-6’. I thought it was slightly menacing in appearance. I couldn’t see who was driving or how many people the vehicle contained because of those tinted windows.
Warning myself not to be so paranoid, I pushed it out of my mind for a minute, concentrating instead on navigating us through a congested, multi-lane, dog-eat-dog roundabout. I had to move into the right lane from the left lane and then had to ba
ttle oncoming traffic to make the third exit, a smaller, less-known road to the freeway. It was a manoeuvre that required primitive aggression, blatant disregard of every other driver’s needs and sheer gall to attempt. In other words, it was a normal traffic situation for this city. I was only flipped off once while I performed this tricky move and that was probably a record. Before too long, we were finally on the small road, speeding towards the freeway for more city-driving fun.
I checked the rear view mirror again and was jolted to see the black sedan still behind us. It wasn’t out of the realm of possibility that I wasn’t the only person in this city of four million inhabitants who knew of that little shortcut to the freeway. But on the other hand, maybe it was.
On the spur of the moment, without indicating, I turned left into a side street. The car behind followed us, its tyres screeching slightly as it made the unexpected turn. I then made a few further unpredictable turns, not indicating at any time, and was disconcerted when I noticed that the sedan kept following, even though I had virtually travelled around three blocks back to the same street I had initially been travelling on towards the freeway. It couldn’t be a coincidence.
“Niq sweetie, I don’t want to alarm you, but there’s a black sedan behind us and it looks as though it’s following us. It’s been behind us since the shopping centre. Look casually into the side mirror. Can you see it?” He looked and then nodded. “Ring Heller, please.”
Niq took his phone out of his pocket, eyes wide in his face with apprehension, and rang Heller.
“Put him on speaker phone, please sweetie.”
“What’s up, Matilda?”
My growing anxiety made me forget how angry I was with him.
“Heller, there’s a black sedan, a Toyota I think, tinted windows, number plate SS dash 6. It’s been following us since the shopping centre. I just took a detour right around a couple of blocks, doubling up on myself and it stayed with us the whole way. It’s definitely following us. We’re still about twenty minutes from home.”
