‘In which case you used to work with my brother too,’ he said. ‘My name’s Simon.’
‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘I had no idea Tony had another brother as well as Vincent.’
A lie, but Vincent’s brother wasn’t to know that. He jumped down from the back of the pickup and landed less than a metre from me.
‘What do you want?’
The carefree attitude was gone, replaced by sheer, unadulterated fury. The change took me by surprise. This wasn’t a situation I’d been prepared for.
Tony’s brother tilted his head.
‘Benner, you said?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then I know who you are.’
He didn’t need to explain what he meant. Or so I thought. Every part of his face told me he knew what I had done, and that he hated me for it. Or so I thought. And this was where it got incomprehensible. Or so I thought. Because how could my fatal shooting of a teenager affect my relationship with my former partner’s family? Tony had been almost as guilty as I was for what had happened. He’d said as much that night. That he was so sorry about what had happened. That if I hadn’t fired, he would have done.
‘You ran away,’ Simon said. ‘You don’t do that.’
What was he talking about?
‘I didn’t run away,’ I said, unsure of what he meant, and unwilling to give him more information than he already had.
He came a step closer. I forced myself not to back away.
‘Of course you did. You left Tony when he was feeling so fucking bad. What do you want with Vincent? He doesn’t give a damn about you, and neither do I. No one in this family wants anything to do with you. If you couldn’t be bothered to come earlier, you needn’t have bothered coming now.’
I stood speechless in the face of the torrent of words pouring out of him. No one in this family wants anything to do with you. So they’d talked about me. And had agreed that I wasn’t welcome. There was something implicit in the reasoning that I didn’t understand. No one in this family. What was it that I wasn’t getting?
‘I’m very sorry,’ I said. ‘I didn’t know Tony had been feeling bad.’
What else could I say? Had there been any way I could have realised that Tony felt like shit? After all, he’d requested a transfer after the fatal shooting. And we’d never been friends outside work.
‘Crap, everyone knew. You, too.’
He put his hands in his trouser pocket and pulled out a keyring.
‘I’ve got to go now. You should leave too. For good. No one here wants to meet you.’
For good. No one in this family.
‘Can you tell Vincent that I’m looking for him?’
‘Sure, but he won’t contact you. He hates you just as much as the rest of us.’
It was my turn to take a step closer, driven by frustration.
‘Excuse me, but what are you talking about? “He hates you just as much as the rest of us.” What “rest of us”? I don’t know you. And you sure as hell don’t know me.’
That fucking heat. It felt like the pair of us were melting, dissolving into the tarmac. Your brain doesn’t work well in those circumstances. We stood there staring at each other, raw and upset. And neither of us capable of saying anything sensible.
I tried a gentler tone. Gentler, but still factual.
‘I’m really sorry about what happened,’ I said. ‘But . . . you need to know it was a tragic fucking mistake. I . . . I never meant him to die. We were standing in the pouring rain and he pulled a damn pistol – or rather he didn’t, but I thought he did – and I just . . .’
‘Sorry, but what are you talking about?’
This man, Vincent and Tony’s brother, looked utterly uncomprehending.
‘What happened,’ I began. ‘Why, what were you talking about?’
We were interrupted by a ringtone. His, not mine.
‘You’re not right in the head,’ he said, and walked round the car to get in the driver’s seat.
I followed, keen not to have to drive away with more questions than I had arrived with.
‘Sorry, but I don’t get it,’ I said. ‘What exactly does your family hold me responsible for? I didn’t know Tony was feeling bad. All I know is that he requested a transfer, and . . .’
Simon got in the pickup and closed the door. The window was down.
‘Yeah, and why do you think he did that? Requested a transfer?’
‘Because of what had happened?’ I said.
I felt stupid. Words like ‘what had happened’ clearly meant something different to me than they did to Tony’s relatives.
‘I don’t know what you mean by “what had happened”,’ Simon said, as if to confirm what I’d just been thinking. ‘The rest of us would probably say: “what you did”. Tony requested a transfer because of what you did, you fraudulent bastard.’
I shook my head. He started the engine and began to reverse.
‘I’m really sorry,’ I repeated. ‘If you explain, if you tell me what you think I’ve done, maybe we can work this out. Because I’m quite sure there’s some massive misunderstanding, and . . .’
The truck swung out into the road.
‘There’s no misunderstanding. Stay away from us.’
I was like a child, impossible for him to shake off. I ran alongside the pickup as he pulled away.
‘Tell Vincent I want to get hold of him!’ I yelled, and dropped a piece of paper with my phone number on it inside the cab.
He responded by putting his foot down, then he was gone.
43
I got what I wanted. That’s the way things usually end. With me getting my way. But first Josh Taylor called.
‘Can you talk?’ he said.
‘I’m pretty sure I can,’ I said, to indicate that there was a microscopic chance that we were being monitored.
‘Pretty sure will have to do,’ Taylor said. ‘Your arrival in the city seems to have kicked up a huge stink.’
‘Seriously?’
‘Seriously. So be careful. That’s all I wanted to say.’
‘Hang on a minute. Who should I be watching out for? The police? Lucifer’s guys?’
‘There are a number of police officers who remember your last visit, Benner. You were told to go home and not come back. And now you’re disobeying that advice. That’s enough.’
‘How do they even know I’m here? I . . .’
‘You had no problem getting into the country because your passport hadn’t been blocked. But it had been flagged. The sheriff was told you’d arrived less than fifteen minutes after you passed through customs.’
I started to sweat.
‘From a purely legal point of view, they can’t stop me. From a purely . . .’
‘From a purely legal point of view, you’re a fucking idiot. Be careful. You’ve got people after you.’
He hung up and was gone. I thought about what he’d said. That I had people after me, in all likelihood. I sat in my hotel room with far too much energy and my head full of thoughts. Restless, I walked over to the window. I was too high up, too far away, to see anyone or anything interesting. If I had shadows tailing me on the ground, I couldn’t see them.
I sat down on the bed. Maybe it was time to call Lucy. She had had to make do with texts up until then. It was only a matter of time before she phoned me. But the idea of calling Lucy got no further than that, because at that moment I received a text that changed the game completely.
Heard you came to my home looking for me. Bad move. Cocky. But have it your way. Meet tonight at Pastor Parson’s grave. 9 p.m. Come alone.
I read the message over and over again. My pulse went up, up, up, then plummeted. I slid onto the floor and felt the hands holding the phone shake.
The text was evidently from Vincent. But he hadn’t sent it to the number I gave his brother. No, it was sent to the mobile on which I had previously heard from Lucifer. Terror spread through my body in less than a second.
I read those
short lines once more.
Vincent Baker . . .
. . . was Lucifer.
I couldn’t draw any other conclusion. Well, there was a chance that Baker was just one of Lucifer’s acolytes. That that was how he had got my number, as well as permission to use it. But that was too far-fetched. I read the message again. Vincent Baker, who I assumed had sent those brief lines, had – unlike his brother – no problem referring to the fatal shooting which I assumed was the reason for my dispute with Lucifer (and evidently the whole of Tony’s family). It bothered me that he used our private term for what had happened. Pastor Parson’s funeral. Even if I had a certain sympathy for the fact that Tony might have felt a need to tell his brother about what had happened; I couldn’t understand why he had revealed our codename.
But that was only a tiny detail. I mustn’t let my shock get the upper hand. This was what I had come for, after all. This was what I had wanted, even though I knew it was dangerous. I needed to decide how I felt about the cryptic invitation. There was an obvious threat in the demand that I come alone. To a place where I had once buried a man I had shot. The recurring nightmares that had tormented me since I got home from Texas had become genuine premonitions. I had received warning after warning. Was I going to dare to defy them? Alone and unprotected?
It struck me that I didn’t even know what the old oilfield looked like now. Americans are industrious; they could have whacked up a whole new city out there. It was approaching four o’clock. I had five hours to prepare for the evening.
I knew I ought to get some rest. But I also knew that there wasn’t a hope in hell that I’d fall asleep. So I did what I often do when I’m tired and stressed: I acted on pure impulse. I needed to see that damn burial site again. Simple as that. Otherwise I would never manage to meet Lucifer there. It was roughly an hour’s drive away. I would have plenty of time to get there and back, and then drive out there again. If I went any later I risked Lucifer thinking the same thing as me and getting there too early. But if I went right away I could be almost certain of being alone.
I took the lift down to the garage of the hotel and got in the car. I set the air-con going and drove out of the garage. Lucy called just as I was pulling out onto the street. I decided that was good. We needed to talk. More than ever.
‘Where are you?’ she said.
Her voice was tight as a violin string.
No more bad news now.
Not Belle, I thought, with my body and soul numb with fear. Not Belle. Not again.
‘Out driving,’ I said. ‘What’s happened?’
‘Martin, stop talking crap. Where are you?’
How much should I tell her? What did I want her to know? Everything, really. If I died in the desert that night, someone needed to know where I was going. It seemed reasonable that Lucy should know rather than anyone else.
When I took my time replying, she said: ‘The police have been here. An arrest warrant had been issued in your absence, Martin.’
‘An arrest warrant?’
‘Apparently there are new witnesses.’
My eyes flickered. I thought I’d had a deal with Didrik. That I’d bought myself some time to act.
‘That’s bullshit and you know it,’ I said in a voice so sharp that it echoed down the line. ‘There aren’t any witnesses. Have you given them the recording from the garage?’
‘Yes, and I’ve let them know there are copies, in case someone manages to lose it by accident.’
I could hear from Lucy’s voice that she wasn’t telling me everything. If someone had offered me some heroin just then, I’d probably have taken it just to calm myself down.
‘What else is it, baby?’
Her voice was trembling when she replied.
‘They’re saying I must have been involved in this, so they’ve contacted Social Services. Martin, they’re talking about taking Belle away.’
I couldn’t handle those words just then.
‘They haven’t taken her already?’
‘Martin, I . . .’
‘They haven’t already taken her?’
I was shouting so loudly it must have been audible outside the car.
‘No, no. They said that bit about Social Services when they came back to the office to get hold of you. They probably thought Social Services had already acted, but I managed to call the preschool after they left and Belle was still there. I was afraid I was being followed so I called Signe and got her to drop everything and pick Belle up at once.’
My heart began to slow down.
‘And where are you now?’
‘We’re on our way to Madeleine Rossander’s summerhouse, which is empty at the moment. Sorry, but I didn’t know who I could trust. She really didn’t want to be dragged into it, but . . .’
‘You did the right thing, Lucy, absolutely the right thing.’
I didn’t give a damn about Madeleine Rossander’s safety and whatever price she might have to pay for helping us. All I cared about was Belle and Lucy. And Madeleine knew that. If she hadn’t wanted to, she would never have helped Lucy.
‘Are you being followed?’ I said.
‘Don’t think so. I must have cycled through red lights and gone the wrong way down one-way streets a hundred times before I got to Signe’s.’
‘So you haven’t been back to the flat? Just to Signe’s?’
‘Yes.’
I felt like crying with relief.
‘Martin, you’ve got to come home. This can’t go on.’
I tried to formulate a good response to her plea.
‘I’ll be home in a couple of days at the latest.’
‘Two days? Martin, we haven’t got that long. You need to confront Didrik, wherever he is. And if that house in Denmark is empty, you need to start looking in other places. Here in Stockholm, for instance.’
‘Baby, the house wasn’t empty.’
‘What?’
‘I’ve already met and confronted Didrik. I thought I’d bought myself three days to sort this crap out. Sorry about that.’
‘Sorry about that’ was pretty feeble given the circumstances. Lucy thought so too.
‘You’re fucking unbelievable. You lied. To me. Again. After everything that’s happened. After the talk we had after you called your old shag and just had to have another fuck, even though we were living together. Do you know how much it hurts to hear this bullshit?’
Oh yes, I did. Fear of losing Lucy got the better of me and I started babbling.
‘It was to protect you and Belle. Don’t you get that? I didn’t want you to know too much in case the police started asking questions.’
‘You’re so fucking considerate! Where are you? Give me a proper answer, and don’t lie.’
I braked for a red light.
‘I’m in Houston.’
The phone went completely silent.
‘Lucy?’
I heard Belle say something in the background. It sounded like Lucy was snorting. She does that when she cries.
‘Sorry, baby. Sorry.’
‘Don’t call me baby. You went without us. Without even telling us. You fucking bastard.’
She was crying. No doubt about it.
‘I wanted to tell you, but I couldn’t.’
‘Why not?’
‘I just said. So that you’d know as little as possible if the police asked. Because I was worried we’d start arguing. I couldn’t bear that. But I was going to call, Lucy, later this evening. I swear, I wasn’t going to carry on lying.’
‘Very generous of you.’
Red turned to green and I drove off. Towards hell, towards my oh-so-neatly buried sins that had now found their way up to the surface.
‘There’s a very logical reason for why I’m here. Didrik told me things that made the situation untenable. There was never any intention of letting me get out of this. Lucifer already knew where Mio was before he asked me to look for him. Don’t you see? He’s been leading us in circles, me and Didrik. But Di
drik, the stupid bastard, still thinks he can trust him. He thinks he’ll be allowed to keep Mio if he can just get me out of the way.’
‘Didrik’s got Mio? Have you seen Mio?’
The memory overwhelmed me. Mio running in the garden. Mio asking if I was his daddy.
‘Yes.’
More silence. This time I didn’t press Lucy to say anything. When she finally spoke, I wished I’d hung up instead.
‘I don’t think I can forgive this, Martin.’
An icy chill in my chest.
‘Lucy, you have to believe me when I say I had no option but to lie to you.’
‘Like when you neglected to tell me you’d killed another person?’
I hated it when she said things like that when Belle could hear her. And I was very close to panicking at the thought that she was slipping away from me in such a definitive way, just as I was preparing for the most important encounter of my life.
‘Listen to me,’ I said. ‘I understand that you’re angry. Just like I understood that you were angry when I called Veronica, or Rakel, for sex. I . . . I got it wrong. Over and over again. But this time I really did think I was doing the right thing. I wanted to protect you. Not hurt you. And . . . and I love you, for looking after Belle. For being by my side throughout this nightmare.’
I had to pause there, because the sob in my throat was making it hard to speak. We hardly ever said we loved each other. Me because I thought it was understood, and Lucy because . . . Well, I hadn’t really given much thought to her reasons. Which in itself was frightening.
‘Do you hear me, Lucy? I love you.’
She started to cry again.
‘That’s not enough, don’t you see? Not when you behave like this.’
I started to cry too. Hot tears made my eyes sting.
‘I’m meeting Lucifer this evening,’ I said.
‘You’re mad.’
‘I haven’t got a choice. I—’
‘You’re completely fucking mad. If you go to that meeting, it’s over, Martin. Over. Do you hear?’
Yes, so you just said.
‘I haven’t got a choice,’ I said.
The Lies We Tell Page 27
