Broken White: The Complete Series

by Amy Cross

  "I'm afraid there's been an incident, Sir," he explains, leading me through to the conservatory, where we find a swarm of police officers engaged in frantic work. "Allow me to introduce you to my superior," the officer continues, as we reach a well-dressed man who seems to be examining some paperwork that he's found on the desk in the corner. "Mr. Laverty, Sir. This is Mr. Pope. It seems that he had an appointment with Lady deHavilland".

  Turning to me, Laverty clearly views me with suspicion. "Jonathan Pope?" he says. "I must admit, Mr. Pope, we thought you were dead. You seemed to have vanished quite some time ago".

  "I've been busy," I reply. "Might I ask, where is Lady deHavilland?"

  "What's your business with her?"

  "I'm here to discuss a pamphlet," I say, hoping against hope that he might believe my story.

  "A pamphlet?" He smiles. "Engaged in a spot of sedition, are we?"

  "Not at all," I reply. "With the news of Her Majesty's passing, Lady deHavilland merely wishes to get her thoughts out to the public".

  "And you're in the pamphlet-printing business these days, are you?"

  I open my mouth to reply, but it's clear that he's not going to believe a word I say. In my desperation, I've managed to walk straight into the most dangerous situation imaginable. Although I've been keeping my head down since I joined the game, I was once known as one of London's most successful, though disreputable, private investigators. I crossed paths with the police on numerous occasions, and I'm certain that a man like Laverty will never believe that it's mere coincidence that I happen to have arrived here just as... just as what? Glancing across the room, I try to work out what might have happened. Has the game itself been discovered?

  "Tell me something," Laverty continues. "Have you known Lady deHavilland for long?"

  "Where is she?" I ask. "Is she hurt?"

  "Answer the question".

  "No," I say. "Not long. Where is she?"

  "And what about her husband, Benjamin deHavilland?"

  "I've never met the man," I reply. "I'm afraid he's always been away from home on business when I've visited".

  "I see. And was that another coincidence, or were you trying to avoid him?" He pauses for a moment. "Forgive me, Mr. Pope, but I'm just trying to determine the precise nature of your relationship with Lady deHavilland".

  "Where is she?" I ask.

  "Answer the question".

  "I barely know them at all," I say firmly, trying not to lose my patience. "I'm just here to help Lady deHavilland with a pamphlet in response to Her Majesty's passing. You must tell me where she is!"

  "And when was the last time you saw her?" he continues.

  "This..." I start to say, before realizing that I risk incriminating myself. Until I know what has happened, I need to avoid giving too many details. Glancing across the room, I spot a white shape on the floor, and it takes only a moment before I realize that there's a dead body in the corner. "Who is that?" I ask, feeling a cold chill rush through my body.

  "That, Mr. Pope, is Benjamin deHavilland," Laverty replies. "Lady deHavilland's husband. Beaten to death in a most cruel and vicious manner, I'm afraid to say". Leaning down, he pulls back the sheet to reveal the horrific sight of a man whose head appears to have been split open. His dead eyes stare off to one side, and I can't help but wonder what kind of monster could have caused such horrific injuries.

  "When did this happen?" I ask.

  "We're still ascertaining a time of death," Laverty says, letting the sheet drop back over the dead man's face. "Once we've done that, we'll need to know where you were at that particular moment. There's also the matter of Lady deHavilland -"

  "You can't possibly think that she did this!" I say. "Where is she? You must be careful with her! She's pregnant. Any stress could harm the baby!"

  "I suppose it might," Laverty says. "Follow me, Sir".

  "You'll take me to her?"

  He nods, before leading me across the room and out into the hallway. All my previous visits to this house have been surreptitious and furtive, and now it feels so strange to be wandering around in the presence of a dozen or more police officers; it's as if a truly private world has been cracked open and revealed to the light. Moments later, we enter Benjamin deHavilland's study and I'm shocked to see a second body on the floor, once again covered by a sheet.

  "What happened?" I ask. "How many bodies are there?"

  "Just two," Laverty replies. "Benjamin deHavilland and his wife Henrietta".

  I stare at him, feeling a horrific tightening sensation in my chest.

  "You look positively pale, Mr. Pope," Laverty continues, narrowing his eyes a little as if he's studying me with great interest. "Would you like to sit down?"

  I shake my head.

  "The bodies were discovered by Lady deHavilland's maid. She'd been out for the morning, and when she returned she discovered her employer's body in here. She ran to find her master, and discovered him dead in the conservatory. It was at that point that we were called".

  Rushing across the room, I crouch next to the body and pull the sheet away. To my shock, I find myself staring down at Henrietta's dead body: although her face has been beaten until it caved in, the hair is clearly hers, and she's wearing the same dress that she put on this morning before I left. Unable to look away from the mashed, crushed mess of her face, I feel all energy drain from my body, until finally I look down at her belly. The baby will, of course, be long dead. Two lives, snuffed out in one body.

  "I'm going to need to know where you were between 9pm last night and lunchtime today," Laverty says, standing behind me. "Every move. Every step. I'm also going to need to see any evidence you have that indicates this pamphlet business might be true. You'll have to forgive me, Mr. Pope, but I'm struggling to believe that Lady deHavilland just happened to have engaged your assistance on the morning she died".

  "This can't be her," I say, falling back as I continue to stare at her dead body. "I was with her just this morning. I was talking to her, we were going to -" Unable to help myself, I turn onto my side and vomit across the carpeted floor.

  "I'm afraid it is her," Laverty says, replacing the sheet in order to cover Henrietta's crushed face. "Someone broke into this house, killed both Mr. deHavilland and his wife, and then took..." He pauses for a moment. "Nothing. All the money, all the valuable items, were left completely untouched. Whoever did this, they clearly came here with the intention to kill these fine, upstanding members of our society".

  Getting to my feet, I stumble to the doorway, where I find two police officers blocking my way. I'm filled with a mess of conflicting emotions: anger and fear and shock and a thousand others. More than anything else, I feel as if my legs are about to give way at any moment.

  "This is a murder investigation, Mr. Pope," Laverty continues. "Given the nature of the situation, as well as some of the comments you've made since you arrived this evening, I have no choice but to arrest you on suspicion of having carried out these acts".

  "I would never kill her!" I shout, turning to him. "She was carrying my child!"

  "Was she?" Laverty replies with a cold smile.

  "She told me yesterday!" I shout, as a police officer grabs my wrists from behind and roughly handcuffs me.

  "And did she tell you anything else yesterday?" Laverty asks, walking over to me. "Did she say that she was scared of being attacked?"

  "She..." I pause, suddenly realizing that I can't possibly even begin to tell anyone about the game. There's also the matter of the dead boy back at my house; when Laverty and his men search my home, they're surely come to the conclusion that I'm some kind of murderer. "I need to talk to someone," I say, trying to stay calm. "I need a lawyer. I need to talk to someone who'll listen to me".

  "Oh, I'll listen," Laverty replies. "There's no need to worry. I'll listen all you want, Mr. Pope. And when I'm done listening, there'll be a nice judge who'll also listen". He leans closer. "Let's be clear. I know you did this -"

  "No!" I shout
, struggling to get free.

  "There's no point protesting," he continues. "You might as well come clean, Mr. Pope. The truth shall set you free, as good men so often tell us. Besides, I'm sure a spot of honesty will make you feel a little closer to God as you're led to the gallows for these horrific murders, and mark my words. I'll see that you hang".

  Book Three:

  Friends

  Elly

  Today

  "So what's wrong with him? Come on, Elly, there's got to be something".

  It's getting late, and Jess and I are drinking cocktails on the balcony of Mark's penthouse apartment. Well, she's drinking, while I'm just kind of holding my glass while we look out across the dark and glittering city. It's tempting to believe that we can see the whole of London from up here, with the streets and buildings spread out for our convenience. So many people going about their normal lives, doing normal thing, being normal with each other; whenever I come onto the balcony, I always end up feeling strangely nostalgic for my normal life.

  "Where did you meet him, anyway?" Jess continues. She smiles at me, waiting for an answer. Jess has always had the kind of wide-eyed, innocent look of a cartoon princess, and with her brunette hair tied back tonight, she looks like she should be waiting for a prince. In fact, she looks much more at home in this penthouse than I could ever look. "Is there, like, a website?" she asks. "Do you go on and meet billionaires online and then end up living in their penthouse? Is there a bar where you meet them? Come on, Elly, I want to know! I want a billionaire too!"

  "It's not like you think," I reply, turning to her and forcing myself to smile.

  "Huh," she says with a smile. "So you're not living in the penthouse of a hotel, and you're not flying all over the world whenever he has some business meeting to go to, and you're not living a life of untold luxury and pleasure? I mean..." She glances at the door, just to make sure that Mark's nowhere nearby. "Elly, he's hot! He's a hot billionaire. Seriously, he seems perfect, and I've studied enough psychology to know that people who project an image like that are usually doing it because they want to hide something. So I'll ask you again. What's his deep, dark secret?"

  "I don't know," I say weakly. "If I knew, it wouldn't be a secret, would it?"

  "Fair point," she replies, taking a big gulp from her glass.

  "You're going through those pretty fast," I point out.

  "This lifestyle might be pretty boring to you right now," she says with a smile, "but to me, it's still kind of fun. And I'm only here for one more night, so I figure I'd better make the most of it". She pauses for a moment, and I can tell that she's studying me, looking for some kind of answer in my body language and my expression. "So... are you alright, Elly?"

  "I'm fine," I say quickly.

  "Yeah, sure," she replies, moving closer to me and lowering her voice to a conspiratorial tone. "I know that look on your face. Something's bothering you. It's like, no matter what we talk about or what we do, you always seem like you're concentrating on something else that you're not telling me about".

  "There's nothing," I say, before looking up as I hear the sound of a helicopter. It's a couple of miles away, moving through the night sky, but I'm immediately set on edge. Is it possible that a police helicopter, keeping Mark under surveillance, could be watching the balcony from such a distance? With the technology that's around today, I guess anything's possible. Hell, they could be watching us from a satellite, or from the eyes of bionic mosquito, or from... I take a deep breath as I realize that I'm starting to get paranoid.

  "There you go again," Jess says, staring at me with a half-smile on her face. "Something's bugging you".

  I shake my head.

  "You're gonna crack," she continues. "I know you, Elly. You can't keep this up for long. Sooner or later, probably sooner, you're gonna have to tell me. All these worries are building up and making your head swell, and one day steam's gonna start coming out of your ears. You know you're gonna end up telling me, so why not do it now, when I'm here, rather than later when I'm back in Bristol?" She waits for me to answer. "I'm here for you, Elly. You know I'm not gonna judge you". She waits again. "Is it about the whore thing?"

  "The what?" I ask.

  "You're not a whore," she continues. "Even if you're just fucking him for his money, that doesn't -"

  "I'm not doing that!" I say, shocked at the idea.

  "Okay!" she replies. "I was just thinking that might be -"

  "I'm not..." I take a deep breath, struggling to even begin to deny such an insane idea. "It's not like that," I say eventually. "It's nothing like that".

  "Okay," she says, finishing her cocktail. "Sorry. It's just that you really don't seem very happy. That's what it's all about, isn't it? Wanting to be happy?" She tilts her head back and waits while the last drop of drink trickles into her mouth. "Well," she says eventually, "I'm all out of Cosmo, so I guess it's time to hit the bar again". With that, she turns and hurries back to the door and into the apartment.

  I wait for a moment, feeling as if the apartment itself is some kind of pressure cooker. At least out here on the balcony, I can relax, and I'm finding myself spending more and more time here every evening. After a moment, however, I feel a chill run through my body as I once again contemplate the possibility that the police are keeping Mark, and by extension me, under surveillance. I hurry back into the apartment, where I at least feel a little safer from prying eyes.

  "So where is he, anyway?" Jess asks as she pours herself another drink. "Where's Mr. Billionaire? Out making more billions?"

  "He'll be back soon," I say, glancing at my watch and realizing, with a twinge of guilt, that I'm actually not looking forward to the moment when Mark gets back. He always seems so stiff and constrained around Jess, which in turn makes me worry that he only really wants to be around me when we can be alone and have sex. Maybe Jess is right after all; maybe my whole relationship with Mark is about money and sex after all?

  "I guess those billions won't come pouring in by themselves," Jess says, grabbing my glass and giving me a refill. "You've barely drunk anything," she says with a nervous smile. "Don't tell me you've gone off alcohol, just when you've got it on tap".

  "No," I say, although I can't help thinking back to Isabella Raynard's death in Zurich. She seemed to have found a way to drown her unhappiness with alcohol, at least for a while. Since bearing witness to her tragic death, I've kind of flinched from alcohol a little; the odd glass here and there is okay, but it's as if some kind of deep-rooted self-defense mechanism has kicked in and is telling me not to become like Isabella.

  "So do you think you'll marry him and have kids?" Jess asks suddenly, out of nowhere.

  "What?"

  "Do you think you'll marry him and have kids?" she asks again, staring at me, waiting for an answer.

  "I don't know," I reply. "It's kind of early to be thinking about that".

  "But you must have an idea," she continues. "I know you must have thought about it".

  I pause for a moment. The truth is, I've been carefully avoiding thinking about the future with Mark, and I guess that avoidance is, in itself, kind of an answer.

  "The look on your face," Jess says slowly, with a look of quiet understanding, "is very revealing".

  "It's just a bit soon," I say, trying to cover my discomfort. "That's all".

  "I guess you're still learning the rules of the game," she continues.

  "Something like that," I say. When Jess mentions 'the game', she means the normal game between two people, but since she arrived, I've been toying with the idea of telling her about the real game. I feel as if I'm having to bottle up all my fears and doubts, and Jess is the perfect person to ask for advice. I can just imagine how she'd react if I told her about Mr. Blue and Lady Red, and about the fact that sometime soon I'm going to have to go and submit to the demands of Mr. White. She'd probably tell me to get the hell away from these people, and she'd probably be right, and that's before you consider the fact that Mark's ex-gir
lfriend is still missing.

  "There it is again," Jess says with a smile.

  I look over at her.

  "That look in your eyes".

  "There's no look in my eyes," I reply, getting a little annoyed by the way she's started to constantly analyze my facial expressions.

  "But if he -" Jess starts to say, before we hear a key in the door. Seconds later, there's the sound of Mark entering the apartment, and finally he comes through to join us. He looks tired, and as he places his briefcase on the chair over by the desk, it's hard to think that he's the billionaire owner of a multi-national, multi-industry company; he looks, in a weird way, like a tired office worker who's just got back from a late shift shuffling papers and being harangued by his boss.

  "How did it go?" I ask, immediately flinching as I realize that I already sound like a dutiful, caring wife.

  "It went fine," he says, pouring himself a glass of water and downing it in one go. "The Americans are interested, but of course they don't want to pay the going rate".

  "What are you selling them?" Jess asks.

  "Skin," Mark replies.

  Jess looks over at me.

  "Skin for aircraft," I explain. "It's what my father was working on when he..." I pause for a moment. "It's like this coating that gets put on planes and it makes them move faster, or something".

  "Not just faster," Mark adds. "More quietly. They're completely invisible to radar and any other tracking devices". He walks over to the bar and starts pouring himself a whiskey. "With the right skin, you can move without making a noise, and no-one'll ever know you were there. It's the smoothest thing you could possibly imagine, and it's strong, but it's also thin".

  "And the Americans want to buy it, huh?" Jess asks, taking another sip from her drink.

  "Of course they do," Mark replies. "They think they can get anything they want if they spend enough money". He pauses. "They're right. Everything's for sale at the right price".

  "Not everything," I reply.

  "Everything," he says firmly.

  "Not everything," I say again. "Stuff, yeah, but not people".