"Too late, mate. Hi, Carol," Lance called out.
Carol looked their way. She recognized them immediately and strutted her beautiful twenty-eight-year-old body their way. She knew how to walk, this woman. And everything she had looked better the closer she got.
"You're going to pay for this, fats," Aidan warned Lance.
"I'm not fat," Lance complained, running his hands over his generous belly. "Maybe I'm a few kilos overweight, nothing more."
"You're perfect," Carol said, grabbing Lance by the shoulders and shaking him a bit.
"It's great to see you, beautiful," he said, smiling, stepping back. "You don't think I'm fat then?"
"No way," she answered. "I'd swear that you've lost weight since the last time I saw you."
"The same old lies," Aidan mumbled as he passed by without looking at her.
"I can see you still haven't forgiven me," she pointed out without looking too worried about the fact. They were walking side by side. "Didn't know you carried grudges."
"There's a lot you don't know, sweetheart. What's the point of telling you everything?"
"It surprises me that you haven't killed a journalist yet, given what you think of us."
"Have you come here to look for more dirt to print in your paper?"
"How many times do I have to apologize for that? And stop walking while I'm talking to you," Carol said, taking two long strides ahead and cutting Aidan's path. They were standing face to face now, very close. The journalist stared up into Aidan's eyes. "Everything I've published about you was correct. The court was open to the public and everything that was said there too. I didn't have to rummage in your rubbish bin."
"It wasn't necessary," he accused her. "The defence lawyer had already taken care of that."
They always talked about the same case. And as far as Aidan was concerned, there'd been no need for her to print the lawyer's damaging character profile of him in the newspaper. She gave the public all the details along with the final punch in the face he'd given the lawyer outside the court.
It hadn't been a pleasant way to meet each other. It had been a bad time for Aidan, and seeing the drug dealer walk scot free didn't help either. It was better not to talk about it. Only Lance could bring it up without him going into a rage.
Carol hadn't chosen a good moment to get an interview. She was a young journalist full of talent and ambition, and Aidan was the news of the moment. On one occasion she'd followed him an entire morning looking for his version of what had happened. Lance was sure that if she'd been a man she would have gone to work the next day with a black eye and a broken jaw. Lance saved her that day, pulling her away from Aidan before she found out the hard way the type of man she had been harassing.
Even after that, she kept on seeking interviews with Aidan, and the strange thing was that she was usually successful. Lance had nearly fallen off his chair a month later when he found out the two of them were going to have lunch together. He had to control the temptation to spy on them and listen to what they had to say. He even thought about fixing a microphone on one of them. In the end he just made do with Aidan's version of what had taken place during that lunch. And that consisted of more than a fair share of grumbling and gave Lance the impression that it had been more argument than interview.
Lance suspected that, despite being seventeen years younger than him, Carol was one of the few women in the last few years to kindle Aidan's dormant sex drive. Although nothing had happened between them she was the first woman to have gone out with his partner more than three times since his wife's death. Lance was no expert in affairs of the heart, but he suspected Carol had more on her mind than just interviews. As far as Lance knew, she wasn't in a relationship with anyone else.
"I only reported what they said in the court," Carol said, defending herself. "And I've already apologized for that. Can't we just shelve it this time?"
"You concentrated on the juicy bits. You didn't mention anything about my work in tracking that criminal down. But to sell more papers you wrote about my drinking problem and my wife's death. It was worth more to you to ruin my reputation as a human being than praise my work as a policeman. Don't forget that I was the one responsible for bringing one of the major cartels in the city to justice."
"I wrote that as well," Carol screamed, twitching. She was losing her composure, fast. "I'm impartial. It's my work."
"You dedicated three lines to the detention and three paragraphs to my medical and psychiatric reports," he snapped.
"Damn it, Aidan. I've already explained it to you," she said, visibly upset. "I have bosses at the newspaper, you know. I'm not the owner of what they publish. They edit my articles. And whether you like it or not, everybody was interested in your medical report. There aren't too many who've survived what you have, Aidan. Christ, there's no one. You broke your back in the accident and you lost your wife. You could have been paralysed. But you came out of it all unscathed."
"That's my business," Aidan roared, "And no one else's."
"That's enough. More than enough," Lance said, stepping between them and forcing them apart. "You know, I don't understand you two. Why don't you work your differences out in bed? That looks like what both of you want."
"Shut up, Lance!" Aidan screamed. "This argument's finished. I've got work to do. You can stay with her. Thanks for all your help."
"Don't pay any attention to him," Lance explained. "He hasn't taken his medication. The attack will pass."
"I can help you, Aidan," Carol said, stopping him. "I know which case you're working on."
"That doesn't surprise me. You're always on our heels in search of news. What makes you think I need your help?"
"You've come here to see James White, if I'm not mistaken," Carol said, smiling at the look of disbelief on Aidan's face. "Judging by your face, that's surprised you. I can tell you he's not here. He's gone. And if you behave yourself, I'll let you know what I know. But first I need a coffee."
Showing a perfect understanding of his partner's emotional state, Lance intervened cleverly, stopping Aidan from firing another bullet at Carol, and guiding them towards a bar just round the corner. He couldn't see any reason to doubt that Carol had information about James White. He didn't think having a coffee with her would be a waste of time. Besides, it was late and he wasn't going to lift a finger before the morning anyway.
Lance decided to let Aidan cool off. He monopolized the conversation until they got to the bar, limiting the chat to whether Carol had a boyfriend or not. She simply let him know that it was hard to find a man who was worth the effort. Aidan said nothing all the way, like a seven-foot zombie. Lance had no idea what he was thinking about and there was nothing in the world that irked him as much as that. For the most part, Aidan was like an open book to him, but on those rare occasions when he couldn't figure out what he was thinking, it made him really nervous.
They sat at a table in the corner.
"I asked for a beer," Aidan complained when he discovered that a coffee had come instead.
"The waiter made a mistake," Lance explained.
The truth was that Aidan had spent almost a year dipped in alcohol after leaving the hospital. He had been on the verge of losing his job and everything else he had. Those days were a thing of the past, he claimed, and he could have a social drink now without any problem. But when Lance could, he made sure he didn't drink anything stronger than coffee or herbal tea. When he was drunk he was impossible to control. Once it had taken Lance an hour to get him home from half a block away, and dragging a drunken man mountain that far had nearly killed him.
"How's the hunt for news going?" he asked, steering the conversation away from booze. Aidan pushed the coffee away with a look of disgust. Lance didn't know if that was because of the coffee or his question. "I bet men are dying to get interviewed by you. You're the cutest reporter around."
"Don't overdo it, Lance," Carol said, hiding her pleasure at the comment. "One thing's for certain, there's cert
ainly a lot of work around at the moment. Tomorrow I've got to cover for a workmate and interview Dylan Blair."
"No kidding," Lance said, wide-eyed. "I like that bloke."
She sounded surprised.
"You're not serious, are you? I thought you were a good judge of character. How can you like a clown like him?"
"It sounds like you don't understand him. He's got everything and does what he wants. Most of us would do the same if we could."
"Maybe, he's got everything that you say, but why does he have to look the way he does."
"Dylan Blair is a total dickhead," Aidan advised them, before changing the subject. "How did you know we were looking for James White?"
"That wasn't too hard to guess," she said mysteriously. "I've found out that Black and White are identical except for the colour of their eyes and skin too."
"But you're not on about them being twins too, are you?" Lance asked incredulously.
He'd only seen the accident photos of White that had been shown on television. And they lacked detail. As far as he could make out, the only thing the two men had in common was their height.
"How do you know they're identical?" Aidan asked.
"Just coincidence. A year ago I covered the death of a man named Alfred. He was found dead in an alley."
"And what's that got to do with this?"
"Yesterday, I saw the news about James White and I realized that he was exactly like Alfred. I came to the hospital to confirm that, but he'd already left. A workmate who was covering the murder of William Black showed me some photos and bingo! He told me you were working the case. That's why when I saw you at the hospital entrance I concluded you were there to see him.
"Hey! We're both on the case," Lance protested.
"Don't start, Lance," Aidan warned him.
"Very well, I can see you're irritated. I've stepped over the line. I'll leave you two alone. I was getting bored anyway and I've got a pretty wife at home waiting for me."
Lance left a note next to his empty cup and gave Carol a farewell hug. As he left the table he winked at Aidan without Carol seeing him. He left the bar, weaving through the tables.
"Don't pay any attention to Lance," Aidan told her. "He doesn't mean any harm."
"He's still worrying about you, don't you think?" she asked him, looking at him differently now that they were alone. "So why has he left us alone here? Does he think I make good company for you?"
"Lance's judgement isn't too hot. He thinks any female company is good for me."
"And that isn't true?"
Aidan didn't answer. He looked away and kept his thoughts to himself.
"I guess, it's not easy," she went on. "After a first meeting, when you accused me of writing about you without being informed, I did a little investigative work of my own. It had to be very hard to lose your wife the way you did." She stretched her hand across the table and rested it on Aidan's. He continued staring at the floor. "You are still wearing the wedding ring…"
"Why shouldn't I wear it?" he said softly, turning it around his finger.
"You love her a lot, don't you?" She watched him nod. "It must have been difficult to get over?"
"Lots of people lose loved ones. If I'd been stronger I wouldn't have committed so many mistakes since her death. And you wouldn't have had anything to write about."
"Don't be so hard on yourself. You haven't done that much wrong."
"This man Alfred that you were speaking about," he said, changing the subject, "was he short?"
Carol took a while to answer, surprised by the sudden change of direction.
"Yes. He was identical to James White. The eyes and skin too."
"What was his surname?"
"White. The same as James's."
"And the opposite of William Black," Aidan said, running the details through his mind. "Was he decapitated?"
"No, he was cut through the chest. From one side to the other."
"By a sword?"
"No. With something even bigger. It might have been an iron bar or something like that."
Aidan thought it through. It needed a better explanation than he currently had. The physical similarity, the surnames, killed by strange weapons… It was all too unusual to be a product of chance, he was convinced of that. Nevertheless, he needed more information to find out what was happening.
"Was Alfred dressed in a white suit?"
"He might have been," Carol answered, frowning. "I'm not sure. Why ask about the clothes?"
"Black was wearing a black suit when he was murdered."
"The same colour as his surname. Is that what you mean?"
"Yes," he said, thinking she must have concluded he was mad. "And White was wearing a white suit."
"It could be just coincidence?"
"Maybe, but Black's wife said the killer was dressed in white. And he was Black's double, to boot."
"This is crazy," she said. "If you follow that line where's it all going to end?"
"It's pretty obvious that this is, as you say, crazy. Black wears black, has black eyes and dark skin, while White wears white, is blond and blue-eyed. Alfred White conforms to that, according to you. And we have to believe the testimony of Mrs Black. Why would she make it up?"
"You're not suggesting James White killed William Black are you?"
"Anything's possible. But he was here in the hospital. And I don't understand anything about this Alfred that you've mentioned. I've got a hunch, but it's pretty weird."
"Want to share it with me?"
"I said it's just a hunch," he repeated, his voice hollow. "It seems like Black against White. When we find William Black's killer I'll bet on his surname being White."
"Interesting theory. And following that through, Alfred White was killed by someone with the name Black. William, for example. Maybe his murder was revenge."
"It's possible."
"But this thing about the surnames doesn't make any sense. What's it all about – destiny? A group of people with these names killing each other. Or did they all change their surnames?"
"I haven't got the least idea," Aidan said, staring at the floor.
"And how come they all look alike?"
"Can't answer that either."
They remained silent for a while, going over the information in their minds. Aidan drank his cold coffee as an idea penetrated his mind like a sharp prick. He looked at Carol in such a way that she suddenly looked frightened. And for a second he completely forgot with whom he'd been talking. She was a journalist and could publish what he had just said. He'd been so involved in unravelling the mystery that he'd forgotten that. If she published what he was thinking now the investigation would be compromised. Another fight with the press wasn't exactly what he wanted right now.
"You can't publish any of this," he told her.
"Are you talking about my column? I've told you more than you've told me," she said, angrily.
"You only did that to get information from me. Don't you think I know that? This case is very sensitive. Men beheading their doubles. I've already heard other detectives talking about all of this with their wives."
"Look, Aidan. I'm doing my best to understand you, but…"
"You've got your work. But the consequences of what you write is what I'm talking about. I've already seen that."
"You're not starting again, are you? I've already told you that I don't write anything that's false. That goes for this case too. The public's got a right to know."
"And what if that prejudices my investigation? What's more important, entertainment or me catching the killer? Besides if you publish this madness about Black versus White the whole city'll be talking about it."
"I can't avoid that. The other papers are already on to it. It's inevitable."
"Yes, but they don't know about this connection between Alfred and James. They don't know the connection between their surnames. Just leave that out. By the way, why did you tell me this about Alfred?"
"I wanted t
o help you. I know you've been going through a bad time."
"Carol," Aidan said, rapping the table with his index finger.
"It's true. I swear. I need your help as well. I thought we could help each other out. I tell you this and you tell me how the investigation's going. But you've got to believe me."
"OK, I believe you. What do you want to know?"
"The post mortem. Have you got DNA results? You've got a sample of James White's blood if I'm not mistaken."
"Very clever," Aidan said, surprised. "This is what we'll do. I'll give you the results if you don't publish what I've asked you not to. Is that a deal?"
"That sounds fine," she agreed. "Now that we understand one another, we've got to have that appointment tomorrow," Carol advised him, fluttering her eyelashes as Aidan frowned with the shift in the conversation. "Don't look like that. Trust me. Because we haven't been able to talk to James White, how about coming with me tomorrow to talk to James Black?"
"James Black?" Aidan said, stunned.
Carol nodded. She'd left this bombshell for the end of their chat and was enjoying the look of shock on the big detective's face.
"You can be sure I'll be there tomorrow," Aidan assured her.
It was imperative to find out if this James Black was connected to the case. He was already dying to find out if he was James White's double. Was it possible that the names meant something as well?
"That's enough for one day. No time to drink, old man," Carol suggested, imitating Lance's voice. "You've got to take me home. An innocent little girl like me can't walk along these dangerous streets at this hour. Isn't that right?"
"What else can we do?"
"Not very gentlemanly. Lance would have offered to drive me home. You should learn from him."
"He is comfortable at home now and I'm the one that has to drive you home. You're right. I have to learn from him."
"Stop complaining and wait for me here. I'll go to the bathroom first."
Aidan stayed where he was as Carol walked away. When he lost sight of her he turned to notice the bar had filled up since they'd walked in.
* * * * *
The Big Ben mystery Page 6
