He put the bottle down and watched Jane hug one of her sons. How long had it been since he'd seen her children? He couldn't remember. They'd visited him practically every day after he'd come out of the coma. And later they'd helped him with his rehabilitation when everyone else thought he'd never walk again. They had always been at his side, urging him on, pushing him to do a little more, and never letting him down. He would probably still be in a wheelchair if it hadn't been for them.
Going over all that again, he threw the whisky bottle through the car window, as hard as he could, and got out and kicked the broken bottle into the gutter as he walked towards Jane's house. He had no idea how he was going to excuse his non-attendance at the cemetery, but at least he had to try.
Deep in thought, he didn't notice the figure coming towards him, but the voice snapped him out of his own world.
"DI Aidan Zack?"
He'd just made one of his biggest decisions in the last few years and didn't need someone talking about work. "Who are you?"
"My boss wants to see you," the stranger said, coldly. "He's a very–"
"I couldn't care less who he is," Aidan said, shifting his weight towards the man and slamming a left into his stomach. Before the stranger had time to recover Aidan had him in an armlock. "Very well, clown," he hissed into the stranger's ear, "I want to know who you are. I don't feel very patient tonight."
"My name isn't important," the man said, showing no trace of fear. "It's my boss who–"
"You're right, you idiot. I don't want your first name, I just want your surname."
For a second, Aidan thought he was imagining what was going on. He wasn't at the station or at home. So the man must have been following him. But what unnerved him more than that was that the stranger showed no emotion. No fear. He was in the grip of a large and angry man and he was talking as if nothing had happened. That was strange, really strange. And there were too many things happening without an explanation. It was no good time to take risks.
"My name isn't Black or White, if that's what you want to know."
The answer took Aidan by surprise and underlined the fact that the man didn't have black or blond hair. It was red. What did that mean? There was a new group called Red? But there was no red suit. He was wearing jeans and a jacket.
Aidan heard a sound behind his back. A footstep. He spun round and sent a left crashing into another stranger's face. But two more stepped out of the shadows either side of him. He punched one and kicked the other until someone hit him from behind and he fell to the ground.
# # #
"I want to know what the point of paying you so much money is," Dylan Blair asked, holding an ice pack to his swollen right eye. "His name's Aidan Zack, he's a policeman, and he's seven foot tall. I guess that's enough to start with."
"Of… of course," Dylan's lawyer stuttered, surprised by this new demand to sue someone. "But what do you want me to do?"
"I want you to sue him," the millionaire explained, leaning back in his comfortable armchair, putting his feet up on the table. "Search through his past and see if you can come up with some dirt we can use."
"There are cheaper options," the lawyer suggested. "And more discreet. We could send a few boys around to see him and break his legs."
"No. That's not my style. I don't hide behind anonymous bullies. He has to know it's me. I like public disputes. I like using my money to my advantage. Investigate his past. You'll turn something up. Then, I'll put my personal touch on it. I want no physical stuff. Humiliation serves my purpose better."
The lawyer stood up, thinking it through. He charged Dylan a small fortune for his services but he knew that didn't bother the millionaire. All Dylan Blair wanted was that he was available twenty-four hours a day, at his beck and call. That was why he'd had to leave home in the middle of dinner to meet Dylan in his office. He knew his boss well and had followed his good judgement, using his lucrative salary to buy a house only three streets from where Dylan lived. The most important part of his job was to be on time.
The lawyer listened to the story carefully. He didn't have the least idea who the officer was who'd given Dylan the black eye. But he knew that whoever the poor bastard was, he'd made a big mistake. He felt sorry for this Aidan before the whole thing had even started.
"I'll get on to it straight away."
"Good. I've got a game of poker tomorrow and before that, I want to know how I'll handle it," the millionaire said, dismissing the lawyer with a wave of his hand.
The lawyer went to the door but moved aside as two strange individuals entered the room. One was a boy around ten years old, with a smooth, delicate complexion and violet eyes that shone with an incredible force. A great fire seemed to burn under his dark olive skin.
His companion was taller but bent over with age, using a black walking stick. He was very old, with deep wrinkles, but despite that it was difficult to judge his age. His long, grey hair was tied in a ponytail that hung halfway down his back, and his eyes were the same strange violet colour as the child's, but sparkled differently with a look that suggested that they had seen everything imaginable.
There was nothing normal about this pair. It was doubtful that two like beings existed anywhere else on the face of the earth. And apart from the eyes, they were nothing alike. What had brought them here together?
"The key is to take it calmly. After you, Tedd," the child said, holding the door open.
"Very kind of you, Todd," the old man thanked him, edging his way in with the aid of the stick.
The lawyer was so astonished by their appearance that he couldn't say anything. He shot a nervous glance at Dylan but the millionaire just nodded, as if everything was in order, and indicated that the lawyer should leave. His curiosity demanded that he stay, but he couldn't do that. He left the office and closed the door.
"We can spend a pleasant moment in this place, Tedd," Todd said, pulling a chair out for the old man to sit on. "There, you should be comfortable on that."
"I don't know what I'd do without you, Todd," Tedd thanked him, sitting down, resting the walking stick on his legs, looking around.
"What are you two doing here?" Dylan asked. "I believe you're a bit early, aren't you? Like thirty-six years, more or less."
"To see two old friends in his office should be a pleasure for him, one should think. I get the impression, however, that that's not the case, Tedd," Todd said. "Do you think he'll have a chat with us?"
"I imagine he will, Todd," Tedd replied calmly. "Even though our visit is unexpected, I doubt that he'll refuse to talk to us."
The old man smiled and leaned back in the chair while Todd studied the objects in the wall cabinets.
"I'll speak with you," Dylan said, visibly annoyed, "but this is indeed a surprise and I've got other things to attend to."
"The colour of the walls reveals good taste, Tedd," Todd observed. The boy was trying to reach the highest shelf, stretching his arm to the maximum, but couldn't achieve it. "Do you think he would offer us a drink if we asked him to?"
"Sure, Todd," Tedd said. "Our host is very attentive."
Dylan Blair cursed in a low voice. He threw the bag with ice in the wastepaper basket and went to the bar. He took out three glasses and a bottle of the best whisky that could be found in London, according to that crawler of his lawyer. He was starting to feel worried and a good drink might help.
"Would you tell me what is the reason of your visit?" Dylan asked, filling his glass to the brim. "If I remember right, this is one of your favourites."
"One of my favourites, no doubt. Try it, Tedd," Todd insisted, handing a glass to the old man. The boy had poured the prudent amount of two fingers and had tried his own. Dylan had already seen the boy drinking so he wasn't surprised. "An excellent drink deserves our gratitude."
"I agree with you, Todd," Tedd replied after moistening his wrinkled lips with whisky. "Such a drink deserves our gratitude."
"You are welcome," Dylan said, finishing his drin
k and filling his glass again. "Would the gentlemen like something else before getting to the point?" he asked with a hint of sarcasm.
"Please tell me if I'm wrong, Tedd," Todd said, frowning, "but I have the feeling that you wouldn't like it if Dylan spoke to us with sarcasm."
"That's true. I wouldn't like it," Tedd confirmed. "You know me too well, Todd."
"I am sorry," Dylan complained. "It wasn't my intention to offend you and you know it, but I would really like to know what the purpose of your visit is."
"That's much better. Don't you think so, Tedd?" Todd asked very excited. "If you think it correct, I suggest we reveal the purpose of our visit."
"I don't see why not, Todd." Tedd cleared his throat and turned his walking stick around with his right hand. "I think you are the person who has to explain to our friend that we do not like his latest project."
"I think you are much cleverer with words than I am, Tedd," Todd said, looking at the old man who continued playing with the walking stick. "I think you'd better tell him we don't approve what he's planning to do with Aidan Zack."
"So it's all about that," Dylan said, more to himself that to his guests. He left the glass on the table and passed by Todd, who kept on looking at the old man and didn't make the slightest movement. As if he simply hadn't seen him. "But I don't understand it. Why do you care about what I do with Aidan?"
"You might be right, Todd," Tedd agreed stroking his grey beard and raising his violet eyes to his companion. "But what if he questions our motives when I tell them to him?"
"You must be joking, Tedd," Todd smiled. "Nobody would be so stupid as to demand explanations from you."
Dylan Blair looked nervous. "Excuse me for my impertinence. It won't happen again. You have your reasons for being here. I admit we have a deal. I can do what I want until that date. You asked me not to allow Aidan to catch Kodey and I did that. Now, I'm only looking for a little revenge, that's all. That's not in conflict with our agreement. If I'm not mistaken," he added, just in case there was a misunderstanding.
"The point's clear. And I know our kind host wouldn't like to hide behind the terms of our pact," Tedd said. "But the possibility exists that he has erroneously interpreted what doing what he likes really means. Am I wrong, Todd?"
"Interesting thought, Tedd," Todd said. "Nevertheless, only a fool would jump to the conclusion that he's free to do whatever he wants. That would put us in the position of having to remind him of the exact extent of our agreement."
"I can't believe this," Dylan complained. "Are you telling me that I can't get square with this son of a bitch? Fuck that. I can tell you, I don't like that at all. And on top of everything you're not telling me why."
"I've got the strange feeling, Todd," Tedd said, "that I can't leave until he understands properly."
"I can see you're referring to a confirmation," Todd observed. "What could we do to get one?"
"I understand you perfectly," Dylan said nervously. "I'll forget about Aidan. As far as I'm concerned, from this moment on, he doesn't exist. Is that confirmation enough?"
"I think we've completed our mission, Tedd," Todd said. "I've always trusted in your ability to get your point across."
"That's thanks to you, Todd," Tedd said. "I would like our friend here to know, however, that I feel bad about having interfered with his entertainment."
"Don't worry, Tedd," Todd replied. "He knows perfectly well that we feel aggrieved about spoiling his fun, however subtle our way of doing that has been. Our greatest wish is that he enjoys himself until our appointment many years from now."
"Thanks for that," Dylan said, beginning to doubt everything. Now, at last, they had clarified that it came down to something more exact. For some reason they wanted Aidan left alone, but everything else just went on as before. "I'm pleased that you're in favour of me enjoying myself."
"It's time to go, Todd," Tedd announced. The old man put all his weight on the walking stick and lifted himself up with Todd at his side helping him. "Thank you very much. You're the perfect companion. Will you bid farewell to our kind host?"
"Of course. What sort of a person do you think I am, Tedd?" Todd said, letting the old man spread his weight between the walking stick and his arm.
"It's been a pleasure," Dylan said. "We'll see each other."
The child and the old man walked out of the door. Dylan watched them go and slumped back in the armchair. He poured himself another drink while he considered the fact that neither of the strange pair had looked at him once, nor talked directly to him.
# # #
Aidan Zack woke with a splitting headache and half-opened his eyes, staring at a room full of strange and different shapes. His eyes weren't working as they should. He went to rub them but found his hands were tied behind his back.
It all started coming back slowly until he remembered the fight near Jane's house. Cold fury began welling up inside and he swore to himself that he would kill these bastards if they'd laid a finger on Jane or her children.
But first he had to find out where he was and how to escape. He couldn't hear anything and presumed he was alone. He started looking round again and even though he could put no detail into what he saw he knew he was in a very large room with a high ceiling. He tried to move but realized he was still weak and dizzy. He had no idea how long had passed since the blow on the head. But then he heard something coming from the other side of a door. Footsteps and what sounded like wheels, creaking. He closed his eyes and pretended he was still unconscious as the door opened.
"Put me near the wall," an old voice requested.
Aidan calculated there must be at least three people, one of them in a wheelchair.
"Wake him up," the same voice ordered. "I want to talk with him."
Footsteps approached.
"I'm awake," Aidan said, opening his eyes at the very moment a huge man was about to slap him.
"Untie him," the old man said.
Aidan observed that he wasn't in a wheelchair but a bed with wheels. The back was inclined and a bag of saline solution was hanging from an iron support. It dripped through a tube that entered the old man's left hand.
The individual who had been about to bring him round cut the ropes around his wrists, then threw them away and left the room with his companion. Aidan was alone with the mysterious old man.
He stood up and stretched his legs, while the old man studied him in silence. Aidan had no idea who he was, but he remembered being brought here by force. Thinking that made him exercise his arms and legs more. He'd need to be in good condition to escape from here.
He walked around a room that had to be close to sixty square yards while a plan slowly hatched in his head. Two glass doors led to a garden, but they were barred. He did another circuit of the room and studied the only other door. He could make it in two strides and the old weirdo wouldn't be able to raise a finger to stop him. He knew, however, that the two heavies were on the other side, along with how many more he didn't know.
He stopped in front of an enormous painting hanging on one of the walls, rubbing his wrists.
"It's a Picasso," the old man advised him. "It cost me a fortune."
"I hope you enjoy it," Aidan said, sarcastically.
"I can see you're not a lover of art."
"On the contrary," Aidan replied, "this painting has stirred my interest. How many millions would you lose if I walked off with it now?"
"A lot. Do it if it will make you feel any better. I guess that's only fair after the way you were brought here. Besides, you'd be in a better mood to understand what we have to talk about."
Aidan turned towards the old man.
"Are you joking? How would it make me feel any better to destroy a painting like this just to ruffle the feathers of the filthy rich, when there's so much poverty out there?"
"Because it would clear up an important point," the old man advised him. "That money is less important than this conversation. And you and I have to speak about things
that are much more transcendental."
"The first of which would have to be why I was dragged here in the first place?" Aidan said, approaching the bed. "I'm dangerously close to you, old man, and I don't know if I can stop myself ripping this saline solution off and sticking it in your mouth before you can scream for help."
"We'll clear things up right now," the old man promised. "However, it's complicated. I would like to apologize first. I would have preferred to have had this chat under different circumstances. But time didn't permit that. I'd like to introduce myself. My name's Wilfred Gord, and I'm a rich man…"
"…Dying from cancer," Aidan finished the sentence.
The detective knew something about Gord. He'd read about his business empire, a self-made millionaire, a normal person who'd made good. There were no scandals in his past and he had been unaccustomed to being interviewed by the media. His illness had been reported, however, when it became known a few months before. If Aidan had it right, Wilfred was now in the terminal stage of the illness. What could he possibly want with him under the circumstances?
"Exactly," Wilfred confirmed. "I'm pleased that you know me. Therefore, there's no need to finish my personal introduction. I've had you brought here because I need your help."
"Has the cancer affected your brain?" Aidan asked, his curiosity aroused. "You kidnap me, and now you ask for my help? It doesn't stack up, grandad. You must have rocks in your brain to want to be alone with me. Very well then, what do you want?"
"I hope you can help free me of this cancer. It'll finish me if I don't do something quick. What else could I possibly want in this situation?"
"Naturally. What was I thinking? Don't worry. I'm here to save you. I'll just go and wash my hands and then I'll be straight back and put the touch of the Medicine Man on your shoulders."
The Big Ben mystery Page 12
