by Mark Ayre
Another patent Lindelof snort greeted this, as James answered.
“Right, James. Get up. We’re leaving.”
She was so domineering and authoritarian, James found himself unable to resist the order, standing and making his way for the door with an apologetic look for Yang, who stood and held a hand out, stopping him.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Ritchie asked, stepping forward. Yang worked quick, withdrawing a card and pressing it into James’ hand.
“Remember what I said. If you want to talk, give me a call. I promise a fair ear.”
“You can promise a hundred grand and a blow job, it won’t make any difference. My client is not talking to you. Now, please, get out of the way.”
Yang said nothing but did step away, allowing James out of the room and out of their reach. For the time being.
“They’ll probably try again,” Ritchie said as they strode down the hall. “If they do, you’re to call me immediately. Immediately. Understood?”
James didn’t like this woman’s attitude but feared her as a kid fears monsters or the dentist, so nodded when she looked back.
“Good. You will wait until I arrive, all the while singing ‘no comment’. You can say it once and shut up, or you can say it on repeat. What you will not do is say anything else, even if you don’t think it will be compromising. That is for me to decide. Do you understand?”
James resented this question and held his tongue. She stopped by the door, facing him. She was taller than he had first realised and used her considerable height to hover over him, like some dangerous UFO. He felt his resistance crumble under her stare.
“I understand.”
“I should hope so,” she said. “Because as you are no doubt aware, I do not work for you, I work for Miss Chappell. As long as it is in her best interests to protect you, you have access to me. That makes you a very lucky boy. However, should you decide to start harming Jane by not listening, or saying silly things to the police, you become a liability and will be handled accordingly. Understand?”
“Understand,” James repeated. He was seething, but what could he do? He did not want to disappear.
Ritchie watched him a while longer, looking for lies in his eyes, then pointed to the nearest door.
“Come on, car’s this way.”
“I can find my own way home,” James said.
“Incompetent as you seem, I am entirely sure that is true. It’s also irrelevant, as you will not be going home.”
The fear must have shown in James’ eyes because Ritchie’s smile widened.
“That’s right, our respective employer wants to see you, and I don’t think she’s thrilled. Come on, I’ll give you a lift.”
Outside Jane’s, Ritchie pulled up and gestured for James to leave without saying a word. He thought it polite to thank her but was not sure she had done anything to his benefit. Besides, he did not like her, so departed without a word, and stood on the curb until she drove away.
For a fleeting moment, he considered disappearing. Finding Megan and heading elsewhere, but he wouldn’t have the balls even if he had the chance, which he didn’t. Ritchie drove off, and the door swung open, revealing a stoic Jane.
“You coming in or what?”
Knowing the question was not meant as such, James nodded and followed her inside.
“You drink whiskey?”
They were in the living room, where Jane had asked James to collect Harris. How long ago was that? Not even two days, but it felt like a lifetime. He let the memory trip him a moment, then forced himself back to the present to address the question.
“Not really.”
Jane returned with two glasses of whiskey and placed them on the table. She sat on the sofa and stared at him. No gesture, no asking him to take a seat. She didn’t need to. It was explicit in the look she gave and, after a few seconds of resistance, he did as the eyes bid.
“You must be shaken up,” Jane said, collecting a whiskey from the table and handing it to him. “Two dead bodies in less than 48 hours. Drink your drink.”
Again, although the tone was friendly, the eyes were so insistent he began to wonder if she might have slipped truth serum in his glass. He decided he didn’t much care and took a sip which burned his throat and drew a pained face. The second was only mildly better, so he went for a gulp which was much worse. Jane took her own drink, swirled the glass as though mixing it.
Still, she didn’t speak. James knew why. More tactics to make him afraid. That suited her purposes but not his. He needed to be brave.
“You’re angry with me.”
“Am I?” Jane asked, a throwaway comment that might have been followed by idle whistling. “Why would I be angry with you?”
James didn’t answer but gave a look that said ‘come on. We both know.’ She saw this and smiled the forced smile of a grieving mother.
“I want to find Harris’ killer,” James said.
“I believe you,” Jane said. “I’m just not sure you want me to find Harris’ killer.”
James had some more whiskey. It was almost all gone. Probably not good if he wanted to practise rational thinking and debate.
“I didn’t want to give you half the information,” he admitted. “I know you want to punish Harris’ killer, and I understand. But what if I gave you information that made it look as though someone was guilty, and they weren’t? What if you acted and I was wrong? That’s what I want to avoid.”
“You think I would kill someone without being sure?”
“I think you might question them.”
“Ah,” more swirling. James was not sure Jane had drunk anything. “And by questioning, you don’t mean the kind of questioning the police practice.”
“I mean the kind of questioning Michael Fisher was subjected to.”
Jane nodded, trying her best to be understanding. She lowered her drink, still untouched. James’ was done.
“My father always said there is nothing more debilitating than a bleeding heart.” She pondered this as though she had heard it for the first time while speaking. “I never liked that, but it does make sense. If we were not hampered by morality and the capacity to love life would be far simpler. I, for example, would have no qualms torturing everyone who came into my grasp until I learned who killed my son. Then again, if I had no heart, I would have no desire to learn what happened to him anyway. No need to seek revenge for my poor boy whom I loved so much. All of which is to say I do understand your reticence.”
She raised her drink, downing it in one before standing.
“I understand your reticence, but it stops. Now.”
She took their glasses and went to the drinks cabinet, filling them. While she was gone, he composed himself. It was story time, and he had to nail the delivery.
“Okay,” Jane said, lowering the drinks and sitting. “You are going to tell me everything, holding nothing back. You may not like it, but I am giving you no choice. This is my son and my decision. I am giving you a chance to be honest, but if you lie, and I find out, there will be no reprieve. Do you understand?”
James stared at Jane, took another swig of booze.
“I don’t need threats. I’ll tell you what I know.”
Maybe he had had too much. Still, Jane smiled, nodded without any sign of anger, and swept her hand out, suggesting the floor was his.
There had not been enough time to work on it—to rehearse—but it should be simple enough. Keep as close to the truth as possible, dropping only the bits that involved Megan.
“You may not like some of it,” he suggested. She did not answer, so he dived in.
He started at the beginning, building it as he had after speaking to Emily, adding in what he now knew. Still he believed Davis was behind the kidnapping, believing James guilty, and it was his man waiting outside Harris’ flat on Friday night. He could also confirm Tahir had been at the bar the night Harris had died but suggested he had either been with someone else or had heard
someone, as he had suggested. As it came to tell Jane about Harris’ extra-curricular activities, he hesitated, afraid, but she pressed him and kept a straight face as he imparted the bad news. He revealed he believed one of Harris’ victims had come for him, seeking revenge over the sex videos he had made of them, and the only way to learn who this was was by finding the tapes Tahir had taken. He also raised the sticking points of Harris’ open door and, now, the mugging which had seen Nina’s phone stolen. This had to be a setup. Someone looking to frame Tahir, perhaps? Interesting but unsubstantiated, and a risky way of getting him there. How had they arranged the mugging? How did they know it would work?
What's more—
At this point, questions tumbled over questions as his narrative unravelled faster than a jumper with a hundred loose threads. With no concrete end to his theorising, James collapsed into silence, as if the weight of the unanswered questions had crushed his windpipe.
“Fascinating,” Jane said, when he finished, then lapsed into silence as she processed all he had told her. He had sought anger on her face when he had relayed the accusations against Harris, but she had remained calm the entire time and was now. Somehow, that was more unsettling. Either way, this was over for him. He needed to decide what to do about Megan.
Maybe it was time to run.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t help you,” he said. “Hopefully there is something that can bring you closer to finding your son’s killer. I do want him found.”
James rose, and Jane flashed him eyes sharp as a blade.
“What are you doing?”
He was halfway between sitting and standing, his legs aching already. He continued to a full stand.
“I’ve told you everything.”
“Perhaps,” Jane said, “but I do not see why that means you are leaving. Have you found my son’s murderer?”
“No, but—”
“But nothing. My father always says there is nothing so important as a commitment, whether to ourselves or to others. I was a chubby child, but as I grew into my teenage years, I committed to losing the weight. At times I wanted to give up, but my father’s edict prevented me. Now, I have a wonderful body, you have probably noticed.”
James tried not to look.
“In a similar, yet more serious vein, you have committed to finding my son’s killer. Now you want to pull out? Well, that won’t do at all. So no, you may not leave.”
“But I can’t help. You don’t trust me.” He could feel his voice rising and tried to pull his temper under control. He wanted this to be over.
“I do not trust you, no,” Jane said. “You have given me no reason to do so. However, I believe you have your uses. You have a way of getting people to open up I could not mimic. You found out about Tahir, and I have no reason to believe any of my people could have done that. That is of value to me.”
“And you’ll take it over trust?”
“I haven’t trusted you, but I will going forward.”
“Yeah?”
“Yes, not because I believe in your honesty, but because I plan to incentivise you. Would you like another drink?”
James stared at his glass, realised he had finished it. He shook his head, and Jane shrugged.
“Tell me about Megan Nokes.”
The sudden question was like a punch to the gut. He felt the air rush from him, and tried not to show it, but it was like attempting to keep water from leaving a turned on tap.
“What do you mean?”
“Oh, don’t do that,” Jane said, waving it away. “You know exactly what I mean. I have reports saying you looked close ahead of your shift at my bar yesterday. The same reporters tell me Megan and Harris were close. I find that suspicious, as I’m sure you can understand.”
“If you are implying,” James said through gritted teeth, “that Megan and I conspired to kill Harris, maybe I am not the best person to look for the killer.”
“Perhaps not,” Jane said. “That is why I’m giving you a decision. You can take responsibility for this investigation and find Harris’ killer, or you can leave it to me, and my more invasive interrogation tactics. You were keen to avoid me using them on Tahir. Are you suggesting you would be happy for them to be used on Megan? Because I’d visit her first.”
“You don’t believe I did it,” James said. “If you did, you wouldn’t let me run off investigating.”
“An astute but pointless observation. I don’t believe you are involved. That doesn’t mean Megan can’t be. You said yourself the prime suspect is a girl who slept with him. Now tell me, are you going to continue with this investigation, or are you going to pull out, and defer to me? Choose now.”
James dipped his head. Tried not to think about Jane questioning Megan but it was unstoppable. He saw her face twisted in pain, tears on her cheeks, begging it to stop—
“I’ll find the killer,” he said, almost a whisper.
Jane kept her eyes on him a while longer, giving him a chance to retract. How he hated her for that. When she saw she had broken him, she took his empty glass.
“That’s great news. How about that drink?”
James wanted to say no out of principle but nodded. He needed it. Anything to help wash away the thought of Megan under Jane’s interrogation.
“Now for my bit,” said Jane, as she stepped back towards the sofa. “First off, these names you found in Harris’ desk. I’ve been looking into them since your update this morning.”
She leaned over the side of the sofa and grabbed a tablet. Unlocking, she flicked to a document.
“I thought this Ollie name sounded familiar. Turns out he went to school and university with my Harris. Used to come round but I’ve not seen him in years. I have his mother’s address to add to your phone number—I’ll text it you. Our last records suggest this is where he lives, but even if he doesn’t, I’d speak to his mother, see what you can learn.”
A flick of the finger and the first document disappeared, replaced by another. This she spent a minute or so reading before reporting to James.
“This one’s a little more interesting. Professor Andros Stevens was one of my son’s lecturers at Birmingham University. Not so interesting in and of itself but listen to this — Professor Andros was reported to the University for sleeping with students on uni grounds and was subsequently sacked. You’ll never guess when that happened.”
“While your son was there, I’d imagine.”
“First year. Yes. Any idea how that links?”
James considered it, but not for long.
“None.”
“No, I didn’t think so. We’re waiting on his address, but I’d advise you give him a call, see what he has to say for himself. Could be a coincidence of course but…“
She trailed off, no need to say anymore. The tablet went off, and she switched to her phone, searching it for a moment then turning to James.
“Finally, I have this. A video. It was sent me earlier today. I don’t know by who, and I don’t know if it will be relevant. If nothing else, it might serve as a lesson about blind trust.”
She handed the phone over. The screen was black bar a big play button in the centre. James looked from this to Jane. He didn’t want to press it, but she was not offering a choice.
He pressed play. The screen lit up. His heart exploded.
“I know it must be quite a shock,” said Jane. “Perhaps I should have warned you ahead of time.”
But she hadn’t. James tried not to crush the phone as he saw, first, Megan, naked and flat on her back on a large bed. It was dark so he couldn’t make out much, but it was her. Next, he went to the shape on top of her, the moving flesh. Realised Harris must have been filming people at his home, as well as his office. He remembered how he had sat on her bed and was ready to cry when the shape shifted, and he looked at the thrusting man again. The sagging form, the twisted, ugly face.
It wasn’t Harris.
Jane didn’t smile as he handed back the phone.
; “You think that was tough for you? Imagine how I felt switching on and seeing my own father going at it. Nasty stuff.”
Davis. The name reverberated around James’ skull. The anger built and built and still, it could not compete with the boulder of misery crushing his insides.
He was still looking at his hands when Jane tapped him on the knee, her face a mask of false sympathy.
“Come on, finish your drink. You’ve got work to do.”
16
Staggering into the street, he stared into nothingness, only moving at the thought of Jane watching from the window.
Against his leg, the buzzing of his phone. Sure it would be Megan he grabbed it but, no. Owen. The fifth missed call, now accompanying a couple of unread texts in his phone. He was worried, which was sweet, but James couldn’t face his new friend. He cancelled the call, removed the notifications and located a cab number, asking to be picked up ten minutes from Jane’s home.
Half an hour later, he was outside Megan’s. His car was at the fair. It might get towed, but he didn’t care. He stared at the door he had knocked on the previous day and felt his body tremble. The video played on and on in his head. Getting worse with every rotation. The lighting had been awful, hadn’t it? As it replayed, that was not so. Everything rendered in crystal clear detail. The way Davis’ body thrust into Megan’s, the way her’s rose in desperate need to meet it. The leering grin on the old man’s face, the lust and desire painted across the young woman’s. There was ecstasy, bliss, and every second it ripped James’ heart into a few more pieces.
Unable to confront her, he turned, ready to disappear.
The door opened.
“James?”
There she was. Achingly beautiful. Painfully wonderful. She wore jeans and a baggy jumper, every inch of her skin below the neck covered but he could see it all, and it made him sick. He stood and stared and could think of nothing to say as the concern mounted on her face.
“I have to go.”
Turning, as she stepped onto the lawn and took a few steps towards him.
“Wait.”
