by Mark Ayre
For a long time, they looked into each other's eyes.
“I know it’s stupid,” James said. “That we hardly know each other, and it will probably go badly, but I like you. I like you so much, and we both need to get away, so why not give it a try? Why not—“
She put her finger to his lips. For the first time that evening a small smile came to her lips.
“You don’t need to convince me,” she said. “I’m in.”
They both smiled, then leaned in, and kissed. A long, perfect kiss he would have been happy to never see end. But it did, and when she pulled away, hands on his face, there was worry in her eyes again.
“Why don’t we go now?”
“I wish we could,” James said. “But there’s one more thing I have to do first.”
“What’s that?”
“I’m going to find out who killed Harris,” he said. “And I’m going to stop them.”
21
The theory, so well constructed, had crumbled in his hands like an ancient statue under a mighty hammer. It had fit together so sweet, so neat. Now it was in the wind, and he was glad. Ecstatic, even. Megan was innocent. That was what mattered and, if he could find the real culprit, and shirk Mel from his back at the same time, perhaps they could still have that first date.
Leaving her was hard, but necessary. She clung to him, wishing there was another way. Wanting to run, but they couldn’t. He pulled back and kissed her lips, promised he would return, then fled into the night.
Driving into the city, he unpacked what he knew, taking this new evidence and reworking it. Analysing the situation and now, something was appearing. Paint splashed on canvas, shifting of its own volition into a clear pattern. A pattern spelling out a new, potential truth.
Driving too fast into Jane’s road he slammed on the breaks, almost crashing into a small wall bordering a garden a few doors from his destination as his back end spun. Leaving the car parked at a horrible angle, he jumped out texting as he rushed to the Chappell front door, arranging a meeting to follow this one. Banging, hopping from foot to foot as he waited for Jane to greet him. Planning to unravel his theory with her.
“James, what are you doing here?”
It was not Jane, and that threw him for a few seconds, but he regained composure and kept his look sturdy for Nina.
“I need to speak to Jane.”
She rose her eyebrows.
“Business or pleasure?”
“Business.”
“Pity,” Nina says. “Either way, she isn’t here.”
A long, frustrated groan as he staggered from the door, Staring down the street as though he might see Jane approaching, perhaps running, having sensed James came with information. There was no one there, but James needed to talk.
“When will she be back?” he asked, then: “it’s about Harris.”
As he had, Nina looked down the street, shrugging to show she was none the wiser. He turned again, thinking, but before he could draw any conclusions her hand was on his shoulder.
“Come in.”
In her bedroom. James had expected to be led into the living room, but she head straight upstairs, and he didn’t have the confidence to call her back. Here he stood, nervous as she perched on the bed, watching him. Part of him wanted to jump into why he came to see Jane, but he wasn’t sure he should talk to her and, in any case, there was something he needed to say.
“I need to say sorry.”
She gave him a long, piercing look.
“What for?”
“For being an idiot. You had lost your nephew, and I chose that time to end our relationship. It was stupid. Selfish. I know how close you were.”
She stared at her wall. James followed her eye and saw pinned up pictures. All seemed to be of Nina and her family. Most of her and Harris. James approached, examining them in closer detail. Here were Nina and Harris in school uniform, arms around each other. Here they were at a bar, racing to finish their respective beers. Here was Nina dressed in black gown, having graduated university, Birmingham Town Hall in the background. Harris at her side in a suit, Jane nearby. This before she went to prison. Before Harris dropped out of education and into his downward spiral.
“I’d say he was my best friend, but that implies there were others,” she said, tears welling in her eyes. “He’s the only person I ever cared about, and now he’s gone, and I feel lost.”
James took a step towards the bed, then stopped. He didn’t know what to do or say. It wasn’t like being with Megan. It wasn’t easy. He turned back to the pictures.
“You know what the worst thing is?” she said. He shook his head. “He died angry. We were inseparable since the day he was born, but for the last three months, he could barely stand to look at me. Then he died, and we never got to make up. You can’t imagine what that feels like.”
James bowed his head, thinking of Michael. Remembering what she had done. It should have made him angry, but he hadn’t known Michael and couldn’t find the strength for hatred. Not now.
“He didn’t hate you,” James said, a hand sweeping over the photos. “Look how close you were. He could never hate you.”
“Maybe,” she muttered.
He dropped his hand from the photos and glanced at her. She was holding tight to Mr Black, pressing her face into his soft white head. She looked so young. So fragile. James could have held her but stayed where he was. Forcing himself to focus.
“What did you want to tell Jane?” she said.
Stepping towards the bed James looked into her red eyes, trying to assess her state of mind. Not sure she could take what he had to say about her father, but needing to tell someone. To expound. He bit his lip as she looked expectantly to him.
“I think I should wait for your sister.”
Nina shook her head.
“Jane loved Harris,” Nina said. “I know that. She was his mum, but no one loved him like I did. No one was as close to him as I was. She’s not the only one who needs to know what happened.”
Still, he was unsure but knew she was right. Nina cared about Harris like no one else. To the point her jealousy had led to her getting Michael killed. His stomach churned thinking on that, but he made up his mind. He would talk it through with her. See what she thought. It might be hard for her to take, but he wouldn’t know until he gave her the chance.
“I think your father had Harris killed.”
Half expecting hysterics or laughter, he waited but received neither. Instead, she shrugged her shoulders.
“What’s new? Jane said you had him on your list from the start.”
There was no emotion there. Nothing on her face that suggested misery her father might have murdered her nephew—except, a trembling lip. Only slight, but hard to miss once spotted. James coughed, trying to decide whether to proceed, but she had asked for this, and he needed to run it through with someone.
“I suspected him from the start, yes,” James confessed. “But the evidence is more concrete now. Obviously, I can’t be sure, but it’s coming together.”
“Tell me,” she said. No hesitation, though the tremble held and he thought her eyes were beginning to glisten. All of which he tried to ignore.
“Okay, it goes like this: For a long time, the police try to put away Jane and Davis Chappell. Yang has a case built, but the Chappell’s become aware of it. They pay people off, make evidence and witnesses disappear until the case collapses. The police believe the case is dead, but there’s a lucky break on the horizon. Michael.”
He paused, expecting a reaction to the name and getting one. Closed eyes and a shiver throughout her body. James gave Nina a few seconds to compose herself, then proceeded when she looked up.
“Michael informs on Jane, getting her jailed for three years. Michael presumably receives some kind of pay off and, importantly, he gets away with it. Must have been scary though, so he decides he doesn’t want to do it again and, for a couple of years, the police leave him be.
“But t
heir dreams of putting the Chappells away don’t fade, and, when Davis’ actions place someone a Detective Lindelof cares about in danger, he has had enough. He lets his temper get the better of him and confronts Davis. Stupid, and once he gets his emotions under control, he searches for another avenue. Once more he tracks down Michael, and convinces him not only to inform on Davis but to get hold of hard evidence which can be used against him.”
This was important, and he ran it through again before speaking it. He had always assumed Michael was only an informant, and that led to some incorrect assumptions, but Lars had said Nina had not only heard Harris and Michael talking, but had seen Michael hand Harris something. It was this knowledge, added to what Megan had revealed, that started to clear the fog.
“Your nephew wasn’t perfect,” James said, giving Nina a look he hoped was comforting. “But people have been trying to paint him as far worse than he was. They’ve been saying he pressured girls into sex, filmed the encounter, and used it to taunt them.”
“No—“ a hand shot to Nina’s mouth, almost obscuring her words. Her eyes mixed anger and desperation as she shook her head as though trying to detach it. “Harris would never.”
“That’s what Lars said, too, and Megan implied the same. I believe both of them, and I believe you. I don’t think Harris would do that.”
“Then why would they—“ she broke off, shaking her head again, drying her eyes.
James took a step forward, then a step back. Raising her head, Nina saw the indecision in his eyes.
“What?”
Still, he paused, but now she wouldn’t look away.
“What?” she repeated.
“To answer why they would do it I need to talk about what you saw and overheard,” James said, ducking his head, unable to look at her. “What you told Davis.”
For ten seconds or more Nina held a calm, reasoned face, nodding her head slightly as though she understood, it was okay. James waited, counted off the time until, as he expected, the veneer shattered, the tears flooding free.
“I’m sorry,” he said, and she mumbled something in return, but with her head buried in her hands he couldn’t make it out.
This was awkward, uncomfortable. Standing watching a girl cry, shifting from foot to foot with no idea what to do. Duty caught him, and he stepped forward, sitting on the bed beside her and putting an arm around her shoulder. As he did her hands came out and clutched his top as a frightened toddler will clutch the leg of her mummy. Sharp nails dug into his skin, but beyond a small wince of discomfort, he tried to ignore it.
For some time they sat that way. James wanted to push on but didn’t feel he could prod her into speaking when she was so upset. So, he waited until, after several minutes of crying, she began to calm, and lifted her head to face him, ready to talk.
“I told myself I did it for my sister and father,” she said, her voice croaking but understandable. “I stormed out saying Michael had betrayed us and he deserved to pay, but it wasn’t that. I mean, I was angry at Michael for his betrayal, but it was Harris too. He was my best friend in the world, and he cast me aside like I was nothing. I looked at him with Michael, and I was sick with jealousy, but Harris didn’t care so when I told dad what Michael did, that would serve Harris right.”
She clutched tighter, almost tearing his shirt off and looked desperately into his eyes.
“I never wanted anyone to die, you have to know that. I thought I could scare him. Make him see he’d hurt me and think about what he had done. I wanted to punish him, but I didn’t want anyone to die. I’d never want that.”
A few more seconds she held his eye, then buried her face in his T-shirt, wailing once again. Still, he clutched her shoulder, but he was thinking, turning it over in her mind.
“I think,” he said, speaking with slow care, “in future when someone hurts you, you need to think long and hard about how you are going to deal with it.”
Waiting. Staring at the top of her head, patient, unwilling to speak until she looked at him. Eventually, she did.
“Your anger at Michael got him killed,” it was harsh but needed to be said. “Your anger at me—“
She closed her eyes. Again he waited until she found the strength to look at him.
“I told you,” he said. “What I did was wrong. I was a prick for the way I handled the end of our relationship, but your kidnapping trick almost got me killed. Your jealousy over Michael and Harris did get Michael killed. You can’t keep overreacting like that.”
Nodding, agreeing with him.
“I know, I understand. Oh, God, you must hate me.”
“No, I get it,” he said. “You’re not the only one who has felt anger so strong over a betrayal that you’ve overreacted, to the point where—“
He stopped but didn’t need to say it. As she had pointed out on the riverside, she had heard his dreams. If she didn’t know all the details, she could have guessed. Worked out he was saying she was not the only person who had made mistakes leading to death.
“I guess we both need to be better,” she whispered.
“Yeah.”
A long, charged pause. She was looking into his eyes, and as she tilted forward a little, he saw what was happening. A pat on the back diffused the situation, and standing broke it completely. She fell forward as he did but steadied herself. Tried to hide her hurt.
“I didn’t bring this up to hurt you,” he said. “It’s all part of the theory.”
“I get it,” she said. “Go on.”
“I’m guessing you told your father Michael had handed over physical evidence to Harris.”
Head bowed again, an almost imperceptible nod following. James considered waiting until he had her eye back, then ploughed on without.
“Davis wanted that evidence,” James said. “Would do anything to get it. I think he reacted by paying an attractive girl to seduce Tahir, sleep with him, and feed him stories about Harris’ supposed filming of girls.”
Nina gasped, getting it.
“She begged him to get it back,” she said. “He thought he was falling for her so went into Harris’ safe and stole it.”
“Right,” James said. “Plan being that Tahir would hand it to this girl—“ Mel, he thought, though he didn’t say it—“and Davis would have it back. Only it didn’t work like that. Harris called Tahir to warn him the girl was lying. Tahir is unsure, now, who to believe, so what can Davis do? Steal your phone, text Tahir, persuading him to come to the bar that night, then—“
He stopped, considering.
“I still struggle to believe Davis would have his grandson killed. Maybe the plan was to kill Tahir and frame Harris, but it went wrong. Harris heard someone in his office and went to investigate. Got into a fight and got killed, so the plan had to change. Yeah, that works.”
“Hang on—“ Nina was looking at him again with wet-eyed confusion. “My phone?”
He explained to her about the fake mugging, and she fell back onto her bed, groaning.
“Oh, God, oh, God, my phone? My phone? Oh, God.”
James waited for this to pass, and held the story to the light, analysing it, searching for holes.
“What about Harris?” Nina said. “How would dad get him to the bar?”
“Blackmail,” James said, then off Nina’s look, trying to keep his temper in check: “he spiked one of Harris’ co-workers and slept with her, filming it. This was months ago so he wouldn’t have planned to use it for getting Harris, but it came in useful for that. Likelihood is everything he accused Harris of he took from personal experience. Then, when the time came to frame Harris, he used this tape to blackmail the girl into setting up your mugging and getting Harris to the right place at the right time. It’s—“
Stop, right before he could describe it as clever because it wasn’t. Here was a rapist murderer. Here was a disgusting, disgraceful human being who needed to be punished. That was on James’ list of things to achieve.
Nina sat up, staring at the
wall. She had listened to his theory and wasn’t screaming that he was a maniac. She looked defeated, broken.
“It’s all my fault.”
“No—“
“It is. If I don’t tell dad about Michael and Harris having that evidence, he doesn’t die. It’s my fault. It’s my fault. It’s—“
She collapsed into tears and once more, James came to the bed, putting an arm around her shoulder, pulling her close.
“Why didn’t Harris hand over the evidence?” she moaned. “Why would he keep it? What would he be so fucking stupid?”
These considerations had not passed James by.
“The money,” he said, still holding her. “Davis said Harris wouldn’t be able to rob him, and I guess he wasn’t lying. Harris didn’t rob him. Didn’t need to. Instead, he used that tape to blackmail his grandfather. Davis paid while he planned his next move, but it was that, not what you did, that got Harris killed. In the end, he bit off more than he could chew.”
They fell into silence, Nina sobbing into his shoulder as Megan had. James covertly checked his phone. Realised it was time to go.
“I need you to tell Jane,” James said. “I can’t wait around anymore. I’ve got someone else to see.”
“Who?”
“She’s called Detective Yang. I’m going to tell her everything I’ve told you, okay? You tell Jane I’ve done that. It’ll be up to her to decide if she wants to move against her father, or leave it to the police.”
Still, Nina sobbed, she didn’t want him to leave, but he extradited himself from her clasp.
“Please, stay with me a while longer,” she said, face wet and red for tears.
“Sorry,” he said. “I got to go. I’ve got to finish this. It has to end.”
22
“That’s some story.”
Retelling the tale had been more difficult than the first run through, with Yang making a more passive partner than Nina. Though she had also remained calmer, no tears, and he had not been called on to comfort her. All positives.
“Not much concrete evidence, either,” she continued. “Lot of hunches.”
