The Minders

by John Marrs

  It must be something to do with biochemistry that Bianca and Adrian want from him, Emilia thought. Despite her having asked them again, they had refused to elaborate on who they represented or their end goal. Are they spies? Or perhaps Ted is one? Is that such an unlikely possibility? Do Bianca and Adrian want to meet him on neutral territory to attempt to turn him? Once again, she questioned what she was getting herself involved with by luring him to the lighthouse, before reminding herself that she owed him no loyalty. He’d lied to her. She had no choice.

  “Am I going to see you at all today?” she asked. “How long will you be in meetings for?”

  “Probably late into the evening.”

  “How about we meet for dinner?”

  “I doubt I’ll have the time.”

  “Surely you’re allowed a break, even if it’s so that we can get some fresh air. Come on, it’ll be good for you; it’ll clear your head.”

  “I’ll try,” he replied, but his answer was noncommittal.

  “It’s just that it looks like such a beautiful city from here,” she continued. “It feels like it might be the start of . . . I don’t know . . . something new.”

  “What do you mean?” he asked, his eyes finally meeting hers.

  She smiled coyly. It was the first time she had indicated any interest in him in that way. “Let’s see where the night takes us, shall we?” She looked to the dashboard and noted they were two minutes from their destination of the Fairmont Grand Hotel Geneva. “Pull over here,” she said. “Let’s walk the rest of the way.”

  Visibly buoyed by his wife’s turnaround, Ted obliged. And flanked by his team, Emilia entwined her arm with his, continuing the charade that something was altering inside her. The touch of his skin against hers sent an unforeseen warmth cascading throughout her veins. It felt . . . familiar.

  She took her mind off it by staring at the view ahead. The bay was framed by buildings no more than six storeys high. To their left was the vast expanse of the silvery green Lake Geneva itself, and in the distance, the snow-capped Alps. Under different circumstances, there might be something romantic about it.

  Emilia located the Paquis Lighthouse at the end of a concrete runway. It was unstaffed and resembled a scaled-down replica of a real beacon. But if all went according to plan, it was where she would lead Ted tonight and where Bianca and Adrian would assist her in learning the truth about who she was and what he’d been hiding.

  After their arrival and check-in at the hotel, Emilia didn’t see her husband for the rest of the day, so she passed the time window shopping around the old town. And when that failed to take her mind off events to come, she returned to the hotel, where she stared from the window in the direction of the lake, the uncertainty of the night ahead playing louder than the television behind her.

  CHAPTER 37

  FLICK, ALDEBURGH, SUFFOLK

  Somebody has mail,” said Grace in a singsong voice. She dropped an ivory-coloured envelope into Flick’s lap.

  “Who, me?” she asked, and leaned forward in her chair on the B&B’s balcony.

  “No, Queen Catherine. Who do you think?”

  Flick hesitated before opening it, immediately wary. “It’s been hand-delivered,” Grace added, returning with a rack of toast and two mugs of tea.

  Flick’s name was handwritten across the front in gold lettering. She cautiously tore open the seal. Inside was a postcard; on one side was a photograph of the incomplete portrait of Elijah’s uncle. On the other, it read:

  Come to the house on Wednesday and give me a hand. Wear something old. X.

  An address was included below the signature. A spark fired inside her.

  “Is that from who I think it’s from?” asked Grace. Flick handed her the invitation and Grace cocked her head as she read it. She placed a hand over her heart. “I have such high hopes for you two.”

  “You know I’m not looking for a relationship.”

  “But you’re both so right for one another! I know something shitty happened with your ex, but Elijah could be your Prince Charming.”

  Flick rolled her eyes. “My life isn’t a bloody Disney movie,” she said, but Grace wasn’t listening.

  “Ooh, perhaps he might be your DNA Match! You just need to get his saliva by asking him to lick something . . .” She finished the sentence with a cheeky wink.

  But the mention of DNA gave Flick the chills. “No, he’s not,” she said firmly.

  “Don’t you believe in it?”

  “I know who my Match is and he wasn’t who I hoped he’d be.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I assumed once you found them, that was it? You were set for life.”

  “Not always.”

  Grace’s stare remained locked onto Flick, as if expecting more of an explanation. But for Flick, the conversation was over. She’d already revealed more than she had intended.

  CHAPTER 38

  EMILIA

  Emilia glanced at her watch: she was ten minutes ahead of schedule. Soon, she thought, soon I’ll know who I am. But her excitement was tapered by a growing unease.

  It was a warm, balmy evening as she left the hotel’s entrance, crossed the road, and made her way towards the chalky-white lighthouse. To one side were small moored boats, masts hoisted but sails down, and their hulls covered with brightly coloured tarpaulins. To the other side, a bevy of swans were feeding together, all but one of them paired. She stared at the solitary one, a kinship forming.

  Emilia had already sent Ted a text message and a map to confirm the time and location of where they could meet during his break from meetings. He responded with a simple “Yes.”

  Live dangerously and give your security team the slip.

  I don’t think I can.

  Do it for me. Let’s be a normal couple for a few minutes. You won’t be disappointed.

  Okay. I love you. ♥

  Even now, you’re still playing a part, she thought. And for a moment, she allowed herself to imagine he was genuine.

  Alone on the jetty, Emilia made her way to one of five green benches and took a seat. She focused her attention on the Jet d’Eau, a gush of water bursting from the lake’s surface 140 metres high into the air. A gentle breeze caused the spray to slant slightly and spread a cool, fine mist against her flushed forehead and cheeks.

  It wasn’t long before she heard the sound of soft-soled footwear on concrete and Ted took a seat beside her. She was almost sick with nerves as he kissed her on both cheeks.

  “I’m sorry I’m late,” he began. “I haven’t got long. I’ve really missed you.”

  Had she not known any better, she might have been taken in by his sincerity.

  “Where’s your security?”

  “I gave them the slip,” he replied with a wink. “I told them I was going back to the suite to take a shower, then slipped away through the fire exit. You’re a bad influence.”

  “Who am I, Ted?” she asked suddenly. “Because I know you’ve been lying to me.”

  He paled. “Where is this coming from? Has something happened? Are you feeling all right?”

  Emilia spotted a female figure from the corner of her eye. It wasn’t Bianca, but a young mum walking hand in hand with a toddler. Where is she? she thought. The plan had been for Emilia to lure Ted there alone before Bianca and Adrian appeared and questioned him. Regardless, she pressed on.

  “I know that I don’t have amnesia. And I know that you’re not who you say you are.”

  “I’ve told you everything I know,” he replied, perplexed.

  “Have you, Ted? Really?”

  “Yes, of course I have!”

  “Why did you lie to me about us being married?”

  Ted hesitated just a moment too long for Emilia to believe any rebuttal.

  As he opened his mouth, a glint of light caught her attention. She turned to see a l
ong metallic instrument slicing through the air before it plunged deep into Ted’s skull.

  He slumped to his side on the bench and then rolled to the ground. A horrified Emilia screamed and pushed herself away but lost her footing, also falling to the ground. She scrambled backwards on all fours until her shoulders were pressed against the railings.

  “Ted!” she gasped, and stared openmouthed at the young mum, who was now slipping the murder weapon back into her coat pocket. Emilia recognised it from a memory. She had brandished one herself in her recurring dream when she attacked a staff member in an electronics shop. But Emilia had not used it like this woman had. Then, as casually as the stranger had arrived, she walked away, still with the toddler in tow.

  Emilia focused on Ted’s body. The wound was only a few millimetres in width, but in depth, the tool used to skewer his brain had gone deep. A cascade of blood seeped from the hole, trickled down the side of his head, and gradually pooled around it like a crimson halo. Ted’s mouth frothed with foamy bubbles before his dark brown irises rolled back into their sockets, leaving empty, shiny white ovals in their place.

  This was her fault. She might not have used the murder weapon, but she had lured him away from his security team. He’s dead, he’s dead, he’s dead . . . she repeated to herself. What the hell have I done?

  CHAPTER 39

  FLICK, ALDEBURGH, SUFFOLK

  The modernity of Elijah’s beachfront property contrasted with that of its traditional neighbours.

  From the shoreline, Flick surveyed the large oblong building clad in black corrugated iron. There were only a handful of new properties built on the former car park and within spitting distance of town. And his was unlike any of the others. A waist-high wire fence separated the green lawn from a sandy path and pebble beach. Even from this distance, Flick could see straight through the two-storey glass front aspect and out to the other side. If she lived here, it would take hiding in plain sight to a new level.

  She approached the front door, still uncertain as to why she had agreed to his invitation. Again, she tried to pick apart Elijah’s motives and find a reason to put herself off him. She recalled a feature she had read in an online magazine in which it was explained how society places single people into four categories. She reluctantly identified as one of the four Ts.

  A study by anthropology students at the University of Brighton reveals that those who have not been Matched are either Tourists, TBCs, Turn-Downs, or Tough Luckers.

  Tourists—Enjoy dating a wide number of partners before they register their details with Match Your DNA.

  The TBCs (aka To Be Continueds)—Registered with Match Your DNA and are sexually active with others but have yet to find a Match.

  Turn-Downs—Those who identify as preferring to find love the traditional way and without biological assistance or remaining in untested relationships.

  Tough Luckers—Someone who’s already been Matched but is unable to be with their pairing for a multitude of reasons, such as illness, geographical distance, insurmountable age gap, and unwillingness to experience an alternate religion or sexuality to their own. Often the most frequently maligned category and belittled for being unable to make love work.

  Flick was a Tough Lucker—it didn’t matter that Christopher was a serial killer or now dead. She was forever tainted in the eyes of the majority. But which one was Elijah? Was he only showing an interest in her until his Match came along? Her instinct suggested he was a Refuser, and that placed them on a level playing field. By knocking on his door, she could be about to make her already complicated life that little bit more problematic.

  “Will your indecision take much longer?” Elijah’s teasing voice sounded through an intercom.

  Flick’s heart skipped. “You’ve been watching me?” she replied, her face reddening.

  “Only for about ten minutes.” She hadn’t realised she’d been there for that long.

  The door buzzed, and hesitantly she took a deep breath and entered, walking slowly along a corridor until she found Elijah. He was standing at the top of a clear Perspex staircase, dressed in a stained T-shirt, shorts, and an old pair of cream-coloured Converse trainers. His hands and wrists were caked in powder.

  “Come up and join me,” he invited.

  “You’re expecting me to go upstairs with someone I barely know?” she asked. “Really?”

  “If I were trying to seduce you, I’d have at least washed my hands first. As I wrote on the postcard, I need your help.”

  Only after pausing again to take in her surroundings for potential threats did Flick follow him to an open doorway. Rap music played in a room so wide, it took up much of the first floor. Incomplete canvases were propped up against the walls, and shutters blocked out direct sunlight from a pitched-glass roof.

  “I’m trying something new,” Elijah began, and passed Flick a pair of goggles. She slipped them on and he handed her a chisel, beckoning her to follow him towards a slab of marble on a table in the centre of the room. It was the shape of a head, but its features had been drawn on with chalk. “Now, hold the pointed chisel in that spot while I find the mallet,” he continued, moving her hands and the tool in the direction of the crown. Flick’s pulse raced at his touch.

  On his return, he remained behind her and she instinctively gripped the chisel tighter, in case she had to use it as a weapon. Her body tensed as he gently tapped at it with the mallet. Shards of marble fired in all directions like shrapnel. Flick felt the warmth of his skin against her neck and cheek. She was sure he was doing it deliberately, but she didn’t care.

  “What are you making?” she asked, trying to distract herself from her arousal.

  “What are we making?” he corrected her. “It’s a sculpture.”

  “I might not know much about art but I know what a sculpture is. Who is it of?”

  Elijah adjusted her chisel again and she felt the firmness of his chest as it pressed against her back.

  “It’s of everyone, so it’s going to be made by everyone. It’ll be made up of different parts of faces of people I know.”

  Flick was momentarily disappointed that others would be contributing. “But you’re the first,” he continued, his lips brushing against her ear.

  “And what’s the thinking behind it?”

  “It’s about our community and how we’re all made up of the people we surround ourselves with. None of us is an island, no matter how much water there is between us. Even you.”

  “Me?”

  “You.”

  “I don’t understand what you mean.”

  “Yes, you do. I get you.”

  “You ‘get me’?” she repeated, irked by his implication. “You hardly know me.”

  “I know enough to think we’re alike. We give out just enough of ourselves to make everyone around us feel like we’re their best friends, but hold enough back to stop from committing completely.”

  “You make a lot of assumptions, Elijah.”

  “But I don’t hear you telling me I’m wrong.”

  Flick was prepared to explain how she didn’t need anyone, how she was perfectly fine on her own. But she didn’t. Instead, she leaned into him and placed her lips on his. As they kissed, an energy rushed through her that she hadn’t felt in an age. And moments later, she was pressing Elijah’s naked body against the cool of the marble sculpture—an image of the town that made him, and that was chipping away at her too.

  CHAPTER 40

  EMILIA

  Emilia screamed for help but there was no one in sight apart from the killer. The bitter tang of death cut through Lake Geneva’s salty air. It was a harsh, metallic aroma that, once caught on the back of the tongue, stubbornly remained, like freshly set amalgam fillings. Each new breath became a battle to hold back waves of nausea, but such high levels of anxiety couldn’t be suppressed for long. It found an alternative r
elease through trembling limbs and beads of sweat. She had been set up. Ted had been murdered and it was all her fault.

  Then without warning, four figures—two male and two female—hurried forward and passed the woman and child, who were now walking in the opposite direction. The casual attire of labelled baseball caps, T-shirts, and jeans was at odds with their purposeful pace and deadpan expressions. And against the backdrop of the gentle waves lapping at the lake’s shore, the cleanup operation began.

  One spoke in German into an earpiece and looked across the bay. A white speedboat, indistinguishable from others using the water for pleasure, appeared silently and pulled up close to the lighthouse at the end of the jetty, where his colleagues waited in silence. Two more people exited it, jumping into the lake and landing knee deep; another remained at the wheel.

  With the speed and precision of a Formula One pit stop, they lifted the body onto the boarding deck, boarded it again, reversed the boat, and took off as quickly and as unassumingly as they had arrived. Moments later, the boat was heading towards the white-capped Swiss Alps; the only trace that it had ever been there were the wide ripples left in its wake.

  With a sharp turn of her head, Emilia caught the remaining two figures pouring bottles of something across the ground to dissolve the blood into nothing. Another reconnected wires attached to a lamppost-mounted security camera.

  Suddenly two pairs of hands tightly gripped her upper arms, hurrying her away from the murder scene and back towards the main road. Ahead, two four-by-four vehicles were parked by the side of the road, their windows as dark as their bodywork.

  They’re going to kill me next, she thought.

  It was enough to send a sudden jolt of adrenaline coursing through her body, bringing with it a fight-or-flight instinct. Drawing deep from a long-forgotten existence, her arms were the first to shake free before landing a punch square in the throat of the shorter of the two captors. As he gasped for air, both hands were wrapped around his neck and his head drawn downward, where a knee collided with his stomach. Preparing for the second assailant’s attack, the hunted was now the hunter. She dropped to the ground as the man lurched forward, and thrust out a leg until her heel connected with his kneecap. It was swiftly followed by an agonising crack and a scream.