Coding Isis

by David Roys

  As he scanned through student gossip and details of Beth’s latest exploits, he came across Chris’s name and stopped and re-read the text. She’d written that Chris had finally agreed to tell his wife about them, and that he’d promised to leave her. They were going to go away at the end of term, somewhere hot for a romantic get-away. She wrote about how she couldn’t wait to be able to spend a full night with him. She was tired of having to snatch the occasional moment in his room or his car. She looked forward to having a normal relationship, maybe even being able to show him off to her friends. Holy shit, Naylor thought. Maybe that creep could lie after all. He snapped the lid of the laptop shut and put it into an evidence bag. He would take this back to the lab for further reading, but for now he had some warrants to obtain. He would get an arrest warrant for that lying son-of-a-bitch Chris Sanders, and a search warrant for his home, and his gun club. It would take more than a fancy lawyer to save his ass now.

  ELEVEN

  Although it was gone nine in the evening, the air was still thick with the heat of the day. Chris left Bob to lock the car and walked quickly to the front door, he was desperate to see Michelle. It had been a terrible day and now he was finally seeing the end of it. He opened the door and Michelle practically pounced on him. She hugged him and kissed him, her cheeks felt cool where little trails of tears still clung to them. He put his arms around her and hugged her tight while she kissed him on the neck, on the cheeks, on the lips. She stopped kissing and they looked at one another for a moment. Chris smiled a big beaming smile. ‘Hi honey, I’m home,’ he said.

  The door opened once more and Bob walked in, he took off his jacket and hung it on the rack by the door. He smiled when he saw the happiness in his daughter’s eyes as only a father can. He said, ‘Look what I found,’ as he nodded towards Chris.

  Michelle said, ‘Oh Daddy,’ then she threw her arms around his neck. His turn for hugs and kisses.

  Michelle looked back to Chris, ‘Are you OK?’ she said, ‘I was so worried.’

  ‘I’m fine, thanks to your dad. I think I was getting myself in deep shit. It’s good he was able to bail me out.’

  Bob patted Chris on the back, ‘Come on son,’ he said, ‘let’s see if we can find a drink to celebrate.’

  They walked into the kitchen. Chris thought about the bottle of bourbon they had been drinking the night before, but also the different circumstances. Michelle went to the fridge and pulled out a bottle of sparkling Chardonnay.

  ‘I’m afraid we’re all out of Champagne,’ she said. She handed the bottle to Chris and went to a cupboard to get glasses. Chris removed the foil and untwisted the wire. He held the cork and turned the bottle, as he had been taught by some Frenchman. The cork popped and the wine fizzed out the end. It wasn’t chilled enough. Michelle laughed and tried to catch the foam in one of the wine glasses she’d found in the cupboard.

  The three raised their glasses and Chris made a toast, ‘To freedom,’ he said.

  They all laughed and drank. Michelle’s eyes sparkled. Chris couldn’t remember when he had seen her more happy. There’s nothing like a minor disaster to bring things in to perspective.

  Chris topped up his glass and did the same for Michelle but Bob made a gesture with his hand that said he didn’t want a refill. When Chris tried to pour anyway, he raised his glass, changing the angle of the neck of the bottle and keeping his glass half full. He was well practiced in keeping a clear head in social engagements.

  ‘So,’ Michelle said, ‘how was your day?’

  Chris turned to Michelle and looked deep in thought, as though he was trying to remember anything interesting that might have happened at work. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘my day started OK.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘But, well let’s just say, it turned to shit pretty quickly.’

  They all laughed and Michelle reached over and kissed him hard on the lips.

  ‘Shall we go through to the lounge?’ said Chris.

  Bob put his wine glass on the kitchen table. It was still half full. He reached out to Michelle and put his arm around her shoulder, giving her a fatherly hug. ‘I’m sorry kids,’ he said, ‘but I’ve got a whole heap of case notes to read through, plus your mother said she’s going to call before she leaves for her conference.’

  He turned to Chris and shook his hand. Chris thought it seemed quite formal, but somehow fitting for the occasion. Bob said, ‘Don’t get into any more trouble, OK?’ He was still holding his hand in a firm grip, he extended his left arm and grabbed Chris’s forearm. Chris smiled.

  Bob walked through to the hall. ‘And look after my daughter,’ he said as he grabbed his coat.

  ‘I will sir.’ It wasn’t like Chris, to use such an American phrase. He felt somehow overcome with the situation. He also felt very grateful to Bob and Michelle and for everything he had in his life.

  Michelle closed the door after watching her father leave and Chris returned to the kitchen to re-fill their wine glasses. Michelle called from the hallway, ‘I thought we could order in Chinese food. Does that sound good?’

  ‘Babe, I could eat a scabby horse.’

  ‘Oh Chris.’ She thought his English sayings were quaint in a weird kind of way, but sometimes, she really didn’t understand him. ‘I’ll take that as a yes,’ she said. She walked to the fridge and took a menu from under a fridge magnet. ‘Kung-Po Chicken and Rice sound OK to you?’

  ‘Sure, sounds good.’

  Michelle picked up the phone and called the takeaway place. Chris walked through to the lounge and flicked through the play lists on his digital music player. He put on, Linger by The Cranberries and thought of the night they’d met in London and the days they’d spent in her room. Good times. He came out of his day-dream with a jolt. Someone was knocking on the door, banging so hard he could hear the door rattling in the frame. Then came a voice, ‘Chris Sanders, this is the police. Open up.’

  What the hell did those guys want now? Chris walked to the front door and opened it. Michelle was coming out of the kitchen, she still had the phone to her ear, placing the order for food. She stopped when she saw three cops push through the door, two with side-arms drawn. The third was wearing a sports coat and flannel pants. He was holding a badge. He looked really pissed. He pushed Chris around until he faced the wall and bent his arm behind his back.

  ‘Chris Sanders, I’m arresting you for the murder of Jasmine Allan. You have the right to remain silent, you have the right to an attorney.’ Chris didn’t hear the rest of the speech; it faded into the background as though someone had turned down the volume on Detective Naylor. Instead, he looked over his shoulder at Michelle. Her arm hung down by her side, the phone still in her hand, a menu in the other. Her eyes were full of sorrow. Pleading. She was shaking her head slightly, but her gaze was locked on him.

  She said nothing but his name, but the tone said far more: What’s happening? Why are they arresting you Chris? What have you done? The phone slipped from her fingers and clattered to the floor.

  Chris was pushed out through the door. He called back over his shoulder, ‘Honey, call your dad. It’s going to be OK, I swear.’

  TWELVE

  Chris sat in the back of the police cruiser and stared at the back of Naylor’s head. A uniformed cop was driving and a second police car was about twenty yards ahead. Naylor didn’t speak and he didn’t look at Chris either. There was no hint of friendship now; whatever Naylor had found in the last few hours had changed everything. Chris thought about Michelle. He hoped she was calling her father. He felt light-headed from the wine, or possibly the shock, he couldn’t tell. ‘What’s going on Naylor?’ he said. ‘Why the change of heart?’

  Naylor turned in his seat and stared at Chris, he shook his head, contempt in his face. He stared, but still he said nothing. Chris could feel the disgust that Naylor held for him through his icy stare. It was as though Naylor had nothing to say because he was saving it for later, something to be shared with his cop friends over a beer
, but not with him. He was scum. Naylor turned back to face the road, still without speaking. The amber glow of the high pressure sodium street lights made the empty streets look sad and eerie. Chris stared out the side window and caught his own reflection, his eyes full of sorrow. He hoped Bob could get him out of this mess again.

  Naylor processed Chris and let a uniformed officer take him back to the same twelve-by-six holding cell he’d occupied less than six hours earlier. The miserable walls seemed to radiate a cold damp. The room still smelled of coffee, stale cigarettes, disinfectant, and just the slightest hint of something he didn’t want to think too much about. He stared at the toilet in the corner of the cell and wondered how many people had been in here since he left. This had to be a mistake, but why was he here again? What could have changed in the last few hours? He tried to think about it logically, at the end of the day it was just another problem to solve and when it came to solving problems, he was the best. He closed his eyes and put his hands together and tried to let his thoughts gather. Jasmine had been killed, but why? Who would want to kill her? No one he knew. It could have been a random killing, a crazy man in the park, another beltway sniper. But what if there was a motive? Too hard. He didn’t have any evidence, he had no access to resources, he couldn’t research the problem. He needed to focus on what he knew. He closed his eyes and tried again. Why was he back in here? What could have happened between being released and being arrested? As far as Chris was concerned, things had already looked pretty bad for him. No alibi, rumors of a relationship, last man to see her alive, the voicemails, the emails. But Bob had said they had nothing, so what was different? Maybe they’d found the bullet? Why would that make them pull him in? What had they found? Chris’s mind was racing now, focusing on the problem, like a radio set that was tuning in to a broadcast that was becoming ever clearer as the background white noise dissolved. They must have spoken to someone, a new witness, someone that had seen him and Jasmine together, maybe in the park. That wouldn’t be too bad, Bob should be able to clear things up there. Or maybe Jasmine had sent emails to other people, or called them. Maybe she had told someone she was going to meet him. There were no answers. He couldn’t solve this in his head. He lay back on the bed and closed his eyes.

  Chris must have drifted off to sleep as the clang of door’s metal flap woke him with a start. For a moment he had forgotten where he was and then the reality came back and sat on his chest, crushing him. Groggy, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and swallowed to ease his dry throat. He swung his legs round and sat up on the bed. He heard a metallic scraping noise from the door as the bolt was drawn back. The cell door opened and Bob Whittaker stood in the doorway. He looked tired, or was that anger? He had his briefcase in his left hand. He walked in to the room and sat on the bed to the left of Chris.

  ‘We need to talk Chris,’ he said.

  Of course we need to talk, Chris thought. We need to talk about how you’re going to get me out of this mess. Bob popped the catch on this leather briefcase and reached in. He pulled out some sheets of letter paper, laser printed on a single side. Simplex, not duplex. An older printer, like at a police station.

  Bob passed the sheets to Chris and simply said, ‘Read.’

  He didn’t sound pleased. He didn’t sound like he was here to help. Chris felt worried. He read the first sheet. It was an extract from a journal. Jasmine’s journal. He scanned through the text and caught sight of his name. He read that section. He read that Jasmine was pleased he was going to leave Michelle, and that they could finally be together. He flicked through the pages, there were dozens of entries going in to great detail of his relationship with Jasmine. He looked up at Bob, fear in his eyes, ‘What the hell is this?’ he said.

  ‘You tell me.’

  ‘I don’t know. I’ve never seen this before. Where did this come from?’

  Bob snatched the pages away from Chris. ‘Enough with the bullshit Chris. It’s time to tell me the truth. What was going on between you and Jasmine?’

  ‘Nothing, I swear.’

  ‘This isn’t all Chris, there are emails between the two of you. Naylor’s convinced you’ve been lying your ass off and from the evidence I’ve seen, I’m inclined to agree. I can’t believe you lied to me; lied to Michelle. I thought I knew you.’ Bob dropped the papers back in his briefcase and clicked the catch shut.

  Chris stared in disbelief as Bob stood up to leave. His pleading eyes asked the questions: Where are you going? You’re not leaving me in this shit?

  ‘I’m going to see Michelle,’ said Bob. ‘She’s the one that needs me now. You’ll find another lawyer. I can’t help you.’ Bob walked to the door and knocked. An officer checked through the hatch and then the door opened. Bob left quickly without looking back.

  Chris was alone once more. He lurched towards the toilet in the corner of the cell and just managed to lean over before he threw up. His sick splashed in the water of the bowl and he felt the drops hit his face. He stood up on shaky legs and slowly kicked off his shoes, then lay down on the bed.

  Michelle sat at the kitchen table, the phone just to the side of her right hand. Every few seconds she looked at it, willing it to ring. She’d called her father as soon as Chris had been arrested. She hadn’t really had much chance to talk to Chris or her dad about what had happened earlier, why he needed a lawyer and why he had been released. It seemed strange that he had been let go and then arrested so soon after. She saw the menu for the takeaway place on the floor near the hall, she didn’t feel hungry now. Maybe she should call someone, get some support, or maybe she should call her dad and find out what was going on. She realized that the front door was still unlocked and got up slowly. The street lights shone through the windows to the side of the door, and she saw a shadow of someone coming to the door. She sped up to try to get to the door so she could put the chain on and lock it before it opened, but the door started to open before she was halfway down the hall. She stood, frozen to the spot. She knew it couldn’t be Chris or Dad, not so soon. The door opened and there was her dad. Alone.

  ‘Where’s Chris?’

  ‘Go sit down, Michelle,’ said Bob. ‘We need to talk.’

  Michelle walked back to the kitchen and sat beside the table. She looked up at her dad. He was moving slowly, as though something was weighing him down. Something was wrong, she could tell from his face, but she sat and watched, waiting for the bad news to come. Bob sat beside her and took her hand in his. His hands felt cold, he was shaking slightly. His eyes were full of sadness.

  ‘Dad?’

  He squeezed her hand.

  ‘Dad, you’re freaking me out now. What is it?’

  ‘When I got to the police station, Chris was in a holding cell,’ said Bob. ‘Naylor took me into an interview room. They’ve got some new evidence. Evidence that proves Chris was lying. They’ve arrested him for murder.’

  Michelle pulled her hand away and drew her arms around herself. She hugged herself and rocked gently on the chair. She shook her head and stared down at the table.

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘I don’t believe it. Not Chris. No way, there’s been a mistake.’

  Michelle was angry. Furious. She wanted to hit someone. She looked up to her dad. ‘Why are you here?’ she said. ‘Shouldn’t you be with Chris?’

  Bob reached out and put his hand on her arm. ‘What I’m going to tell you may come as a bit of shock. You’ve been married to Chris ten years now, but how well do you really know him?’

  How well do you know him?

  ‘What do you mean by that?’ she said.

  ‘The new evidence they found. There’s no easy way to say this. It indicates that Chris and Jasmine were having an affair.’

  Michelle stood and pushed herself away from the table with a force that sent the chair toppling over backwards, clattering on the tiled floor. She turned away from Bob so he couldn’t see her face. She didn’t want him to see her crying and she was fighting to stop the tears from coming.


  Bob stood and walked over to Michelle. He put his arms around her and she turned and put her head against his shoulder. She couldn’t stop the tears now and she buried her face against his chest and threw her arms around his back. Her body heaved as she sobbed. Bob held her tight and stroked her hair.

  Bob said nothing and let Michelle calm down and when the sobs came less frequently, he passed her a handkerchief. She blew her nose noisily.

  ‘Come on, sit down,’ said Bob. ‘Let’s talk about this.’ He picked up the chair and put his arm on her shoulder.

  Michelle sat. Her elbows on the table. She held the handkerchief in both hands and stared at it, like she was trying to decipher something in its pattern. She turned it over and over.

  ‘I don’t believe it,’ she said.

  ‘That’s OK honey,’ said Bob. ‘That’s a perfectly normal reaction.’

  ‘No Dad,’ she said, ‘I’m not going through the five stages, I’m serious. I don’t believe this. Someone is screwing with Chris. I’m not in denial, but I sure as hell am angry. Do you have the evidence here? Can you show me?’

  Bob admired his daughter’s grit. ‘I’ve got it in my car,’ he said. ‘Wait here.’ He stood and left the room.