Bright Angel

by Isabelle Merlin

  He laughed. ‘You’ll what? Face it, Sylvie. There’s nothing you can do, until we’re done.’

  ‘For God’s sake,’ I said, ‘please?’

  ‘I don’t believe in God,’ he said, gently. He pulled up a chair and looked earnestly at me. ‘Haven’t since I was a kid. But I do believe in the Devil. Oh yes, he’s there, all right. I’ve seen him, smiling from the society pages.’

  I looked into his steady, faintly smiling eyes, and I felt frightened. ‘What? I-I don’t understand. Why – who – why are you working with Radic? Has he paid you?’

  ‘Paid me?’ A strange expression crossed his face. ‘Why would he need to do that?’

  ‘Because otherwise why would–’ I broke off as light flashes in on me, rather late. I whispered, ‘Oh my God. You’re one of them.’

  The faint smile was back. ‘Took you a while, didn’t it, Sylvie?’

  ‘You’re his son. Thomas Radic was your cousin.’

  ‘Oh no,’ he said. ‘Thomas was my brother. My little brother.’

  The world crashed in around me. I faltered, ‘But Thomas didn’t have a brother.’

  ‘I’m the child of Dad’s first marriage,’ he said. ‘Dad’s disastrous first marriage. Not mentioned in polite company. And I’m not exactly the apple of his eye.’ The smile had a bitter edge now. ‘Dad’s a hard man. All the men in my family are. Except poor Tommy.’

  I’d thought he was only a bit older than me. But looks were deceptive. He could be any age between twenty and thirty, really. I said, remembering, ‘You said your uncle was a policeman.’

  ‘You remember that? Well done. Yes. It just slipped out. I could’ve bitten off my tongue. But then I saw it meant nothing to you anyway, rang no bells.’

  I stared at him. ‘Why should it?’

  ‘No reason, really. There was a thing in the papers, once, a few years back. But I guess you wouldn’t have seen it. Stan, my uncle, was a cop. A good one. And to be a good one you gotta skate on thin ice sometimes. You gotta get the crims thinking you’re like them.’

  ‘You mean he was a crooked cop.’

  Anger flashed across his face. ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about. He was persecuted. Hounded. They forced him out. They made it clear that if he didn’t go quietly he’d be disgraced publicly.’ His mouth twisted. ‘As if they didn’t have their hand in the cookie jar too! Stan’s a real man. A man of honour. He knew all sorts of things about people. But he didn’t want to drag the force he used to love through the mud. So he went quietly. There was no mud flung. Nothing except a few rumours. Innuendoes. He set up shop as a private detective. Good at that, he was, too. Is. But Dad – well, in his eyes Stan was as good as judged and condemned. Like me, when I got into trouble and he wouldn’t help me. Unlike Stan, who reached out, who really cared. My father’s good at kicking people when they’re down. But give him a real crisis and he folds like a pack of cards.’

  Whiner, I thought, savagely. Self-pitying bastard. I said, ‘So the pair of you joined forces, just to show him who was best.’

  There was a nasty glitter in his eyes. ‘You have no idea what you’re talking about.’

  ‘Yes, I do.’ I was shaking with a wild mixture of fear and anger. ‘You and your uncle, you’ve set up as vigilantes just to show Thomas’ father you supposedly care more than he did. You make me sick, Steve, Mick, whatever your bloody real name is. Not that I care, cos you’re the same evil lying two-faced creep whatever handle you’re calling yourself.’

  For a moment I thought I’d gone too far. His hands bunched into fists, his face twisted, revealing the tigerish savagery under the mild geek appearance. Then he took a visible grip on himself. He said, quietly, ‘I’m sorry you think that, Sylvie. I like you. I liked you from the start. And those are both my real names. Steve. Mick. Stephen Michael Carter, that’s me.’

  I stared at him, remembering the name he’d given me when we’d first met. Michael Stephan.He’d just swapped his first two names around to make another identity. I said, ‘Carter? Not Radic?’

  ‘I took Mum’s name,’ he said. ‘My father took no interest in me after she left. Why should I have any interest in him?’

  ‘Was any of it true?’ I said, sadly. ‘Coming to France with your mother – working in IT – working with GEIPAN – all that stuff you said.’

  ‘Well, some of it,’ he shrugged. ‘I really have done some freelance work for GEIPAN in the past. I’ve always been interested in UFOs and aliens – we really aren’t alone in the universe, you know: only this is so much more convincing than all that stupid religious stuff. Anyway, some day I’ll tell you my whole story.’

  Some day, I thought. As though there’s a future in this, as though one day we’ll have a good old chinwag about old times together! How deluded was this guy?!

  He saw my expression and misinterpreted it. ‘Look, if I’d known you’d been in the place where Tommy died, I’d never have involved you. You must believe that. But you didn’t say. You didn’t tell me.’

  I said, wearily, ‘Why shouldI tell you? I was trying to forget it. Not to think about it. That’s why we were in St-Bertrand in the first place. To forget all about it. Your brother was sick. Very sick. I-I am so sorry for him, for your family, but he killed himself. He was not murdered.’

  ‘He was driven to it,’ said the young man I’d known as cheerful, friendly Mick. ‘Driven to it by that smiling devil from the society pages, that blood-sucking hypocritical parasite Udo. That’s murder in my book. Cruel, cowardly, long-distance murder.’

  ‘Look. Thomas never said anything about Udo, before he–’ I gulped, faltered, then went on. ‘It was Helen he focused on. Helen he blew his brains out in front of. So why are you–’

  His eyes flashed. ‘Yes, my brother was sick. He’d never been very strong mentally, and he blamed Helen because my poor brother was never able to think things through. That’s why he got caught by that bastard, too. He trusted people. He thought you could get something for nothing. He believed in fairytales.’ A darkness crossed his face. ‘Helen – she was a side issue, but he became obsessed by her. It’s because he didn’t want to think about the true heart of darkness, the rip-off that had destroyed him. He was ashamed, don’t you see? Bitterly ashamed. We tried, Stan and I – when we got it out of him – we wanted to start an investigation – we tried to get Tommy to help us – but he wouldn’t, he was scared and didn’t want Dad to know about it. Wouldn’t co-operate at all. Stan and I, we set about looking into it anyhow, and discovered a link with Udo. At that stage, we just wanted to expose him. Stan knew a crime journo but he wouldn’t go near the story, said Udo was untouchable. Generous charity-giver. Protected by an army of lawyers and clever IT people. Would wriggle off the hook. But it didn’t matter. We were still going to battle on ourselves. And then, then Tommy shot himself. And everything changed.’

  There was a long silence. He was sitting there, looking at his hands, and all at once I felt an unwelcome twinge of pity. I said, ‘But surely – this madness – what you’re doing now can’t help. It can’t bring him back.’

  ‘It’s not about bringing him back,’ he said. ‘It’s about justice. About evildoers being punished.’

  ‘This isn’t justice,’ I said, gently. ‘It’s revenge. Surely you know that? Daniel and Gabriel aren’t evildoers. Yet you’re punishing them. And me.’

  ‘I don’t care about them. But I am sorry about you,’ he said. ‘I really am. But there’s nothing I can do about it now.’

  ‘Yes, you can. You can stand up to your uncle. You can tell him this is all wrong. I’ve seen what he’s like, Mick. I’ve seen how scary, how violent, how obsessive he is. You’re not like that. You’re a good guy. You just got dragged into this, didn’t you? You never really wanted to go along with his crazy plan and–’

  Something flickered in his eyes. He said, ‘I hardly got a chance to know my brother, as a kid. Dad didn’t like us hanging around his new family. And I was only beginning to get to kno
w Tommy as an adult when Udo stole everything from him. That devil stole our chance to know each other properly as brothers. He stole our future. And so I determined to steal his, to destroy and break him. This isn’t Stan’s plan, Sylvie, it’s mine.’

  I stared at him in stunned astonishment.

  ‘Stan’s a great guy – the best – but he can be reckless,’ he went on. ‘He doesn’t think things through. Like Tommy, in a way. He acts rashly, violently, impulsively. Like bursting in and kidnapping you last night, for instance. That was not my plan. If he’d thought for one moment he’d have realised I had it under control.’

  Despite myself, I was fascinated, like a frog is fascinated by a snake. I croak, ‘But what were you going to do?’

  ‘Persuade you we had to take the computer and go at once to the police, of course,’ he said promptly. ‘I’d even have got you to leave a note for your aunt. There would have been no fuss. No broken glass. The car would have been found abandoned, with our mobiles left in it – somehow mine would have been left on and there would’ve been a recording of a scream, of me saying, No, leave her alone!I’m good with stuff like that, you know.’

  ‘Yes,’ I said bleakly, thinking it must have been him who had got into our house, stolen my mobile and used it to make that call to Daniel, so that he would arrive late. And that mattered, I thought, stunned, as light burst in on me. Not only because Daniel’d be out of the way when Radic turned up at the house – he would have been anyway – but because it would create a scene when Daniel came across us at the clearing. I remembered how Mick – I still couldn’t think of him as Steve – had stumbled against me just as Daniel had appeared.He’d wantedDaniel to catch us apparently in each other’s arms, I thought, chilled, so that poor Daniel would get angry – upset – the scene would be fixed in all our minds and Mick would have a rock-solid alibi, not only from me but from Daniel himself – no way of connecting him to anything. And even more importantly it would pit Daniel against me, stop the two of us from comparing notes about the phone calls and trying to work things out. I would be dependent on Mick, then. I’d have to see things through his eyes, trust in what he did and said. A finger of ice slid slowly down my spine. He’d baited his trap so well, so cleverly. What a devious, calculating creep he was. And what a gullible idiot I’d been!

  ‘Yes,’ he went on, oblivious to my thoughts, ‘it would’ve looked like our unknown kidnapper had taken us both. It was an elegant plan. It would’ve worked if Stan hadn’t gone off half-cocked and spoilt things. After that of course I had to go along with it.’

  ‘What a pity Stan spoilt things,’ I said with heavy irony. ‘Forgive me if I don’t cry. In any case I would’ve ended up in the same place, I suppose.’

  ‘In Chateau Espinous, yes. It’s a fantastic place, don’t you think? Stan found it. He’s good on thatsort of thing. The owner lives overseas. He was happy to rent the place out to us and he’s safely far away. But now we can’t go back there. We can’t risk it, in case they are asking around if any foreigners rented any remote properties round about. And we have to split you up till the time’s right. You here with me, the others with Stan.’

  ‘He’s a brute,’ I said. ‘You know he is. He bashed that poor nanny so hard she’s still in a coma. You didn’t want that to happen, did you?’

  He shook his head. ‘There was no need for it. It just complicated things.’

  Emboldened, I went on. ‘Exactly. He knocked me out hard, he didn’t give me a sleeping drug like you did. You don’t actually like hitting people, do you?’

  ‘Of course not,’ he said. ‘There are other ways. Better ways.’

  ‘Then please, Mick – I mean, Steve – please, I do understand why you’re doing all this – you loved your brother and I understand that. I love my sister and if anything happened to her, I’d–’ I bit my lip. ‘But please, if you really do care for me, if you really do like me – promise me you’ll make sure he doesn’t hurt my friends.’

  The thought of that two-faced criminal jerk liking me made me feel sick. But there was no other way. I tried to give him an anxious, pleading smile as he searched my face. It felt stretched and insincere. But he didn’t seem to notice. Slowly, he nodded. ‘Okay.’

  ‘And please untie me. My feet at least. They’re so sore. I won’t run away. Can’t. I twisted my ankle last night – it’s killing me.’

  That was true. I didn’t think I could run on that ankle. It was red, puffy and swollen. It hurt a lot.

  He looked. He nodded, and bent down to untie my ankles. A fierce desire rose in me then, to kick him hard in the teeth. But I resisted the urge, of course. What on earth could I have done, after that? How would I, with my bad ankle, have escaped from a ruthless and determined criminal, maddened by a kick to the face? I was trapped again, and for the moment I could think of no way of getting out.

  In a dark forest

  So I stayed well-behaved and didn’t even wince when he put a hand under my elbow and helped me up onto a chair. I asked to have my wrists untied, but he just gave a small smile and shook his head. He was about to say something when his mobile suddenly beeped with an incoming text. He pulled it out of his pocket and glanced at it. ‘Okay, we’re on. Udo’s on his way.’ He grinned.

  His mood had changed again, I thought. His eyes were shining. With excitement, pleasure, triumph. I thought, he’s got everything where he wants it, now. The small hiccup to his plans that Radic’s impulsiveness and our brief escape had represented was safely over. Things were back on track. And the destination of that track was...

  ‘Please,’ I said, ‘please let me talk to Daniel. Just to say I’m safe.’

  ‘Think he’ll be worried? Nah, not him. He’ll probably just think you’ve gone off with me.’

  I hated him with all my heart then, looking at his mocking face, his cynical eyes. I said, controlling myself with an effort, ‘Just let me have a quick word. Then I promise I’ll help you.’

  He laughed. ‘Wow, that’s big of you, promising to help the enemy. You must really think I’ve got a huge crush on you. And so maybe I have.’ He reached out and touched my arm, lightly. It was all I could do not to throw him off.

  ‘Please,’ I said, through gritted teeth.

  He looked at me. ‘Nah. I like the idea of him sweating that you’ve gone off with me. Teach him a lesson, posh bastard.’

  ‘Why do you hate him so much?’ I said. ‘He had nothing to do with your brother’s death.’

  ‘Nothing? He and the kid profit from Udo’s crimes. They’re sitting pretty. They’ll inherit all that blood money one day. So he’s in it up to his neck.’

  I looked at him and saw there was nothing more to be got from him. And at that moment all trace of pity or mercy for him fled from my thoughts and my feelings. I just wanted to beat him, to thwart his plans, to defeat and crush him absolutely. The force of hate-filled rage and revenge that swept through me at that moment was both frightening and exhilarating. Whatever it took, I thought, I’d stop him. But I had to be careful. Very careful.

  I didn’t answer him, I just made as if I was utterly crestfallen and defeated, hanging my head. He shrugged and went to the cupboard, and brought out a small bottle of Orangina, the French version of Fanta, and a bar of chocolate. He unscrewed the bottle cap, put a straw in and unwrapped the chocolate, placing both in easy reach of me on the table. ‘You’ll be able to have these even with your hands tied. That way you won’t starve till I get back.’

  ‘How long are you–’ I whispered, not even bothering to protest.

  ‘Till it’s done,’ he said. He looked at me. ‘Sorry there’s no TV to watch, but I expect you’ve got lots to think about. But don’t think silly thoughts about cutting your bonds and escaping from here. There’s no knife or other helpful cutting stuff here. And all around you is just forest. On foot, it would take you a very long time to get to St-Bertrand. That is, if you didn’t get lost.’ He made as if to go, then turned and looked at me again. ‘But don’t worry
. As far as I’m concerned, Daniel and the kid aren’t in line for the chop or anything. They’re just bait. You’ll get to see them again once it’s all over.’

  Once it’s all over. I shuddered. They were definitely going to kill him, I thought. They were going to trap Udo and kill him like a dog. They’d promised to come unarmed but they’d have some way of doing it.

  ‘But you’re meeting him in a church,’ I faltered, ‘a sacred place – a sanctuary.’

  ‘I don’t believe in that rubbish,’ he said quite calmly. ‘Stan does but I expect he’ll just say a prayer to cover it and beat his breast or whatever. No problems. He can always square it with his God later.’

  ‘Don’t do it, Mick,’ I pleaded, ‘Don’t. For the sake of–’

  ‘Of what? My family? My immortal soul? My career? My future? Don’t make me laugh. All that matters in this crap world is to keep faith. When Tommy died, I swore I’d avenge him. And I will, blood for blood. I’ll keep faith with his memory.’

  He was mad, I thought, looking at the pale face, the eyes burning behind the glasses. Quite mad, setting himself up as judge, jury and executioner. ‘The police’ll catch you,’ I said. ‘They’ll lock you up.’

  ‘I doubt that. And even if they do, I don’t care. It’ll be done. I’ve seen the trail of misery, of broken lives and violent deaths these sorts of revolting crooks leave behind them. The law can’t touch them. They do whatever they want when they want to who they want. Enough! Stan and I are doing a public service, ridding the world of at least one of them. Maybe it’ll be a warning to others. Think of it like that, eh?’

  And with that, he was gone, closing and locking the door behind him. An instant later, I heard his car start up and then pull away. I was alone.

  As soon as I was sure he had gone, I got up. I hobbled to the window, and looked out. I could see nothing but trees, and a track leading up through them. I didn’t know what the time was – there was no clock in the caravan – and in the forest it was difficult to tell. But I remembered Mick saying I’d been asleep for hours – and something about the quality of the light made me suspect it was sometime in the afternoon. How many hours I had till the midnight meeting, I didn’t know for sure. And I had no real reason to doubt what Mick had said, about this place being a long way from St-Bertrand. I might well walk for hours and hours and still not get there in time. I might even, as Mick said, get lost. And then what good would it be?