When We Have Wings
Page 4
‘Oh.’ I must have heard about such things but I hadn’t paid attention, any more than I did to any other new plaything for the rich.
I followed Chesshyre into a glass walkway, courtyard on one side, blue air on the other. Have a temper, don’t you? Or is this uncharacteristic behaviour brought on by extreme stress? While for most people stress intensifies what is already there, there are people who change utterly, sand to glass, under severest pressure. I hoped I wasn’t dealing with one of those.
‘Peri’s room,’ Chesshyre said.
A narrow box not much bigger than a prison cell, white walls covered in paintings and photographs. Chesshyre gestured to a glass door on the right opening into the courtyard. ‘Peri played with Hugo under that tree. You can see she left in a hurry. We haven’t disturbed anything.’
At last. Evidence. A pile of clothes lay heaped on the bed, drawers had been pulled out, their contents spilled. Someone had been in a hurry. I inspected the room; besides the art, which must belong to the Ches- shyres, it was bare. None of the little knick-knacks so many young women like. Not a frilly sort of girl, then. I turned over the clothes. Sober things: grey and black workout pants and tops. One rose-coloured dress out of the league of the other clothes—had Avis given it to her? No jewellery. No cosmetics. Not even any perfume. Not a vain girl either. What did she care about?
‘What has she taken?’
‘Hugo,’ snarled Chesshyre, his voice harsh and deep, cracking the veneer of St Ivo’s blandness. He took a deep breath. ‘A credit slick is missing but I don’t care about that. I just want Hugo back.’
‘Any photographs in here? Snapshots of family, friends?’
Chesshyre shook his head.
‘Why would Peri take Hugo, Mr Chesshyre? What motive could she have?’
‘I’ve been racking my brains. Possibly she was too isolated out here, maybe a bit depressed, I honestly don’t know. Even that would hardly explain it.’
‘Would she harm him?’
Chesshyre passed his hand over his eyes. ‘I don’t think so. She was attached to Hugo. Still, you realise you never know what people are capable of.’ He walked away into the courtyard.
I continued searching. Nothing behind the bedside table. I pulled back the bedclothes, rummaged under the pillows, peered under the bed. Faint scent on the sheets—a vanishing hint of sweat and something else slightly more rancid. A pillow rustled when I put it back. I felt the pillowcase. Something in there. I reached in and pulled out a few sheets of paper covered in handwriting. I looked over my shoulder at Chesshyre but he had his back to me. I folded the paper and stuck it in the pocket of my trousers.
As Chesshyre turned to cross the courtyard, I cleared my throat. He stopped. I explained if I was to prioritise this job the way it needed, I’d have to drop all my other work.
‘I understand,’ said Chesshyre, then named a figure higher than my wildest hopes. ‘Is that what you had in mind?’ His voice was colourless again, all feeling bled out of it. He was already walking away as he said over his shoulder, ‘That’s if you find him.’
I followed him and found myself back in the kitchen.
Avis poured tea. Steam smelling of oranges rose up. A cake sat next to the sink.
I looked at my watch. Quarter past two. Avis sat down with her cup of tea, then put it on the counter. Didn’t offer me one. She must’ve got fed up with her hands shaking because now she sat on them and stared out the window, her face blank.
‘The more quickly I finish up here, the more likely I am to find Hugo,’ I said. ‘Every minute counts in cases like these.’
Avis burst into tears.
Chesshyre stood next to Avis, running his hands through his dark hair. ‘Where to start?’ he said, looking directly into my eyes.
I nodded. Parents don’t want to get to the point because telling another person, launching an investigation, makes the unthinkable real, solidifies it into the larger world outside the family. Benign explanations are no longer possible.
‘As I said before,’ Chesshyre began, ‘Peri has taken Hugo. We think she’s attached to him, that she would not willingly let any harm come to him.’ Avis swung around at this and began to speak but Chesshyre clamped his hand so firmly on her arm she winced. ‘We are extremely concerned about her state of mind, though. You need to be as discreet as possible in your inquiries.’
I nodded again, annoyed. Still these two were not giving anything away. ‘You say Peri’s taken Hugo. But why? There’re any number of possible scenarios. Peri could have been taken too, or lost her life trying to protect Hugo. She could have been working for someone else, a commercial rival of yours, Mr Chesshyre. Have you had any communication, anything to explain why she left? Any demands?’
Chesshyre shot a warning glance at Avis. ‘No,’ he said. ‘No demands.’
I noted his glance. There was something they weren’t telling me. They were distressed but didn’t seem frightened that Hugo would be held to ransom. ‘It’s early yet,’ I said. ‘Demands could still be made. For all I know Hugo could have sprouted his own wings and flown away.’
‘No,’ said Chesshyre. ‘There may be a number of possibilities but not that one. I see you know nothing about fledglings.’ Abruptly, he left the room as if he’d just remembered something.
Avis was silent. She’d stopped crying and was now arranging everything on the counter in front of her—salt and pepper shakers, jars and bottles—into exact rows calibrated by height and colour. She arranged them all, then started over again.
A soft, heavy weight landed on me. I was so startled I almost fell off my chair. The lion—Frisk—had jumped onto my lap. He thrust his head into my hand. His mane was rough and silky. As he scraped his tongue over my hand, I scratched under his chin. He was heavier than I would have expected, all dense muscle and heavy paws. He raised his head and puffed his breath out at me a few times as he kneaded me painfully with his claws.
‘Seems you’ve made a friend,’ Avis said. ‘He doesn’t normally go near strangers.’ She put her head in her hands. ‘You’d better take him home with you. I don’t think Peter can put up with him much longer.’
I ignored this. She couldn’t be serious and I had no intention of leaving their house with a lion, even if it was a small one. ‘What do you know about Peri?’ I said.
‘Not much. She’s from some godforsaken hamlet somewhere. Hadn’t been in the City long. No family. No friends. No boyfriend. I don’t know.’ Avis spat out each word as if it tasted like poison. ‘You should ask Peter. Anyway, she and I, we didn’t have much in common.’
Except Hugo.
‘Except Hugo,’ she said. ‘There wasn’t much else to talk about.’
I’ll bet. I could imagine the stream of instructions that would have been issued to the girl. I’d seen Avis’s type before: control freaks, every minute of every day scheduled. Perfectionists who brought their scary intensity to the tasks of motherhood.
I shook my head, annoyed with myself for letting dislike colour my judgement. I didn’t know anything about Avis. I tried to look at her more objectively as she sat there, her chin resting on one hand, reminding me, despite her sullen anguish, of the pictures I used to stare at of contemplative angels. And yet now that I was faced with a real live flier, it was clear these new people were nothing like traditional angels.
The reason was the very wings themselves. They were huge. Artists never understood, obviously, just how big wings large enough to bear a human being would have to be.
Chesshyre returned, handing me a slick. Its screen showed a picture of a smiling baby, maybe a year old, held up by a young woman. The child was pretty, with brown hair and a calm ink-blue gaze; he’d kept that angelic look that they get at about six months. I remember when Thomas looked like that, with an unearthly radiance. The line about trailing clouds of glory had
made sense to me then.
‘This is Hugo,’ said Chesshyre. ‘Hugo Gyr Katon-Chesshyre.’
I examined the slick. ‘Is this the most recent picture?’
Avis buried her face in her hands. Chesshyre made no move to comfort her. He nodded.
‘What can you tell me about Peri?’ I said. Avis was already upset. I might as well persist now. Things could hardly get worse.
Of course I ought to have known better. A rule I apply in my work is that things can always get worse. It’s a rule I try to live by too. It’s not a rule I’ve ever been able to disprove, alas. Lily once informed me that I’d stumbled on the first noble truth of the Buddha: life is suffering. Hell, I told her, I was raised Catholic. I know it.
Chesshyre pointed at the slick in my hand. ‘Peri Almond’s details are on there.’
‘Yes,’ I persisted, ‘that’s good. But what was she like?’
‘Conscientious,’ said Chesshyre. ‘Hard-working. Responsible. I think she worried more about Hugo’s safety even than I did.’ Avis flung up her head at that, her nostrils flaring, but Chesshyre shot her a look of such pure rage that she retreated into stone-faced silence. ‘She was an athletic girl,’ Chesshyre continued. I thought of the clothes on her bed. Yes, that fitted what I’d seen. ‘She wasn’t a city girl, Mr Fowler. Un- sophisticated. Even naive. She was a little overawed, I think, when she came to us. She was nice, you know. A bit . . . reserved, maybe.’
Avis could stand it no longer. ‘You don’t know anything about her,’ she burst out. ‘She—was—Wild—’
Chesshyre loomed over Avis, patting the air in that patronising gesture men use to tell women to calm down. ‘On the slick there’s information from the agency that sent her to us,’ he said. Avis turned away from us and glared out the window. ‘We got her from a repu- table agency, the best.’ He sighed. ‘We haven’t had a chance to speak to them yet.’
‘I’ll do it,’ I said. ‘You should be able to rely on the agency’s discretion in this. It doesn’t look too good for them.’
I turned the slick over and pressed the rim. The next image was an agency business card: Little Angels. Of course. It would be called something like that, wouldn’t it? The business card included a catalogue of girls available for work. Peri Almond was listed with the other girls, along with their photos, first names, where they were from and their experience. I looked at the head-and-shoulders shot of the same girl I’d seen in the photo of baby Hugo. A young woman. Very young. ‘This is Peri?’
‘Yes,’ Chesshyre said.
Then I took the gamble I’d been planning ever since I entered their house. ‘This is all very well,’ I said, tapping the slick, ‘but I need your security footage too.’
Avis’s sharp indrawn breath told me I’d scored a direct hit. Chesshyre looked blankly at me. I’d been prepared to lie and say that I’d seen a security camera hidden at the entrance to their house, prepared to look a fool if I was wrong, but I was not wrong.
Chesshyre recovered quickly. ‘Of course. Of course. But as it only covers the entrance area I don’t think you’ll find it much help.’
It was half past three by the time I left the Chesshyre house with the security images. Riding the flying fox down the cliff was not so bad now with the shadows lengthening. As Chesshyre walked me down the path to the car, I heard Frisk padding along behind us. He must have his own steep cat path down the cliff.
As I drew near to Taj, Chesshyre stepped close to me. ‘There is something I should tell you,’ he said. ‘I couldn’t tell you in front of Avis.’
I looked up at him.
‘There is one possible motivation. Peri is very young, impressionable. I said she was overawed when she came to us. Naive. And I think she had—has—a crush on me. I didn’t take it too seriously but perhaps I should have.’
Chesshyre drew something from the pocket of his shorts and held it out. I took it. It was a paperweight with a real rose embedded in its clear centre. How could each petal have been captured so uncrumpled, so perfect? There was even a drop of water on one inner petal.
‘She gave that to me, Fowler. Sweet of her, I thought. But now I wonder, did she have a fantasy going on about me? Convince herself we were in some sort of relationship? If you find her, be aware she might say strange things to you. Who knows what she’s told herself about me? I don’t think she would harm Hugo but I do think she’s trying to get my attention. That’s why I called you. I feel sorry for her, Fowler, that’s the truth. If she’s charged for this, her life is over. She’ll be banished from the City for a start. You know the deal. She’s young, she’s made a serious mistake, but if we get Hugo back safe and sound there’s no need to ruin her entire life over a silly girlish crush.’
So I was Fowler now; we’d reached that stage fast. As soon as I took his money.
I turned the paperweight over, hoping I was keeping my expression neutral. Even if Chesshyre was trying to lay a false trail, he might also be giving me a key to Peri’s motives. The rose, with its velvety, intricate folds, its deep soft red, was the very image of desire. Could explain his obvious marital difficulties. Some might think it a bit early in the client relationship to grill him on whether he’d fucked the nanny but this was a kidnapping: I didn’t have the luxury of time.
‘Are you telling me that you had a bit of fun with her and she thought it was something more?’ I asked. ‘And now she might be taking her revenge?’
‘I’ve told you what you need to know,’ Chesshyre said.
‘I see. Well, let me know immediately if Peri contacts you or you hear of anything else.’ Like a ransom demand.
‘Dude,’ intoned Taj the instant Chesshyre flew away into a sky rapidly darkening with storm clouds, ‘I’ve been tampered with.’
‘What?’
‘Black-winged flyboy. Biggest I’ve ever seen. Checked me right out while you were up there chatting with Golden Boy. I’ve scanned but can’t find anything.’
‘Probably Chesshyre’s security,’ I said. ‘He’s sure to have some, especially now. Not surprising he took a look at you. Sure you’ve been tampered with?’
‘No,’ said Taj, sounding grumpier than I’d ever heard him.
‘Keep your shine on. I’ll inspect you when we get home.’
As we drove away I thought about how disorienting it was to meet real fliers for the first time. So disorienting in fact that there was Frisk, lying along the back seat, where Chesshyre had thrust him, telling me to take him for a few days, just till Hugo was home again of course, that he was a fine beast, worth a lot of money, but that he, Peter, couldn’t stand the sight of the creature right now. Wow. Do you normally get rid of members of your family so casually? So like the rich, isn’t it? To hand you a problem as if it’s a favour? I had to admit the large downpayment for my services Chesshyre had given me had also thrown me off-balance.
‘Why,’ Taj said after a few moments, ‘do I have a large moggy shedding fur on my back seat?’
‘Don’t whine, Taj. Doesn’t suit the sardonic mode advertised by your manufacturer.’
One problem I worried at as Taj drove home, passing back through the wealthy suburbs, the streets growing narrower and greyer as I neared my flat, the flame and emerald parrots and doves giving way to those drab-winged pests, the mynahs, sparrows and starlings the rest of us have to put up with, was this: how did we get here? How did we reach the point where I could see a human as radically altered as Chesshyre? The question was more urgent, more real, now I’d met him.
These changes start so small, almost incidentally. We set one foot in front of another and before we know it we’ve climbed the mountain and can’t even see our starting point anymore. How did it begin? Were our feet set on this path the first time a baby was conceived using IVF? Or was it inevitable from the moment we changed our world with fire, with language, with tools?
My son, to take the nearest and dearest example. What steps had we taken to shape him? Thomas has eyes of the purest melt- water green, the shade Lily picked for him from the Infant Inventory. Can’t remember its real name, something deliberately bland like the Cochrane Register, but Infant Inventory was what everyone called it—the irreverent nickname for what was nothing more nor less than a catalogue of attributes.
Did our corruption start there? Or earlier, when we’d had him screened for the comprehensive A-list of diseases? I wasn’t about to skimp on the best health for my son but I didn’t want to choose his eye colour. It’s too close, I argued with Lily, to treating our child as a product, with a range of desirable features. But she couldn’t see it; we’d screened him for disease, what was the difference?
A history of biotech course was part of police training and they’d talked about the first IVF baby and the controversy surrounding her. I recalled the astonishment of my class that there had been any resist- ance to such an obviously benign procedure. I was the only one not surprised by the heated arguments over the morality of it.
It wasn’t just artificial conception. There was the ever-increasing prevalence of surgery and drugs to enhance appearance and longevity. The distinction between treatments curing people of disease and those enhancing their looks and abilities got harder and harder to find, then vanished. There were the infinite possibilities of using your own stem cells for new tissue and organs. Who was now unmodified except the Origins fanatics? They were opposed to tampering with human genetics for any reason, avowing that humans had been made perfect by God; any imperfections resulted from deviating from God’s will and we had no right to try to escape the punishments we so justly deserved.