‘Except me,’ Jeannie said darkly. ‘It goes against the grain to be frightened by that thieving pimp and I’m surprised to hear you talk like this, Zak. What’s happened to you? Have you lost your backbone?’ she said plaintively.
‘I’m just trying to protect us both, Jeannie,’ Zachary said miserably, not for one minute believing the ‘both’ bit of his claim. He was desperately trying to save his own skin, and who would blame him, he thought, I’m not responsible for any of this so why should I take the blame? Aloud he muttered petulantly, fully aware that he was acting badly and not needing his new wife to point out the obvious to him:
‘Connolly said Sinclair might turn nasty but at least he promised me he’ll call off his thugs if I pay up immediately.’
By this time, Zachary was desperately trying to persuade himself that Sinclair had indeed promised to call off his men when the man had done no such thing.
‘I wouldn’t believe a damn thing Sinclair told me and a week ago neither would you. What’s got into you?’
Zachary finally realized he needed to adopt a different approach.
‘It’s just that I’ve already got you into enough trouble with my gambling and stealing, Jeannie. You deserve so much better. I couldn’t bear for you to be hurt or made to suffer any more than you have already. You’re much more important than any amount of money.’
That brought Jeannie up short. She looked at Zak trying to gauge the sincerity of his remarks. She wanted to believe him but equally she was a woman who had always had to fight to protect the little she had managed to accumulate in her comparatively short, hard life. As she had already remarked, it went against the grain to be frightened and browbeaten by the likes of Sinclair. Nor could she understand her husband’s strange behaviour. He might be useless in all sorts of ways, but he had never been a coward. It was this latter belief that finally convinced her that perhaps he was being sincere and that he genuinely was concerned for her welfare.
‘All right, Zak, we’ll do it your way, but I still don’t trust the bastard,’ she said with spirit.
Getting a bank loan would prove to be neither as quick nor as easy as Zachary hoped; but that was for the future. They still needed a place to stay and it was Jeannie’s turn to call Gloria back.
In the event, Jeannie’s faith in George proved not to be misplaced and, later that day, she and Zachary were seated in the Costello’s sitting room drinking tea where it quickly became obvious to Zachary who, by this time, was very sensitive to such subtleties of behaviour, that neither Gloria nor George held him in high regard. In fact, it was patently obvious that they despised him. They were tolerating his presence in their house for one reason only; he was Jeannie’s husband. He was left in no doubt that he would immediately be kicked out on his ear should he, for one moment, step out of line or should Jeannie tire of him.
It was hard for a man with Zachary’s background to accept such treatment without comment and he did so only because he had few other alternatives. He was also ashamed of the mess his other self had brought down on Jeannie’s head. So confused was he, he could almost accept that it was only right that he should be made to do penance for the other Zak’s stupidity and selfishness.
He hung his head in shame when Jeannie explained to her sister and brother-in-law that it was their intention to sell the house in Disraeli Street in order to pay off his debts.
‘We’ll still have some left over to start again, won’t we, luv?’ she said brightly, giving Zachary an affectionate squeeze and kiss as she did so.
Jeannie was trying hard to put a brave face on her predicament. On the other hand, Gloria and George looked on with grim expressions on their faces that spoke volumes. So fierce were their expressions, Zachary was unable to look them in the eyes. He felt dreadful. Nor did his mood lighten when Gloria, wanting to wound him, said:
‘And what’s to stop him gambling away what little you’ve got left, Jeannie?’
‘Don’t worry about that, Gloria. Zak’s learned his lesson, haven’t you honey?’ Jeannie said, her eyes full of love and trust. ‘He’s promised me he’ll never gamble again and I believe him. You won’t, will you, luv?’
Zachary shook his head, not trusting himself to speak. How could he admit that he had already broken that promise? Gloria and George looked on, disbelief clearly etched in their expressions.
‘You know you’re welcome to stay as long as you like, Jeannie,’ George said, laying emphasis on Jeannie’s name and deliberately excluding Zak from the generous invitation. ‘How long do you think you’ll be staying?’
The next day Jeannie put her house into the hands of a local estate agent and began the slow process of obtaining a bank loan. Because he was still wanted by the police, Zak could take no part in the transaction. Naturally, the bank had to check all sorts of details with the mortgage company which involved an exchange of letters. Jeannie also had to provide a signed letter from her husband, properly witnessed, of course, to prove that he, too, was willing for the house to be used as collateral against the loan. Finally, Jeannie was required to go in to the bank to sign the agreement. All this took time and Sinclair had already proved he was not a patient man.
It was almost two weeks after Barry had settled into the job of house sitting for his sister that Sinclair made his move. Not wishing to be bored while he carried out his promised duty, Barry had moved his games console into the Disraeli Street house and was quite enjoying showing the property to the small trickle of people who came to view it, some through the Estate Agency but more thanks to a prominent ‘For Sale’ sign that was erected in the Storie’s pocket-handkerchief front garden. The property was far from looking at its best, of course. When Jeannie had left that last time, she had fully expected to return the following day and the house had that strange ‘the owner has just popped out for a minute’ feel to it. Nor did Barry, who lacked an eye for such details, do anything to improve the look of the house. Indeed, he was far from being an asset when it came to showing the property off. The smell of his dirty socks and his half-eaten takeaways did little to enhance the prospects of the property in the eyes of potential buyers and no firm offers had yet been received.
It was Jeannie’s habit to ring her mother’s house once a day to check that everything was all right at home and when she rang the previous evening, her mother told her that Barry had not been home that day. The old lady suspected he was already down at the pub with his pals but she promised to get him to give his sister a ring when he got in, if he was in a fit state to do so.
Barry did not ring back but instead, at nine o’clock the next morning Jeannie received a call from one of her mother’s neighbours. There had been an accident, she was told; Zak and Jeannie’s house in Disraeli Street had been burned to the ground in the early hours of the morning and Barry was missing. Old Mrs Granger, Jeannie’s mother, feared that Barry had been in the house at the time. It seemed that, despite Jeannie’s warning, Barry often stopped over in Disraeli Street rather than going home after a heavy drinking bout with his pals. As it happened, Zak and Jeannie’s house was just around the corner from his favourite pub. Even while the neighbour was on the phone to Jeannie more news came in. The fire brigade now had the fire under control and a man’s charred remains had been discovered inside.
Jeannie was quite inconsolable.
‘It was that bastard, Sinclair and his men what did it,’ she wailed. ‘I should have known he’d try something like that. I should never have asked Barry to stay in the house by himself. It’s all my fault.’
Zachary and Gloria did their best to comfort her but it was no use. The body of the dead man could only be that of young Barry and, in her eyes, she was the indirect cause of his death. There and then, she decided to go home to be with her mother regardless of what Sinclair and his gang of thugs might do, and within the hour both she and Gloria had gone.
Zachary was left alone in the north London house with a glowering George Costello who made no attempt to disguise hi
s contempt for his brother-in-law. Eventually, Zachary could stand it no longer.
‘If you’ve got something to say, why don’t you say it,’ he said.
‘I’ve got nothing to say to you,’ George said stiffly turning as he did so to leave the room.
‘If you think I’m to blame for Barry’s death, why don’t you say so,’ Zachary called after George’s departing back.
At this, George spun around, loathing and disgust written all over his swarthy face.
‘Well you are, aren’t you? You don’t need me to tell you that,’ he yelled back, his entire body quivering with pent up emotion.
George was right. For all Zachary’s concern about not wanting Barry in the house after dark and his attempt to take out a bank loan to pay off Sinclair as early as possible, if he had not been in debt, none of this would have happened. Of course, there was still the possibility that the fire was just an unfortunate accident and that Barry had simply fallen into a drunken stupor with a lighted cigarette still in his hand after too heavy a drinking session. He would not be the first drunk to set fire to his bed. But even if that proved to be the case, he was still to blame because Barry would not have been alone in the Disraeli Street house if his brother-in-law had not been in debt. That it was his other self who was really responsible seemed irrelevant in the present circumstances. Whoever was responsible for the debt, when all was said and done, he and the other Zak were the same person.
‘You’re right, George. If I hadn’t got into debt none of this would have happened,’ he said, his shoulders drooping in resignation. ‘If you want me out of your house just say the word and I’ll go.’
If he were thrown out, he had no idea where he’d go or what he’d do. He would probably finish up staying with Pete up in Newcastle, which would seem like running away, and he had been running away for far too long. It was time he stood up to Sinclair.
‘I said you could stay, and I’m not going back on my word. Just keep out of my way from now on, that’s all.’ With one, final, scornful look, George turned and left Zachary standing in the gloomy sitting room. There he remained until lunch time when Jeannie rang from her mother’ house.
It seemed that as well as number 17 Disraeli Street, number 15, the house next door, had also been gutted by the fire. Barry’s mates had told the police that their pal had sunk more than a skinful of ale by the time he left the pub the previous night and having been informed that Barry was also a heavy smoker, the police, initially, thought he might have been the cause of the fire as he lay in a drunken stupor. In the last hour or so, however, a forensic expert had concluded that the fire had started in two places: one inside the front door and the other inside the back door. The police were now treating the blaze as a case of arson and murder and Jeannie had no doubts in her mind who was responsible. She also told Zachary about the lucky escape of the husband and wife and their two young children, who lived in the adjoining property and who were still in hospital suffering from the effects of smoke inhalation. The youngest child was actually in intensive care and the doctors feared for her life but all four would certainly have perished had it not been for their dog raising the alarm. Jeannie went on to tell him it was her intention to stay on with her mother at least until after the funeral but that Gloria would return later that evening and would commute between the two addresses until after the funeral.
With no thoughts of lunch, Zachary sat morosely in his brother-in-law’s depressing north London sitting room. As he sat there he grew angry; and the angrier he got, the old Zachary who had made such a success of his life gradually began to emerge from where he had been hiding all this time. The callous way Sinclair had destroyed Jeannie’s house out of simple, stupid spite - it was strange that he still could not think of the house as partly belonging to him, nor that, he either, had any doubt that the fire was the work of Sinclair - and had killed at least one innocent human being and had placed many other lives in mortal danger just to make a point, filled him with rage. Whereas, before, a deep-seated, civilized veneer had constrained the way he thought and acted - after all, that was how successful businessmen conducted business in his old dimension - that veneer was shed for ever as he faced the reality and desperation of his true situation. Completely out of his depth in this new dimension, he had been a frightened mouse of a man, desperate for a clean, painless end to his nightmare. Now, fear of personal injury was replaced by outrage and determination. He was outraged that someone like Sinclair could be so far outside the law he could intimidate people with wanton acts of violence without fear of retribution and Zachary was determined to make the man pay for what he had done. In the quiet of that faded, Victorian room, he took a silent vow not to rest until he achieved his goal.
Before fate, or whatever it was, had wrenched him from his comfortable existence in Edinburgh, he had been widely envied as a man who had it all. It was true his relationship with Jen had become rather more strained than he would have wished, but, he still believed the problem was only temporary. He was also convinced that things would have dropped back into place once the deal with Ibbotsons was settled, one way or another. But that previous existence, which already seemed like some far off dream, was in marked contrast to his present situation. Here he had the unstinting love and loyalty of a beautiful, very special woman who, already, had become extremely important to him. But, other than that, he had nothing.
He was despised by Sinclair and his thugs for his weakness and his stupidity; he was loathed by his sister in-law and her husband for failing to look after his wife and for bringing hardship and tragedy into her family; he was flabby and out of condition; he had no money other than the little he had won gambling or had borrowed from his brother, and nor did he own anything of any material value. As far as he was concerned, the house and its contents were Jeannie’s. He could only pray that everything was properly insured. It was a depressing catalogue of disadvantages when, on the plus side, all he had was a trained mind and a new-found resolve.
As he sat pondering his predicament, it gradually dawned on him that, in fact, he had much more going for him than he initially imagined. For a start, only he knew he was an entirely different person. No one in this dimension had any idea of the skills he possessed, which he should be able to use to his advantage. When they looked at him, they only saw the old Zak, a weak-willed loser with nothing going for him. As well, there were many differences between this dimension and the one he had just left and while he had not yet explored how he might use some of those differences to his advantage, the possibility of being able to do so certainly existed. Finally, unlike the Zak, whose body he now controlled, he was not a loser. All his adult life he had been successful and confident and even though he was having to make a start from just about as low a level as it was possible to begin, he did not doubt for one moment his ability to get right back up there once again.
There was no escaping the consequences of the embezzlement and he hoped Connolly would give him time to make good on his promise. Indeed, the money might become available even sooner now that their house had burned down, providing only that it and its contents were fully insured. Sinclair, however, was a different matter. He needed a quite different approach and Zachary was resolved to do whatever was necessary to make the man pay for what he had done.
Chapter 15
Zachary
The next morning, Zachary had the Costello’s house to himself; Gloria had returned to Croydon to be with her mother and sister, while George was out seeing in supplies for his pizzeria. After worrying all night about the problem, Zachary’s new-found resolve had weakened. He still wanted revenge but what could he do? How could a lone man go against someone like Sinclair with all the latter’s resources? Pangs of hunger eventually drove him down to the kitchen where he made himself a cup of tea and a sandwich.
It seemed to him he had two options. He could take his revenge the easy, legal way, which was far less personal and also far less satisfying, or there was the dangerous, dif
ficult, illegal but much more satisfying way, provided only that it was successful. Indeed, failure was not an option. He knew he had let himself down in Jeannie’s eyes and was now ashamed of his previous cowardly attitude. He needed to exact a much more personal revenge on Sinclair if only to rehabilitate himself in the eyes of his wife. He needed to cause Sinclair serious hurt for all that the man had done to him and his little family and in his present mood he could think of nothing more satisfying than getting the man by the throat and slowly throttling the life out of him. Of course, even while his life was slowly ebbing away he wanted Sinclair to be fully aware of why Zak was throttling him. Ever the realist, however, Zachary knew that was so much wishful thinking. He would never be able to take another man’s life, and certainly not in cold blood. He knew he couldn’t kill Sinclair, but he would certainly enjoy making the man suffer. How, was the question?
After savagely venting his anger on his sandwich, he rang Connolly.
No sooner had he identified himself than the police inspector cut across him.
‘I know exactly why you’ve called me, Mr Storie. You blame Connor Sinclair for what happened the other night, don’t you? Well I can assure you, the same thought crossed my mind and I’ve already spoken to Sinclair and his two favourite heavies and, as I expected, they all have cast iron alibis for the time the fire was set.’
‘What about witnesses? Did anyone see anything suspicious?’
‘No they didn’t. We’ve got no witnesses and nothing other than our suspicions to link Sinclair to the crime. They’ll never even be arrested, of that I’m certain.’
‘An innocent man’s been killed just because Sinclair wanted to make a point. You can’t let him get away with it. That’s not right.’
SWITCHED: The man who lost his body but kept his mind. Page 26