by Anne Brooke
The hot shower feels good on my skin, invigorates me. I make coffee, black and strong, and sip it as the laptop hums back to life. The hours race by, but the fact that a second reading of everything on the CD gives me nothing more than a headache makes me wonder why I’m even bothering. I should be out there trying to get the information that will make the file complete, but the truth is there’s no point doing this until Blake gets here. Not that I have any clue yet as to how I’m going to get that information. I’ll have to rely on either inspiration or luck. I hope I’m not out of either. For now I need to ignore the throbbing behind my eyes and take in as much as I can, on the grounds that you can never know too much: PI Rule Number Thirteen. It’s not true though, is it? Jade’s death tells me that. I rub my eyes, take a swig of water, and concentrate on the screen.
I hear the post arrive and catch the noises of the city: laughter, shouts, the background hum of cars. It crosses my mind that there might be someone out there, watching my flat, waiting for me to appear. They’ll have a long wait then. All locks are secured and I’m going nowhere. Lunchtime comes and goes, with the sounds beyond my walls changing in tone and emphasis: more laughter now and more traffic. My stomach protests at the lack of food. I answer it with more of the coffee I make double-strength in the cafetiere. I reheat and refill it five times during the course of the afternoon.
When I’ve typed up all the notes I can make and the combined knowledge of Jade and myself is saved on three disks, I’m no further forward. But at least my understanding of the business is greater.
I can do no more. Slamming the laptop shut, I spring up, wipe both hands across my face, and stretch the muscles in my legs and arms. I need a drink. What time is it?
8.32 pm. I’ve worked all day. In the kitchen, I pour myself a well-earned Highland Park and feel the fire of it warming the back of my tongue. The first glass I gulp down, wanting the comfort of it more than the savour, but the second I take my time over. I’m only on the third sip when I remember the post.
It’s still on the hall floor. As I pick it up, I notice a thick, oblong package with familiar handwriting on the address label. For a ridiculous moment, my mind says bomb: danger, before I recognise who’s sent it and give a short laugh. God, I must stop reading all those crime novels, I must stop imagining I’m in a Tarantino film. Yes, I think, I may be a small-time investigator, but I’ve been knifed and shot at in Cairo, and my best friend has been murdered. I’m in deeper than I’ve ever been, and I’m mixed up with a man who might, if my instincts are correct, be playing a very dangerous game. I have to be careful.
The handwriting on the label reminds me of Jade’s. The postmark is Essex.
I tear open the wrapping and then gaze at the tied-up bundles of letters. The covering note is signed by Mrs. O’Donnell. ‘We found these in Jade’s private belongings,’ it says. ‘We think she would have liked you to have them.’ I pull the first one out of its green ribbon and read it. Then I find myself crouched on the floor, back resting against the wall, and I read it again. Then I read another and another and another, all from different bundles, and still I don’t understand.
I get up, gather the letters to my chest, and abandon any thought of dealing with the other post. In the living room I spread them on the table gently, as if the slightest movement might tear them.
There are thirty-four letters. Tears slide down my face as I slowly read them all again.
They’re love letters, written by Jade and addressed to me. Never posted. She mentions conversations we’ve had, evenings out at The Bell and Book, meals we’ve shared or that time when I took her to see Cats, and details of cases only the two of us would know about. All the inner workings of our friendship. And laced between all this are expressions of love, commitment, evidence of a desire I never knew. When I’ve finished them, I fold the last one up and sit holding it. My eyelids are hot and prickling, sore with crying. It’s as if all the things I’ve relied on, all the history I thought was mine, has been snatched from my grasp and returned to me in an unfamiliar guise. Why didn’t she ever say anything?
What could I have done if she had? God. I bury my face in my hands and groan. I’m sorry, Jade, I’m sorry. Even as the tears continue to fall, the doorbell pierces the still flat and pulls me back into the present. It’s late for visitors, too damn late, 10.23 pm now. I’ve just decided to ignore it and concentrate on dealing with the aftermath of the package in front of me when it rings again. This time it doesn’t stop.
‘Okay, okay, for God’s sake,’ I mutter. ‘Can’t you just bloody well leave me alone, whoever you are?’
I peer through the spy hole before opening the door. It’s Dominic, and I know from experience that he won’t go away until he gets what he wants. The sight of him glowering on the doorstep makes me change my mind, and I try to shut the door again, but he’s too quick for me.
‘No,’ he says, sidestepping past me and into the hall. ‘I want to talk to you, and it has to be now.’
I’m pleased to see his lip is a little blue from where I hit it yesterday, but already he’s in the living room, shrugging off his coat and laying it across the back of my sofa. He sits down without me inviting him, spreading his arms wide and gazing up at me, one eyebrow raised, as if he owns the place. I go to gather up Jade’s letters, but there are too many of them. He stands, picks one up, and glances through it before tossing it back onto the table and sitting down again.
‘How charming. Are they all like that?’ he asks.
‘Fuck off.’
‘Rather a purple prose she had. Not the class of love letter I’d send to anyone if I sent any at all.’
‘Shut the fuck up,’ I snap back. Then I stare into his eyes. ‘You don’t sound surprised?’
‘I’m not. But that isn’t what I’ve come to discuss with you.’
‘Look, what the fuck do you want? Why don’t you just say it and go?’
He gives a short laugh. ‘As you wish. What I’ve come to discuss with you is the case. I’m taking you off it.’
‘You don’t have to. I’m working for myself now.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘What do you think?’ I thump my fist down on the table, scattering Jade’s letters onto the floor, and wish for the second time I’d never let him in.
‘Don’t do that, Paul. You’ll break it. What do you mean you’re working for yourself?’
I can’t believe he doesn’t get it, and I can’t believe he’s behaving so coldly, but when I look at him there’s no deceit in his face. ‘Jade is dead. You were the indirect cause of her death. I no longer want your dirty money. All I want to find out is the truth and how much you know of it. How much do you know, Dominic?’
I speak slowly so there can be no misunderstanding, and as I do so Dominic gets to his feet, half-turns away from me, picks up one of my mother’s Staffordshire dogs from the mantelpiece, and sighs.
‘I’ve never understood your taste,’ he says. ‘I’m sorry about Jade, more than you know, but I didn’t kill her. It does, though, make it even more imperative that you realise the case is over. Leave it alone.’
I shake my head. ‘You must be out of your mind.’
‘Please.’
‘No.’
He puts down the dog and swings ’round to face me. ‘Then you leave me no choice.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You’re a reasonable man. Or you can be when your heart isn’t involved. Or your cock. And, my God, talking of your cock, you’ve had your share of lovers, haven’t you? Not including me. Though my sources reveal you have at least calmed down since your early twenties, and really I would have thought that would have been a relief to you. Let’s see, shall we?’
He reaches into his coat, takes out a sheaf of papers, and unfolds it. Unable to speak, unable to move, I watch him.
‘What does this tell me?’ he continues. ‘Hmm, regular use of the physical facilities on offer in the gents’ toilets of a Soho nightclub
, advertising for a sex partner for pleasure only in the gay press, shagging strangers in the less pleasant areas of Hampstead Heath and — ah, your pièce de résistance, my friend, very impressive indeed — being questioned and cautioned for underage sexual activity with a minor, the son of one of your parents’ neighbours, I believe. You’ve been busy. God, Paul, the boy was only fifteen. Fifteen. A child. What the fuck were you thinking of? You were lucky not to end up in court for that one. Good job it wasn’t — according to the records, though, knowing you as I do, I don’t believe it — actual penetration, and that your father’s a judge. Oh and that the lad was said to be willing of course. That helped. There’s more. Shall I go on?’
By now, I’m sitting slumped on the sofa, trying to catch my breath. ‘How did you know, you bastard? How long have you known about me?’
He waves the papers. ‘Since we started to fuck each other. All these things that could bring the police down on you, take your livelihood out of your grasp, ruin you even, I’ve always known. Trust me, I’ll do it if I have to. And more. You don’t want to be responsible for destroying your father’s glittering career, not to mention the distress it will cause your mother. I’m telling you the truth, and you’re condemned by your own beliefs. Maloney’s Law — you should apply it now.’
He waits while I struggle to breathe and regain control.
‘When are you going to destroy me?’ I ask him. ‘And my parents?’
‘I won’t. On both counts. If you agree to my request. Abandon this case.’
‘Blackmail then. God, Dominic, is this what you’ve held against me all this time? Is this what you’d drop me and my family into if — when — this whole case goes down?’
‘Of course.’
His bloody honesty. It takes away any shaky ground I might have been able to find.
I stand up. ‘And what if in turn I tell everyone about our affair? How will your company, your shareholders, your wife, and your children feel when they know the sort of lies you tell?’
He shrugs his broad shoulders. ‘With your record, who would believe it?’
It’s only when he’s left me and I have drunk three more shots of the Highland Park, straight off, that I admit he’s right.
I walk out into the bleakness of the night. My conscious mind is busy bringing logic to all the things I have experienced in order to survive. In spite of the dullness of autumn, for me there’s a clarity in the air that makes everything seem sharper. I mull over tasks while, underneath, at my heart, I am remembering another place, another time when the man I love gave me no choices.
Thursday 12 April 2001. The day Dominic ended our affair. April is the cruellest month, they say, and since then I’ve always believed it. He’d promised he’d be with me at 9pm though he would have to leave by midnight. Cassie was expecting him. That would give us three hours of love-making. Enough, I’d hoped, to get me through another week or two until he decided he could see me again. Please God, let it not be any longer than that, I remember thinking, please, not this time.
The bedroom was glowing with candlelight, and I’d put a bottle of his favourite Dom Perignon on ice and two glasses next to the bed. Not that we ever needed it. Already I’d showered, shaved with special care, and splashed my face and neck with the aftershave he’d bought me. After several false starts, I’d chosen my newest pair of jeans to wear and a dark green cotton shirt that went with my eyes, or so he’d once told me. I hadn’t bothered with briefs; he always liked to see my nakedness under the denim. And now I was waiting. Waiting. Waiting.
8.31pm. 8.43. 8.52. I combed my hair for the tenth time, smoothing it down to make my face look thinner, more wolfish. The way I think he liked it, though he’d never said.
8.57pm. 9.04. God, where was he? Why did he always do this to me? Why did he make me wait? And why did I never learn from it? I should have realised by now he was never on time, I should have been used to it and just tried to be calmer. No point being calm, I was sweating now.
9.12pm. 9.22. This was later than he’d ever been before, and my fingers were itching for a cigarette, even though I hadn’t smoked for six months, two weeks, and two days by then. Anything to ease the dark swirling circle in my stomach. What if he didn’t come? What if this was it, forever, and I never saw him again? I couldn’t...God...I just couldn’t think.
9.27pm. 9.33. I finished my second cigarette, pacing all the time ’round the flat, touching a picture here, rearranging the mirror so the light from the glasses reflected from it. Please God, let him come, please. Should I ring him? No, not yet, he’d be here soon. He wouldn’t like me to ring him, not at work.
9.42pm. 9.51. I couldn’t see how I was going to get through the night. I would have to ring him, I would just have to. I punched the numbers into my mobile, and at the same moment the doorbell rang and I was there. Letting him in, trying not to touch and keep on touching him, though my fingers fluttered around his skin. They carved the shape, the feel, the scent of him into the air as I took his jacket and tried not to gabble.
‘God, Dominic, it’s good to see you. I thought you might have forgotten, or worse. I’m glad you’re okay, I was worried. I don’t know, something might have happened, you know? Look, don’t worry about me, I’ll be myself again in a minute. You’re here now, that’s all that matters. It’s all that matters.’
I reached to kiss him, but he sidestepped me, heading for the living room. As I followed, still clutching his jacket, something inside me ceased to move, and it was hard to think.
Even before I’d had a chance to say anything else, he was already speaking, all the while staring straight at me.
‘Look, Paul, I’m not staying. I think you know what this is about. We have to finish it. It’s gone on too long. It can’t last. We’re burning ourselves out. So I’ve made a decision, and I believe it to be best for both of us. We’re through. Our affair ends here and it ends now.’
I couldn’t speak. Words were crowding up inside me, pecking at my flesh like crows. None of them made any sense. He continued to stare at me. His mouth was twitching as if he tasted something rotten but couldn’t spit it out.
After another few seconds, I could still find nothing to say. He shrugged, took his jacket from my lifeless fingers, and strode out into the hall.
Finally I found my voice.
‘What?’ I stumbled out after him. ‘Don’t be stupid, Dominic, you don’t mean that. You can’t. You’ve only just got here. Why don’t you stay? Come into the bedroom. I’ve got champagne, candles, too. You’re tired, it’s after work. Come on, love, I can help you relax.’
By the time I’d finished, I could see his body was shaking, though he didn’t turn to face me. I had no idea what was going on. It was beyond my understanding. Even searching my mind for what might have made him say this, I could find no hint of a problem in all our times together. Yes, of course, a few times when we’d made love, and especially the last time, it was as if something in him hadn’t been there with me but that was just tiredness, wasn’t it? He was a busy man. It wasn’t anything sinister, it couldn’t be.
‘Come on, please,’ I laid my hand on his back and whispered. ‘Let’s just go to bed. It’ll be fine this time, you’ll see. We can talk afterwards.’
‘No. I have to go now. For God’s sake, don’t you see it’s best?’
No, I didn’t see. I didn’t see at all. So I just wrapped my fingers around his arm and began pulling him back to the bedroom.
‘Paul. I mean it.’ Without warning, his arm whipped out, and he struck me, hard, across the jaw, so hard that my teeth cracked and the sour taste of blood filled my mouth. I went down, scrambling and spitting like a wino on the hall carpet. He swung ’round and headed for the door. I had to stop him.
‘Please, Dominic, please. I’m begging you, stay.’ I flung myself after him, scrabbling at his feet, his legs, the edge of his jacket. ‘Please, don’t leave me. I can’t be without you. I can’t.’
‘God, Paul, please.’ H
e grabbed my fingers where they clung to him and tried to pull himself free, but my desperation was too strong. ‘For God’s sake, have some bloody pride, won’t you?’
But already I was beyond that and I didn’t let go. The next second I caught a glimpse of his shoe aimed at my stomach. Grabbing it, I pulled him over on top of me.
‘Please,’ I said again, clutching him to me. Through my hazy vision I saw he was breathing heavily, his face twisted with pain. ‘Please don’t leave me like this, I can’t bear it. I love you. Can’t you see that? I love you and I’ll do anything, anything in the world for you. You only have to ask. Don’t we have a future? Don’t we? I’ve thought so much of us being together. You could leave Cassie, be with me. You want to, I know you do. Please, I need you. I’ll do whatever you want, whenever you want it. Please, please, Dominic.’
‘For God’s sake, let me go. I can’t be with you any more. And you’re mad. I’ll never leave my wife.’
‘No! You don’t mean that, you can’t mean it.’
‘But I do.’
Pushing me down, he slammed my head back against the carpet. The world around me spun wildly. He was looking at me, his eyes unfathomable. Suddenly there was stillness between us.
‘Don’t go,’ I whispered. ‘Please. Don’t leave me with nothing.’
Something in his expression switched off, and it was then that the terror began.
‘All right,’ he said. ‘You asked for it. You’ll get it.’
Before I could object, he had ripped my shirt open and pulled down my jeans. His action shocked me back into myself.
‘Glad to see you’ve made it simple for me, Paul.’
‘No.’ I made a move to punch him, but a wave of nausea overpowered me. He took the opportunity to slap my face again and turn me around as easily as if I’d been a child. As he did so, he imprisoned my arms behind me in my shirt.