“Bingo,” I said delightedly. “That’s Deverill. Flash him hard, see if he’ll stop. Give him a toot, too. Got to make him look, his driver might not know the car.”
Suzie flashed and tooted, and the limo slowed as we passed. I waved frantically over Suzie’s head, uselessly, his windows as dark as ours; we stopped and scrambled into the road, and yes, the limo had stopped also and the driver was getting out. I didn’t know him, but that was no surprise; Deverill ran a major operation, many staff. And he didn’t have Dean any more, to drive him around...
Looked like a Dean-substitute, the driver, bigger and just as hard. He gazed at us entirely without expression, which was probably a better idea than the thin smile I was forcing, unconvincing even to me.
“The boss in the back there, yeah? This is urgent, I need to...”
I needed to talk less, apparently; he already had the back door open, and was gesturing me inside.
I bent over, peering in and already folding to let my body follow my gaze, so that I could sit and talk on a level with Deverill, tête-à-tête and eye to eye if we couldn’t be mind to mind.
And by the time my mind registered what my eyes were giving it, my arse was already sinking into soft leather and I was halfway to helpless as Mrs Tuck smiled graciously at me from the far side of this plush and padded car.
Feet still on the tarmac outside: my legs stiffened to thrust me up and out of there, but of course it was too late for that. The driver had gone from my line of sight; I heard Suzie yelp, Mrs Tuck chuckle.
“Well now,” she said softly. “I was just sending my boys to look for you, and here you are come to visit. Vernon will be glad.”
o0o
The driver thrust Suzie into the front passenger seat, though she was spitting and kicking and trying to take his eyes out with a gouging thumb.
“Shut the fuck up and sit still,” he warned her, equably enough, “or I’ll hurt your bloke. Get it?”
“You try it, shitfuck, you lay a hand on him and I’ll put your balls through a bloody mangle.”
But that was bravado and nothing more, and she knew it, he knew it, we all knew it. I was hostage against her good behaviour, as she was against my own. I suppose I could have forced a stand-off, one hostage against another: I was bigger, stronger and significantly younger than Mrs Tuck, I could have done her some serious damage.
But the driver was a harder bastard for sure than I could ever bring myself to be. He’d have done things to Suzie I couldn’t bear to contemplate, let alone replicate, and he wouldn’t so much care what I threatened in response. Suzie had been wife and lover and partner to me, all in these few short days of my reborn life; Mrs Tuck was only his employer. Why should he mind to hear her scream? It was his job, I suppose, to prevent it, but he did prevent it simply by its being nothing more than his job.
I did nothing, said nothing; after a minute Suzie subsided to sit in a matching silence, while the driver found a lane he could back into, to turn this long car and take us all to Arlen Bank where Deverill would be so glad to see us.
Thirteen: One More, Luke, and I Forget Everything
Cars follow character. I knew that but I’d forgotten it, I’d made unthinking assumptions. Dean got out of the limo, Deverill was in the limo, therefore it was Deverill’s limo. Stupid bloody assumptions, and look where they’d got us now.
Cars follow character: it was, inevitably, Mrs Tuck’s limo. There’d been only the two choices parked out front at Arlen Bank when I’d been taken there for lunch, this and the Jag; and that was no choice at all, if I’d only been thinking and not assuming. Of course it was Mrs Tuck’s limo. A statement necessarily louder than her ex-husband’s, and distinctly different. Deverill would be happy to be alone in the Jag, where a limo really required a chauffeur.
The big gates opened noiselessly for us and we swept through, both Suzie and I glancing involuntarily to the tree where Dean’s body had been hung. Not there now, of course; some long ladders must have been found from somewhere to bring it down. Nothing there at all now. I would dearly have loved to have seen a police car or two, some scene-of-crime officers in their white nylon overalls, all the signs of an official investigation; but dream on, Jonty, Deverill wasn’t going to follow that route. His man, his to avenge.
Up the long drive and this time not parking out front where Mrs Tuck’s status allowed her. One word from her, her driver left the Jag standing solitary and took us around to the old stable yard, where there were only a couple of other cars remaining. The company staff must have been sent home, only the hard men kept back in a crisis; and Mrs Tuck sent for, a wise and efficient voice in a crisis and as hard as any, with all her organisation to call on...
The limo stopped close by the door and Deverill was already there, stepping outside with a couple of men at his back. He wouldn’t have been expecting this, the limo returning so soon; typically he was coming to check it out himself.
If the driver would only follow basic training, get out to open the door for his employer, maybe Suzie could slide into the driver’s seat and hot us away from here, wheels spinning and gears crunching in a mad chase for freedom...
But of course the driver was trained better than that. He sat rooted, and Mrs Tuck managed her door all by her own sweet and ladylike self.
I didn’t move, any more than the driver. Neither did Suzie. Not from hope or expectation now, not because either one of us had any kind of plan left—my mind was tracking hers again, I was certain, and her mind was as numb and empty as my own—but only because sitting still was easier than moving. This was the event horizon, and nothing but a black hole waited outside the car. Why hurry? Let it come, let it all come; but we could at least make it come to us.
“What’s this, then?” That was Deverill, coming to meet her halfway: a move that probably bespoke their relationship, or he thought it did. Me, I thought they had a relationship seriously different from that, only I couldn’t think how to show it to him.
“Prompt delivery,” Mrs Tuck said, her voice redolent with satisfaction. “As promised. We found them on the way.”
“On the way here?” Deverill didn’t even stoop to peer into the car, he wouldn’t give us that much acknowledgement.
“Presumably.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know, I haven’t asked.”
That, I thought, was my cue to move. I opened the limo door and stood up, gazed at Deverill across the car’s wide roof and said, “Mr Deverill, I need to talk to you.”
“Son, you need to do better than that. Not right now, though, I’m not ready for you yet. Lock him away,” with a casual gesture to the men behind him. “And the girl, she’s here too?” He glanced at Mrs Tuck, not into the car to see for himself. Getting a nod of confirmation, he turned back to his men. “Put her somewhere else, I don’t want them together.”
“Yes, sir. Er, where...?”
“The Portakabin, for him. That’s what it’s here for. Bring her into the house.”
“Hey, wait a minute! What the hell are you talking about? We’ve come to see you of our own choice here, we’ve got some information we think you need to know. You can’t just lock us up like some high-handed mediaeval baron! Get real, Deverill, there are laws these days. False imprisonment, kidnap...”
“You get real, Jonty.” His face was heavy, expressionless, terrifying. “This is the second time you’ve come here today. First time, you brought some psycho climber with you, killed my lad. His body’s here still. You want to see it?”
No, I didn’t want to see it, not at any closer quarters than I already had. I shook my head.
“No, right. But if I show it to the law, I don’t think they’re going to blame me for taking a few precautions, second time you come.”
He had a case, maybe; but he wasn’t serious. That “if” was the only significant part of what he’d said. He wasn’t about to show Dean’s body to the law, that wasn’t his style. Nor would I be laying a complaint about my tre
atment. I’d either be too damn grateful for walking out of here alive, or else I wouldn’t be walking anywhere, except maybe to paradise. Chasing after Dean.
Suzie opened her door, stood up slowly, reached to take my hand; and I knew it was futile, but it was engrained too deep in me to be resisted, protect the ones you love. I said, “At least let Suzie go, she’s got nothing to do with Luke and she can’t tell you anything more than I can.”
But before he could sneer and shake his head and say I don’t think so, Jonty. That valuable to you, makes her valuable to me also, he was already too late. Suzie had made her pitch.
“No,” she said, “don’t you do that,” she said, and I wasn’t at all clear which of us she was talking to. “I’m here, and I’m staying here till we leave together.”
“For God’s sake, Suzie...!”
“Shut the fuck up, you,” and that at least was definitely directed at me; like the dig of her nails into my palm, a biting reminder, no adventures without me.
“She stays,” Deverill said, flat and final. Talking to his men, not to us. “But not with him. As I said.”
They nodded, and moved towards us; and Mrs Tuck’s driver made three big men, and I could feel the quiver under Suzie’s skin that said she wasn’t running unless I ran first, and it was all too late in any case. Neither one of us was likely to be fast or fit enough to make it out of the yard, let alone off the grounds and away.
So we stood there tamely, like classic victims, our body-language rolling us over and showing our throats, saying do what you will.
Which—surprise!—they did, as they had always meant to. Mrs Tuck’s driver took Suzie’s elbow in one big hand, and would clearly have dragged her away if she hadn’t gone with him under her own steam. One quick, frightened glance she gave me, Jesus, Jonty, what have we got ourselves into here? and then she went; and I watched her small figure all the way, in at the door and out of sight, and swore silently, bitterly to myself and at myself. I’d brought her into this; somehow, I had to get her out.
Me, I rated two companions on my walk directly to jail. A silent man on either side, strong hands on my arms to guide and hold me against any stupidity; they took me the other way, across the yard and out under the arch.
I’d missed seeing it on the way in, my eyes and mind both too busy with other questions, but Portakabin Deverill had said and a Portakabin there was, newly set on the grass beside the drive. It was smarter than your average building-site cabin, decked out neatly in SUSI’s white livery with navy trimmings, the Scimitar logo writ large along the side; and the small windows all had a framework of bars bolted across them. To keep intruders out, no doubt.
And of course to keep detainees in.
o0o
A steel-sided shoebox of a size for giants’ shoes, inside I thought it had become a plaything for giants’ children, let’s build a doll’s house, with walls and doors and everything. Where human children would have had only cardboard and glue to work with, these had used steel for the interior also, to make walls far stronger than the plasterboard divisions I was familiar with. Even the doors had metal frames, and I guessed metal mesh reinforcement under their hardboard skins. But still it was only a box lidded and divided, ultimately utilitarian, painted an uncompromising white throughout. There was no furniture at all, which I suppose was adding to the impression of a toy-place, an environment filled with someone else’s fantasies, my nightmares.
The outer door brought us into a corridor. The room on the left should have been an office but for its utter disuse, the door standing open and a fluorescent light-strip shining down on nothing. Half a dozen more doors in the long wall of the corridor: but it wasn’t that long, there was barely room for half a dozen doors, and no space at all between them. That reminded me of something. A public toilet, yes, a row of cubicles with only one purpose and no need to waste valuable real estate with any more elbow-room than this; but something else also, something far more significant.
Something else that belonged to Scimitar, had their logo on its sides. Something designed by the same hands, most likely; and with the same intent, only a more mobile version that didn’t need a truck and a crane to shift it. I remembered the glimpse I’d had into their escort van in the courtyard, before they’d brought the girl out of it. The same line of doors I’d seen then, except they’d been narrower, even more jealous of space.
So when my escort pulled the nearest door open and shoved me through it, it was no surprise to find myself in a chamber, a cubicle that could never have been meant for anything other than a cell.
Two paces long and one pace wide, a light recessed behind a grille in the ceiling, a high narrow letterbox of a window, barred outside the glass; nothing else to be seen in here, not even the hinges or the lock of the door. No eyehole in the door, no slot for passing meals in or waste products out. I supposed, if they were ever questioned, they could claim it simply as a store-cabin: look, no facilities for keeping people, who’s been making such a ridiculous claim? There aren’t even any toilets, see...
And there weren’t, and I wished I hadn’t thought of that; suddenly I wanted to piss, rather urgently.
Plain fear, I thought that was. I tried to crush it under a rising and legitimate anger; tried to feel outraged at what had overtaken us, that we who’d come here in all innocence had been imprisoned and threatened and separated. In truth, though, I couldn’t manage anger. I understood Deverill too well for that. He had reason enough to do this, at least by his own dark lights. Dean had died, and he thought we were responsible; what more did he need?
Hell, we were responsible. I was, at least. Suzie had only come along for the walk, for the curiosity, for me; and oh, I was anxious for Suzie, didn’t see how I could protect her. Truth wouldn’t be adequate, he couldn’t take his revenge on me and then let her go. I needed to turn his anger to another target, to Mrs Tuck, to show him something worse than the death of his man; and all I had was guesses, suspicions, allegations that I couldn’t prove. Not enough.
Nothing I could do then except sit on the floor in that bleak and featureless cell, wrap my arms around my knees and stare through the slit window at the darkening sky; sort in my mind everything I knew or guessed or suspected, and find somewhere in that chaos the weapon that I needed. It was in my hands to save Suzie’s life or to lose it, to grip it or to let it slip, and right now my hands were empty.
o0o
Mostly people do only what they want to do, however they justify it to themselves. Rarely, they find a stronger imperative: something to drive them further and deeper, till they will do all that they can bear to do, regardless of the cost. Discipline or hunger, fear or fury or greed: motives vary. So do consequences.
For me, I learned that day, the driving force was love.
I wish I could find comfort in that, but there is none. You do what you can bear to do, and nothing more.
o0o
How long did I spend in my cell, alone with myself? One hour at least, probably two and maybe more than two. It was full night outside before I heard footsteps and keys opening locks, before the door finally was pulled open.
I was on my feet by then and ready, if anyone ever is ready for nemesis.
o0o
It wasn’t nemesis came through that door, nor was I ready for it.
For her.
I’d been expecting Deverill, come to interrogate; what I got instead was Mrs Tuck, come to ensure my silence.
She had the tool for that, after all, right there under the palm of her hand, convenient for any use she cared to put it to.
She stood in the corridor, her hulking driver behind her, and she looked at me weighingly, took my measure. Then she tossed the keys to him, said, “Wait outside,” and stepped herself into my little cubicle, quite unconcerned at sharing such close quarters.
Quite rightly unconcerned.
“I need the toilet,” I said, though it wasn’t true any longer, something deeper than fear had dried me from the insid
e out. Nor was it part of some careful plan, only reflex. If they gave me the chance to escape, I’d hesitate too long before I took it.
“Too bad,” she said. “Cross your legs,” she said, “that’s how we like to keep our guests. Makes it harder to run, you see.” And she smiled, sweet little middle-aged woman showing her teeth.
“Have a lot of guests in here, do you?” The question again was pure bravado, me playing tough-guy detective still investigating up to the final bullet, but only because I thought it was expected of me. If not Mrs Tuck, then Suzie would surely expect it.
“Oh, a fair few. One way and another. We’ve been watching you, of course,” she said, cutting abruptly to the chase. “Ever since you first came to Vernon, claiming to know something about Lindsey Nolan. Then I thought you were a con-artist, though it didn’t seem to fit your profile; now I’m not so sure. I think perhaps you were conning us both, weren’t you? Telling Vernon nothing of any value, so that he would tell me, and I would think you were no risk?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I don’t remember.”
“No, perhaps not. But I think you’ve been rediscovering, haven’t you? Talking to your mother, among others.”
“She doesn’t know a thing,” I said quickly, truthfully.
“Be sensible, Jonty. It wasn’t passion that took her into Nolan’s bed, the man’s a frog. My sources tell me that your mother is something of an investigator on her own account: like mother like son, yes?”
Yes, damn it, though I hated to admit it. Had spent much of my life, indeed, trying to deny it or hide it or else run away from it...
Mrs Tuck must have had good sources, to learn anything about my mother’s less visible life. But, “She wasn’t interested in you,” I said, still truthfully. “He never told her anything about you, and she didn’t know to ask.”
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