A Fitting Revenge

by CA Sole

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  So Giles had made a tentative approach to Juliet. He must have held his feelings for her in check for a long time. Dammed them, until that touch with its unintended feeling opened the sluices and his emotions poured out. How, with Juliet present, could he have ever invited another girl to make up a foursome?

  It was no wonder that, after Juliet put him off, Giles could not bring himself to be in our company. He would have been severely embarrassed over the threat to our relationship that he had almost created. When he and I had lunch in the City, he had hesitated too long, debating whether to tell me of his desire for her, before declaring that he had been searching for someone intelligent. I had known he thought Juliet was wonderful, but I hadn’t realised he had loved her to the extent that her rejection had set him adrift, blinding him to Sandra’s dark side.

  Did I consider that Giles had betrayed me by approaching Juliet? Yes I did, and that too smarted, but was it any worse than what I had done to her? Yes it was, because his action was for love, mine was only temporary lust. It didn’t matter now though, it was over a year ago. Or did it matter? It made me realise how fragile a relationship could be. One stupid wrong move could drive the injured party into the arms of another treasured friend. It would be so easy for Juliet to turn to Giles for help and understanding. Would she seek him out in revenge? No, I was confident that sort of tactic was not in her character. My guess was that if she never forgave me and walked away from our relationship, she would go into hibernation, she would not want anything to do with either of us. Or so I hoped. If she took up with Giles, her proximity would kill me. I would have to go away, disappear off the planet, it would be too painful. I again reminded myself that it happened well over a year ago and he had done the honourable thing and walked away. It was my duty now to continue to support him, but I wasn’t going to tell him about Juliet and me. I wasn’t worried that he would interfere in any way but, being the person he was, he would be distracted by his concern for his friends when he needed to focus on his own problem.

  Monday went by in slow motion, I was unable to shake Juliet’s misery from my thoughts. I hardly ate, worried sick that this break might be final. Tina seemed to understand and followed me around far more closely than normal. In the morning, I went to town and sent the memory card with its valuable, almost toxic, information to Giles’ office address by special delivery. I replaced my crushed laptop and spent the rest of the day restoring the information from a separate hard drive which hadn’t been damaged, thank goodness. I also listed everything for which I could claim and spent another age talking to the insurance company.

  A lousy day, except that later in the evening I repaired the little Buddha. It was split, but the two pieces clung fast to each other with wood fibres which had stretched. It couldn’t be repaired seamlessly as the fibres now had more bulk than before. I could not bear to tear the pieces apart and remove the fibres so that the repair would be invisible. In my weak emotional state that would be akin to creating a permanent rift. Instead, I fed some glue into the gap, wrapped the figure in a thick cloth and gently squeezed the two halves together in a vice. The glue’s instructions said that it was more powerful than the wood. If so, then although our relationship would have a slight battle scar, it would be the stronger for it. Superstition or hope?

  Giles and I had been speaking almost daily, usually around lunch time and using our pay-as-you-go phones. On Tuesday morning the call came earlier, while I was packing.

  I said, ‘Giles, I’ve been thinking. You must file for divorce yourself before she does. Although it may not make any difference to the outcome, at least it gives you the high ground. Then you have to assemble all your evidence and present it to her. Hopefully, she will see that she cannot win and accepts a reduced settlement.’

  ‘Well, I’ve been thinking too,’ he said, ‘I don’t stop thinking. It’s not going to be so simple. Sandra is going to deny the first encounter with you and she’ll get the Wiggins to provide her with an alibi. We have the film of the second night, but she can say that was just revenge for my indiscretion or something; anyway, we’ll be even. I need more ammunition and I’m going to ask her last husband if he’ll state that she treated him in a similar way. That, at least, will provide evidence of her character and a plot. I reckon he’ll be itching for revenge, he’d love to see her defeated.’

  ‘Good idea. Speed is essential, though, she could even file today. What I don’t understand is why it’s taking her so long?’

  ‘I suppose she’s trying to build a stronger case. If she could just get me to hit her, it would be a major success.’

  The flight I had chosen left Heathrow at just after six that evening with Iberia on a British Airways ticket. It meant a layover in Madrid of some seven hours, but that could not be helped. The whole trip to Santiago took around eighteen hours which, even in business class, was exhausting. At least there was a lounge available in Madrid, because it wasn’t worth checking into a hotel.

  I barely rested on the long haul. I watched a movie without seeing it and have no idea what it was called. I drank too much and ate too little. The cabin attendant was very pretty and charming, but I couldn’t respond. My left shoulder and ear were still painful preventing me from sleeping on that side, and the ear bled too easily if I lay on it, even under the dressing. Of course, there were also far too many confusing thoughts in my mind. Juliet, Giles, Sandra, Wiggins, they all had their part to play in contributing to my unease. Juliet dominated them. How was I going to win her back? Had she actually left, was she considering breaking with me permanently? Every morning for the entire trip I woke with a feeling of hunger but never felt like food. I managed to push it into the background during the day and force myself to eat properly, but it would return at night and give me a troubled sleep. Our agony aside, I really needed her opinion on this whole business with Giles. She was very good at analysing situations and, although I knew I could do it, it would be a real bonus to have her thoughts as a woman dealing with a woman.

  My thoughts also strayed to Tony Wiggins, undoubtedly the man who had almost killed me with a jemmy. I had been sure I’d seen him before that dinner at Giles’ house, and it came to me out of the blue while I was half asleep. He had been standing at the bus stop across the road from Antonio’s restaurant the night Sandra had walked in and messed up my life. I had taken no notice at the time of course, because he wasn’t the only person at the stop. The fact that he had been wearing a leather jacket and a beanie on a warm August evening was what stuck in my mind, and he had been staring into the restaurant. With hindsight, he must have followed me and reported my position to Sandra. It had always seemed more than a little odd that she could just walk up to me as she did, “recognising me from a photo”.

  Vertilift was a helicopter operator with its headquarters in Santiago, but with operating bases at strategic places in the country. Although they would undertake all kinds of work, they specialised in tasks that required their helicopters to carry loads on a cargo sling underneath the machine, often high in the Andes mountains. It was risky work which required good training, reliable equipment, a dedication to proven procedures and a healthy respect for the mountains and their weather.

  The company was formed and owned by a General Manager who was willing to pay for what he believed in. To people like me, who make a living from helping aircraft operators put Safety and Quality Management Systems in place, someone who was unequivocally prepared to fund the changes these systems required and put his full and enthusiastic support behind the programmes was a fantastic bonus. No profit would come of the expense, but Mario Montano knew that the work his crews did incurred a great deal of risk, so he adopted the philosophy that things had to be done the correct way, risk had to be reduced to the absolute minimum with every decision analysed for safety, and the highest level of quality had to be attained. He charged his clients accordingly which put off some potential customers, but there were enough that would pay to get
the best service. Managers as supportive as Mario are a rarity, and it was a pleasure working with him as there was immense satisfaction to be had from seeing my ideas and systems put into practice and accepted by the staff, most of whom added valuable contributions. Mario had many business interests and was an extremely rich man. I did not know how rich, of course, but I certainly benefited from his largesse. I counted him as a true friend, and I liked to think he felt the same way; certainly trust and goodwill were present on both sides.

  After an initial year of regular visits every six weeks, I now only had to go there once a quarter. Mario saw to the business class air travel and a five star hotel when I was in Santiago. Out in the camps, I took whatever accommodation and food were offered. My role as a safety consultant had grown in the last year to include the position of a roaming flight standards instructor. I had no legal authority under Chilean aviation regulations, but Mario wanted an independent person to ensure that all the pilots were adhering to the same standards. This was an excellent position, as my flying rate had been falling away as the consultancy grew. In this instructor role I was able to keep flying and help the young pilots mature in their work at the same time. Two of the older men harboured a slight resentment towards me as a foreigner, although they were too polite to be unpleasant about it. Most of the others accepted me because that’s what Mario wanted, but all three of the younger ones, who felt that the older pilots were too domineering and stuck in their ways, welcomed my input. I became good friends with two of them, Humberto and Felipe, and it was Felipe, Mario’s nephew, who inadvertently shaped my future.

  Vertilift’s camp was in northern Patagonia, two hours drive from Puerto Montt, past the impressive Volcan Calbuco and in the Cochamo region. It was composed of a number of mobile cabins which gave every occupant his or her own room together with a common mess hall and kitchen. In another cabin was a lounge with a TV and some board games. The crews ran a book swapping club and there was always something new to read, but many would retire to their rooms after supper and use their computers. In addition to the pilots, there were helicopter engineers, a couple of surveyors, a geologist and a medic. I had him change the dressing on my ear to something thin enough so that I could get a flying helmet on my head.

  On the second day, we had a good afternoon’s flight, practicing approaches to a high altitude landing pad, feeling for the updrafts of rising air that would boost the helicopter’s lift and learning to be wary of the downdrafts that could pull it down the mountainside towards the valley floor. Felipe had been working well since I had been there, but I felt that his mind was not fully on the task. With Humberto out of earshot at some point I asked if something was bothering him, but he brushed it aside and merely muttered about a headache. Later, when we had finished the evening meal and the others had drifted off to their rooms, Felipe and I sat and talked. When the last person had left, he got up and walked slowly round the room, his tall strong frame upright and proud. As was often the case, he had not shaved for a few days allowing his thick black stubble to accentuate his chiselled features. Usually he had no problem talking, but he seemed troubled as if he was trying to make up his mind about something. Then in a low voice, even though there was no one else to hear, he leant forward, his long hair falling over his ears and said, ‘Alastair, I must talk with you, I want to confess something, but you must not tell anyone. You must swear not to tell anyone.’

  ‘Felipe, you know I won’t tell, but why don’t you go to confession?’

  ‘Tsah!’ he exclaimed with disgust, ‘Those priests, they give forgiveness away like sweets to kids. Every week they take a bucket of forgiveness and throw a handful through the screen of the confessional. And to make themselves feel better, they give punishment; twenty “Hail Marys”. Is nonsense! No Alastair, for this I don’t want forgiveness, but I need to tell someone, one I can trust, for my self help. I trust you, you are foreigner and will not tell anyone, and you are my big brother!’ His tanned features broke into an ever-easy grin, but it faded quickly. ‘I don’t want you to do anything, only to listen to me and to keep the secret, please.’

  ‘I’m listening, Felipe.’

  ‘I killed a man.’

  I stared at him. He had my full attention. No wonder he was distracted. There had to be a long explanation coming, so I went to the fridge for another couple of beers and signed the bar book. ‘Go on,’ I prompted him.

  ‘Alastair, this man - he touching my sister. She very upset, I think also that he rape her, but she not speaking of that. For a long time he touching her and getting very close. She not fighting it, in the beginning she like the attention, she only fifteen, but very ....’ He flapped his arms as if he wanted to shape a buxom woman but thought it was disrespectful to be that descriptive about his little sister. ‘She look older, you understand? After a time of this touching, always getting more sexual, you know? He stroking her arm and sometime her leg, then later he start feeling her breasts. When he do that she say “No” and try to stay away from him, but one day he sit next to her and start again. She very afraid and not move, so he feel up her leg. It disgusting, Alastair. Do they do that in UK?’

  ‘They do. They do it all over the world. Sick people. There’s something wrong in their heads that they have to try this with children. Who was this man?’

  Felipe leapt up and started pacing around the cabin again, weaving in and out of the chairs and to the door and back. I wanted to tell him to sit down, to calm himself, but could not bring myself to interrupt. ‘I not tell you that, but he was good friend of my father and like an uncle to Cristina and me, but not an uncle, you understand?’ He didn’t wait for a reply but went on, his face earnest. ‘He always being friendly to my mother, more than he should be, but not for sex. Now I know why he acting nice; to get to my sister.’

  I knew his father was dead. ‘Go on, Felipe.’

  ‘My mother she very angry about my sister, of course. She make many threats into the air, but she not know who to blame, Cristina not tell her, only me. Anyway, my sister she is crying and crying, and my mother she is trying to give comfort, but Cristina is too upset and cannot find words to say what is wrong. Is very dramatic, Alastair, I also want to cry, but don’t know what about. Only for sympathy with her.

  ‘My mother go out to make maté and I ask Cristina if this man touch her again, because that is all I can think that could be wrong. She not answer me, but she nod her head. Now I angry, Alastair, very angry, but I have sense to make sure of the facts before I do something stupid. I ask if he raped her. Again she not answer, but she make a noise like a wolf and cry even more, so I know it true.

  ‘We people from Chile, from Brazil, from Peru, from all over South America, we can be ... How you did you say it? ‘Hot head’ when we angry. I know this, and I know what you teach us in the safety training and I try to cool down. In a few days I cool off, but I still angry inside.’ He held his closed fist up to his chest and thumped it twice. ‘It is burning like a fire in me and I have to do something. This man is important, he rich and he political, and I know that if I go to the police, he will bribe them and it will all go away. So I must do something myself, and I make the plan.’ Suddenly he laughed, a short, sharp, humourless sound, ‘Alastair, I do like you tell us, I make a risk assessment! You think I joke, but no, is true. I think of all the ways to take revenge, I think of all the risks and I think of ways to make them small.’

  ‘What did you do?’

  ‘He kill himself,’ he said quietly and at last sat down.

  Now that he had spoken about it, Felipe relaxed and was keen to tell me what he had done and the care he had taken to cover it up. All in line with my teaching, he told me proudly. It took another hour, and a few more beers, but by then I think I knew every detail. The way he had gone about the murder, the devising and the execution (his unintended pun) of his plan was admirable, and I was pleased that even though the subject was hardly my intended goal, he would not have done so well if I hadn’t shown him ho
w.

  Felipe leaned forward with an earnest look in his eyes. ‘Alastair, you think I did right?’

  He needed me to ease his conscience, but what could I say? I could not lie to him. Part of me claimed it was a just solution, another said it was too great a punishment - did a rape where the victim was left alive justify the death of the perpetrator? ‘You got rid of a paedophile and a corrupt person who would otherwise have tried it on another girl,’ I replied, ‘You satisfied your family’s honour and I hope gave some comfort to your sister. But you still killed a man. People will say that you should not have taken the law into your own hands but, as you explained to me, he would have got away with it and that would not have been right. But to kill him? Maybe that’s a bit excessive, Felipe. Anyway, I’m not going to judge you right or wrong, I cannot. I don’t know, Felipe, but you made the world a better place in a little way.’

  ‘What else could I do?’ He looked at me, opening his hands to the ceiling. He was desperate for my blessing, ‘Cut off his cojones?’

  ‘Felipe, that might have been a better solution; ‘an eye for an eye’. You would have no lasting conscience about killing him as you do now, and will have for the rest of your life. And, you would have great satisfaction in knowing that he would not be able to rape anyone else, and that he would be tortured with regret until he died.’

  ‘But, Alastair, if he lived, he would know it was me and take terrible revenge on me and my sister and my mother; that is the way it works! You not have a little sister, Alastair, maybe you not understand how this will affect Cristina? Will she ever marry? Will she ever trust a man after this? Will her life ever be normal? I don’t know the answers, Alastair, but I know he did terrible damage to her.’