by Chris Parker
The morning brought no respite. News of the second murder released a visible tremble of adrenaline through Peter’s body. It was followed by a setting of his features and a change in his eyes as if some invisible, impenetrable filter had coated them; preparing him for whatever he had to look at, creating both a distance and a perspective from which he would operate until the investigation was over.
Nic had never seen Peter like this before. The difference was reinforced some hours later. Peter’s voicemail response to Nic’s simple question, ‘Are you OK?’ had been a shocking revelation.
It wasn’t just what Peter had said that sent shivers through Nic. Rather it was the cold, cold tone of his voice, the sound of a man steeling himself to face the unimaginable.
‘Am I OK?’ Peter had repeated the question and followed it with a brief, harsh laugh. ‘I’m better than some I can think of. Nobody’s bagged me yet.’ A slight pause and then, ‘Possibilities my love. Sometimes I think that life keeps us busy so that we don’t have time to consider all the possibilities. That’s how it stops us from going mad. Even if we’ve got everything we could possibly want, we are still only ever hanging on by a thread.’ Another pause. ‘I explore possibilities. It’s what I’m trained to do. No matter what.’
The message had ended without warning. Nic had stared, motionless, at the phone in his hand. He knew Peter better than anyone else on the planet, better even in many ways than Marcus Kline. Nic knew Peter the way only a true lover, a soul mate, can know someone. He could read Peter’s mind and mood so swiftly and easily it felt intuitive. And he had never before heard such a mix of emotion in his partner’s voice. It was a mixture of resolute intent, fear and uncertainty – of not knowing – that made Nic think of an explorer committed to walking a previously untrodden path that was fraught with danger. Moreover, it was the voice of a man walking the path alone.
Suddenly Nic felt helpless. He didn’t know how to carry a burden he couldn’t identify. He didn’t how to support Peter when it felt as if he was being deliberately left behind in a way that he never had been before.
When the pair had first realised that their relationship had the potential to be the special one, the subject of Peter’s commitment to his job had been the topic of much discussion. Nic had been shocked to learn that in the 1960s the police contract had included a clause that stated that the job was more important than family. By the time Peter had joined the force, years later, the clause had been removed. The job, however, had not needed a contract to capture Peter’s physical and emotional energy. As he had risen through the ranks his focus had grown commensurately.
Nic had made it clear from the beginning that he wasn’t prepared to take second place to Peter’s work. Peter had assured him that he wouldn’t. It was only as the years passed that Nic had come to realise that his demand had been nonsensical and that Peter’s assurance had been sincere, truly meant and, paradoxically, irrelevant.
Peter was a detective. It wasn’t his job, it was him; fuelled by an innate, powerful and, at times, almost overwhelming need to win. Nic had learnt to accept that if you chose to live with a detective the question, ‘Am I – are we – more important than your job?’ was pointless. The honest answer, the one that no detective would ever give to their partner and which no partner would ever tolerate, was, ‘Yes and no.’
In one sense it was like asking a parent which of their children they loved the most. The answer was all of them equally and differently.
That was Nic’s understanding. Peter loved him more than anyone else. When he took phone calls in the middle of the night, when he worked an eighty hour week, when he cancelled dinner dates at the last minute because something had come up, he was just doing what the job demanded and, far more importantly, what he was trained to do. Nic had long since acknowledged the complex trade off that he was required to make to ensure that the most important relationship in both of their lives survived and grew.
Which was why Peter’s voice message had been so upsetting. Peter was clearly dealing with something that was shockingly new and, given that he only ever shared carefully selected details with Nic, there was now a gap being created between them. Nic resolved to push Peter for as much information as possible – if only to watch Peter’s response as he worked out just what to say. Before then, though, he had one other helpful source he could turn to. He phoned Marcus Kline.
The consultant listened in silence to Nic’s concerns. Then he said, ‘You have to let Peter go where this particular path takes him. Deep down you know that. That’s why you’re scared. I told you after I’d watched the film of the first crime scene that this case was going to turn into a nightmare –‘
Nic flinched automatically at the word.
‘ – and it’s one that you won’t be able to share with him. To be frank, it’s best that you don’t even try. You are no more equipped to manage this than Peter is to present a lecture on the extent to which cinema reflects or creates society. If my sense of this is right, the only thing I would remind you of is that I recognised a feeling of urgency connected to the first killing, an imminent deadline. The fact that poor Paul Clusker was killed so soon after the first victim supports that.’
‘So what are you saying, that it’s going to be over soon?’
‘One way or the other, yes.’
‘What does that mean?’ Nic’s voice raised as anxiety squeezed his insides. His greatest, most secret fear had always been that in one case, one day, Peter would become the hunted rather than the hunter, that a killer would target his life-partner.
‘It means that we can’t know for certain how things are going to end.’ Marcus replied calmly, as if he hadn’t noticed the shift in Nic. ‘We don’t know who the killer is, or what his motive is. We don’t know who the next victim will be, or if, indeed, there will be one. We don’t know if Peter will be able to catch this man, or if he will just disappear.’
‘Do you think that’s possible?’
‘Why not? Some people like to keep secrets. There can’t be a much greater secret to keep than knowing that you are a killer who got away with it.’
‘Do you think when it’s over, that we will all be OK?’
‘No. No, actually I don’t.’ Marcus’s voice seemed suddenly far away. ‘I fear that we will all be wiser – in ways that we wish we weren’t.’
The certainty in Marcus’s voice made Nic wish that he hadn’t asked the question in the first place.
35.
Anne-Marie didn’t want to keep her secret any longer. Just realising that fact made her feel lighter. The intellectual decision to return home and share her plight with Marcus had turned surprisingly quickly into a source of emotional comfort. From now on her photographic essay would include him as well as her, the two of them using their special relationship and their talents to share something with the world and, even more importantly, to save her life.
Alone in her cottage Anne-Marie had discovered that whilst she was understandably afraid of dying, she was also afraid of losing. She had never known that about herself before. But, then, she had never even come close to losing before. Not really. Not in anything that mattered. In fact, she had never really considered things in terms of winning and losing before. Throughout her life, whenever she had wanted something she had simply worked out – and worked at – the best way of getting it. It hadn’t crossed her mind that in doing so she was possibly beating, or denying, someone else. She hadn’t known that she was competitive. If asked, she would have simply said that she was ‘goal focused’. Now she realised that was nonsense.
Anne-Marie wanted to win. She could feel the urge coursing through her system more clearly and powerfully than she had ever yet felt the cancer. She wanted to win not just to avoid the possible pain and fear of death, but also because she now had someone else in her life that she truly wanted to get to know a whole lot better.
That person was
herself.
During the solitude of her last few days, Anne-Marie had come to understand that she had been living her life unaware of just who she really was. True, she knew – and was happy to know – Anne-Marie the partner to Marcus Kline, Anne-Marie the good and loyal friend to a chosen few and, of course, Anne-Marie the photographer. It was just that she had never encountered before the real, secret, silent Anne-Marie, the essence from which all those different parts of herself emanated.
Encountered?
God forbid, she had never even considered its – her – existence. And it wasn’t as if she had come to the cottage, to the moor, searching for her hidden self. Truth be told, she had come here to escape; as if by changing the environment she could somehow miraculously change what was inside her.
No, the silent heart of Anne-Marie had made itself known unexpectedly, like a warm, caring neighbour introducing herself for the very first time.
It happened after she had decided to return home. She had been in the kitchen, sipping a peppermint tea, thinking for some reason about her garden, about the willow tree, about the fact that it would be there long after she and Marcus had left the house. Her thoughts meandered gently towards a simple insight: she didn’t really own anything. Not permanently. Not forever. She and Marcus both said that they owned the house – after all, the mortgage was paid – but the truth was it would be someone else’s home one day. They certainly didn’t own the willow tree. It belonged to the earth, or maybe the sky, or maybe both, but it was definitely beyond any form of human ownership. In one sense, Anne-Marie reflected, even her relationship with Marcus was on loan. She couldn’t keep it forever. It had to end. One way or another.
The very unusual thing about this particular train of thought and the revelations it uncovered, was as much to do with where it seemed to be coming from as where it was leading. The thoughts seemed to be floating inside her, released from a previously unacknowledged source. It was as if they came from a part of her that was unaffected by everything that was going on in her life. A part of her that had waited until now before making itself known; a part that, unlike every other part of her, was freed rather than restricted by the cancer. Anne-Marie realised at one point that she was actually thinking about her lack of ownership -which, not so very long ago, would have signified to her a lack of power and control – with a genuine smile on her face.
How could that be possible?
‘Perhaps,’ Anne-Marie said suddenly, ‘I’m going mad? Mad because I feel so alone right now, because I’m terrified of the illness, because I haven’t had, and probably need, counselling.’
The thoughts that were floating beyond her conscious control seemed to dance with joy at the sound of the words. It appeared to Anne-Marie that the thoughts were listening and responding to a form of music rather than a despairing question. How could that be? And who are you – exactly – if you can hear your own fear and find within it a reason for celebration? The innermost Anne-Marie responded by releasing another thought in front of her, encouraging her to follow. Although she couldn’t hear it in the usual way, couldn’t turn it into words in her conscious mind, Anne-Marie sensed the answer; more accurately, she felt a connection she had never experienced before.
It was not just a connection between question and answer. No, it was far more significant than that, far more complete. It was a seamless connection with everything around her. It was, she would write in her diary later, the nearest thing she could imagine to a state of bliss.
Anne-Marie was unsure how long the experience lasted. Inevitably, though, her mind considered the possibility that the state could not continue indefinitely and then she felt an urgency to maintain it and then, of course, the state just disappeared. Almost at once her conscious mind reminded her of the cancer…
Anne-Marie stood up from the kitchen chair. She looked out of the window. She needed to see the willow tree. She needed to re-connect with Marcus. She would win, she told herself, because now more than ever before she had a purpose, a reason, an overwhelming need to meet her true self again.
Anne-Marie had another even more significant insight: she had just had the most profound experience of her life. And it hadn’t crossed her mind, not once, to try and take a photo of it.
36.
Marcus Kline had cancelled all of his scheduled meetings after Peter’s visit to his office. He spoke to no one from the moment Peter left until Nic’s phone call. He spent the time simply replaying the conversation – the interview – with Peter over and over in his mind.
‘What you need to remember is that I’m the detective here.’ Peter had said towards the end. ‘I neither need nor appreciate you trying to read my mind – ‘
‘I’m not trying,’ Marcus interjected.
‘ – And I certainly don’t need you trying to assume control.’
The emphasis on the word and all that it implied marked the battleground as clearly as any geographical space ever had. The two men held each other’s gaze. Neither moved. The contest of wills demanded all of their attention. Marcus saw a coldness in Peter’s eyes that he never had before. The real man, he realised, was hiding behind the detective’s obligation…To win, all Marcus had to do was tease him out.
Marcus wanted to win. The question he had to answer, however, was did he want to win a battle now or the war later? The response flashed into his mind almost immediately. He had invested too much into this to risk losing it because of an over-reaction now. He couldn’t afford to push Peter too far. Not yet. There would be time enough for that later. Assuming the detective behaved as Marcus expected him to.
Marcus had blinked and looked down at his desktop. ‘I am very clear about who is in control,’ he said. He breathed high in his chest as he spoke, the unusual sensation making him swallow as he knew it would; making him look and sound nervous, giving out the signals of a man who was beaten. ‘I didn’t mean to question your role or your professionalism. You need to remember that this is a most unusual situation for me even though it isn’t for you.’
Marcus had looked back up at the detective. He broke eye contact after only a few seconds. He was, he knew, demonstrating submission.
‘Actually it’s an unusual situation for both of us,’ Peter replied in exactly the way Marcus expected him to. A smile flickered across Peter’s face. For a moment it looked as if the friend was going to come to the fore. Then the detective reasserted himself. ‘However unusual it is, though, it’s one that I’m paid to manage. The fact that we are best friends and you have some insights into the investigation is neither here nor there. I do my job to the best of my ability regardless of who is involved.’
Marcus nodded thoughtfully, keeping his breathing high and shallow, sure that the time was right to make his final play. ‘Intellectually I understand that, of course I do. I guess I just thought – hoped if I’m being honest – that you might not find it so easy to do. You know, with me.’
Peter frowned. ‘Are you telling me that you couldn’t, if the roles were reversed?’
‘How can I answer that? I could never do your job,’ Marcus said. ‘And I wouldn’t want to, you know that. I’d hate having to be suspicious of everyone.’
Peter looked at him closely. ‘Don’t play games with me, Marcus. Not in this. There are lives at stake. Maybe yours.’
Marcus tipped his head. ‘In more ways than one perhaps. Hmmm? As a victim or as the killer. That’s what you’re thinking, isn’t it? We’re back to where we started the interview.’
‘It’s been a conversation, not an interview.’ Peter leant forwards, tapping the desktop with his fingertips. ‘People who are connected to a serious investigation can either help or hinder our enquiry. Sometimes they help most by doing nothing at all. Remember that.’
Peter left without saying another word. Marcus saw the swirl of emotions inside the detective as he walked out of the office. He saw them and kept them at
bay, aware of how they lapped against the edges of his disassociated state before turning back from whence they had come.
His reverie had been interrupted by Nic’s unexpected phone call. It quickly became clear that Nic had no idea of Marcus’s connection to the second killing, or of Peter’s recent visit. Everything Nic said confirmed what the consultant had already determined about Peter’s internal struggle. He responded to Nic in a way that he was sure Peter would find believable if Nic mentioned it to him. It was also, more importantly, in a way that would remind and reinforce with Nic that the situation was going to get a whole lot worse before it had any chance of getting better.
After Marcus’s final review of Nic’s phone call he was ready to move on. He called Simon into his office. His protégé was there within seconds. He still had the shiny, bright air of a person who had just achieved a very significant emotional goal. Marcus didn’t invite him to sit down and he didn’t waste any time on preliminaries.
‘It changes, doesn’t it?’ He said, without giving Simon any chance to unpack the question let alone reply. ‘When we achieve something we didn’t believe we could, something that really matters, we are given the very great opportunity to learn something about our own qualities. And if we grab hold of that learning and internalise it, we become instantly capable of achieving even greater things. You do understand that, don’t you?’
Simon had no alternative but to nod in agreement. Marcus matched the movement and then went on, ‘When Cassandra agreed to go on a date with you she was inadvertently teaching you a lesson. You see, sometimes we don’t think that we are good enough. We don’t believe that we are worthy of achieving our desired outcome. However, the inescapable truth is that someone has to be that successful. Someone has to be the best in any given domain. Someone has to live the life of their dreams. Someone has to become the calm centre of the storm that is raging around them. Sometimes they have to be the calm centre of the story they create.’