The Broken Trilogy

by Amy Cross

  "Come on," I say, taking her hand and leading her toward the car park. Up ahead, Mark has stopped to wait for us, but he starts walking again once he sees that we're on our way. "I'm so glad you're here," I continue. "How long have you got before you have to go back to Bristol?"

  "I've got to leave on Sunday night," she replies, "so just a couple of days".

  "Then we haven't got much time," I say. "Mark lives in a penthouse in a hotel, and he's given me an open tab in the bar downstairs".

  "Excellent," she says. "I feel like getting totally wasted". She pauses for a moment. "So how are you doing after what happened with your dad?"

  "I'm fine".

  "And how's your dear mother?"

  "She's fine," I say, even though I don't really know if that's true. It's been so long since I saw my mother; I need to find time to go and catch up with her, but my life has been a whirlwind in recent weeks.

  "Mothers are like landmines," Jess continues. "Even when you think they're not around, they can suddenly blow up in your face. You can sustain permanent, life-changing injuries if you step on an unexploded mother".

  Smiling, I force myself to focus on the fact that my best friend is here for the weekend, and I tell myself that we're going to have a good time. However, as we walk through the door that leads to the car park, I happen to glance over my shoulder. I don't know why I do it; I guess it's just habit. For a moment, I make eye contact with a complete stranger. It's some guy, standing outside one of the shops. He's looking over at me, and for a brief second there's a moment of connection between us. Before I can react, however, he turns and hurries into the shop, and I keep walking with Jess through to the car park.

  "You okay?" Jess asks.

  "Yeah," I say, trying to work out why that guy caught my attention. "I'm fine, I just..." Suddenly it hits me. That guy wasn't a stranger. I've seen him before. In fact, I met him earlier today: it was Detective Stone, one of the police officers who came to Mark's apartment and asked him about Chrissie Briggs. I guess it could be a coincidence that he just happened to be here at Paddington when we were picking up Jess, but as we reach the car and Mark puts Jess's backpack in the boot, I feel a cold chill start to creep through my body. Mark's being watched. The police must really think he knows something about Chrissie's death.

  "Nice car," Jess says as she gets into the back.

  "Elly?" Mark says. "Are you okay?"

  "Yeah".

  "You're happy, aren't you?" he continues.

  "Happy?" I ask, stunned by the question.

  "That your friend's here?"

  "Of course," I say. "It's the best surprise ever".

  "Good," he replies. "You need to relax for a few days".

  I nod, and then I force myself to get into the back with Jess. I need to act like nothing weird is happening, but I'm almost certain than Mark's under police surveillance, which means that I'm also being watched. Either that, or I'm totally paranoid and I'm cracking up completely. Smiling at Jess, I can see that she's suspicious. Damn it, suddenly I feel as if my entire world might be about to come crashing down.

  Jonathan Pope

  1901

  By the time I've assembled the necessary funds and documents, it's getting dark. I make my way by foot to Henrietta's home, and I can't deny that I have a heavy heart as I contemplate the fact that this is my last night in London. Never again will I experience the chaos and clamor of the world's busiest city; over the years, I have come to know these streets so well, and it's almost as if I'm to be leaving a true and dear friend. Still, to remain in London would be to put both myself and Henrietta in serious danger, and I'm certain that together we'll be able to find a new home elsewhere.

  When I reach the pavement outside Henrietta's home, however, I'm shocked to see that the front door is open. I pause for a moment, considering the possibility that her husband Benjamin has not yet departed for his club. Just as I'm about to turn and hurry away, however, I see a group of police officers emerging from the house. I quickly walk on, my heart racing as I try to look inconspicuous. When I get to the end of the street, I stop and glance back; the officers have headed in the other direction, leaving the front door of the house still hanging wide open.

  I should run. I know, deep in my heart, that the only choice open to me is to get out of here. Still, I have to know what is happening. Walking back along the street, I hurry to the door and knock; moments later, another police officer comes through from one of the rooms.

  "Can I help you, Sir?" he asks.

  "I'm here to see Lady deHavilland," I say, trying to remain calm. "It's on a matter of great importance. We're to discuss a publication of..." My voice trails off as I realize that I've made a mistake; I should never have come to the door like this.

  "I see," the officer replies, "and might I ask -"

  "It's fine," I say, turning to leave. "I'll come another day".

  "Hold on," he says, grabbing me by the arm. "Would you like to come in, Sir? You might be able to help us with an aspect of our inquiries".

  "I'm sure I wouldn't be able to -"

  "Please, Sir," he insists, guiding me through the door. "I might be mistaken, but I've got a feeling I've seen your face somewhere before. You wouldn't happen to be Mr. Jonathan Pope, by any chance, would you?"

  "I am," I reply, feeling my chest tighten. "Might I ask why you're here?"

  "I'm afraid there's been an incident, Sir," he explains, leading me through to the conservatory, where we find a swarm of police officers engaged in frantic work. "Allow me to introduce you to my superior," the officer continues, as we reach a well-dressed man who seems to be examining some paperwork that he's found on the desk in the corner. "Mr. Laverty, Sir. This is Mr. Pope. It seems that he had an appointment with Lady deHavilland".

  Turning to me, Laverty clearly views me with suspicion. "Jonathan Pope?" he says. "I must admit, Mr. Pope, we thought you were dead. You seemed to have vanished quite some time ago".

  "I've been busy," I reply. "Might I ask, where is Lady deHavilland?"

  "What's your business with her?"

  "I'm here to discuss a pamphlet," I say, hoping against hope that he might believe my story.

  "A pamphlet?" He smiles. "Engaged in a spot of sedition, are we?"

  "Not at all," I reply. "With the news of Her Majesty's passing, Lady deHavilland merely wishes to get her thoughts out to the public".

  "And you're in the pamphlet-printing business these days, are you?"

  I open my mouth to reply, but it's clear that he's not going to believe a word I say. In my desperation, I've managed to walk straight into the most dangerous situation imaginable. Although I've been keeping my head down since I joined the game, I was once known as one of London's most successful, though disreputable, private investigators. I crossed paths with the police on numerous occasions, and I'm certain that a man like Laverty will never believe that it's mere coincidence that I happen to have arrived here just as... just as what? Glancing across the room, I try to work out what might have happened. Has the game itself been discovered?

  "Tell me something," Laverty continues. "Have you known Lady deHavilland for long?"

  "Where is she?" I ask. "Is she hurt?"

  "Answer the question".

  "No," I say. "Not long. Where is she?"

  "And what about her husband, Benjamin deHavilland?"

  "I've never met the man," I reply. "I'm afraid he's always been away from home on business when I've visited".

  "I see. And was that another coincidence, or were you trying to avoid him?" He pauses for a moment. "Forgive me, Mr. Pope, but I'm just trying to determine the precise nature of your relationship with Lady deHavilland".

  "Where is she?" I ask.

  "Answer the question".

  "I barely know them at all," I say firmly, trying not to lose my patience. "I'm just here to help Lady deHavilland with a pamphlet in response to Her Majesty's passing. You must tell me where she is!"

  "And when was the last t
ime you saw her?" he continues.

  "This..." I start to say, before realizing that I risk incriminating myself. Until I know what has happened, I need to avoid giving too many details. Glancing across the room, I spot a white shape on the floor, and it takes only a moment before I realize that there's a dead body in the corner. "Who is that?" I ask, feeling a cold chill rush through my body.

  "That, Mr. Pope, is Benjamin deHavilland," Laverty replies. "Lady deHavilland's husband. Beaten to death in a most cruel and vicious manner, I'm afraid to say". Leaning down, he pulls back the sheet to reveal the horrific sight of a man whose head appears to have been split open. His dead eyes stare off to one side, and I can't help but wonder what kind of monster could have caused such horrific injuries.

  "When did this happen?" I ask.

  "We're still ascertaining a time of death," Laverty says, letting the sheet drop back over the dead man's face. "Once we've done that, we'll need to know where you were at that particular moment. There's also the matter of Lady deHavilland -"

  "You can't possibly think that she did this!" I say. "Where is she? You must be careful with her! She's pregnant. Any stress could harm the baby!"

  "I suppose it might," Laverty says. "Follow me, Sir".

  "You'll take me to her?"

  He nods, before leading me across the room and out into the hallway. All my previous visits to this house have been surreptitious and furtive, and now it feels so strange to be wandering around in the presence of a dozen or more police officers; it's as if a truly private world has been cracked open and revealed to the light. Moments later, we enter Benjamin deHavilland's study and I'm shocked to see a second body on the floor, once again covered by a sheet.

  "What happened?" I ask. "How many bodies are there?"

  "Just two," Laverty replies. "Benjamin deHavilland and his wife Henrietta".

  I stare at him, feeling a horrific tightening sensation in my chest.

  "You look positively pale, Mr. Pope," Laverty continues, narrowing his eyes a little as if he's studying me with great interest. "Would you like to sit down?"

  I shake my head.

  "The bodies were discovered by Lady deHavilland's maid. She'd been out for the morning, and when she returned she discovered her employer's body in here. She ran to find her master, and discovered him dead in the conservatory. It was at that point that we were called".

  Rushing across the room, I crouch next to the body and pull the sheet away. To my shock, I find myself staring down at Henrietta's dead body: although her face has been beaten until it caved in, the hair is clearly hers, and she's wearing the same dress that she put on this morning before I left. Unable to look away from the mashed, crushed mess of her face, I feel all energy drain from my body, until finally I look down at her belly. The baby will, of course, be long dead. Two lives, snuffed out in one body.

  "I'm going to need to know where you were between 9pm last night and lunchtime today," Laverty says, standing behind me. "Every move. Every step. I'm also going to need to see any evidence you have that indicates this pamphlet business might be true. You'll have to forgive me, Mr. Pope, but I'm struggling to believe that Lady deHavilland just happened to have engaged your assistance on the morning she died".

  "This can't be her," I say, falling back as I continue to stare at her dead body. "I was with her just this morning. I was talking to her, we were going to -" Unable to help myself, I turn onto my side and vomit across the carpeted floor.

  "I'm afraid it is her," Laverty says, replacing the sheet in order to cover Henrietta's crushed face. "Someone broke into this house, killed both Mr. deHavilland and his wife, and then took..." He pauses for a moment. "Nothing. All the money, all the valuable items, were left completely untouched. Whoever did this, they clearly came here with the intention to kill these fine, upstanding members of our society".

  Getting to my feet, I stumble to the doorway, where I find two police officers blocking my way. I'm filled with a mess of conflicting emotions: anger and fear and shock and a thousand others. More than anything else, I feel as if my legs are about to give way at any moment.

  "This is a murder investigation, Mr. Pope," Laverty continues. "Given the nature of the situation, as well as some of the comments you've made since you arrived this evening, I have no choice but to arrest you on suspicion of having carried out these acts".

  "I would never kill her!" I shout, turning to him. "She was carrying my child!"

  "Was she?" Laverty replies with a cold smile.

  "She told me yesterday!" I shout, as a police officer grabs my wrists from behind and roughly handcuffs me.

  "And did she tell you anything else yesterday?" Laverty asks, walking over to me. "Did she say that she was scared of being attacked?"

  "She..." I pause, suddenly realizing that I can't possibly even begin to tell anyone about the game. There's also the matter of the dead boy back at my house; when Laverty and his men search my home, they're surely come to the conclusion that I'm some kind of murderer. "I need to talk to someone," I say, trying to stay calm. "I need a lawyer. I need to talk to someone who'll listen to me".

  "Oh, I'll listen," Laverty replies. "There's no need to worry. I'll listen all you want, Mr. Pope. And when I'm done listening, there'll be a nice judge who'll also listen". He leans closer. "Let's be clear. I know you did this -"

  "No!" I shout, struggling to get free.

  "There's no point protesting," he continues. "You might as well come clean, Mr. Pope. The truth shall set you free, as good men so often tell us. Besides, I'm sure a spot of honesty will make you feel a little closer to God as you're led to the gallows for these horrific murders, and mark my words. I'll see that you hang".

  Part Three

  Friends

  Elly

  Today

  "So what's wrong with him? Come on, Elly, there's got to be something".

  It's getting late, and Jess and I are drinking cocktails on the balcony of Mark's penthouse apartment. Well, she's drinking, while I'm just kind of holding my glass while we look out across the dark and glittering city. It's tempting to believe that we can see the whole of London from up here, with the streets and buildings spread out for our convenience. So many people going about their normal lives, doing normal thing, being normal with each other; whenever I come onto the balcony, I always end up feeling strangely nostalgic for my normal life.

  "Where did you meet him, anyway?" Jess continues. She smiles at me, waiting for an answer. Jess has always had the kind of wide-eyed, innocent look of a cartoon princess, and with her brunette hair tied back tonight, she looks like she should be waiting for a prince. In fact, she looks much more at home in this penthouse than I could ever look. "Is there, like, a website?" she asks. "Do you go on and meet billionaires online and then end up living in their penthouse? Is there a bar where you meet them? Come on, Elly, I want to know! I want a billionaire too!"

  "It's not like you think," I reply, turning to her and forcing myself to smile.

  "Huh," she says with a smile. "So you're not living in the penthouse of a hotel, and you're not flying all over the world whenever he has some business meeting to go to, and you're not living a life of untold luxury and pleasure? I mean..." She glances at the door, just to make sure that Mark's nowhere nearby. "Elly, he's hot! He's a hot billionaire. Seriously, he seems perfect, and I've studied enough psychology to know that people who project an image like that are usually doing it because they want to hide something. So I'll ask you again. What's his deep, dark secret?"

  "I don't know," I say weakly. "If I knew, it wouldn't be a secret, would it?"

  "Fair point," she replies, taking a big gulp from her glass.

  "You're going through those pretty fast," I point out.

  "This lifestyle might be pretty boring to you right now," she says with a smile, "but to me, it's still kind of fun. And I'm only here for one more night, so I figure I'd better make the most of it". She pauses for a moment, and I can tell that she's studying me, loo
king for some kind of answer in my body language and my expression. "So... are you alright, Elly?"

  "I'm fine," I say quickly.

  "Yeah, sure," she replies, moving closer to me and lowering her voice to a conspiratorial tone. "I know that look on your face. Something's bothering you. It's like, no matter what we talk about or what we do, you always seem like you're concentrating on something else that you're not telling me about".

  "There's nothing," I say, before looking up as I hear the sound of a helicopter. It's a couple of miles away, moving through the night sky, but I'm immediately set on edge. Is it possible that a police helicopter, keeping Mark under surveillance, could be watching the balcony from such a distance? With the technology that's around today, I guess anything's possible. Hell, they could be watching us from a satellite, or from the eyes of bionic mosquito, or from... I take a deep breath as I realize that I'm starting to get paranoid.

  "There you go again," Jess says, staring at me with a half-smile on her face. "Something's bugging you".

  I shake my head.

  "You're gonna crack," she continues. "I know you, Elly. You can't keep this up for long. Sooner or later, probably sooner, you're gonna have to tell me. All these worries are building up and making your head swell, and one day steam's gonna start coming out of your ears. You know you're gonna end up telling me, so why not do it now, when I'm here, rather than later when I'm back in Bristol?" She waits for me to answer. "I'm here for you, Elly. You know I'm not gonna judge you". She waits again. "Is it about the whore thing?"

  "The what?" I ask.

  "You're not a whore," she continues. "Even if you're just fucking him for his money, that doesn't -"

  "I'm not doing that!" I say, shocked at the idea.

  "Okay!" she replies. "I was just thinking that might be -"

  "I'm not..." I take a deep breath, struggling to even begin to deny such an insane idea. "It's not like that," I say eventually. "It's nothing like that".