The birthday girl

by Stephen Leather

  He stood up and lumbered along the deck to stand behind Mersiha. He put his arms around her slight body and hugged her tight as he rested his chin on the top of her head.

  Ahead of them was a smaller yacht, and Mersiha steered away from it, giving it plenty of room. The mainsail started to flap and Freeman released his daughter to pull on the main sheet until the sail was properly trimmed. 'Dad?' she said.

  'What's up?'

  'Nothing.' She stared at the yacht as it passed on their port side but didn't acknowledge the young couple who were sailing it. Freeman gave them a half-hearted wave. He could tell from her silence that it wasn't nothing.

  'Come on, pumpkin. What is it?'

  She seemed to struggle with herself for a few seconds before answering. 'Well,' she said hesitantly, 'I was wondering…'

  'Yes?'

  'Well, was I a replacement for Luke?'

  Freeman frowned. 'A replacement?'

  'You know what I mean. Luke died, so you wanted another child.'

  He took off his sunglasses and shook his head. 'Oh no, don't think that,' he said. 'I wanted you to live with us because of who you were, not because I wanted to replace Luke. I'll always love Luke, and I'll always miss him, but Katherine and I weren't looking for another child.'

  'Katherine can't have more kids, right?'

  'That's right.' Freeman was surprised that she knew that.

  'I heard her telling one of her friends once,' she explained.

  'It made me wonder if that's why you adopted me.'

  'We adopted you because we love you. You, Mersiha. Not a replacement for Luke. In the same way that Katherine and I are now your parents, but we'll never take the place of your real parents.'

  'I guess,' Mersiha said.

  The boat was well over on its side as it carved through the water, so Freeman had to hold on to the guard rails to make his way back to the wheel. He stood by Mersiha's side and put an arm around her shoulder.

  'I hope I don't die,' she said. Freeman felt a rush of sadness at the matter-of-fact way she said it, and for a moment he was lost for words. After he'd read Brown's file and realised how little hard information it contained, he had gone to a large bookshop in Towson and bought a handful of psychiatric books. One had been on child suicides. He had selected it only because it had a long section on teenage depression, but what he'd read about suicide had scared him. According to the book there were one thousand teenage suicide attempts every day in the United States – and eighteen were successful. Eighteen children killing themselves every day of the year. The most common trigger for suicide was the loss of a parent, either through death, divorce or separation. Admittedly five times as many boys attempted suicide as girls, but for both boys and girls firearms were the method of choice. He put his hand into the pocket of his jeans and his fingers touched the brass cartridge case. He'd been meaning to ask Mersiha where it had come from, but realised that it wasn't a subject that he could raise now. It would suggest a lack of trust, that he and Katherine had been spying on her.

  All the books had been adamant on one point – there was no point in confronting children directly. Their thoughts had to be explored circumspectly so that they didn't think they were being quizzed. He had to get through to her by communicating rather than confronting. Mersiha had made a start – for the first time she'd lifted the veil that hid her innermost thoughts. Freeman had learned more about her during the few hours they'd spent on the boat than Brown had gleaned from months of questioning, and he wasn't prepared to spoil it by asking her about an empty cartridge which in all probability she'd picked up while out walking her dog. As she looked up at the telltales on the mainsail, Freeman hooked the cartridge out of his pocket and flipped it over the side, into the white-foamed water.

  Katherine Freeman lay on her back and stared at the ceiling, her head in the crook of Anderson's arm. She felt empty inside, as if the forty-five minutes she'd spent in bed with him had been nothing more than a step aerobics session. She smiled as she wondered how the two activities compared in terms of burning up calories. She didn't get quite the same burn in the gym, but she definitely felt better about herself afterwards.

  Anderson's left hand lay on her stomach as if laying claim to the territory. He was like that, Katherine knew – he'd like nothing more than to have her in Tony's bed, like a dog urinating on a gatepost. Been there, done that. Ever since she'd hit puberty, men had always seemed to want to possess her sexuality, starting with her father's stifling overprotectiveness and his refusal to allow her to go out with boys until she was past her teens. When she'd finally escaped to college it was only to find that almost every man who ever asked her out was proposing marriage within days and throwing jealous fits when she expressed her desire for independence. Space was what they called it now, and that was what Katherine was always striving for. Her own space. That was why she'd agreed to marry Tony.

  Not just because she loved him, but because he gave her all the space she wanted. Katherine smiled. Maybe he gave her too much space, but that had always been his way. They'd met when she was twenty and he was three years older, studying for his MBA. It was his Scottish accent and strong thighs which had first attracted her, but she'd soon realised that the attraction she felt owed more to his quiet maturity than to his physical attributes. It wasn't that she was looking for a father figure, that was certain, because the two men were totally different, both in looks and in personality. Tony was never possessive, he never gave her the wounded smile when she said she wanted to stay in on her own or go out with the girls, and if she didn't phone there were no late-night acrimonious calls demanding to know where she'd been. Tony had been the first boyfriend who hadn't asked her to tell him that she loved him. He'd declared his affections early on in their relationship, but hadn't pressed her, in the same way that he hadn't tried to force her into his bed. He'd waited, and his patience had eventually paid off. She did love him, deeply, and she couldn't imagine ever being married to anyone else.

  The best analogy she could think of to describe their relationship was that of a falconer she'd seen in Scotland, on a trip to see his few remaining relatives, shortly after they'd married. They'd stayed in a crumbling old Scottish castle that had been converted into a guest house, and one morning, as they'd been walking arm in arm over the mist-shrouded hills, they'd seen an old man with a hooded hawk on his arm. They'd stood entranced as the man removed a small leather hood from the bird's head and held his arm out. The hawk had cocked its head on one side, then flapped up and away, powering up into the sky until it was just a black dot among the clouds. It had hunted for almost twenty minutes, eventually bringing down a small bird and feasting on it among the purple heather. The man had waited patiently. At no time did he whistle or call the bird, not even when it had finished eating.

  He just stood with his arm to one side, waiting until the hawk decided it wanted to return. It came eventually, slapping its claws against the man's forearm and flapping its wings to maintain its balance. It held its head still while the man put the hood back on, and then they walked off into the mist, man and bird. That was how Katherine felt about her husband. He offered her stability and sanctuary, and she knew that his arm would always be there when she returned. He didn't have to call or whistle, because he knew she'd always be back.

  'What are you thinking about?' Anderson asked, his words ramming into her consciousness like a piledriver.

  'I was wondering what time it was,' Katherine lied. She might be prepared to offer Anderson her body, but she was damned if she'd allow him inside her head. He was physical recreation, nothing more. 'I've got to go,' she said.

  'They'll be out for hours yet.'

  'Give you an inch and you take a mile,' Katherine complained.

  'An inch!' Anderson protested.

  'You know what I mean.'

  'You can stay for another half an hour, can't you?' he whined.

  Katherine felt her hackles rise. She reached over and patted his groin. 'Doesn
't feel to me like you're up to it, darling,' she said.

  'Bitch,' he laughed, rolling out of bed. He padded over to the bathroom. 'I'll be back.'

  Katherine stared at the light-fitting in the middle of the ceiling.

  She could just about make out her reflection in the polished brass. Tony and Mersiha probably wouldn't get back until dark, but she still had to get the evening meal ready. Something quick. She ran through the contents of the freezer, mentally rejecting anything that would take more than an hour to cook.

  She eventually selected a beef stew she'd frozen the previous month which would only need microwaving. There were plenty of carrots and some nice courgettes, and there was a chocolate mousse in the refrigerator. She relaxed, knowing that she could have food on the table by the time Tony and Mersiha arrived home.

  She realised that she needed to go to the bathroom. Better to go right away than to risk offending Anderson's sensitivities by stopping him mid-thrust. He took his sexual prowess very seriously. There wasn't a robe handy, but it didn't matter because he had seen all there was to see of her body, and it had been a good many years since Katherine had felt anything like shyness.

  She pushed open the door.

  Anderson was bent over the wash basin holding a small metal spoon under his nose. He sniffed deeply, then pushed the spoon into a small glass vial filled with white powder and repeated the procedure with his other nostril.

  'What the hell are you doing, Maury?' Katherine said, leaning against the door.

  He sniggered, widened his eyes and grinned. 'What's it look like I'm doing?' he asked.

  'It looks like you're taking drugs,' she said contemptuously.

  'For Christ's sake, I'm doing a little coke, that's all.' He held out the vial. 'Want some?'

  Katherine looked at him, her eyes cold. 'No, Maury, I don't want some. And I don't think I want to be in the same room as someone with that amount of cocaine in their possession.'

  Anderson shook his head. He was more animated than he had been before and there was a wildness about his eyes. 'Nobody cares these days, Kat. It's crack they're after, not coke…'

  'Don't call me Kat,' she said, interrupting.

  'What?'

  'I've told you before. Don't call me Kat. That's Tony's name for me. Not yours.'

  'Okay, okay,' he said. 'I'm sorry.' He screwed a stopper into the top of the vial and put it by the wash basin. He reached for her but she stepped back, putting her hands up to fend him off.

  'What the hell is wrong with you?' he asked.

  'I didn't know you took drugs,' she said.

  'I don't take drugs. I use cocaine – sometimes.' He held his hands in front of her, palms up in surrender. They were shaking, Katherine noticed. 'It's not like I'm an addict or anything.'

  'Does Tony know?'

  Anderson sneered. 'Of course not.' He reached for her again but she knocked his hands to the side. 'He doesn't know about anything,' he added pointedly.

  Katherine narrowed her eyes. 'Watch it, Maury. You're married too, remember.'

  'In name only.'

  'Don't play that game with me,' Katherine said. 'She's your wife. And she's as much in the dark as Tony. Let's just keep it that way, shall we? I don't think either of us wants a divorce, do we?'

  Anderson sighed and put his hands on his hips. He was as naked as Katherine, but he too was totally unashamed. Katherine couldn't stop her gaze from dropping to his groin. He saw the look and smiled. 'Let's go to bed, Katherine,' he said.

  'I don't think so. Going to bed with someone on drugs is like sleeping with a drunk. I have more self-respect than that.'

  'There's no comparison,' he said. 'Drink dulls your senses, cocaine intensifies them. You've never had an orgasm unless you've had one on coke.' He rubbed his nose with the back of his hand.

  'You need help,' she said, but once again her gaze had dropped. Anderson stepped towards her, slowly this time, and put his hands on her hips.

  'I don't need help. I need you.'

  Katherine shook her head, but she knew that her heart wasn't in the denial. Anderson saw the weakness in her eyes, and he slowly knelt down in front of her, planting soft kisses on her stomach. 'No, Maury,' she whispered, closing her eyes and stroking the back of his head. His hands reached around her backside and pulled her towards him, his tongue probing between her legs. 'No,' she repeated, but this time he knew that the 'no' was a 'yes'.

  His tongue licked the inside of her thighs and she moved, opening her legs wider so that he could go further inside her. She opened her eyes and saw herself reflected in the mirror above the wash basin. The depth of passion in her eyes almost startled her.

  The hips that were pushing against his face seemed to have a life of their own. It was as if she were watching someone else, a stranger. She tightened her grip on his hair, pulling it hard, trying to hurt him. Anderson groaned in pain, but his licking intensified as his hands roamed over the back of her legs. The Katherine in the mirror smiled. She was back in control.

  Lennie Nelson increased the pace, feeling his thigh muscles start to ache as his legs worked. He kept one eye on the speedometer that told him how fast he'd be going if the exercise cycle wasn't bolted to the floor and the other eye on the running track on the lower level. Two jocks were running hard, taking turns to pace each other, and a grey-haired grandmother type was walking briskly in brilliant white Reeboks and breathing like she was seconds away from a heart attack. The running track was one of the least-used areas in the Downtown Athletic Club. The patrons of the club were mainly a yuppie crowd who preferred the gleaming hi-tech exercise equipment or the aerobics classes where they could show off their designer sneakers and leotards.

  It wasn't a clientele that liked to sweat.

  Nelson liked the club because it was fairly close to the bank's offices. There was always plenty of space to park his car, and it was a terrific pick-up joint. He had no problem picking up girls in the city's clubs and bars, but he preferred girls who worked out and his hour-long fitness regimen gave him plenty of opportunity to see what was on offer. He took a quick look at his watch. He had another five minutes to go before he switched over to the bench press.

  He wiped his forehead with the arm of his Johns Hopkins sweatshirt, a relic of his undergraduate days. Down on the running track the two jocks were standing, hands on hips, watching a tall blonde girl, her hair tied back in a ponytail that reached almost to her waist. She had a fluid, easy run, and the ponytail bounced against her purple running vest as she loped along. She checked a stopwatch as she ran. She had good legs, long and lean and not too muscled, and a trim waist. The jocks were obviously talking about her. Nelson wondered what the front view looked like. As she followed the track around to the left, she moved out of his field of vision. The two jocks began jogging after her. The next time she came around she was running on the outside of the track and Nelson was able to see her figure as she ran by. She had firm breasts, bigger than he normally saw on girls who liked to run, and she was strikingly pretty with high cheekbones and flawless skin. Unlike most of the female clientele of the club, she didn't appear to be wearing makeup.

  The two jocks tried to catch up with her, but she picked up speed as she passed out of his vision again. The next time she came around she had put even more distance between the two guys, and they were bathed in sweat. Nelson smiled. The girl could run all right. He realised he was overdue for the bench press so he reluctantly slid off the saddle.

  There were only 140 pounds of weights on the bar so he added another ten to either side before lying back on the bench. He grabbed the bar and began to lift, concentrating on his breathing as he worked. His breathing became more laboured and the muscles in his arms began to burn. He welcomed the pain. It proved that he was pushing himself, and Nelson was always trying to extend his limits, physically and mentally. He could feel his pulse pounding in his neck and the pores on his face opened, bathing him in sweat. He blinked his eyes and pushed harder.

 
As he looked up past the bar he saw black shorts and a purple shirt. It was the blonde. 'Need someone to spot you?' she asked.

  She wasn't from Baltimore, he realised. The mid-west, maybe.

  She looked like a girl who spent a lot of time on the beach.

  'Great,' he said.

  She moved to stand at the end of the bench, her hands at either end of the bar, ready to grab hold in case he faltered. Nelson strained, determined to keep the weights moving for as long as possible. A beautiful girl was the best incentive, especially one who was leaning forward so that her breasts swung just feet from his face and who was smiling encouragement with a mouth that filled his mind with erotic thoughts.

  'Come on, you can do it,' she coaxed. 'Another five.'

  Nelson gritted his teeth. If she expected five, he'd give her ten.

  He counted them off. 'Yes. Yes. Yes,' she said in time with his lifts. Nelson imagined that she'd do the same thing in bed, urging him on in time with his rhythm. She seemed genuinely pleased when he finished his set and helped him put the bar back on its rest. He sat up and grinned. 'Thanks,' he said.

  'Sure,' she said, shaking her head so that the ponytail flicked from side to side. 'Do you wanna do me?'

  He smiled at the double entendre. 'I'd love to,' he said.

  She managed fifteen lifts before she started to strain and she did another five after that. After he'd helped her put the bar on its rest she lay on the bench, gasping for breath. He wafted her with his towel and she giggled. 'Thanks,' she said. 'I'm Jenny, by the way.'

  'I'm Lennie,' he said. 'What do you wanna do next?'

  'What I want is a decent drink, but what I've got to do is another thirty minutes of weight training.' She stood up. Her legs looked even better close up, smooth and silky all the way up to where they disappeared into her shorts. She was only a couple of inches shorter than he was, and Nelson was six feet tall. He liked that. Tall girls always turned him on. Especially tall white girls.