by A. Nybo
“Lead the way.”
Birch followed Henri down the hall and into his room. “Take a seat.” Henri sat on the bed and waited until Birch was settled in the chair. “I spoke to Jeanie Margolis this morning, and it appears I owe you an apology. I’m sorry for the way I behaved last night.”
Birch took a bracing breath. “Henri.” He paused, trying to find a way to say what he had to say without being aggressive or unnecessarily hurtful. “I’m finding it a bit hard to understand what’s going on. One minute you’re friendly, and the next you’re attacking me or someone else. It’s pretty obvious that something happened to you, and that’s probably why you behave the way you do, but it doesn’t give me anything to work with. Being around you without a clue as to what’s likely to set you off is stressful.” Henri made to speak, but Birch held up a staying hand. “I’m not saying this to be hurtful, and I don’t mind helping if I can, but I’m not going to allow you to continue to take your temper out on me.”
Henri nodded. When he finally spoke, his tone was quiet. “What do you want?”
“What? What do you mean ‘what do I want’? I want you to either stop running hot and cold or at least let me know why you’re doing it.”
“So you want me to tell you what happened?”
Birch tried not to throw his hands in the air. “I don’t know. Does it have a bearing on why you run hot and cold?”
Despite his grimace, Henri chuckled. “Give me an example of hot and cold, and I’ll tell you.”
Birch sifted through his mental catalogue for a clear example. “When I met you, you were sitting in a café so panicked you couldn’t speak properly. About an hour later, we were sitting in my wrecked pickup after almost having been killed, and yet you sat and spoke to me as if nothing had happened. Then not ten minutes later, you were needling the police to the point I thought Sergeant Sayer would threaten to lock you up.” He could see Henri was trying to gather his thoughts. “I just don’t know what you’re going to do next. I don’t mean to be—”
Henri stopped him. “I understand where you’re coming from. I really do. And what you say is probably a fair assessment. But….” Henri leaned back and used his bottom lip to direct his long exhale, which blew loose strands of hair upwards. “The CliffsNotes are….”
Birch smiled in hopes of easing Henri’s way. “You really like CliffsNotes versions, don’t you?”
Henri raised his eyebrows and lowered them slowly as he nodded. “Russell Andrews stalked me for a year before I was even aware he was doing it. Hence the whole bugs and camera’s episode last night. And of course accusing you of following me.”
The information shocked Birch. “A year?”
Henri nodded. “Until he let me know he was doing it. Then after that, he didn’t stop letting me know how, um, how close he was to me. Those F1A1 Austeyr bullets were his calling card. That’s why I freaked out so much at the bullet. I was under the misapprehension that I was safe because he had been given several sentences to be served consecutively that should have seen him die in jail. But that day in the café, I’d just discovered I could never be safe again.”
Henri looked down at his hands, which he had moved to sit in his lap. His fingers never stopped fidgeting.
“Okay, I can understand that, but I don’t understand how you could be so calm after he tried to kill us.”
The soft smile that pulled at the corners of Henri’s mouth was a little scary considering the topic. “He wasn’t trying to kill us. If he’d wanted us dead, we would be dead.”
“You said something similar at the police station, but I don’t know how you can say that. He nearly ran us off the road several times.”
“As much as I wish I didn’t, I know him. I know what he’s capable of. He doesn’t want me dead. He wants me alive.”
“Is he in love with you?”
“No.” Henri seemed to give it more consideration. “Maybe. Not romantically or sexually, but there is something in me he….” He shrugged. “I don’t even know how he expects to get it or what he wants to do with it.”
“Do with what?”
“Fucked if I know. All I know is he thinks he can get it through pain.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Welcome aboard. Neither does anyone else. Not even me. And I’ve spent more time with that fucker than I ever wanted to.”
“So what was he trying to do by running us off the road?”
“Get me.” The hollowness in Henri’s chuckle caused sorrow to tighten Birch’s throat, and he couldn’t really understand why. “Hell, knowing Russell, he probably considered that foreplay.”
“But didn’t that scare the hell out of you when he was ramming the car?”
“Yeah, but not for the reason you might think. I was scared that you might stop. That was what he wanted, so he could get me. When we reached the cop shop, I knew he’d have to do it another day. That I was safe for at least a few hours.”
Strangely, that made sense. If he’d felt safe for the first time since finding the bullet, it was little wonder he had calmed down.
“If being at the police station made you feel safe, then why were you so sarcastic and argumentative?”
Henri’s eyebrows shot up. “Who said I felt safe at the police station? Those pricks were just as likely to dump shit on me as they were Russell.”
“You just….”
“No. I felt safe because Russell couldn’t hang around and have another go. Not because we were at the police station, but because there were too many people milling around. It just happened that they were police.”
“What difference would people hanging around make? It’s not like his identity isn’t known.”
“Well, it kinda is, really. Do you remember how Geoff Sayer wasn’t going to take my word that it was Russell? How he had to ‘leave all avenues open.’”
“But that would be standard practice.”
“Yeah. It’s standard practice for all stalkers, especially those in Canada who use a Thales-manufactured Austeyr F1A1 bullet as a calling card.”
“I don’t know what that means.”
“It means that someone would have to get an Australian-manufactured bullet that is specifically designed for an Australian modified gun into Canada just to leave on my vehicle. Unless a Canadian has managed to get hold of an Austeyr, which is military issue, then there is no reason for the munitions to be in Canada. It’s not like bringing in some illicit foodstuffs.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah,” said Henri. “Oh.”
“You said Russell thought he could… get from you what it was he wanted through pain.”
Henri clapped his hands on his knees and used them to help him stand. “Look, as much as I’ve enjoyed this trip down memory lane, I don’t want to go any further. I… I….” Henri looked around as though searching for an escape. “Maybe Jason can tell you what you want to know. Just tell him it’s payback time—he’ll know what it means.” He folded his arms around himself as though he were cold, and his voice dropped. “That’s the best I can give you, Birch.”
When Henri’s eyes met his, Birch had the feeling Henri had offered him something very deep and personal despite handballing the task to Jason. He stood. “Thank you, Henri. I appreciate it.”
The way Henri clamped his lips together and turned to the window, Birch sensed he was looking away to hide emotion that was threatening to break through.
Chapter 8
WHEN BIRCH found Jason and Nate, they were out back talking. He waited until they approached the house and caught Jason as he came in. “Can I speak to you a minute?”
Jason tipped his chin up at Nate before turning to Birch. “Sure.” Birch led Jason out onto the open patio where they were far enough from the house for some privacy.
Having no idea whether this was a two-second story or a half-hour story, Birch sat down at the small table to drink in the remaining afternoon sun. “Henri said to tell you it’s time for you to pay him b
ack.”
Jason’s head shot around to look at him. “What? Why, what happened?”
“Nothing really. We were talking about some of his um, moods, and he began telling me about Russell but then told me to ask you about the rest.”
Jason eyed him with suspicion. “Don’t fucking mess with him, Birch. Just leave him be.”
“This,” he said, waving his hand between them, “was Henri’s idea, not mine. How do you think I knew to suggest whatever this is”—he waved again—“payback?” He shook his head. “Jesus, is it always like this around you people?”
“Like what?”
“I’m sitting here talking about something, and I don’t even know what I’m talking about.”
Jason laughed at that. “Let’s just say it’s not an unusual occurrence.” His smile faded. “Okay, just give me a minute.”
It seemed an eternity passed before Jason took a breath to speak. “A group of us SAS guys who used to knock around together had a party. My sister Janice came, and she brought Henri along as her date. Everyone was introduced to everyone else, and no one thought much about it until things started coming out about a year later. It turns out that Russell Andrews, one of the SAS guys who was at the party, had taken a shine to Henri.”
“When you say a shine, what do you mean?”
“Who the hell knows what Russell meant? That was the way he described it. All I can tell you is that his soul is as fucking black as pitch.”
“I take it Henri wasn’t interested?”
“He didn’t really know much about it. He’d brushed Russell off a couple of times when he’d invited Henri out for drinks, but other than that, I don’t think Henri really gave it another thought.”
Jason folded his arms, and with bent knees, crossed his lower legs beneath the chair as he leaned back. “Russell pushed his way into every corner of Henri’s life for about a year before he left a web address in Henri’s emails. When Henri opened it and clicked on the link, he was directed to a website that had hundreds of hours of video footage of him at home, at work, getting around town, and whatnot.”
“Jesus,” breathed Birch. Even when Henri had said he’d been stalked for a year, he had no idea it had been so invasive. It seemed the words had allowed him to understand what was said but not really grasp the implications.
“Russell had hacked everything: bank accounts, emails, documents. Shit, he’d even hacked Henri’s library account and took great pleasure in taking a screenshot of his lending history and sending it to him via his own email account. He’d rigged Henri’s apartment and workplace with cameras and listening devices. There was footage of Henri doing everything from brushing his teeth to putting his shopping away, having sex to dancing around the living room, and whatever else. So Henri went to the police, and that’s when things took a turn for the worse.”
“Worse?”
Jason nodded. “The police decided Henri was a headcase because of course all the evidence originated from Henri’s accounts, his home, and work. There was no evidence of an external source.”
Birch winced inwardly, remembering Henri’s vicious reaction when he’d called him crazy. He also began to understand why Henri wasn’t a huge fan of the police. “But what about the website and all the video footage?”
“What about it? The website was in Henri’s name, paid for by money from Henri’s bank account. Since most of the video footage was from inside Henri’s apartment or work—places it would have been easy for Henri to set up cameras—they concluded it was his own doing.”
“But why would he do that?”
“The question is, why would anyone do that? But clearly someone did, because the footage was there. And it was easier to think it was a publicity stunt to get Henri’s name out there than to think someone had managed to hack all his accounts, gained access to his apartment and his work, and all that sort of thing.”
“Get his name out there for what?”
“His photography career. Although he’s done some freelance journalism, his main focus was artistic. Portraits and that sort of thing.” With a flip of his hand, Jason dismissed that thread of the conversation. “Anyway, that theory lasted long enough to do some damage, but when it was decided what was on the website would only damage the rep he’d already built, the theory was cast aside.”
“But if it was Henri’s attention Russell wanted, why didn’t he show his hand earlier? Why stalk him for year?”
Jason pulled the corners of his mouth down and shrugged. “He continued to stalk Henri for about six months after Henri knew about it.”
“Didn’t Henri change accounts, passwords, get rid of the cameras, change the locks and all that?”
“Of course, but Russell had breached it all once, and he did it again.”
Birch was still thinking on the problem when Jason went on. “The police wanted an opportunity to try to track the person responsible, even if they weren’t convinced yet that it wasn’t Henri, so Henri made this whole show of leaving town for a few days so he could leave the apartment without raising suspicion. But whether Russell was watching him when he went to the police station, or however he did it, Russell was onto the police a lot sooner than the police were able to actually do any watching or tracking. Anyway”—Jason waved the issue away—“it’s not important.”
“Not important?”
“Not in the greater scheme of things. They didn’t catch him at it, but once they’d dug a bit deeper, through the website account uploads and first few bill payments, they were able to figure out Henri wasn’t just a fruit loop and that someone was actually messing with him.”
“I can’t even imagine what sort of damage that would do, knowing someone had been watching you, following you. And for so long too.”
“The gaslighting was the real damage. Henri was paranoid as hell, but not one person could blame him. It affected his life in ways you wouldn’t even give a thought to. He initially tried to adopt a blasé attitude about it, but that could only carry him so far. As he said, he never knew whether the next mouthful of cereal was going to be poisoned or his car was going to explode or whether he was going to have his throat slit while he was sleeping. And as evidenced when police trawled the footage on the website, Russell had been in his apartment while Henri slept.”
“God! What did Henri do when he found that out?”
“Dunno. Don’t think he knew. Not until the trial anyway. By which time Henri couldn’t have cared less about something like that.”
“How the hell could you not care that someone had been creeping around your place while you slept?”
Jason studied him with sombre eyes. “Take your pick. By that time Henri had lost his relationship, his job, his apartment, he wasn’t sleeping well, his social life was nonexistent….”
“Okay,” said Birch with disgust. “I get it.”
Jason rubbed his face with his giant hand. “No, you don’t. Not yet.” Despite his tone of resignation, the muscles in Jason’s jaw flickered rapidly.
“What?”
“Russell’s behaviour escalated from there. He wouldn’t, or couldn’t, leave Henri alone. He taunted him for months after Henri moved and then finally abducted him.”
Despite the afternoon sun, the chill that enveloped Birch was like icy wings wrapping around him. Speechless, he waited for Jason to continue, even though he wasn’t sure he wanted him to. It was like being unable to turn away from a car crash.
“I was ringing Henri most days because he was drinking pretty heavily by that stage. I knew something was wrong when I couldn’t get hold of him, but I thought he might have fallen over or… something. I got to his apartment, and initially I thought he’d trashed it.” Jason pointed into the house. “Like he started to do to the lounge room the other night. But when I saw the blood, I called the cops, and they launched a search.
“About twenty hours later, they rescued Henri and captured Russell. He’d held him for fifty-six hours before the task force located them. Russ
ell was so busy crowing over his prize, he didn’t realize Henri had managed to keep hold of his phone until they’d reached their destination and then ditched it. So the GPS in Henri’s phone finally gave their location away. And that’s when the fucking circus started.”
“Circus?” Birch’s voice sounded so distant it was like someone else had asked the question.
“Some fool cop leaked it to the media, and they got footage of Henri being pulled from the scene. The media somehow managed to identify Russell as ex-SAS, and the military got wind of it and got an injunction before the footage could be shown publicly.”
“Why would they do that?”
“Probably because they’d trained Russell and didn’t want the public to know what sort of skills they’d endowed a fucking loose unit with. They sure as hell wouldn’t want it known he’d turned those skills against one of their own civilians. And as Russell was protected from the media by both the military and the police, that left one target for the media to harass.”
“Henri.”
Jason nodded. “He only had nurses and hospital security to protect him, because with the offender caught red-handed and in custody, it was deemed Henri was no longer in danger. I gotta hand it to them—the hospital did a pretty good job overall, and things started to die down a bit, but when it went to trial, the whole shitshow started all over again when some of the evidence got loose.”
“Wasn’t it public knowledge by then?”
Jason shook his head. “The military made sure it was a closed court, which worked in Henri’s favour too—one of the few things that did.”
“What was the evidence?”
“That Russell had videotaped some of Henri’s torture sessions so he could replay them at leisure. That’s how they knew how long he’d had Henri, because of the time-stamps on the tapes.”
Birch stared open-mouthed. He couldn’t move. Couldn’t think.
Jason rose abruptly and went inside; the sound of the door closing behind him jolted Birch’s mind to action.
No wonder Henri’s behaviour seemed so bizarre at times. How could anyone act normal after undergoing something like that? What was normal after being sleepless, terrified, hunted, imprisoned, and tortured? Henri was neither a soldier, where there was a very real chance a situation like that might occur, or in a war, where others might have similar experiences. He had been alone, involved in a one-man battle. And the system hadn’t merely failed him, it had initially accused him.