Cause & Effect (The Gemini Borders Trilogy Book 3)

by Toni Parks

  The three huddled together in the tight dark space that had been earmarked for just such situations. The leader begged her heart’s rapid pace to slow and her terror to ease, so that she could think solely of happy thoughts. Happy thoughts that would block out the gross actions, which had been visited upon her. Her two companions offered what little comfort they could but were not able to lucidly express their sympathy and sadness at the event, which had brought her to this place. So she just sat on the floor with her knees drawn up to her chest and her arms wrapped around them; as her two closest friends, offered whatever tactile comfort she demanded. Under the makeshift clothes-horse tent, the three of them safe and secure from the outside cruel world.

  He always brought out of his pocket, a bag of ‘penny’ sweets tinged with the sickly aroma of sour tobacco. Jessica naively assumed her action of accepting them as guilt by association and so condoning the abuse. And this was the man her Grannie had opened her heart to, who was to replace the warmth, comfort and, in time, the memory, left by Gramps’ death. Never in a million years. Grannie found out it was not going to happen, a lot sooner than that. George came into her life at a vulnerable point and his nice as any pie you could think of manners fooled them both for a while. But then at night Jessica began hearing noises, which even in her innocence could not be classified as terms of endearment, and Grannie would try to disguise the results the following day. With it not being an everyday occurrence and usually only precipitated by drink, George was allowed to continue cohabiting as long as the bottle went. But temptation was not to be thwarted and stealth still enabled him to seek out his pleasures. His planned death began on the same night that Jessica had cried out and Grannie had caught George furtively leaving her bedroom. Jessica had held his confidence up to that point with his sweet bribes, his imperceptible hugs and his sweetie ditties. He gave her one of his tobacco smelling sweets for every ‘incy wincy spider’ as her fingers crept along his leg. But then his hugs became more exploratory, his hot breath rasped on the back of her neck and his hands homed in on her specific, more private areas. A frightened Jessica had no understanding of what these reactions signalled until his thing was waving about in front of her, and then she screamed.

  Grannie rushed in to find Jessica, not in her bed but hidden away in the corner of the room under the apex of an army blanket. She had to coax her out and then they had talked about the ghastly experience only the once, but it had been too painful for both parties even then. And although not physically painful for the counsellor, it had caused Grannie severe mental anguish, in the knowing. Anguish that she had allowed the perpetrator access into a loving home, well up to that point a loving home, and all due to her own selfish needs and desires. And then George had abused that trust and ruined her most treasured possession. Therefore it was bound to end up being the responsibility of that person to make amends. She recalled her Grannie hugging both her and her two dearest friends: Miss Piggy and Sweet Dreams, one of the Pillow People. She had said soothingly, “He will not hurt you again, my love. I will not let him hurt you again, my love. I will never let him near you or anybody else again.” And true to her word she kept her powder dry, watched him like a hawk and arranged for a day’s fishing in the company of her own physical abuser George, who had now become a paedophile, and her daughter Kathy. A tragic accident then occurred north of the Farne Islands, which left only two crewmembers to return.

  Her mind in turmoil, she pulled out the pencil she had stolen earlier from the unsuspecting Amy, not anticipating its use so soon after its theft. Feverishly, she began to write on the walls, her performance eagerly viewed by a bemused cellmate. A low, rhythmic, keening sound came from her lips as they repeated words over and over, mimicking a record player’s constantly sticking stylus on vinyl. But, rather than clicking on the same note this one played two verses, over and over and over. The only time Jessica drew breath was when her blunt pencil needed resharpening, again courtesy of her dip into Amy’s Boyzone pencil case. By the time her cellmate grasped that Jessica needed help, half the available wall space had been covered in her pencilled hand.

  Oh sweetie of mine/Just send me a sign/And I will be thine/ ‘til the end of time

  Oh sweetie of mine/You know my design/To you I entwine/ And make everything fine

  Oh sweetie of mine/Just send me a sign/And I will be thine/ ‘til the end of time

  Oh sweetie of mine/You know my design/To you I entwine/ And make everything fine

  Oh sweetie of mine/Just send me a sign/And I will be thine/ ‘til the end of time

  Oh sweetie of mine/You know my design/To you I entwine/ And make everything fine

  “Guard. Guard. Take this woman away. She’s driving me nuts!”

  *

  Some of the thrill of the chase had been spoiled with the advent of SpiyWeb, particularly when inputting a series of names and/or locations and then relinquishing that knowledge into the hands of a faceless data processor. However, the upside was that they were quick, discreet, efficient and exceedingly thorough. So when Pietro and Eduardo had gleaned and passed on all the relevant information from Emma’s various tellings of Jessica’s plight, their expectations of the results were realistically high. And SpiyWeb did not disappoint, ever.

  *

  The case was moving at pace; initial evidence against the accused had been presented at a private hearing in the Sheriff & Justice of the Peace Court, on Chambers Street in Edinburgh, where Jessica had been ‘appearing on petition’. A second hearing was due within 10 days where the additional corroborated evidence would be presented. The Procurator Fiscal in each hearing was nominated to be the District Depute, Elspeth Macleod. A star in the making, who had already leapt up the success ladder, from her initial entry into the justice system. And according to LinkedIn, her eyes were firmly set on becoming an Advocate Depute in the High Court of Justiciary arena and at an early age too. Elspeth, the youngest girl of a family of four children, now married but with no children of her own, still worked professionally under her maiden name. She had left the village of Yetholm to study Law at Edinburgh University and had never looked back. Visits to see her parents, Seth and Meredith, were few and far between as work, hobbies and holidays played a considerable part in her life. Further delving into her past and present life revealed nothing of significance and her husband, Toby, passed with flying colours too.

  Her parents proved equally veracious and were perceived as long-standing, noble stalwarts of the village. Elspeth’s only sibling still at home was Joseph, now aged 21. He had arrived somewhat later than either her two sisters or herself, and so effectively became ‘an only one’, after the others had either left home or gone off to university. But nevertheless her parents were still up to the task of providing him a good, solid family life. In fact, Seth had been so desperate for a boy that he had bestowed Joe with insurmountable time, love and affection in the hope that he would respond by taking up the passion of carpentry and so continue the lifelong tradition of his family. Joe duly fulfilled that dream and was now about to fulfil another, that of Bari Gadgi, the gypsy term meaning Best Boy. The cap had been tipped and the eye had been winked and Joe would most likely be given the nod of the head as this year’s chosen one.

  That left the two elder daughters, Aileen and Sorcha. Aileen now a partner in a busy doctor’s practice in Edinburgh and Sorcha a successful clothes designer. Aileen had always been a quiet and kindly girl who had made a habit of visiting the older inhabitants of the village and helping with chores around their homes or ran errands to the shops. She now had an active social life in Edinburgh, attending parties, visiting exhibitions and the theatre but still had not met Mr Right. She tried to return to Yetholm for at least one weekend every month and always stayed with her parents and brother, whilst looking up old friends. Sorcha on the other hand was far more outgoing. Her style was her personality: big, flamboyant and loud. Her designs had taken the Borders by storm and now continental Europe beckoned. She too had no designs on an
y particular man but both her parents cringed when she was paparazzi’d in the press and on the Internet, more often than they would wish for, exiting clubs with different beaus on her arm. Her only other step on to the wild side had been as a teenager when Rawnie Tait, one of the local gypsy girls, and her had been caught stealing. Both doing community type service with Rawnie being supervised by Sorcha’s father.

  All this information had been gathered within 24 hours and computed into a chronological semblance of order, which Pietro found invaluable. He forwarded the details to Eduardo’s secure email address, who on arrival in Aberdeen contacted Pietro to inform him of its safe arrival. He also offered up the contents of Luigi’s letter and how it should affect the Camorra’s future in the East of Scotland and what impact it would mean to his short term unavailability. He advised Pietro to share SpiyWeb’s findings with Pernille so as to glean both genders’ perspectives when creating a strategy. One, which might just compromise Elspeth Macleod.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN The taxi driver took the mobile and listened. “Take the A944, Hutcheon Street to the junction of Frazer Street, just opposite is a rundown red bricked mill, that’s what you’re aiming for.” He handed the iPhone back to Eduardo and set off in a northwest direction. Fifteen minutes later Eduardo handed over his fare through the window and walked around the walled mill, in search of an entrance. The CCTV picked him up before he noticed them and after he had traversed a quarter of the whole perimeter a metal door opened in the wall.

  The man asked, “Eduardo Martini?” Eduardo nodded in the affirmative and the man moved to one side to allow him to enter. The door clanged behind and he was escorted along a circuitous route until he arrived in front of an outsized wooden door, which appeared so rustic it could have been a stand-in for a giant sequoia tree. His escort glanced at him and input the code in the keypad to the right of the door. Eduardo became totally disorientated as the door rose through the ceiling above rather than opening left or right. Eduardo’s attendant smirked as he waved him into the room. A room, which would not have looked out of place in Ideal Homes or Interior Design Today, stimulated his eyes as he followed the clean lines and subtle shades of colour. Alonzo Lucisano stepped up to him and held out his hand, “Has that effect on everyone, Eduardo. If you haven’t seen it before it shows how long you have been away.”

  “Alonzo, how are you, my man? But you’re right. This is amazing, absolutely amazing.” Eduardo released his grip and strolled around the room unable to not run his fingers along the cool metal dado rail where highly polished contemporary marble walling rose up from the marbled floor to meet it. His gaze took in the Grecian columns, luxurious settees, and plush soft furnishings, all complemented by the subtlety of the lighting. ‘Business can’t be too bad,’ he thought.

  “Eduardo, please take a seat. Francesco will be here any moment. As you are aware these are busy times for all of us. And no more so for you with taking up your new position as Mayor.”

  “Yes, it has been somewhat hectic but I feel that our special relationship should be preserved and strengthened. London did you a disservice by sending Camorristi onto your patch without your knowledge. And now our people have sent me as an emissary to welcome you to share in our good fortune.” The door rising once again interrupted Eduardo at this point. Francesco walked through looking more than pleased with himself.

  “Papa, Hunter-Bell are on the hop. And they won’t have a chance to breathe before we hit them again. I know they left that Tarot card threatening retribution but I think it was just chest thumping. They haven’t really got the bottle to go toe to toe, not with our firepower.”

  “Don’t get too cocky, my boy. Do you know Eduardo Martini?”

  Francesco held his hand out as he said, “I’m surprised you’ve come so soon. Is it to rub our noses in your good fortune.”

  “That’s enough, Francesco. Where are your manners?”

  “No, Alonzo. It’s OK. Let him express himself,” said Eduardo releasing Francesco’s hand.

  “OK. The way I see it is that London backed the wrong horse. They got a whiff of money and wanted the bigger share for themselves. They then sneaked up here, topped someone, chased a couple of girls around and then they were off. Next thing we know, Secondigliano’s rolling in cash thanks to their so-called saviour, Luigi Agosti. I spit on his grave. It broke my Grandpapa, what Agosti did all those years ago. He had a gentleman’s agreement where he ensured that any monies invested by him and his wife would at least keep up with inflation. He never suggested that it all could be lost! Papa here then took over the reigns and spent years rebuilding and refinancing, often being ridiculed along the way. And now he’s put me in charge of the, shall we say, livelier side of business, so I can honestly say I don’t need you. You’re too late for rebuilding bridges. We’ve put everything in our own hands and are growing business our way. By grinding the opposition into the ground. Expansion by fear and destruction.”

  “Francesco. Enough. What have I told you about leaving your anger and ire at the door? You’re too bull headed for your own good.” Francesco stopped talking and slouched off to a corner of the room, expecting his gait to portray his contempt. Contempt for his father’s weakness and his disgust too at the audacity of this man invading their place of work and expecting civility, after what had been done in the past. He continued with his childish behaviour by grabbing a handful of peanuts and catching them in his mouth one at a time. His father, interrupted by this display, looked on sadly sensing that a fall was not too far away. “But look at me. Some host. I haven’t even offered you a drink. Coffee? Something stronger?”

  “Coffee’s fine. Thank you, Alonzo. I don’t want to keep you too long if Francesco has more pressing matters to discuss.”

  “What can be more pressing than hearing news from back home? Do you know it’s nearly five years now since I’ve been to Napoli. With Pugliese in control, I found my visits very dispiriting, seeing how people were being treated and made to live. Of course, I sent money when I could. But with the backlash of the drain on funds from the 80’s, it was never enough,” at this point he became silent and took on a clichéd faraway look. “Well you know all about that. We were constantly trying catch up and, just as Francesco says dear old Grandpapa totally lost it once he knew the scale of the money we’d invested, never to be seen again, and then the banking crisis hit.”

  Eduardo stirred his coffee, as much to give him time to think as for the coffee needing a piece of the action. He looked across at Alonzo and glanced over to Francesco, still sulking in the naughty corner. “Francesco, come and sit with your Papa. What I’ve got to say is for you to hear first hand too.” Eduardo left it for thirty seconds; enough time for Francesco to decide and then make the effort to move. As Francesco poured his own coffee and refilled his Papa’s, Eduardo began. “Francesco is partly right in what he says,” Eduardo paused waiting for an interruption, which never materialised. “Your clan invested monies expecting it to be safe and to be returned with interest. You quite rightly mention the man responsible for losing that money, Luigi Agosti.” Again, a pause. Again, no reaction. The boy was learning. “But that’s only half the story. Remember, he also lost a huge amount belonging to the Secondigliano clan. Now Francesco talks about rogue Camorristi operating on your patch, true again. But they were on the hunt for the lost money. In a round about way, Luigi’s twin daughters, safe and secure for thirty years after their parents’ deaths suddenly held the necessary tools and key to unlock the whole mystery. The man killed here in Aberdeen, Jeremy Longthorne, a life long friend of their parents; was to become the catalyst. This initiated a cat and mouse hunt, first across the UK and then continental Europe with the two girls, Jessica and Emma, finally having the balls to seek help in Naples itself. Their ingenuity and courage, and no doubt a lot of luck, brought about not only good fortune to Secondigliano but also peace and forgiveness. Now you might think, ‘That’s all well and good, for you,’ and you would be correct in that assumption. Bu
t that’s not the end of it. The forward planning of Luigi and his wife Laura just keeps on giving. And two girls, with no previous talent for finance, espionage or even walking on the wild side of the law, have proved their value yet again.” Again, Eduardo paused, took a sip of his coffee and this time asked, “Any questions, so far?”

  The answer being negative, he continued, “I was going to come here with an olive branch and an offer of cash, either as a loan or as a gift. Neither would have had strings attached and either could be refused. But on my way here, Emma, one of Luigi’s twin daughters, literally thrust this letter into my hand. It was sealed, so she had no idea what its contents were and even if she had I am sure she would still have handed it over. As you can see it is addressed to our people, and with me as Mayor I felt justified in exploring its contents. But now I hand it over to you, Alonzo, with joy and pleasure at what it will do for your cause.” The envelope was opened and as Alonzo turned the key over and over in one hand, trying to meld it into some other shape, he held the letter in the other and read. Francesco struggled in his desire to know what the contents were at exactly the same moment as his Papa. But every time he edged closer, the hand with the key prevented him from invading any more of Alonzo’s space.

  Silently, Alonzo passed the letter over to his son, closed his eyes and contemplated. Then he said, “If that code and this key do what Luigi says they will do, then I, and all I stand for, apologise for all the slights and wrongs we have wished upon that man over the last thirty years. I know the girls whom you talk about have obviously lost their parents, which is always sad and I will be forever in their debt once the safe deposit box has revealed its contents. The only sadness I feel is that my Papa died not knowing that he had not been double crossed and that he had been unable to prevent the deaths of two people whose honesty and integrity should now be honoured rather than vilified.” At this he signalled for another pot of coffee by way of celebration.