Cause & Effect (The Gemini Borders Trilogy Book 3)

by Toni Parks

  Eduardo replied, “Believe you me, Alonzo the key and card will work, without a problem. As you know we have recovered all our lost monies and it was not in lira either. Luigi had converted the cash into dollars, gold bullion and precious gems, which are worth far more than any number of wheelbarrows full of lira, even if it was still legal tender. There are also accounts in Laura’s fair hand showing every transaction ever made alongside the date and what was purchased in exchange. I’m convinced your box will show exactly the same. And don’t forget this all happened at a time when it was illegal to take large amounts of cash out of the country.” He went on to confirm which bank and city was holding the prospective delights.

  “Yes, well as I say, if there is anything I can do in return,” reiterated Alonzo.

  “Well, there may be one thing, and sooner than you think,” voiced Eduardo. “One of the twins, Jessica, is in prison accused of murder, no less. She has been tagged as the Borders serial killer. You may have heard about it? Now according to her sister, Emma, she is guilty but since when did that mean anything to the likes of us. At present, as I understand it, she is being held near Stirling and the court case will take place in Edinburgh. But SpiyWeb are digging up information, dirt and whatever else will help us to spring her. Can I count on your help?”

  “Yes, it was all over the press a few months ago. Tourism took a nose-dive and the B&B whingers were bemoaning their misfortune and counting their losses. So that was one of Luigi Agosti’s twin girls, was it? I bet he’d not counted on that happening. But who am I to refuse help to one whom I can only call a ‘fairy godmother,’ albeit a young one at that.”

  Up to this point, Francesco had held his counsel but now he joined in, “We’ll get the girl out Eduardo, have no fear. Although, I’ve never been under a debt to a girl before, so that will be a first in itself. Just tell us, when and where, and it will be sorted.”

  “Mm, the youth of today. They think everything can be solved at the drop of a hat. But I don’t think it’s going to be that simple, is it?”

  Eduardo pouring his own coffee, looked up at the sage and replied, “No Alonzo, I don’t think it will be simple. It’ll have to be clever and devious, that way it might appear simple.” Alonzo nodded and the conversation turned to happier times, when nobody had any money at all, so it never had a chance of becoming an issue between them. Francesco grew bored with the nostalgia and left the room to go to his own office and google flights to Zurich and check out where Credit Suisse Bank was situated. Whilst Alonzo felt like celebrating and brought out a bottle of Franciacorta, a product of Brescia in Lombardy and considered the ‘Italian Champagne’.

  “I never thought the occasion would arise when I could consume a bottle of this. I brought a case of it all the way from Italy, and although there have been instances when one could have been opened; there has never been one more worthy than this.”

  The sound of ‘Madagascar’s Move It’ on Eduardo’s mobile brought him out of a deep sleep. He picked it up and said, sleepily, “Ciao.”

  A bright voice, replied, “Caught you having a nap, have I, mio amato?”

  “Ciao baby. Yes, I’ve been celebrating with Alonzo up here in Aberdeen.”

  “That’s a surprise. I didn’t think he’d be so happy to see you.”

  “No he wasn’t at first, but more so than his son, Francesco. He read me the riot act about how their money had been stolen and left them in the lurch. But then they both came round.”

  “So I see; to the point where you’ve had to have a little riposo to recover. So what were you celebrating?”

  “Well, you know I stayed overnight at Emma’s, don’t you? Don’t panic Pernille, it’s nothing to be jealous about. Well, when I was in the taxi just about to set off for Edinburgh she thrust a letter in my hand. Has Pietro not mentioned this?”

  “And you’re sure I shouldn’t be jealous?”

  “No, listen. The letter contained another safe deposit box code and key, accessing Aberdeen’s long lost money. It’s from Luigi Agosti, the twins’ father. Emma had received it from solicitors looking after Jeremy Longthorne’s affairs. Ask Pietro he’ll vouch for me?”

  “Jeremy Longthorne?”

  “Yes, Jeremy Longthorne. The solicitor murdered in Aberdeen. Turns out he was good friends of the Agosti’s and he had the letter all along. But, and this is the best bit, he wasn’t to release it unless the girls had safely retrieved the Secondigliano monies and their own. What do you make of that?”

  “Yes, very smart. But how come if this Jeremy Longstocking is dead, how come the letter got through?”

  “Jeremy Longthorne, Longthorne not Longstocking, that’s Pippa you’re thinking of. I don’t know the answer to that. All I know is that Emma went to the post office and collected an envelope. She nearly didn’t open it whilst I was there, but then at the last minute she did and stuck the letter in my hand. End of story. But I’ve never known you to ring, just to pass the time of day.”

  “No you’re quite right and this call will be going on your bill, I might add. I wanted to let you know what plans we have concocted to aid Jessica’s release or escape, dependent on which way they go.”

  “I’m all ears, Amore.”

  “Well as long as you’re not spinning me a yarn, I have a feeling that at times Emma might be a bit flirty, as well as flighty. Anyway, as much as I’d love to carry on talking, I think from a security point of view I ought to send an email. Give me thirty minutes and then check your Tor browser.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN The compactness of the flat swelled to the dimensions of Hampden Park now that Emma was on her own. Eduardo had recently left in a taxi and with Jessica’s possible permanent incarceration; a void had opened in her heart. The recent adrenalin rush, of dashing to the solicitors in Aberdeen, then meeting Amy for a lift to the prison in Stirling, and finally saying her goodbyes to Jessica before she was escorted back to her cell, had now dissipated. She now felt flat, just like a spare part again, as she had done in Zurich when the bank was being raided and Jessica and her were left behind, as if that part of the job was purely for men only. So, she was back where she started, on her own. In her vernacular, she was pissed off with no fucking clue what to do next. Well, that was not strictly true. ‘First, I better sort out this pregnancy lark. Am I or aren’t I?’ she chided. ‘Then, I’ll just take it one step at a time and see where it leads me.’ Bold, positive and brave words, but not usually uttered by a girl with Emma’s history.

  Finding the Medical Practice was easy; getting to see a doctor was nigh on impossible. Emma had been embarrassed to say when she had last seen a doctor, or vice versa as it was all wrapped up in the period of her helter-skelter life where drugs, money and sex fused together and fought aggressively in her head for top dog priority; not necessarily the everyday patient psyche patronising the Newtown St Boswells’ practice. However, she brought the best out of her blagging abilities and managed to book an appointment for early the following morning. But this still left too much time on her hands, without a Jessica handbrake restraint holding her back. So now her one temptation of drug using would be able to creep up and catch her unawares. No, make that her two temptations of drug using and booze, both delightful in their excess. No, again, what about three? Drug using, booze and prostitution, where the sale of her body was useful in bailing her out with the necessary readies. And now with her pregnancy she might even add an extra tenner to her stock value from those sad characters constantly trawling for hot pussy with that little added extra.

  ‘While I’m at it, why don’t I make it four and give that brain-shook Barnham a call.’ Emma’s own brain froze at the thought. She now had no Jessica to counsel her against such bad ideas, and anyway Jessica had no idea what turmoil she was putting her through, being here on her own. She could never get her logic to stay logical particularly when thinking how out of character it was for Jessica to go around killing people and then getting hauled away, leaving Emma to fend for herself in this n
ew world of normality. A world where cleaning and washing up, and making beds, and buying food, happened all the time, but to other people. When did anyone get an opportunity to have fun, experiment and just crash out? But that was not the second part of her logical stream of consciousness, it was more the fact of knowing that without Jessica doing all these dreadful things then they may have never met. That’s what was troubling her, the fact that her twin sister had tried to kill her when they had met, and on that very first time. And whichever way you looked at it that was not good. And to cap it all, both of them had then had a go at killing Barnham, but obviously without success. And now he was lurking in the background like some old computer, which had lost its Ram, just waiting to be topped up and rebooted so it could spill all the gory details of both girls’ wicked deeds.

  So why was she drawn to him? Why were her fingers changing over the SIM card, the one that contained his number, and actually fitting it in to her mobile, as she thought, right at that very second? In fact why had she kept the card in the first place? And what if he answered?

  “Hello.”

  “Hello. Tel?”

  “Hello. Do I know you?”

  ‘Well, even if you still had half a brain, I’m sure you’d

  probably not know me from me as I’ve only said two words. So the fact that you’ve probably no brain I better spell it out,’ she thought. And then said, “It’s Emma”.

  “Emma?”

  “Oh bloody hell, Tel. Do I have to come round and bang some sense into that head of yours? Emma. Emma Flynn. We spent several nights out together.” Emma could not allow herself to picture what else had gone on, particularly on the nights in.

  “Emma Flynn? Did we meet recently?”

  “Well, you could say that. But I don’t think we’re going to get anywhere with me talking and you not, do you? So let me know where you’re living and I’ll come and see you. After all the therapy’s got to start somewhere, hasn’t it?”

  “Living? … Therapy? … Are you going to be my nurse?”

  “Maybe. If it gets that far! But as we’re going now it looks highly unlikely. You sound like you’ve too much to learn and I might not live that long.”

  “Why, are you ill? What’s the point in sending me a nurse, who’s ill?”

  “Terry, my boy. I think I’m scrambling you more. But maybe it’s not as bad as I’m imagining. I can tell that’s there’s logic in that head of yours, all we’ve got to do is connect up the dots and get it working in unison. Like I said before, what’s your address? If you give me that, I might bring you a treat when I visit.”

  “Mm, treats. I know I like those. Address, well I’m still living where I used to live in Edinburgh. It’s the bed-sit on Grosvenor Street.”

  “Well, why didn’t you say? See, you can string a sentence together, can’t you? Are you staying in today?”

  “I suppose so. Where would I be going? And don’t forget my treat.”

  “Oh, I won’t be forgetting that. I now carry it everywhere with me. See you in a couple of hours and if you do have to go out, ring me on the number I’ve just called on.”

  “What do you mean? I thought you were coming in person.”

  “Oh, never mind. I’ll take potluck. Bye Tel.”

  “Eh, bye … nice lady.”

  ‘Nice lady, my arse,’ thought Emma. ‘I’ll show him what a nice lady’s all about. This little nursey’s got a few therapy tricks of her own, up her uniform.’

  She travelled up to Edinburgh, convinced that Jessica would not have been too annoyed by her weakness. But the truth was, Emma could no longer bumble about on her own, she needed direction. What was a girl to do with a stash of treasure locked away in Zurich, a house in Aberdeen and £268,000? Apart from shout ‘Yippee’, that is. Not for the last time did she ponder her alternatives. One: lying on her back or whichever position took the punter’s fancy. Two: staggering around, drunk legless with all the vulnerability that entailed for the female sex. Or three: out of it on some cocktail of drugs bought at exorbitant prices. Funnily enough, none of the above appealed to her and none would be beneficial to the baby, either. The baby, how would she broach the subject with the possible father who has lost his mind? Could the shock bring him back to reality or jolt him further into a nether world of confusion and solitude? She had no idea; no answer to either question, all she knew was that the present state of affairs would need handling with care.

  So it came as a shock to her, when she was buzzed in, and she stepped through the open door as a tanned, slender, younger looking version of Barnham, greeted her. She had forgotten this new Terry look, even though it was only at the airport when she had been presented with it, but she had a lot on her mind then and dreaming about men, alive or dead had not been top of the list. But still after all the coaching she had given herself on the bus journey as to how to approach the subject of her new delicate condition she still shocked herself by blurting out, “Terry, I’m going to have a baby and it’s yours!”

  She was right in thinking what effect it could have on his mind, as Terry stepped out into the street, looked furtively up and down and ushered her to his bed-sit before she could say anything else. “You’re going to have my baby? How can that be, we’ve only just met on the doorstep?”

  “Give over, Terry. Here give me a kiss. Look, I didn’t mean to come out with that, it must have been nerves. But I am going to have a baby, really. And I do think it’s yours, really. But that’s as far as it goes. I don’t need any money from you; in fact I’m financially as sound as I will ever need to be. But I would like you to be part of the baby’s life, if you want to be, and I believe that the baby and I might be able to help you to get better.”

  “Why, am I ill?” “Terry, you’ve lost your mind. And your marbles by the sounds of it. Can’t you remember anything?”

  “Well I can remember …” Emma interrupted as progress was slow and she was parched.

  “Look I’m going to make a coffee for us both. And I’ve brought these Danish pastries too. Then we’ll sit down and see what you do and don’t know. I’d have thought that Blister chap would have got you further on than this.”

  “I don’t see DC Blister any more. Denny, that was his name. I don’t see Denny, not after that episode in the airport. I seemed to go backwards after that. I think the powers that be want to put me out to grass now. I think that’s how they explained it.” Emma listened as she boiled the kettle and arranged the pastries on a plate.

  Pouring the water into the coffee mugs, she replied, “That’s good, Terry. You remember Blister and his Christian name and you even know where you were with him.” She handed him a coffee and said, “Sorry it’s granules, I can’t find any ground coffee.” And then laughed, saying, “I’m losing it now, apologising for you not having ground coffee.”

  “Yes, I think I’m beginning to understand how these things happen. Tell me a bit more about this baby, how did it come about?”

  “Eh, it was like, something to do with you and me making out, I should imagine,” she replied shocked at what he had lost, and so added, “but that’s not important right now,” and laughed out loud as she recalled Leslie Nielsen delivering the line in ‘Airplane!’.

  Terry looked a little peeved and confused but still replied anyway, “The knock on the head didn’t totally addle all my brain cells. I still comprehend how babies are conceived, even if I’m a bit short of practice myself. So, if as you say you are pregnant, when you hadn’t planned to be, why didn’t you resort to some form of contraception, you know like …” Emma put her mug down and was about to finish his sentence. “... No don’t help me. I’ll get there. Like a Dutch cap or the contraceptive pill,” he said, happy at his recollection.

  “Good, Tel. Good, it really comes back when you try hard to think about it.”

  “And what about the morning after pill, wouldn’t you use that as your last resort in your line of work.” Now it was Emma’s turn to be shocked.

  “Te
rry. That’s another good recollection, but what do you mean by my line of work?” asked Emma taking a slurp of coffee.

  “Oh, you know, prostitution,” he replied nonchalantly, whilst Emma sprayed the table with the excess coffee coming through her nose as she nearly choked on it.

  “What do you know about prostitution?” she asked, mopping herself and the table down with a tea towel.

  “If I really set my mind to it, I probably know quite a lot. But at present, I know that most girls who participate in it do it purely for the money, like a job. And that it’s something not to be judgmental about.”

  “And what makes you think I’m a prostitute?”

  “Because you told me before, Emma. In fact I knew you as a prostitute before I knew you as Emma, Emma.” He replied with a huge beam across his sunny complexion, contrasting markedly with Emma’s face, where even her heavy makeup could not disguise her whitening countenance at the rapid speed of the progress they were making. ‘Next he’ll be telling me I tried to kill him,’ she thought worryingly.

  “Brighten up, Emma. I thought you’d be pleased. Clearly, you are having an impact on my rehabilitation back into society, even if our subject matter is edging on the rather personal.”

  “Well, if I’m doing such a good job, perhaps you could tell me where we go from here?” They spent another hour word sparring before Terry was overcome with tiredness. He often felt this way after his occupational therapy sessions, so he knew it was a good thing. Emma was tired too but promised him she would call again, hopeful in her own mind that she would not have to input exactly the same material again. She left him at the door with a peck on his cheek and the knowledge that she was attending a doctor’s appointment the next morning to confirm her pregnancy.

  Feeling buoyant that the afternoon had been a success, Terry then went and burst her bubble by saying, “Why, are you pregnant?” Emma left feeling a little dejected but at least with Terry contemplating that she was an innocent girl, well apart from her nights out on the street. She slept on the bus journey home and nearly missed her stop but for the awareness of the driver recalling her paying the fare to St Boswells.