The God Game

by Jeffrey Round

  “Mrs. Wilkens?”

  The younger woman spoke first. “Forgive me, Mr. Sharp. I’m Anne Wilkens.”

  Dan looked from her to the older woman, who nodded.

  “Please come in,” Anne said. “I’ll explain.”

  Dan entered and waited as she closed the door behind him.

  “This is my sister, Doris.”

  The other woman — the one he’d known as Mrs. Wilkens — turned a corner and disappeared.

  The real Anne Wilkens led him to the same room where they’d chatted the previous day. As they passed along the hallway, Dan looked through the open doorways. No books, he thought. Is there no library in this house?

  She indicated a wing chair. “Please sit.”

  Dan declined her offer for tea. They stared at each other, alone in the room that time abjured. On the table, an oil lamp waited to be lit as though they were still in the nineteenth century. On the reading desk, pictures of the dead congregated like holy relics on an altar. Somewhere, a clock ticked its theory of the forward motion of time. Profanation, a heretic in the House of God.

  “I’m sorry for lying to you,” she said. “The media has been hounding me since my husband’s death. My sister and I got into the habit of switching roles. For my sake, I mean.”

  “I’m sure that’s very kind of her, Mrs. Wilkens.”

  “Please, call me Anne.”

  “Anne, then.”

  While she was less severe than on his first visit, she looked even more miserable. Perhaps due to her deception, perhaps to her widowhood. Dan was struck by his own current state of grace, sharing life with the redoubtable Nick. Loneliness was never enviable.

  Anne Wilkens clasped her hands together, thumbs beneath her chin. “You’re probably shocked at my deception —”

  Dan interrupted her. “I’m never shocked at what people do or say, but thank you for being honest with me now.”

  He settled in the chair, wondering where this was going.

  “It was foolish of me to try to deceive you,” she began. “I wasn’t sure why you had come to see me the other day. Despite what your card said, I was reluctant to believe you were a private investigator. But I looked you up and saw your website.”

  She turned and glanced at the window. Lead glass, Tudor style. Outside, the rain began to spit; the diamond panes were illuminated against the slate of the sky.

  “Forgive me. This is hard for me. I’ve been avoiding the truth. Avoiding John. I haven’t even been to his grave since the funeral.”

  Dan thought of the photographs, the ligature marks around her husband’s neck, her conviction he had not taken his own life.

  “Take your time.”

  “I had an affair.” She shook her head. “No, not really. Let me explain. We met a few times in a downtown restaurant. I wasn’t worried, it wouldn’t have been out of line for me to meet with a man in public. Just business.”

  “Is this what you and your sister were arguing about just now?”

  “You heard? Yes. She doesn’t want me to tell you this.”

  Dan watched her confusion give way to something loftier. Grief and desolation. The grief he’d thought missing on her sister’s face when he’d believed her to be the widow.

  “You asked if my husband felt threatened. I’m not sure he did, but something happened to me that I think you should know about.”

  She turned back to the window. The rain lashed against it in sudden gusts.

  “At first I didn’t connect it with … with what happened. But later, after I began to think clearly again, it all started to fit. It had to do with the man I met.”

  “Can you tell me what happened between you?”

  “Nothing!” she broke in. “Really, nothing happened, but we kept in touch. He … he was sympathetic. He asked me things about John and his work.”

  “What sort of things? About accounts?”

  “Yes … and other things.” Her eyes lowered. “John had said something was awry with the books. I didn’t pay much attention at the time. I never questioned his honesty, so if there were mistakes I assumed he would fix them.” She paused. “I think he meant there were irregularities on someone else’s part and he was looking into it.”

  “Does this have anything to do with the power plant cancellations?”

  She looked up in surprise. “I think it does, indirectly. The money John was accused of stealing went missing later, but he said there were documents missing to do with the cancellations. Documents that might have proved the cover-up was deliberate and who was behind it. He felt it was key to the whole thing.”

  “And you told him about it. This other man?”

  “Yes.” She hugged herself tightly. “My husband and I … did not have a strong sex life. That’s why … that’s why it happened. This sort of thing was new to me. I was so taken by this man. Once when we were sitting together in a restaurant he reached over and took off my glasses. Then he blew on the lenses and polished them with his handkerchief while staring directly at me. It was … strangely intimate.” She laughed unhappily. “That must sound absurd.”

  “No. Keep going.”

  She nodded. “My sister had just come back into our lives. We hadn’t spoken for many years. You see, I stole John from my sister.”

  “How did you steal him?”

  “He was dating Doris. She was very glamorous back then. Even though she was older, they were planning on marrying. I was so jealous that I purposely made him fall in love with me. I thought I deserved him more than she did. Doris was heartbroken.” She covered her face with her hands. “I didn’t realize how awful it would be for her. She’s had a hard life since then. There’s been nobody for her. Only I didn’t deserve him. Clearly, or I wouldn’t have let myself be seduced by someone else.”

  Dan looked past her to the rain pelting the window. He imagined the body of a hanged man swaying beneath a bridge, a bride jilted at the altar. Life was full of surprises, not all of them kind. It was harder still when you felt condemnation from the dead on top of everything else. They couldn’t forgive you even if they wanted to.

  “What was his name, this man? Are you still in contact with him?”

  “He called himself Mark. I never knew his last name. I haven’t heard from him since John died.”

  “Not surprising. How were you in touch with him?”

  “He phoned me. The numbers were always different. I remember hearing a variety of sounds in the background. Traffic, what sounded like a children’s playground. Once I heard church bells ringing. Another time a dog.”

  “He was using different cellphones while walking around the city.” He held her glance. “Was John ever here when he called?”

  “No. It was as if he knew when John was at work. Maybe he was watching the house and knew when I was on my own.”

  “It’s possible. Did he ever come here to the house?”

  “No, never. I would have panicked.”

  “He probably knew that. Where did you meet him?”

  “It was at the dry cleaner’s. He held the door open for me on the way out. It wasn’t that I found him attractive — he was really very ordinary looking — but he was powerful in some way that excited me.”

  “Was it on your way out or his?”

  “Mine. I just assumed he was a customer coming into the shop and that we had met by accident.”

  “And he was just going in?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did he have any dry cleaning in his hands?”

  Her mouth fell open. “No. He wasn’t carrying anything. He didn’t even go in. Once we started talking, he just stayed outside with me. Then we left.”

  “It wasn’t an accident. He was following you.”

  She nodded. “I should have thought of that.”

  “He set you up. Who knows how lo
ng he’d been following you around, looking for an opportunity to meet. When did this happen?”

  “It was … about a year and a half ago. I think.”

  Dan was inclined to believe her, otherwise her story would have been smoother, more precise in the telling and full of solid details: times, dates, places.

  “In all your conversations with him, did he ever tell you anything about himself? Anything personal?”

  “Just one thing that I can recall. He told me he’d lost his wife two years before. Of course, I felt sorry for him. What a fool I was.” She smiled bitterly. “When I think back on everything we talked about, I don’t even have a sense of his political opinions, whether he was rich or poor. Nothing like that. I just felt that this was an ordinary man whose life was lived outside the bullring of politics. He seemed so sincere. Someone I could unload my frustrations on and never have to worry about them being told to anyone else.” She looked embarrassed. “I wasn’t looking for sex.”

  “Did he strike you as someone who might have been in media? A journalist after a scoop? A friend of Simon Bradley’s, for instance?”

  “Not at the time or I would have run a mile away from him, though I’ve wondered about it endlessly ever since.” Her brow furrowed. “I guess that’s why he caught me off guard. He just seemed like a kind, concerned person.”

  “How did you come to be talking about your husband?”

  “My ring.” She held up her left hand. “It was being cleaned, so I wasn’t wearing it at the time. I won’t take it off now —” She caught herself. “We’d been talking for a while when I realized I might have given him the impression that I was single. I had already decided to have an affair with him and then changed my mind about three times during the conversation. I thought I had better make my intentions clear at that point. I told him my husband was in politics. He seemed interested, but only in a casual sort of way. I guess I was trying to impress him when I talked about John’s position in government.” She looked away. “As I said, I was very foolish.”

  If she wanted consolation, Dan wasn’t about to give it to her.

  “And you think because of this your husband was set up to look as though he had stolen from public accounts?”

  “I think my husband discovered something and this man knew about it. And I confirmed it for him. Then to cover it up, they blamed it on John, ruined his reputation, and … and killed him.” She shuddered. “Do you think I’m crazy?”

  “I don’t think that.” Dan touched her hand. “Have you told the police?”

  “No.” It was a whisper. “I was too ashamed.”

  “They should be told. It may help in the investigation. For what it’s worth, I believe you. I saw the coroner’s photos. His fingernails were shredded. I think your husband was fighting for his life, not trying to kill himself to evade responsibility.”

  She looked up. Her eyes brightened momentarily. “Do you think they can find this man?”

  “Impossible to tell at this point. Maybe if you give them a description, it will help. It doesn’t mean they’ll clear your husband’s name. They may never be able to prove what happened to the missing money.”

  She touched his sleeve. “Thank you for listening to me. I wasn’t asking for absolution, I just wanted to tell someone, I guess. I know you’re the right person. I’m not expecting to be forgiven.”

  “It’s not my place to forgive. In any case, you couldn’t have known what you were getting into. You just have to forgive yourself.”

  “Yes. Thank you again.”

  Dan stood and looked around. No books, he thought. There are no books in this house. For a moment he imagined that in all of Rosedale there were no books other than bank-account books. Ridiculous, of course.

  Dan debated for a while before making the call. He hated betraying a confidence, but sometimes there were extenuating circumstances. She hadn’t asked him not tell anyone about her seducer, and he had convinced her to go to the police with the information, so it would come out at some point. Still, he thought, it might help convince Will that something peculiar really was going on at Queen’s Park.

  He put the phone to his ear. Will answered immediately. When Dan explained what he had just heard, Will swore aloud.

  “Why didn’t she say anything about it at the time?”

  “She was ashamed,” Dan said.

  “If half the people who do stupid things stopped to think about it beforehand, considering where the shame might lead them should they be caught …” He stopped. Dan thought the line had gone dead, then he heard Will laugh lightly. “They would probably still do the thing they shouldn’t do, wouldn’t they?”

  Dan agreed. “In any case, I’ve convinced her to go to the police with the information.”

  “She has no choice, really.”

  “In the meantime, can you see if you can find any connection between Tony and John for me? Just to see if there’s anything there at all. Tony seems to have got his hands on a large amount of money and then gambled it away. According to Peter Hansen, the money didn’t come from him. There’s got to be something in that.”

  Will sighed. “All right. I’ll make a few discreet inquiries. Although I can’t guarantee how far this will go once I start to dig into it. Especially now that it raises further questions about missing funds.”

  “I understand. Do what you can. And thank you, Will. Sorry for putting you on the spot.”

  “That’s my job, isn’t it?”

  Fifteen

  The Rapture

  The rain had let up, but the sky was ragged with clouds. Dan fought traffic all the way back to his office, thinking about what Anne Wilkens had told him. It made sense, but something still bothered him about her story. He couldn’t put his finger on it. There was the obvious fact that she and her sister had lied to him about their identities, but she at least had decided to come clean. He was still pondering the question as he pulled into the lot behind his building.

  Upstairs, he made a few calls to see if Tony Moran had shown up on anyone’s radar, officially or otherwise, but no one had anything new to tell him. There were still a few loose ends to clear up, including booking his flight to B.C. in a week and a half, before he could head home. Anne’s story stole his focus while he puttered about, making it difficult to concentrate. He kept coming back to her tale of the would-be lover. Clearly, she believed her husband had been murdered because of her indiscretion about something he knew. Simon Bradley was adamant about the same thing, despite coming at it from a different perspective.

  Still, the pieces weren’t quite pulling together. Will had scorned the idea of an invisible Magus, while Peter merely admitted to having heard rumours. And yet Tony’s texted conversation clearly spoke of the Magus as an acknowledged fact. Where did the truth lie?

  Dan had just finished booking his flight online and was struggling to print his electronic tickets when his cell dinged with an incoming message. At first he didn’t recognize the word he saw, then he realized it was a name: Taejon. The text from Lester’s bandmate was brief, if inventive: U want 2 meet ma cuzin’s friend, yah? Can do for u. Call on the corner Queen @ Ontario in 1 hr. Come alone. Pick up the phone. It’s kool.

  Dan found himself smiling as he interpreted the note. If this generation doesn’t shatter the English language beyond all recognition, he thought, then there might be hope for the next one to kill it entirely.

  His printer was humming nicely. He looked over the dates and times as the sheet fed into his hands: Toronto–Vancouver/Vancouver–Toronto. It would mean time away from Nick. The thought gave him pause. Even if it was only for a few days, they’d been attached at the hip for so long it would feel strange to be on his own again.

  He turned back to the text. One hour, it said. He checked his watch. It was just past seven. He texted back to confirm.

  Lester had said Taejon’s cousin’s real
name was Javon Williams. He had had Nick look up his record in the police files. A rapper’s rap sheet, Dan mused, while a copper taps out the beat. What he’d seen had been a revelation, to say the least. Nick wasn’t going to like to hear he was going to meet the notorious rapper alone. He considered what to say before dialing Nick’s cell.

  “Hi, hubby-to-be. It’s your one and only.”

  “I’m suspicious. You only call when there’s bad news.”

  “Such faith you have in your beloved. I sometimes call you with the baseball score.”

  “True enough, but that’s usually bad news, too.”

  “You’re right. I’m calling to tell you I won’t be home for supper tonight.”

  A loud groan came from the phone.

  “I’m cooking my heart out for you right now.”

  “I’m sure I’ll love it even more if you can wait till later.”

  “Angel hair pasta usually isn’t good a couple of hours late.”

  “Sorry, I’ll pick something up while I’m out.”

  “No, don’t do that. I’ll wait. What’s up?”

  “I just got a text from Lester’s bandmate, Taejon. He’s setting something up for me to meet his cousin’s friend, the rapper from hell.”

  “Dan, are you serious? Do you want me to come? That guy’s dangerous. I don’t like the thought of you going to meet him alone.”

  They’d had prickly but inconclusive discussions on Nick’s propensity to interfere in what Dan thought of as his business.

  “I’ll be okay. Taejon guarantees that everything’s cool.”

  Nick snorted. “And you think that makes it all right?”

  “You’re right, you are suspicious and I only call with bad news. By the way, I’ve just come back to my office after spending almost an hour talking to John Wilkens’s widow. She and her sister were playing switcheroo games on me. Turns out Doris is Anne and Anne is Doris.”

  “Is this supposed to make sense?”

  “Not really, but thanks for listening. The weird thing, though,” Dan continued, “is that Anne Wilkens — the real widow — thought she was having an affair with another man, only it turns out he wasn’t interested in her. He was only interested in what she could tell him about her husband. She says John knew something about the cover-up of the power plant cancellations and when she told this man, her husband was killed.”