But the prospect of a fight over Josh crushed the sensation.
He took a hundred dollar bill and rolled it, his eye drawn to the fax. It was clear – he had to attend court to argue for the right to visit his own son.
It was so unfair. He bent forward, poked the tube in his nostril, placed a finger over the other. His eyes focussed on the phrase: To determine access rights. He inhaled, the line of white powder transferring a wave of energy and excitement through his nervous system.
Well, fuck them. I’ve got one of the best barristers money can buy to argue my case. I’ll find some dirt on her. I’ll get a private investigator if I need to. Yeah.
His confidence soared with the cocaine rush. He was the one with the money. He was the one with the clout. She’d regret the day she did this. Fucked with him.
He blocked his other nostril, sniffed up more of the drug.
He really didn’t deserve to be treated like this.
And she wanted to change the financial terms of the divorce agreement.
Well, she can go to hell!
He leaned against the window, placed his forehead against the cool glass.
Some people think it is easy to earn big money. Here he was, thousands of miles from home, working his arse off, to complete a deal worth hundreds of millions of dollars. Not any Tom, Dick or Harriet could do his job. Oh no.
He rubbed his nose. The buzz diminishing. Should he have another line now? He knew he’d snorted too much this week already, had to slow down.
He returned to his desk, sat. Once again considered doing another line, once again deciding to wait.
Soon.
He picked up the framed photo of his son. He loved the boy. But he had to admit he had been taking the arrangement for granted. He had left calling Judy about this trip and wanting Josh for the weekend until the Friday before. Had other things on his mind... He smirked at the thought. He knew Judy would roll over for him. He had spoken to Betty that time, just told her what he wanted and got his way.
But now, even the old bat had openly turned against him.
In reality he had not been sure he wanted Josh until the last minute... The other things on his mind had revolved around a leggy brunette, a real tiger between the sheets, and he had originally planned to spend the weekend with her. Until the girl’s husband had arrived home three days early from his business trip to Germany.
He laughed out loud as he remembered Judy’s face when she had caught him fucking his secretary a few years before. No danger of that happening with the cuckolded husband, John’s paramour having warned him off in time.
So he had taken Josh instead.
That bloody helicopter. The ride from hell.
He checked his watch, wondering, Where are they?
His mind went back to Judy. Until now his tactics with her had been infallible. Think of Josh. Let’s be friends. Let’s not fight. Let’s be flexible, in view of my job. A boy needs his father. Even if it is only a couple of weekends a month.
He loved the lad. Didn’t he?
Mind you, after a weekend together he was always pleased to hand the boy back.
There was a knock at the door. At last!
He went to open it, heard a giggle, then, ‘Room service!’ He jerked the door open, grinning in anticipation. Both of them stood there, tittering, sexy as hell.
Yes!
He inspected his latest purchase – two pneumatic blondes, big hair and huge boobs, micro skirts and thigh boots.
He licked his lips at the prospect of the night ahead of him.
Now this I do deserve.
***
‘She called you steady. Docile!’ Judy was sitting in Doc’s garden again, chuckling, the warm evening a perfect temperature, their second bottle of red wine almost finished. Earlier Doc had told her she was getting sexier every time he saw her. Had told her that it felt good to be with her. But she could see he did not take Gran’s assessment of him as a compliment.
‘Docile?’ He made a face. ‘Hardly macho though, am I?’
‘Macho is not a word I would use to describe you, for sure.’
‘It’s true, I suppose. I rarely lose my temper. In fact I can’t even remember the last time I did. Some people take that as coldness, as if they think I don’t feel anger. Of course, I do. I just choose to express it differently. I prefer the word stable rather than docile though!’
‘It was her word, not mine. She thinks you’re a lovely man.’ She let her eyes roam his face. ‘Bambi!’ Then her laughter erupted, nothing sexy this time. Like a chicken clucking and choking at the same time. His face was a spectacle. ‘Oh Lord! I’m sorry. It’s just your eyes, and that cherubic face.’ He still looked offended. ‘Really, it’s a compliment.’
‘Then you must thank your mother for me.’
‘Sorry Colin. It’s my nickname for you. It just popped in my head when we met.’ He was frowning now, so she tried to reassure him. ‘Listen. Too many men are just puffed up egos, brainless penises obsessed with sex and their wallets. Trust me. Bambi’s good.’
‘Sure?’
‘Oh yes. And my mum says you don’t carry a comb. That’s apparently a good thing too... You don’t, do you?’
‘Actually, I only ever brush it, usually first thing in the morning. If I remember. It’s curly anyway, doesn’t need much attention.’ He swiped a hand through his locks as if demonstrating the action for her.
‘Ah, you see, mum’s right. Men with combs can’t live without mirror time. It’s their egos.’ She leaned over the table, finger-brushed his hair for him. The curls bounced back into place. ‘Not too much grey either. Distinguished.’ She wrinkled her nose at him and sipped her wine.
‘I take it your ex carried a comb.’
‘Three. Car. Office. Jacket pocket. Just in case!’ She rolled her eyes. ‘Prat!’
‘Superego?’
‘Believe it.’
She wasn’t sure she wanted to talk about John, then thought: Sod it! This is a part of my life, let him hear it.
‘I’ve slapped an injunction on him, after what happened with Josh.’ She explained that John was away, working, and how she went ahead with legal action regardless of the fact he was disadvantaged by being out of the country. ‘What do you think? Am I a bitch?’
He avoided her eyes, poured the dregs of the wine before answering. ‘This really isn’t any of my business.’
‘It is. If you want me in your life.’ Gran’s words, her comments about being too pushy, skimmed through her mind. She ignored them.
‘I do. I do. It’s just...’ His eyes pleaded, desperate to be understood. ‘I told you, you don’t really know me. I’m a mess. I mean it.’
‘Talk to me. Please.’ She reached across, took his hands in hers.
‘You’re not a bitch, for starters!’ They laughed, the uneasy moment now past. ‘You want my opinion?’ She nodded so he continued. ‘If he really cares about Josh, he’ll drop everything, fly back. Do whatever it takes for you to relent. And I suspect that’s what you really want him to do. Am I right?’
He was. ‘You are an extremely perceptive man, Doctor Powers. John won’t though.’
‘No. Probably not.’ They sat in silence for a while, comfortable in each other’s company.
‘I thought you were a lioness. When we first met. And again, after you hit John... Protecting your cub!’
‘Nah, maybe a pussycat!’ She purred. Or tried to, her lips felt loose. Boozy bitch.
‘I’m not convinced. And if I’m Bambi and you’re a lioness, I could be in trouble.’
‘Believe it!’ She held up her hands, fingers crooked into claws.
Doc went quiet, gazed up at the stars.
Tick tock, tick tock, what are you thinking Doc?
She waited.
He seemed to shake himself, coming back to earth, and then went to the kitchen. He returned with a fresh bottle of wine. Finally he spoke, eyes aloft once more. ‘I told you I’m fearful that I may be losing my
mind?’
‘Yes.’ When Doc had started to open up to her it had sounded to Judy like his problems were a mixture of mourning and work pressures, liberally seasoned with a sprinkling of guilt. ‘Are you telling me you’re a candidate for a breakdown?’ She wanted to help him. Her mother’s comments once again skittered through her brain.
Men sometimes use us.
And she thought: Yes mum – and sometimes we use them.
‘I am exactly that and I’ve been closer to breaking down than you would think... But it’s strange. I feel better when I’m with you.’ He let his eyes fall to hers, moist now. ‘It’s cathartic for me. Talking things through. With you. In some ways I am getting better. I now feel hope... for the future.’
‘But?’ She could hear it coming, leaned toward him, as if her proximity could comfort him, help suck the words from him. She could see the effort it took for him to speak.
‘Oh God... I have this... cinema. In my head. Full glorious technicolour. Gory images, in close up. Natalie, her beautiful face distorted and ruined.’
‘From the accident?’
‘Yes, but it’s more extreme, not just memories. The film changes each time. I get a warning that it’s about to start, I hear a projector clacking as it winds the film.’ He stopped, stricken, the terror in his face, his agony surfacing for Judy to glimpse.
‘I’m sorry Colin.’ What else was there to say? She moved her chair closer, put an arm round him. The poor, sweet man. She felt not a hint of jealousy for Natalie.
‘Worse still...’
Worse?
His shoulders jerked as he fought to speak, forcing the words out between sobs. ‘I see Daniel.’ He leaned his head on her shoulder, his voice barely audible. ‘His body. Not yet fully formed.’ He shifted his head, still resting there, spoke more strongly now. ‘It’s a mind movie, you know? Not like a dream, much more realistic.’
She touched her lips to his temple, tasted his sweat. Listened.
‘And it’s a full blown horror film... Someone is slashing my son with a knife. All the while, killing him, yet telling me I murdered him. It’s diabolical.’
She swallowed. Sober now. This was worse than she had imagined.
‘Someone? Do you know the person?’ She was sure it was Natalie. What he said next sent a lightning bolt through her spine.
‘At first it was faces of different men. The evil criminals I’ve interviewed. But now it’s just one of them. You know him.’ His voice quavered. ‘Leech.’
She was speechless. Green eyes flashed inside her head. She shivered.
‘I’ve analysed it. I can rationalise it. But even then it’s still devastating. I can’t stop it. Yesterday, I thought, after meeting him again, after all these years, it would help me. It didn’t.’ Now he sat up, grabbed his glass, slopped more wine in it, then threw it to his mouth, gulping the alcohol down. ‘I’m weak. I shouldn’t say any more.’
Judy eventually found her voice. ‘It’s good to talk. You can tell me anything. Okay?’ His look of hope, the desperation, stole her heart. She was sure she was starting to fall in love with this broken man, was determined to help him heal.
‘It’s my nightmare. I know it’s only a nightmare. I must surely be able to drive it away.’ His features were hopeful, interrogating her, finding something, spurring him on. ‘Last night was the worst. The film clacking through my soul.’ He put his head in his hands, voice muffled, yet his pain still obvious. ‘Then Leech appeared, but no longer the boy-man from my past. He was the bull I met yesterday.’
Bull. That summed Leech to a tee.
‘And?’
More wine slopped into his glass. Gulp. Gulp. Gulp.
‘Judy... You don’t need to hear this. I should see someone. A shrink!’ A barked laugh. Mirthless, but devoid of self-pity.
‘Please go on.’ I can stand it. It’s only a bloody nightmare!
‘Oh, my love.’ He went back to staring at the heavens. It took some time before he let her hear it. ‘Leech rips our baby from my wife’s belly. Holds it out to me. A blood soaked foetus, my Natalie howling. Then he stabs Daniel. Time after time. Yelling at me that I killed them both. That I’m the murderer, not him.’
It was grotesque. Horrific. How would she sleep tonight? The thought was unworthy. She ignored it, but those emerald lights still lurked somewhere inside her skull.
She held Doc. Trying to smother him with comfort. Her lips to the top of his head, kissing away the pain. His sobs subsided. She spoke, but soon wished she had not.
‘Colin, it’s just a nightmare. You’re mind working things through. The body recovers during sleep. So does your mind. These are just vile dreams.’ She felt him shift, try to speak, but she held on, kept on. ‘Dreadful, despicable dreams. That’s all.’
‘I know all that. And I would say if I thought you were right. But you’re not.’ He sat up now, pulled himself from her, his words ripping her comfort away. ‘I am losing my mind Judy. I know it. You see, I’m not sleeping when these visions visit me. Oh no... I’m wide awake.’
***
Part Two: Retribution
Peter Leech’s first day of freedom was not going as well as he had expected. They released him shortly after seven that morning and, at first, he had revelled in the sense of freedom, walking the few miles to the station, whistling. But gradually he began to feel overwhelmed by the rush hour crowds, the frenetic pace of the unsmiling hordes, the strange sights and smells that bombarded his senses.
He took refuge in a café, ate a greasy breakfast, not tasting it as he munched, and tried to make sense of what he was feeling. He could not.
After four coffees had set his head buzzing, he ventured out again. The pavements were less crowded now, the drones in their office hives until lunchtime. Yet he felt bereft, insecure. Unusual feelings that he could not understand.
He tried to ignore the sensations and continued heading for the station, took a train and then tube to Holborn, and made his way to Gruber’s office. It occurred to him that his solicitor was his only real contact outside prison, at least, one who had known him for any length of time. And Leech did not trust him.
Trust? Who could you trust? No one.
Even that bitch Finch had blown him off. He had sent a note to the address Gruber had provided, thanking her for her help, telling her he was being paroled, that he wanted to see her. Asking her to meet him today on his release from prison.
She had not even answered him. He had written again. Still nothing.
At first he was confused. He had been certain she wanted him – she hadn’t been able to keep her eyes off him. She had swallowed his story, gulped it down. And the love he could see in her expression when she realised he was the real victim had convinced him she would be there for him.
Who can you trust? No one.
She had not lied about being married though... Gruber had dug out some papers on her. Had her down as living in Islington. With her husband, John Finch.
Bitch.
Well, he was going to Islington tonight. To confront her. Fuck her husband!
He cackled then, a sound that turned heads at Holborn station. Maybe he would. Fuck her husband.
A few minutes after leaving the tube station he was at Gruber’s office. The reception area was a dingy cell of a place that reminded Leech of prison. He felt better, sitting in an ancient leather chair while the secretary fielded phone calls and shuffled papers.
Gruber kept him waiting twenty minutes, the secretary apologetic and plying him with yet more coffee. He was hyped by the time she waved him into the lawyer’s office.
‘Welcome Peter, please sit. I’m sorry to keep you waiting.’
‘So you should be,’ he snapped. ‘I’m a good client. Shouldn’t be treated like this.’
The lawyer frowned at the gruffness in his client’s voice, but otherwise seemed unflustered.
‘We expected you at nine o’clock this morning. I do have other clients, Peter. And they are rather more pun
ctual. However, to business.’
Leech checked out the office. It was like something out of a Dickens novel. He could imagine Gruber using a quill pen in the musty dump. It was cluttered with papers and barely illuminated by dim light from the filthy little windows.
‘Not exactly state of the art is it?’ Not even a computer. The prison library was better equipped.
Gruber glanced up as Leech sat across from him, shifted a pile of papers from his desk and put them on the floor, then said, ‘We manage perfectly well. Now, I have the papers you requested, detailing your investments, a copy of the title deeds to your new home, a set of keys,’ he dangled them and then passed them over, ‘and this.’ He held up a passport and riffled through it. ‘You’ll see that I have included all costs to date in the statement of your holdings, including a sum for your new identity.’ He held the passport open and placed it face up on the desk for Leech to view. ‘The photograph has been digitally enhanced.’
Leech peered at the image, recognising himself, though a softer, chubbier version with no hair. And blue eyes.
‘You stupid cunt! My eyes are green.’
‘Coloured contact lenses.’ Gruber pushed over a small box. ‘All the rage these days. You can even get animal eyes and others that glow in ultraviolet lights. Popular in nightclubs by all accounts.’
‘Yeah?’ Animal eyes? He would investigate that later, but now he was checking the details of his new identity. Nigel Grove. ‘Never thought of myself as a Nigel.’
‘You can make your face appear fatter by stuffing cotton wool pads in your cheeks.’ Gruber gave him a hard look. ‘Peter, why don’t you just accept the terms of your parole? You can live in the UK very comfortably.’
He had other plans, and Gruber, bent as he was, might be a little too squeamish to hear them.
‘I want to go somewhere sunny. And I don’t like to be controlled.’
He was banned from travelling overseas, for an indefinite period, as a condition of his parole. He would not be able to leave the country on his own passport, even had Gruber obtained it for him. They would nab him the moment he tried to get through passport control. Nigel Grove would be let through with no problem.
Remorseless: A British Crime Thriller (Doc Powers & D.I. Carver Investigate #1) Page 17