Extremities

by C A Devine

  ‘Sorry I digress, in Spain the writer thing was a good cover, so I just kept at it.’

  ‘Did you sleep with me for my boat?’

  ‘Would you mind if I said yes?’

  ‘I feel used.’

  ‘I bet you do, New York.’

  The lights of a ship were visible a long way off, the first we had seen since the Azores.

  ‘What do you want me to call you, Lucky or Lizzie?’ I cringed, remembering. ‘I said that porn star thing about Lucky, didn’t I?’

  ‘You certainly did, New York.’

  ‘I guess there’s not much point in apologising for that.’

  ‘Not much.’

  ‘So Lucky’s out?’

  She sniggered. ‘I like that you call me Max. It reminds me of our time together.’

  The lights disappeared over the horizon and I looked upwards to the stars. ‘And the whole Sound of Music thing really happened? When he shot at you?’ She nodded. I laughed.

  ‘What did you think when you got shot?’ she asked.

  ‘Fuck, I’m dying.’

  ‘You’re such a simple, uncomplicated man really.’

  ‘And you’re kinda different from the girls I’ve dated before.’

  ‘Are we dating?’

  I laughed. I hoped so.

  ‘Maybe we should do the normal dating thing then and tell each other about ourselves.’

  ‘You probably have something there.’

  ‘Well?’

  ‘Oh I see, I’ve got to start.’

  She nodded.

  ‘Okay.’ What to tell? ‘I live in Manhattan, in the East Village. I rent a room from my friend, Marcus. He owns Two At A Time. And I’ve just found out he’s gay. I’ve been friends with him since grade school, I’m living in the same apartment as him and it was only when I came to Spain that I figured out he was gay. I’ve been so self-involved for the last year that I didn’t see what was going on in the lives of the people I care about.’ It wasn’t a great admission. ‘I kinda need to start thinking about that.’ I sipped my coffee. ‘You know, you’re better than my psychiatrist. At this stage, Dr Cohen would probably pay me to hear that come out my mouth.’

  She reached out her hand and covered mine. It was the first time she had touched me since …

  The phone rang out through the speakers, breaking the moment. It was Joe.

  ‘Still no idea of the identity of the victims?’ I asked.

  ‘No. We’re going to start running the DNA profiles of the body parts they found on the boat. The trouble is where to start. There are several DNA databases around the world. We have to pick a logical place to start. Cecile is compiling a priority list. But if these bodies are Afghan we haven’t much hope of identifying anything except ethnic origin.’

  ‘It’s so creepy. Why is he shipping body parts halfway around the world?’ Max said.

  ‘That’s what we would like to know. We were looking for guns,’ he sighed.

  ‘Yeah, about that,’ said Max. ‘Why guns? And why, when I got picked up by the Gendarmerie, was Cecile so sure it wasn’t drugs?’

  ‘What we told you about the munitions sergeant was true. As for the drugs, we had just found out ourselves, around the same time you went undercover. We sent Ariana’s picture to Interpol. Agent David from the DEA got back to us. They were looking for The Baron too. He had gone to ground after they shut down his heroin operation. David didn’t understand how Interpol hadn’t picked up the connection, until she checked and found Interpol had no record of him. An internal investigation is underway into the oversight.’

  ‘I met Cecile. She came to take your boat away,’ I said when Joe had hung up.

  ‘Yeah, what about that? She’s my age. I know Dad’s been having some kind of midlife crisis in the last couple of years, but Christ.’

  I laughed.

  ‘What’s so funny?’

  ‘I don’t know. It’s nice, I guess, to see you getting pissed at something normal.’

  ‘It’s not normal for my fifty-five-year-old father to be dating a thirty-year-old.’

  ‘Does Cecile sail?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Max shrugged, ‘I don’t really know much about her. We haven’t exactly had time to bond.’

  ‘Did she arrange for the Laila to be in that marina?’ Max looked up at me with a puzzled frown. ‘Don’t you think it’s weird that your dad’s boat just happened to be in the same marina as the Two At A Time? Don’t you wonder who put the boat there?’

  Max shrugged, ‘I don’t know. What …?’

  ‘Somebody set us up.’

  *

  Max was napping in the cockpit when I picked up the phone again. ‘Marcus, how you doin’?’

  ‘I spoke to Yolanda, she told me that, you know,’ his voice sounded panicked. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.’

  ‘Hey Marcus, it’s okay.’

  ‘I should have told you. It’s just,’ he sighed.

  ‘I was distracted, Marcus, I know. I’ve been a serious pain in the ass.’

  ‘It’s not like you didn’t have good reason, pal. We’ve been brothers since grade school, Mac. I don’t want that to change.’

  ‘Me either.’

  ‘How did you work it out?’

  ‘It wasn’t difficult in Spain, even someone like me was able to see the signs.’

  ‘I’m seeing someone.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yeah, he works with me at the bank. His name is Thomas. He’s Yolanda’s brother.’

  ‘Yolanda’s brother’s a stockbroker?’

  ‘Why d’you say it like that? You think ’cause he’s black …’ I could picture his big form hunched over his desk, accusing the phone.

  ‘Yolanda’s brother’s black?’

  Marcus barked out a laugh. ‘You have a smart mouth, Ryan.’

  ‘Yolanda said she knew because of some black-woman-cop gay-man minority bonding thing.’

  ‘Yeah well, you know Yolanda. She’s full of shit.’

  ‘Yeah,’ I smiled. Talking with Marcus always made me feel better.

  ‘Are you still letting that girl sail my boat?’

  I rolled my eyes, ‘This is why I never worked out you were gay.’

  ‘I know. I spent too long in denial, trying to be an über jock.’

  I looked up when I heard a noise. Max was scurrying in through the hatch. She was pale and shaking. ‘Marcus, I have to go, I’ll call you in the next couple of days.’ I hung up.

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘I remember …’ she said nothing else.

  ‘Here sit down and tell me,’ I said, standing up and pushing her into my seat. ‘I remember voices, snippets,’ Max said. ‘It’s not like a film reel in my head. I don’t think I could bear it if it was.’ She sucked in a deep breath, ‘When I was … being held, the other men that were there with Angelo, they didn’t speak. Angelo did most of the talking. But this one time, one of the others, he told Angelo to “Stop and step away from the prisoner,”’ she affected a southern accent. ‘He was American.’

  21

  The Box

  I snapped awake to cold metal grazing my temple. Where was I? I raised my hands, slowly, smoothly, no jerky movements. I knew the drill. I must have dozed off. ‘Good boy, keep it slow,’ an English accent, ‘now stand up.’ He grabbed my shoulder and pushed me to the ground. A blunt edge stuck into my stomach. The Journal. A second pair of feet appeared. Two pairs of dress shoes, two suits. Number one locked my arms behind my back and clicked on cuffs. My tight skin burned under the dressings. They dragged me to my feet.

  I didn’t look down at the book. Hopefully they wouldn’t either. They pushed me through the terrace door and down the stairs. At the bottom, Pepe apologised profusely to them. A car screeched to the kerb outside. I was pushed forwards out of the entrance. The rear door swung open and I was bundled in. The windows were blacked out, from the inside. A partition separated front from rear, I couldn’t see where we were going. No-one said a
nything, including me. I let my head fall back, closed my eyes and exhaustion swallowed me.

  I awoke, this time, in a room. White glared down from the roof, enveloping me. I lay on the bare floor of an empty box, my body aching. How long had I been there? My wristwatch was gone. I turned over, exhaustion dragged at me, but the light drilled into my eyes. I pushed myself up into a corner and waited. How long? I don’t know. Hours, lots of them. No food. No water. No-one. I forced myself onto my feet and started to walk. I struggled to work it all out in my head. Why were they holding me? They should be looking for Max. Did they think I knew where she was? Were they trying to soften me up? I sat once more and dozed, but the glare was too severe. The hours dragged on. I prayed for sleep. I tore my tongue from the top of my mouth. My lips cracked. More time and more. My stomach growled. I let out a roar from deep in my chest. Had they forgotten about me? My body ached. I slumped down once again and closed my eyes. Where were they? I glanced at my wrist, still no watch. Was it night? Day? How long had I been here? I finally faded into sleep.

  I woke up shivering. Max was in front of me, smiling, ‘You’ve nearly got me, New York, just one more step.’ I leap from the edge, I’m in the water, I’m under, I can’t breathe, I can’t breathe.

  My eyes snapped open, my heart pounding, my head throbbing, my throat scraping. Max was gone and the door was open. The older of the two suits was carrying in a table; the younger, two chairs.

  ‘I need water,’ I croaked.

  They ignored me.

  ‘You can’t do this, I have rights.’

  ‘Last I heard, America doesn’t recognise prisoner rights. The Geneva Convention is not relevant for the modern world. Isn’t that right?’ the older suit said to the younger. The young man was around twenty-five, fit, broad-shouldered; he sported an identical look to his fifty-year-old partner. He didn’t respond. The older suit turned back to me, ‘And you are an American, right? So your point was?’ he stared at me, a smirk playing on his lips.

  ‘Water.’

  ‘Get the man something to drink and eat,’ a burly cropped haired man marched in, carrying a folder. The young suit scurried out on his order. Biceps and neck bulged as the man sank into a chair. He motioned me to the other seat. ‘Sometimes I wonder who has the moral authority here?’ he muttered it under his breath as he slapped the folder down on the table. For my benefit?

  He was a huge Scotsman, fifty-odd, but wearing well, all dressed up in an oxford blue shirt and delicate floral tie. ‘Sit down, Mr Ryan. Please.’

  The young suit strode back in, placing a bottle of water and a candy bar on the table. I slid into the seat, grabbed the bottle and gulped it down. ‘So what? You walk in now, grant all my wishes and I’ll tell you everything?’ I rasped.

  ‘If you like. Do you not want to tell me?’ His booming voice would have made a lesser man shake. ‘Did you really think we wouldn’t find you, Mr Ryan?’

  My head was pounding. I didn’t need this shit. I needed to get out, to get Max. Play dumb, Ryan, ‘Why would you want to find me?’

  ‘I don’t like it, when people start asking questions about Lizzie McKenzie. Do you want to tell me what your interest in her is?’

  ‘Who?’ Lizzie McKenzie, huh?

  ‘What did she tell you her name was?’

  ‘Who are you talking about?’

  ‘Now come, come, Mr Ryan, let’s not play games with each other. You sent a photograph of her to one of my officers. If you wanted to remain anonymous, well, we can only assume you’re not overly smart. Now, why don’t we show each other some professional courtesy?’ Was that a subtle way of telling me he knew who I was?

  ‘Like you did by locking me up in this torture chamber for hours on end?’

  ‘It was hardly torture. Mr Ryan.’

  ‘No food, no water, bright light, removed my concept of time. What? You spooks can’t find a good broadband provider?’

  ‘Give him back his watch,’ the big man snapped.

  The old suit stuck his hand in his jacket pocket, pulled it out and tossed it on the table. Five thirty. Day or Night? ‘And my cell phone?’ It bounced off the table, but stubbornly held together. Early evening.

  ‘What did she tell you her name was? Max?’ I nodded. He smirked at this and shook his head. ‘Just Max, no surname?’

  ‘No.’ I got that I don’t believe you look from him. ‘We were, kinda, having this, no past, no future, just vacation,’ from the corner of my eye I saw young suit frown and shake his head, ‘sex thing.’ This guy who hadn’t spared a thought for my wellbeing when apprehending me, and had left me in this hole for hours, was now trying to help me out. It had to be one of those universal guy no-no’s … all the swirling storm of questions and detail suddenly calmed to a moment of clarity. ‘You’re her father.’

  ‘Did she do the nude beach thing with you?’

  ‘Sir?’ I nearly choked it out. First Yolanda, now this, no wonder people kept their pants on. My cheeks burned. He hadn’t confirmed or denied. Did you ask things like that about your daughter?

  ‘Lizzie McKenzie loves to shock. The nudity thing is one of her favourites. I was just wondering if that was one of the things she used to hook you.’ Hook me? She didn’t hook me. Did she? ‘Is that how you feel? Is that what she is to you, Lieutenant?’ he said it in that patronising Lef-tenant way that the Brits do, suggesting you’re too stupid to know how to pronounce the word correctly. ‘Just a nice holiday shag?’

  ‘Ahem. No Sir. I love your daughter. Sir,’ of all the times to have to get into this.

  ‘I’m fairly sure you don’t know my daughter, Mr Ryan.’

  What did that mean?

  ‘Did she tell you why she was in Spain? Did she tell you what she was engaged in just prior to meeting you?’

  I shook my head, ‘We didn’t talk about ourselves.’

  He opened the cardboard folder. ‘She was spying for the British government,’ he slid a photograph across the table and stared straight at me, ‘on this man.’

  I looked down. A smiling man with dark skin and a shaggy mop of black hair stared up at me. My heart jumped into my throat. My head snapped back up to Max’s father. He nodded. My chest tightened. I looked back down. I closed my eyes then opened them, not believing what I was seeing. ‘Do you know him?’ I could tell he already knew the answer. ‘Ten days ago my daughter, Lizzie McKenzie, disappeared, vanished from her assignment. Do you want to tell me where she has been for those ten days, Mr Ryan? Do you want to tell me why?’ My head swam. She had been with me, for most of it. This couldn’t be happening. ‘Where was she?’ My fingers reached absently to the scar on my shoulder. But why was she with me? I didn’t know the answer to that.

  ‘We have only recently become aware of your relationship with this man. Do you want to tell me about that?’

  ‘We let the Brits know,’ my voice was a raspy whisper. What had Max been doing there, been doing with me?

  ‘What?’ he snapped.

  ‘We informed Scotland Yard that we were looking for a drug dealer who went by the name The Baron. We suspected he was English. A year ago, the NYPD sent a request asking if you could ID him.’ Had she been grabbed because of me?

  He raised his eyebrows, ‘Really? Did you make the call?’ Mom’s team had sent it. ‘We knew nothing about this man’s failed drugs empire until a few weeks ago, after he started having cosy chats with our military personnel. And we knew nothing of your involvement, Lieutenant, until Detective Inspector Diluca informed me who you were and I checked you out. What a surprise it was to find out you and this man were so close.’

  I slammed out of the chair, ‘How dare you!’

  ‘Oh, I dare alright, this man has my daughter. And I have just found out what he does to women involved with you.’ What was going on? Why had she been in the marina? Because her father’s boat, this man’s boat, was there? Who put the boat there? My head was pounding. I needed sleep, needed food, needed pills.

  ‘Why are you in Europe,
Mr Ryan?’

  ‘Vacation.’

  ‘Really?’

  I looked at him, what did that mean? ‘Yes, really.’

  He opened the folder again. ‘He posted this on his Facebook page, one hour ago,’ he shot a sheet of paper across the table. At the top, typed in a neat black font, was a message.

  This is what happens when you consort with the enemy.

  Underneath it, glaring out from the page, in full 10 megapixel colour, was a picture of Max, standing naked; her beautiful long curls gone, her deep dark eyes wide and vacant. My hand went to my heart as it tried to escape my chest. He passed across a second page, ‘Thirty minutes ago.’

  This is what happens when you consort with a child killer.

  Again there was a picture of Max, again naked and vacant. This time, her arms were tied behind her back and pulled high up. Underneath it ran the caption:

  You are running out of time.

  My head spun; I couldn’t breathe. She was going to die. She was going to die because of me. ‘Do you know what you are looking at in the second picture?’ I nodded. ‘We are the enemy she consorted with, Mr Ryan,’ he leaned forward, his huge frame in my face. He pointed to the second picture, ‘Who is the child killer?’ It couldn’t be happening. Not again. ‘She’ll survive until the strength in her legs gives out.’ I nodded. I couldn’t speak. Tears burned my eyes. ‘So I’ll ask you again. Who is the child killer, Mr Ryan?’

  ‘I am,’ I gasped.

  22

  The Double

  OhmyGod, she was going to die because of me, because of what I had done. The blood was pumping my heart to bursting. Pain seared across every scarred ounce of my body. My skull fought to contain my brain. She was going to die because of me. I tried to breathe. I couldn’t. Hold it together, Ryan, hold it together. I needed to find her. I needed to help these people find her.

  Joe McKenzie raised his eyebrows and stared at me. For perhaps thirty seconds he just stared me down. Me, the king of stares, floundered. ‘So we understand each other.’ He sprung up out of the chair. ‘Good. Now move,’ he barked, yanking open the door.