Play With Fire

by Solomon Carter

  “I’d like to know the full story,” said Eva.

  “You know enough. Get her out of your life, Eva – and then leave well alone.”

  “Sounds like a good idea, Mrs Gernahue. Thank you.”

  “I’m full of them, so my Derek used to say.”

  “Thank you so much for taking my call.”

  “It’s been grand talking to you. Now, you make sure that man puts a ring on your finger. If you call me in ten years to tell me he didn’t, I’ll be loaning you my rolling pin to fix his brains.”

  Eva chuckled. “Thank you. I’ll be sure to pass on your regards.”

  “Be sure you do. Wedding bells, Eva. Every girl deserves to hear them at least once.”

  Eva ended the call. Wedding bells and rolling pins were pretty far down the agenda… and as she remembered old sash window and the scattered psych report in Romford, Eva soon forgot about them altogether. A dark, underexposed picture was beginning to come clearer. But Eva wanted total clarity. Her headache was all but gone. Eva looked at the clock and grabbed her car keys. There was no choice to be made. She had to go.

  Twenty

  The drive to Romford took no longer than forty minutes. Her eyes flitted from the traffic to memories of young Lauren, and the persuasive voice of the modern one. The voice that had gotten in her head. Whatever it takes. She had used the words against her so often, but now Eva saw the words belonged to Lauren herself. She wanted the French boyfriend and did whatever it took to get him. To keep him too. At school she had wanted a new cool image and new friends, and so she had dropped Eva like a dead weight and pushed herself into the circle of girls old Gernahue had described as banshees. In her youth Lauren had been almost an unstoppable force. Was she so different now? Or had her nature merely taken on another, less obvious guise. Eva parked up on the same rough street as before, opposite the dark and ominous play park. She locked the car, and walked across the pavement, a woman on a mission, oblivious to the youths who watched from the shadows of the bus stop. The dirty computer shop looked the same as before. Disused, abandoned, ready for use as a squat by the next chancer who tried it. Tonight the gap between the buildings was empty. The police had Boothroyd now, and they had the Kia Sportage, no doubt impounded because of the firearms, and soon Jamie Blane would have some awkward questions to answer. It was the least he deserved. Eva picked her way down the alley, her feet sinking in patches of mud, kicking past pieces of gravel, until she came to the same patch of cracked concrete as the night before. The place was claustrophobic and eerie, the memories of Boothroyd and Lauren hovering around her like ghosts, as if they might jump out on her at any time. Eva was surprised to find the same sickly yellow light still cast from the back window across the concrete yard. Nothing had changed.

  Eva tensed as she sensed movement by the fence. She looked down to see a large cat dart out of sight between two broken fence slats. She took a gulp of air and walked to the window. The sash window was still open, left that way after Boothroyd had pulled himself free. She looked inside at the spartan room and the laptop on the floor. There was the pinboard, the file, the sheets strewn on the cheap brown carpet, exactly as they’d left it. Boothroyd hadn’t come back, and now he never would. Eva guessed there would be nothing apart from prints which could even link it to the man.

  Eva slid her fingers beneath the sash window and felt a layer of grime coat her hand. She took a deep breath as her sore fingers pulled at the window. It gave grudgingly. And when there was enough room, Eva clambered back inside. Her feet landed right beside a sheaf of papers. Eva bent down and picked them up. The air inside was cold, and the papers were soft and damp to the touch, unpleasant to handle. She closed the window and looked at the chair before the computer. But Eva wasn’t in the mood to sit down. She thought of leaving, waiting to read everything when she got home, but the compulsion to know was just too strong. Eva reassembled the loose jumble of papers back into order. When she was done, she ignored the typed French sides and turned to the handwritten notes on the back. Eva dismissed the first page. She wanted to know what happened next…

  “…It is evident that Mlle Jaeger sees the break-up of her past school friendship as a trigger event which generated what she describes as a highly toxic self-image. Such self-analysis is not healthy or helpful, but it could be accurate. This perception would be consistent with how the patient veers from manifesting clear suicidal tendencies to demonstrating more sociopathic inclinations, such as in the well-documented episode on the Paris Metro. Deeper analysis also indicated that Mlle Jaeger was almost certainly heading toward a critical episode in the near future even if she had not acted out on the Paris Metro. Whether the past school incident is a cause or effect of her mental instability cannot be determined here. But what cannot be denied is the apparent cycle of behaviour, as confirmed in the profile provided by her English senior school and from what we know of her short time in France. Mlle Jaeger’s behaviour demonstrates a dangerous rupture between perception and reality – a rupture which must have always been present but latent beneath the surface presentation of an intelligent yet wilful young woman. Her extreme actions, her attempts on the lives of others, including risking scores of strangers in close proximity, demonstrates a ruthless will to control others, and if that will to control fails, to seek to destroy them at the expense of all concerned. She has shown disregard for the wellbeing of others, lack of empathy, and crucially, an ability to act from pure hatred in attempting violent control, without any place for a moral code, thought or reasoning... Demonstrating such traits, this report concludes that – from a psychological perspective – Mlle Jaeger is a ticking timebomb, destined either for a violent suicide, or to destroy those closest to her. Her type of damaged psychology can only lead to violence. It is therefore determined that Mlle Jaeger must undergo intensive psychotherapy in a managed, safe environment and Mlle Jaeger must not be allowed to interact with the public until her treatment is complete… Eva’s mind reeled. The first page she’d read had seemed to lay all blame at Eva’s door. But here the French institution laid little or no blame on the school experience. It seemed Lauren had hung a lot of stuff on that old peg – which didn’t make it true, even if she believed it. Controlling… a lack of empathy… an ability to act out of hate… no moral code… a ticking timebomb. Eva shook her head as she flicked through the rest of the pages. It was damning. No wonder they had kept her inside for so long. Because, as Eva digested the report, all of those words still applied. Eva had been controlled. Lauren had been wilful. And through her control Eva had been made into the ticking timebomb… because somehow, Lauren had passed the hatred and poison in her mind to Eva. But still she didn’t know the full truth. The Metro incident had been referred to as a disaster. Just how bad had it been? What was Lauren capable of?

  Before she reached the end Eva found the brief summary of events. The summary seemed to have been copied from a court document, as it referenced a Paris court hearing and a magistrate. The incident had happened at rush hour one July morning when Lauren Jaeger could have been no older than nineteen years old.

  Multiple witness testimonies have confirmed that Lauren Jaeger attempted to kill Anne-Marie Bloufeau and Jean-Michelle Gustaffe at Saint-Ouen Metro station, Paris, on the morning of July 20th without any apparent warning. The attempt was made when Mlle Jaeger pushed Mlle Bloufeau off the train platform in front of the approaching 8.17 metro to La Defense. When M. Gustaffe attempted to prevent Anne-Marie Bloufeau from falling onto the tracks, Lauren Jaeger also tried to push M Gustaffe onto the tracks after her. The train was already slowing before these murder attempts. The train driver was able to slow and so prevent any fatalities.. The Court demands that Mlle Jaeger undergoes a full and extensive psychological referral to determine how to proceed prior to sentencing…”

  Eva didn’t need to read any further. It was all there, in stark black and white. Lauren – not much older than when they had been friends – tried to kill two people in a public place. And
so began Lauren’s ten years in the French mental health system… The fog had almost cleared from Lauren’s life through to age twenty-nine. Shortly thereafter, Lauren had met one Jamie Blane and another haze descended all over again. Eva blinked and considered the ramifications. The younger Lauren had fallen in love… She was betrayed… and resorted to extreme violence with no regard to the cost to herself or anyone else.

  “My God,” said Eva. “It’s happening again.” Eva dumped herself down on Boothroyd’s dusty office chair and stared at the scruffy report before she stuffed the sheets back into the file. She laid them on her lap. Eva scrolled back through her recent calls. There it was. Eva’s mouth was dry, her throat aching. Her eyes flitted left and right as the phone started ringing at the other end.

  Sugar-voiced Suzie Appleby answered the call and Eva gritted her teeth in exasperation

  “The Blane residence,” said the girl, as if she was the lady of a stately home.

  “I really need to speak to Jamie this time. Put him on the line will you?”

  “Miss Roberts? I’ll do no such thing. Do you know what time it is?”

  “Yes, I do. But this is important, Miss Appleby. Just put him on the damn line now.”

  The woman told Eva where to go and hung up the phone. It didn’t matter. Eva hit redial. The phone rang again and the girl picked up, already ranting.

  “You need to put him on. This is urgent. Blane needs to take this call.”

  “Why? Because you say so?”

  “Because some new facts have come to light, and I need to work them through with Blane.”

  “What is this, more blackmail?”

  “Suzie, your latest squeeze hired a hitman to kill Lauren Jaeger. That hitman is now in police custody in a cell, with a ton of possible ammo he could use to take your trophy boyfriend down with him. If you want to keep hold of the life you’ve got, I’d shut your damn mouth and put him on the line now. You’re not married to the man yet, Suzie. Lose him before that happens, you get nothing.”

  “You make it sound like I’m some sort of gold digger. What a horrible piece of work you are.”

  Eva stayed silent.. She could hear the cogs working as the penny slowly dropped.

  The young woman coughed and walked away from the phone. Eva could hear her trudging away. A moment later, Blane’s voice came on the line, he sounded strangled and upset.

  “What vile nonsense are you accusing me of now?”

  “Forget the games, Blane. We both know exactly what you’ve done. But in case you don’t know, I’ll tell you. Boothroyd is inside, and he won’t be coming out.”

  “Boothroyd? I don’t know any Boothroyd…”

  “Funny. I’m sitting in his Romford office right now, surrounded by all his research into your recent girlfriend and his latest target, Lauren Jaeger.”

  She heard the man gasp, struggling before he fell silent.

  “What do you want?”

  “Do you see where we’re starting from, Jamie? Haven’t things changed? You tried to kill Lauren. Your man tried to kill me too. And because you’re the one paying him, that makes you responsible for all of it.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Said every villain I’ve ever met. You’re a good liar, Blane, but the facts don’t back you up anymore. And right now, black and white is all I can believe in.”

  “You’re talking riddles. You’re losing your grip.”

  “Someone else has already tried that angle. It doesn’t wash. Now listen up. Think about what I’m about to say and answer the questions well.”

  “What questions?” said Blane.

  “You’re going to tell me about your wife.”

  “My wife? My wife has nothing to do with any of this, leave her out of it.”

  “You’re no longer in a position to dictate. I don’t care if it hurts. After what you’ve done, you don’t get to avoid pain. Now talk. Tell me about your wife and Lauren Jaeger. Did they ever meet?”

  The man sighed. “I don’t know where you’re going with this, but you won’t get me for anything. And my wife is a red herring…”

  “For you maybe, but not me. Did they know each other or not…?”

  Blane groaned. “They met once or twice. I remember that. Very awkward meetings they were too. No more than once or twice.”

  “Why awkward?” said Eva. “For you perhaps.”

  “Maybe because we had feelings for each other by then. It’s hard to say. And because my wife and I were going through a tough patch. When she met Lauren I didn’t want her to sense anything between us.”

  “I’m sure. Divorce can be an expensive business, eh, Mr Blane?”

  “What are you implying?”

  “Nothing at all. I’m just picking at the seams.”

  “I’m warning you to leave my wife out of this.”

  “Your warnings just don’t carry the weight they did.”

  “I have other resources, Miss Roberts.”

  “Resources are all you’ve got left. Answer my questions and you might save yourself some trouble.”

  “What is it? You want to hear me say that I killed my wife, is that what you want?”

  “I’m not after a special set of words. I’m after the truth.”

  “Whatever you say… I’d started mentoring Lauren at Blane Recruitment back when she first met my wife. Sometimes – infrequently – she would come into the office to see me. Lauren was already my pet project. I saw her potential, and had started using her as a second PA. That was before I really knew what she was really like, of course.”

  “Save it. Were you sleeping with her by then?”

  “What?”

  “Were you sleeping with Lauren by then?”

  “Why does that matter?”

  “Because history tells me it could be important.”

  “Then why not ask her yourself.”

  “I want the truth,” said Eva.

  “Ha. You’re finally getting to know Lauren, then? When they first met, no, she was just someone I liked. By the second time they met, I can’t say for sure. Maybe things had moved on to the next stage. We got close pretty quickly.”

  “It didn’t take you too long to get fresh with Miss Appleby either, I’ll bet.”

  “Don’t you dare—”

  “Stick to answering the questions, Blane. You know what I’ve got on you. So you and Lauren were a definitely item by the time your wife died. Last time you told me the affair happened afterwards. Lauren gave me the same line. But that throws a new spin on things.”

  “I didn’t kill my wife to get with Lauren…”

  “No. Because if you’d killed her, you would have done it to avoid losing half your precious empire. But Lauren was different. She was able to hurt you and control you. That was why you wanted her dead. You didn’t just want Lauren removed, because there are far easier ways to achieve that aim. You wanted revenge.”

  “What do you want?” barked Blane.

  “Think carefully… The day your wife died. Think back, because this matters a great deal. Was Lauren working that day?”

  “I think so. But it was the day from hell. I can’t be sure. Look, you could ask Lauren about that one. Can’t she give you a straight answer?”

  “I don’t know if she can,” said Eva. “Okay. Maybe you can’t remember for sure. But tell me this. Back then, the week she died, did Lauren ever have a reason to leave the office. A plausible reason to be away from her desk.”

  “Back then?” said Blane. “She was mostly at her desk. But she had started taking calls with clients and she was good at it. So about that time I started letting Lauren go out on her own client meetings, you know, just to build her up, to let her get confident at the job.”

  “So she had appointments? Away from the office?”

  “Not many, but a few sometimes…” said Blane.

  “She worked out of the office with your permission.”

  “That’s what I said, didn’t I
? She was doing well. She had my blessing. That was the good Lauren, not the one I know now.”

  “The good Lauren. Did she have access to your work emails back in those days?”

  “Yes, I think so. Where are you going with this?”

  “I know you argued with your wife by email from time to time. I saw the evidence myself. In better times you probably organised your domestic calendar that way too.”

  “Sometimes. I was often too busy to talk on the phone.”

  “Too busy or you didn’t want to. The day your wife died, is it possible that Lauren might have known where your wife was going?”

  “You mean, could she have learned it from my emails…? It’s possible.”

  “How did Lauren get to these meetings of hers, Mr Blane?”

  “I already told you. When I met her Lauren was stone broke. Back then the job was all she had. The only way she could get to and from appointments was to use one of the office cars, or rent one. Whatever you’re trying to pin on me, Miss Roberts, I’ll always be covered.”

  “I don’t have to pin a single thing on you, Blane. You’ve already set yourself up the whole way through. Boothroyd, Lauren, your sordid past, all your bad choices. Even if I don’t get you, sooner or later your whole house of cards is going to come crashing down. You keep playing Russian roulette with the women in your life but they can’t keep catching the bullets. And Boothroyd knows you’ve implicated him in those emails. Don’t worry. It’ll be your turn soon.”

  “Was that a threat?”

  I don’t need to threaten you. Weren’t you listening? Goodnight, Mr Blane.”

  Eva hung up the call and picked up everything she could fit in her arms. The pinboard, the paperwork, the file. She slid out of the window and shut the dirty office behind her for the last time. Eva didn’t intend to ever come back. She had more than an inkling of the truth, but it terrified her. She walked towards the street trying to blot out the panic with her breathing, just as her old therapist Laurence Potts had once taught her. As she reached the street, two shadows cut across Eva’s path and stopped to look at her. Eva glanced up and met their eyes, one at a time. The young men smelt strongly of weed and booze. Eva breathed. She narrowed her eyes, ignored her racing heartbeat and stood her ground, clutching the folder to her chest.