"Well, I have," Aidan assured her flatly.
"Five years isn't that long, Aidan," she disagreed. "Especially, taking into account that this man killed your wife. It would take a lot of time for most people to get over a trauma like that."
"That's most people, not me," Aidan said, forcing a smile. "It's another perfect example of who I am."
Both of them knew that was a lie, but there were other more important things. It was a game. Shyla had to evaluate whether Aidan Zack was capable of doing his job as a detective. It came down to whether or not he was a threat to himself or to others. There were many in the force who were carrying big problems that could hinder their work as policemen.
"Your physical recovery is one thing," she said. Aidan had been in a coma for two months after the accident. He'd made a full recovery, getting over injuries that should have been permanent or even fatal. His spinal injury alone should have left him paralysed. "Your physical tests have shown that you're back to normal. But the mind is something else. When was the last time you had sexual relations?"
"Last week," he answered without thinking, "A beautiful twenty-five-year-old blonde. It was pretty good." He paused, hearing Shyla's pen tap on the desktop, seeing her frown. "Ok… ok. Is the frequency of my sexual relations relevant to my detective work? If so, you'd better interview Jake, it's been two years since his last." Shyla's frown deepened and Aidan decided to leave it there. "Five months," he said thoughtfully, "Maybe six. I'm not sure."
"How was it?"
"A true disaster," he said without any sign of embarrassment. "It wasn't one of my best moments. Different tastes, you understand. I would have preferred something else. Do you really want all the details?"
"No. I'm familiar with your tastes. Did you feel anything more than just sexual attraction?"
Aidan didn't know how to answer. If it came to the crunch he hadn't even felt physical attraction for the woman. It wasn't that it had been that bad. It was simply a one-night stand that hadn't worked out well. He'd been in a bar drinking when the woman had walked up and started talking. It had been months since he'd slept with anyone. It had been the right time to take what she was offering with the minimum effort required. Aidan was a good-looking man, and he knew it, but not as much as all the women who walked up to him in bars. He was a well-muscled, low-fat forty-five-year-old. His hair was still on his head, he had movie star features, and his six-foot-ten- stature made him stand out anywhere. Even so, most of the time he was the one who'd taken the first step.
"It was just sex," he finally said instead of inventing a little sentimental drama. "If you really want to know."
"Like always," Shyla observed. "It's time you got over your wife's death."
"I don't see how that will make me a better policeman."
"It will help you generally. And that goes for any profession. I know you're a good detective," she said before he could reply. "Technically one of the best. But your attitude has changed since that terrible accident. You've got problems getting on with your partners, you don't get on with the press, incidences of insubordination are more frequent, and some say you're more violent with criminals."
"I've always got on bad with the press," Aidan said arrogantly, "Even before the accident. Any of my partners can vouch for that. As far as everything else is concerned, I reckon I've improved a lot in the last year. There are hardly any misunderstandings. You can see I'm on the right path," he concluded, smiling.
"It's not enough. Your work's dangerous. I only want the best for you."
"Then let me keep on getting better," Aidan said. "If it's true that you're worried about my health why do you want to leave me without a job? I've already lost my wife and lost a year being in and getting over that damn coma. Do you really think it's good for me to lose my job?"
Before the doctor could answer him, his mobile phone rang.
"I forgot to turn it off. Sorry," he said, secretly pleased that the session had been interrupted. "Yes? Inspector. Calm down… No, I'll get there late. I'm with the shrink." Aidan shrugged his shoulders, looking at the doctor. She just nodded disapprovingly, she was used to the disrespect that the word shrink implied. "I saw something on the news last night. What's that got to do with me? But, sir… I've just said that I saw it. Anyone who survived that accident should be in a hospital bed stuffed with tubes and surrounded by respirators. I can't interrogate him… Is this a joke? Ok. I'll write it down… I understand," he said finally, hanging up and putting the phone back in his jacket pocket. "Well, Doctor, I'm sorry, but I've got to go. If you're thinking of giving me the thumbs down, tell me now. It will save me worrying about this little job for the Inspector."
"I suppose we can see each other next year," Shyla said, taking a deep breath. "Get out of here."
"Thanks a heap, Doc," Aidan said from the door. "I wish all women were like you."
Excited about having finished therapy for the year, Aidan Zack left the building thinking about the interview with the survivor of yesterday's accident in which forty people had died. He lit a cigarette, started the car and drove towards the hospital.
* * * * *
CHAPTER 2
After four years of marriage, it still excited Susan to watch her husband get dressed in an elegant suit, even though this time it wasn't one of her favourites. His body was made for it, the jacket showing his shoulders off in a way that she found irresistible. Despite his short height, she wouldn't change him for anyone else.
"Can't you wear something else?" she asked, as her husband combed his dark hair back from his forehead until his black eyes were satisfied with the image in the mirror before him. "It's not that it looks bad on you, but it's better not to go out dressed completely in black."
"I feel like wearing this suit," he said as he did the buttons up. "It's a long time since I've worn it."
"At least you could wear a different-coloured shirt," she insisted, without smiling.
"I didn't even think of that," William answered. "The only thing I know for sure is that I should go out like this today. It's strange, but something tells me that black's the right colour to wear. It's my first day of work at a new branch. I want to feel good."
"As if I didn't know," Susan exclaimed, getting close and throwing her arms around him. "We still have the house full of unopened boxes. We're never going to finish moving in." She took her husband's face in her hands and gave him a long passionate kiss. "You'd be cute in any colour. Let's have breakfast."
"When I get back from work I'll help you finish unpacking everything," he promised, as he went down the stairs of their home.
Susan detected a trace of guilt in his voice, most likely because of the little he'd done to help with the moving in since they'd arrived. They dodged the boxes that were scattered around the living room and entered the kitchen.
"As if I am going to believe that you'll help," she said, smiling.
In reality, he wasn't interested in anything related to the move and they both knew it. William was on the way up. They'd bought a big house, a two-storey flat in an upmarket block, and she felt happy. So happy, in fact, that she'd forgotten the thorn that had been in their sides for the last three years. She couldn't get pregnant. They'd tried all the traditional methods, and now were going through a series of tests. The doctors couldn't find any reason to explain it away. She was fertile, the abortion she'd had before meeting William proving that. And he didn't have any problem that they could find.
They breakfasted on coffee and a lot of toast, and agreed to go out later and look for a new sofa.
"Well, I've got to go," he said, standing up. "What's the problem?" he asked, studying his wife's smile, as she looked at him from head to foot.
"I can see them laughing at the undertaker look, sweetheart," she said, "especially when you introduce yourself as Mr Black."
"Don't be stupid. Everything'll be ok. I'll tell you about it later."
He gave her a long farewell kiss and an affectionate slap on the che
ek as revenge for the joke she'd just made about his clothes and name.
As soon as he had closed the door, Susan cleared the table and began taking the cups to the sink, but stopped when she heard the doorbell.
"You're a disaster," she called out, leaving the kitchen and crossing the hall. "What, have you forgotten your keys?"
She got a shock when she opened the door and almost clashed heads with a stranger. The short man was dressed completely in white. His hair was blond, very blond, and his eyes were the lightest shade of blue she'd ever seen, almost white.
"What do you want?" she asked, thinking that the stranger was somehow very familiar. "You've mistaken–"
The man in white stepped around her and walked inside without saying a word. He stopped in the middle of the living room and looked around.
"What are you doing?" Susan demanded to know, her fear building. "Get out of my house straight away or I'll call the police!"
The stranger didn't seem to hear her. He returned to the door, closed it, and then went to the kitchen, staring at everything as he went. Her panic began to leave her slowly. The man in white didn't seem interested in her, but the very presence of a stranger in her house made every conceivable possibility spin through her head. Her legs were frozen and she prayed that this was a robbery and not a preamble to rape.
The man in white left the kitchen and walked among the boxes that filled the floor. Susan could see him more clearly now and suddenly realized why he was so familiar. He was William's double, except for the skin colour and eyes. It was her husband down to the smallest detail. His shoulders, nose, lips, everything seemed an exact replica. If William had dyed his hair, put in blue contact lenses and donned a white suit, she wouldn't have been able to tell the difference. And what bothered her even more was that he moved like William, had the same body language. It was crazy. So crazy, in fact, that she began thinking her husband was playing a terrible practical joke on her. He'd changed clothes outside and come back to play this little trick on her.
The intruder had finished studying the living room and was turning in the direction of the stairs that led to the floor above, when suddenly the front door swung open. Susan couldn't believe her eyes as William floated through the air and tackled the man in white. They began fighting their way around the room, bumping into the little furniture there was, until they suddenly stopped.
They stayed still, facing each other. Susan was speechless. She had to do something, say something, scream at William to call the police and run out of the house in search of help. But she couldn't do anything. She was paralysed with fear and stunned by this unbelievable scene in which her husband was fighting with what seemed like a mirror image of himself. It was simply crazy. And now she noticed for the first time that they were carrying swords. How did she miss that? Where had they got them from? And not ordinary swords at that. They looked like knight's swords. Something from the Middle Ages. And, not to spoil the mysterious contrast between the two men, her husband's sword was dark grey while the stranger's was light grey. Except for that, they were identical.
She came to life when she realized what was about to happen. A scream flew out of her throat as the duel began as if the two had been waiting for her scream to start it. The swords clashed, throwing sparks each time they met. The metallic echo of each thrust and block rang around the room as the two swordsmen followed careful lateral steps one following the other. Susan only stopped screaming when she could no longer breathe. Her husband was in a sword fight with his double. It didn't make any sense. Was she dreaming? It seemed not, as she watched William Black measure every movement and thrust with a precision that only a deep knowledge of fencing and hours of training could produce. He'd never mentioned anything about fencing to her.
The duel didn't last much longer. She thought it would never end, given that both men seemed to have the same mastery of the glistening sword in their hands. But suddenly, the man in white avoided a lunge and with a slash from above cut off William's head.
She would never remember exactly what happened next, so dominated was she by the greatest horror she'd ever witnessed. She could have sworn that the man in white's sword disappeared in his hand. The killer stayed still for an instant, studying the flow of William's blood across the carpet.
Just before she fainted, Susan saw William's killer leave by the front door, without ever having looked at her once.
# # #
On arriving at the hospital, Aidan Zack left the car in front of the main door, half on the pavement, and threw a cigarette butt through the window.
A fat security guard approached Aidan angrily. "You can't park there."
Aidan flashed his badge and walked past the guard towards the entrance.
"There's room for parking back there," the guard called after him.
"It's urgent," Aidan said without even looking at him. "It won't wait."
He heard an insult behind his back as he passed the automatic doors of the main entrance.
The tanker driver who had presumably caused the accident was a known member of a gang of drug dealers that Aidan had infiltrated the year before. That was why the captain had wanted him to talk to the survivor; to find out if he'd seen the driver. If so, maybe Aidan could identify him. But it didn't make much sense. Aidan Zack knew the gang's methods and they never used petrol tankers, especially if they were full.
He went up to the second floor and, following the signs, chose the corridor to the right.
"How much longer am I going to have to stay here under guard?" Aidan heard someone ask from within Room 211.
"Mr James White?" Aidan asked, entering the room.
Two men spun around immediately. At first glance it was difficult to tell them apart. They were both dressed in white. Evidently, the one in the long coat had to be the doctor.
"Who are you?" the doctor asked.
"Detective Inspector Aidan Zack. Are you Mr White?" he said, ignoring the doctor and staring at the man in the white suit.
"Yes, that's me. I hope you've got the authority to let me go. They can't keep me here when there's nothing wrong with me."
"Before that, I've got a few questions," Aidan said, lowering his head to look White in the eyes. He was at least two heads taller. "If you don't mind, it might be better if I sat down."
"You can leave us alone," James White said to the doctor with a touch of anger in his voice. "I'm sure you've got patients you can help."
The doctor closed the door behind him.
"You've got to get me out of here, detective. This is crazy."
"Take it easy," Aidan said, starting to get curious about James White. "First, tell me what happened and then I'll see what I can do."
"Don't you print reports?" James complained. "I've told this a thousand times already. They must have written it so anyone can read it."
"This will be the last time," Aidan said patiently.
"I don't remember much," James began after taking a great sigh. "Something hit me on the head and when I came round I was standing next to a fireman in the middle of a cloud of smoke. I don't know why, but nothing happened to me, simply nothing."
"That doesn't interest me. The doctors are here to bother you with that sort of question. What I want to know is what happened before the accident. Did you see how the bus came to crash against the tanker?"
"No," James answered, surprised by the question. "I was reading a magazine, when the bus braked suddenly and I slammed into the seat in front."
"Perhaps you heard something?" Aidan insisted, realizing that he'd come to the hospital for no good reason. "Any detail that could help us find out how the accident happened."
James shook his head.
"Then, that's all. Thanks for your cooperation."
"One moment," James White said, staring at Aidan strangely. "You seem familiar. Have we met before?"
"I don't think so," Aidan answered, thinking that he wouldn't have forgotten this short man dressed from head to foot in white.<
br />
"I don't think I've met you either. But there's something familiar about you," he reflected, his mood changing from bored to curious, the effort of trying to remember where he'd met Aidan changing the expression on his face. "I don't know why, but I've never had such a peculiar feeling about a stranger."
"It could be the knock on your head, Mr White," Aidan suggested, uninterested in White's vagueness.
"Curious," James murmured to himself staring at the floor. "It couldn't have been a casual meeting. I guess I'll remember later."
Aidan stopped listening and crossed the room on his way out. The door opened before he reached it and a tall man entered, stopped, and stared at him in surprise.
"Who are you?" Aidan asked.
"Stew Walton, Captain of the Fire Brigade. And you?"
"Detective Inspector Aidan Zack. You're the one who put the fire out after the accident, aren't you?" Aidan said, shaking the other man's hand. "I'd like to talk to you for a second."
They walked to a coffee machine that Aidan had seen outside the room.
"Want a coffee?"
Stew shook his head so Aidan just poured one for himself. "Have you been able to find out why the vehicles crashed?" Aidan asked. "Any unusual detail would help."
"No, nothing out of the ordinary. The tanker was loaded with fuel, which was why the fire was so big. I can't see what provoked the crash. From the few facts that we've got and from interviews with witnesses, it seems both vehicles were driving straight. We don't know why the tanker deviated."
"Any evidence of drugs?"
The captain shook his head, surprised. "No, not that I know of. But the fire would've incinerated drugs. Either way, we're still going through the ashes. Something might turn up later on. Do you think there's a connection between James White and drugs?"
The Big Ben mystery Page 2