He was close to her, his hand holding hers. He could feel a glimmer of hope welling up in the pit of his stomach. But she unlocked her hand from his and stepped away. "I'm sorry, Trevor. I can't be with anyone. You'd be in great danger being with me."
"Danger? What are you talking about?"
"Remember the bow that I had when I left the church?"
He nodded his heavy head. He doubted he'd ever forget that scene for the rest of his life.
She went on. "After I left the church someone tried to kill me. I shot three arrows and killed him. I know it's difficult to believe. But I'm involved in something that I don't understand."
"I'll help you, Helen," he said, without having the least idea what the whole thing was about. All he wanted was her. "Whatever the problem is, we'll face it together."
"You can't, Trevor. I'm sorry. This is something that I've got to do alone. I couldn't bear to see anything happen to you because of me."
"You just said someone tried to kill you. We should go to the police. Do you know who it was?"
"No. I think I saw him once, two years ago, maybe in a dream or a nightmare. But it's too real to be either of those."
Helen began crumbling away before Trevor's eyes. She started to laugh strangely and breathe very quickly. The attack was gaining momentum. She was in the middle of some great nervous crisis. Trevor reached out for her, unsure about how to help her.
"You need help, sweetheart," he whispered sweetly. "We'll look for someone. I'll take care of–"
"Oh, no. Not again. Trevor, run!" she screamed, pulling away from him. "Hurry!"
Trevor was struck dumb by the sudden change in Helen. Her expression had changed yet again and her hands were no longer trembling. Her breathing was normal. It was as if she had been perfectly calm the whole time. And if that wasn't proof enough that something strange was happening, she stood up without saying a word and walked out of the room, undressing herself as she went, leaving her clothes scattered across the floor. Trevor couldn't move. He called after her as loudly as he could, but she was gone.
Seconds later, she darted back into the room dressed in the elegant black dress that she'd worn running down the church aisle. He nearly fell off the chair as he watched her run out of the flat.
He decided to chase her, to find out what this was all about. At least this time she wasn't carrying the bow.
# # #
"Are you expecting anyone?" Dylan Blair asked, looking up from the sad pair of sevens he was holding.
The doorbell had just rung and broken his concentration. The game hadn't changed much since the break. The supposed professional gambler and Dylan's croupier friend had neither won nor lost, while James White's fat fingers had been sliding back and forth across the velvet, collecting one pot after another. Dylan was paying a high price for his lesson.
"No, I'm not expecting anyone," James said indifferently.
"It's your house," Dylan reminded him. "Don't you propose to open the door?"
"To tell you the truth, no," James said, continuing to ignore the bell that was ringing insistently. "I'm too comfortable here. You open it."
Dylan Blair was getting impatient. He had a lot riding on this hand, pretending he had good cards. He was keen to find out if he could outwit James at least once. But the damn doorbell wouldn't stop ringing. He nodded to the croupier to go to the door.
"What do you want, brat?" they heard the croupier ask when he opened the door. "Are you deaf? You're interrupting us. What? Your grandfather?"
"You've finally arrived, Tedd," they heard a young voice say.
"My old bones need time, Todd," an old voice explained.
Dylan Blair and James White looked at each other. Where they'd just been curious a few moments before, now they were worried. The professional gambler was looking at them wondering what was happening.
"If I'm not mistaken, Todd, this miserable bloke here just called you brat," Tedd said.
"That's how it was, Tedd," Todd confirmed, "I don't believe he said it seriously. He doesn't even know us."
"That's possible, Todd," Tedd agreed. "Nevertheless, his manners have offended me. I think he needs a lesson."
"Who do you think you're going to give a lesson to, old man?" the croupier laughed. "I don't like picking on the aged or on little kids either, but I'll do it if you don't get out of here right away."
James was the first to react, racing to the door. Dylan wasn't far behind but fell over in his haste. The gambler stayed at the table, shocked. Something bizarre was happening in this room, judging by Dylan's and James's actions and the look of fear in their faces.
"Shut up," James told the croupier as he ran down the corridor, bumping into a wall as he turned the corner on his way to the door. "Don't say a word."
He stood between the croupier and the strange couple, catching his breath, while he summed the situation up. Todd, the boy, was a little closer to him, his violet eyes sparkling with interest. The old man was leaning on his bent arm.
Dylan arrived, pushing the croupier back.
"You heard what James said. Don't say anything."
The croupier nodded dumbly. He knew Dylan well enough to know that on the rare occasions when he spoke seriously, there was usually a good reason for it. He was a joker most of the time but when his mood darkened, like now, something terrible usually happened. But what was the problem here? There was only an old man and a child who appeared to be no more than ten years old.
"There's been a misunderstanding," James apologized. "I'm sure it's not worth giving this poor fellow a lesson for such a small indiscretion. I would be pleased if you would come into my house and make yourselves at home."
"I think James is right, Tedd," Todd reflected, looking at the old man tenderly. "As far as I'm concerned, we can let it stand. That's if you agree, naturally."
"Well, if it doesn't bother you, we can let it pass, Todd," Tedd said. "But I don't like anyone insulting you," he added with a smile. "On the other hand, we've come to talk with James and I would hate to turn such a correct invitation down. Help me, boy; my old bones are killing me."
Tedd walked in slowly, following Todd, hanging on to him all the while. Dylan and James stood back, their backs pressed to the wall, as they watched the strange couple pass.
"It seems like we've interrupted something, Tedd," Todd observed, as he walked down the corridor. "Perhaps James finds our visit inconvenient."
"Don't forget that he's our favourite, Todd," Tedd replied. "He's a very intelligent person who would certainly appreciate us coming here to have a chat with him."
"I'm honoured to receive you," James said. "Make yourselves comfortable, I'll be with you in a second." He frowned at Dylan.
"You don't have to say anything," Dylan advised the croupier, pushing him out the door. "We'll finish the game. Good luck, mate. I'll call you."
"Get out of here," James said. "I'll throw the other bloke out."
He got back to the room in time to see the confusion on the face of the gambler staring at the two oddballs. Before he had a chance to say anything, James grabbed him by the arm and half-pushed him out of the flat.
Young Todd helped the old man get comfortable on the sofa. Tedd picked the porno films off the table and tossed them disapprovingly onto the floor. "Strange way of entertaining himself, Todd," he frowned. "Maybe, he's not as ready as we thought he was."
"He's all right, Tedd," Todd said amiably. "He's special and he knows it."
"Do you mind telling me why you have come?" James White asked them.
"You see, Todd," Tedd complained, waving his walking stick in the air. "He's lost respect. Remember how worried he was about us a little while ago. But it would seem that now he's lost his patience."
"I'm alone now," James explained. "I don't have to worry about others sticking their noses in when they don't know who they're dealing with."
"You see, Tedd," Todd exclaimed approvingly. "How many of them have got the guts to confront us like
this? That's why I like James. He's truly unique."
"Don't build him up too much, Todd," Tedd said. "I thought he didn't care about anything and life meant nothing to him. Why worry himself about a few little personality traits?"
"It's certain that life stinks," James proclaimed. "You two know that well enough. And you exploit that very fact. But that doesn't mean that I won't try and help a couple of poor bastards out of trouble if I can. And Dylan here's not one of them. I know he's made a deal with you. Poor devil."
"The obvious conclusion, my dear Todd," Tedd began to say, "is that James doesn't like us. I dare say he doesn't appreciate the value of our mission."
"That's not true, Tedd," Todd objected. "He's simply got a different view of the overall situation. He doesn't like it like I do. But he won't create problems when we ask him to do what we want."
"And what's that?" James enquired. "You forget that I don't belong to you. I'm Ashley's property. She's my boss, and boss of all the Whites. Besides, you know that not even you can meddle in the fight. No one can."
"I definitely don't like his attitude, Todd," Tedd snarled, grabbing his walking stick as if it were a sword and making an attempt to get up off the sofa. Todd went to his aid, but made sure he stayed seated. "I'm very sorry. But I'm going to have to act."
"I think it's better that I take care of this, Tedd," Todd suggested. The old man's face had turned red but the boy was still at his side. "Remember that when the fight's over he will become ours and then he'll regret treating you this way. It's obvious he hasn't looked at Big Ben lately, for if he had he would know that as each day goes by there's less time left. Two days, tops."
"That threat's only valid if I don't die at the hands of a Black," James reminded them. "If that bastard Otis, their leader, gives the order from his wheelchair, one of the Blacks will come here and try and turn me into pulp. Even so, it's not worth arguing about if you don't tell me what you expect of me."
"Now he's beginning to listen to us better, Tedd," Todd pointed out. "It's time to tell him that we're counting on his discretion when he sees Aidan Zack."
"The detective?" James asked, shaking his head thinking about the two-metre detective he'd met in the hospital. "I saw that giant a couple of days ago. We're not friends. What makes you think I'm going to see him again?"
"He's not as smart as you think, Todd," Tedd said. "You think too highly of him. He doesn't understand that we have a vision about his future meeting with Aidan."
That was a blatant lie and James White knew that perfectly. Tedd and Todd didn't operate that way. They only dealt with certainties. What they said could only mean that they knew that he was going to meet Aidan sooner or later. Even so, he was still in the dark about what they expected of him.
"I understand that I will see Aidan and must be discreet," he repeated, more for himself than for them. "Very good, but discreet about what? I already know I can't talk about the battle with the Blacks. You don't have to remind me about that. What else could this detective want to know? The only other thing that…" Then he understood. The truth flashed through his mind, stunning him. "He doesn't understand why he's involved. I can't believe it. Is it true?"
"A brilliant deduction. You see how smart he is, Tedd," Todd said. "He's understood our proposal on his own."
The boy moved away from the old man, who was calmer now, and went to the table where they'd been playing poker. He took a cigarette out of a packet and lit it, took a deep puff and exhaled, the smoke forming incredible figures. James ignored them. He'd seen him do it before on several occasions and it no longer shocked him. What did shock him, however, was looking at a ten-year-old smoking and drinking like a degenerate adult.
"Just in case you don't know," James murmured. "How strange. Aidan must believe that his body was cured of mortal wounds by a miracle. He didn't seem that stupid. Is that what this is all about?"
"You must have told him that Aidan has his suspicions, Todd," Tedd said with a wounded voice. "It seems your friend isn't smart enough to work this out alone."
"Yes, that's how it is, Tedd," Todd said. "Why would we ask him to not reveal anything if Aidan didn't suspect something? It wouldn't make sense."
"OK, you've got what you want," James confirmed. "I won't say anything. What bothers me, though, is your concern for this detective. You're manipulating him for some reason. There's no doubt about that. And why would that be? Well, I've got my rotten life to worry about. He can work it out for himself. Life stinks"
* * * * *
CHAPTER 16
It was impossible that it was going to finish well. Lance Norwood didn't want to watch. He covered his eyes with his hands and concentrated on waiting until everything had finished, blaming himself for not having done anything to stop it.
"Stop playing the fool, Lance," Carol shouted. "We've already parked. Get out now!"
"Seriously?" he asked, opening his eyes, unable to believe it. He hadn't heard a bang, not even a scrape. "Thank God. For once in your life you've parked a car without slamming into someone else. If you'd only scratched this magnificent vehicle a little bit, I don't know what I would've done. I would've had to take time off work and stayed in bed for a week to get over the shock."
"Shut up or I'm off," Aidan Zack threatened him, resting his fist on the bonnet of the Ferrari.
"I hate this car," Carol grumbled, watching all the passers-by turn their heads to look at the Ferrari. Some even stopped to take a closer look. "I never thought I'd hear myself say this, but I miss your old bomb."
Lance Norwood almost choked on hearing that. What was she talking about? He wanted to go through the comment step by step with her, but decided to say nothing when he noticed Aidan's furious face. He was very serious this morning and that wasn't a good sign.
Aidan Zack had sought refuge behind a shield of grumbles during the whole trip, trying to avoid Lance's withering interrogation. His partner had been trying to find out how he'd acquired the Ferrari, and who his mysterious benefactor was. But there'd been no way through Aidan's refusal to divulge details, which left Lance to his own wild speculations. Something was being covered up, that was for certain. But what? And if there was no reasonable explanation for the whole affair, might it be illegal?
Lance had considered sharing his fears with Carol when he had the opportunity. But they hadn't been alone once. He noted she was restless, her voice not as confident as it had been a few days before.
They walked into the building in front of the car, took the lift to the sixth floor, and followed Aidan along the hall until they came to an open door. Aidan went straight in. Soft-drink cans and an open pizza box rested on a small table inside the door, and a trail of tossed clothes, mostly underwear, littered the corridor floor. When they got to the living room, they discovered that what they'd seen up to then had only been an aperitif.
The simple furniture that seemed to have been pulled out of an office was covered with all sorts of objects: half-empty bottles, open packets of crisps, leftovers. Carol screwed up her face in disgust, looking at the three porno videos in the middle of the mess. On one of the tables there was a cloth and a pack of cards. And from one of the chairs around the table James White looked at them, smiling.
"I was expecting you, big fella. But who are your friends?"
"This is my partner, Lance," Aidan said. "And this is Carol. She's a reporter and is assisting us in our investigation."
"This is really living the good life," Lance said, looking around the room. "I'll bet you're not married. If I leave my socks on the bed, my wife kicks up a storm like you can't imagine. No sex for a month, at least."
"This is a pigsty," Carol grumbled. "I'm not sitting down in all of this."
"You've got a lot to tell me, my friend," Aidan said, changing the subject.
"I don't see it that way," James contradicted him calmly. "And what's more I don't think I've got anything to tell you at all."
The answer shocked Lance. It was a clear slap in the fa
ce, and it wasn't the best day to pick on Aidan. He observed James more closely, and the first thing he noticed was his strange physique. He was the same as the two dead bodies in the mortuary, William and Peter, both decapitated, one by a sword, the other by a boomerang. He found it strange to look at the same head, moving and talking. All his theories about clones and DNA replicas were gaining strength with each one of James White's words.
The other thing that struck Lance was how short James was. He was no more than five feet tall, and he looked even shorter than that beside Aidan.
"How did you know that I came here to see you?" Aidan asked him angrily.
"Just a hunch," James lied.
"You've got to tell us about this gang war that you're a part of," Carol interrupted them. "Why are they the same? Why…"
"Take it slow, beautiful. I'll tell you the only thing I can. It's bigger than you. It's something to avoid at all costs. Forget about it now while you still can."
"You can forget about us forgetting about it, shortie," Aidan said. "We've come here for answers. And you're going to give them to us one way or the other."
"Really?" James replied. "You know something, I don't like you much, big man. I've already told you that I can't tell you anything. But what's even more certain is I wouldn't even if I could."
"Maybe you'll change your mind with a few thumps on the head?" Aidan roared, steadying himself.
He reached out and grabbed James by the shoulder, but Lance intervened, pulling him off the little man. It took a while for Aidan to calm down, while James stayed on the chair hardly moving, with the same peaceful expression he'd had before.
"It would seem that you've got the idea in your head of trying to intimidate me," James said to Aidan. "That's a mistake. There's nothing that you could say or do that would threaten me. It's incredible how little you seem to know, considering who you are."
The Big Ben mystery Page 16