by Rae Shaw
The ticking of the wall clock punctuated the silence, reminding him in all that time, eight years, Bill had never said anything other than to reiterate his innocence. He had maintained a fabrication for whose benefit? Squaring his shoulders, Mark took a deep breath.
‘My father has being lying to me, to Mum for years. Why?’ He raised his hands, then dropped them into his lap.
‘Who knows. Denial is a powerful emotion. As strong as grief and anger. You can believe he’s determined to end his criminal activities. Yet, he killed a man. Hardly the actions of somebody trying to escape the life.’
‘I can’t believe he cold-bloodedly murdered somebody. My dad! I know he's a rogue, a likeable rogue. Bright, in his own way. He blessed me with his intelligence but wasted his time at school – more interested in sports than education. He taught me to be honourable, even while he shifted stolen goods.’ Mark laughed. ‘Honour amongst thieves, that kind of thing, like owning up to things, and protecting your friends and family. I lent my support to his charade of an appeal because of that and for his sake, more than Mum's. He told me he wanted another chance to prove himself.’
‘Perhaps he wanted you to be what he had failed to be.’
‘Christ, I don’t know. I don’t want to know. I don’t want anything more to do with him. If this witness goes to the police and the sentence gets increased, then so be it. The bastard deserves it.’ There was within him what Julianna would recognise: a hot-blooded soup of anger and disgust. ‘I’ve got to tell Mum it's over. How am I going to tell her?’
‘Wait,’ Sophia said. ‘Until you’ve accepted this yourself. Don’t tell her when you're angry and bitter. She'll be devastated, won’t she?’
Alarm had paled her complexion to marble. He inhaled deeply and unclenched his fists. Control, he needed to control his emotions. Nothing would come of anger, but more anger.
‘Thank you, Sophia. At least I know the truth. What do I owe you, for your time? Luke’s too.’ With horrifying ease, he became that numerically driven accountant again.
‘Please, don’t worry about it... I'm still tying up some loose ends with regard to the information this witness provided.’
‘No, I insist. I told Jackson I would pay you and I, unlike my father, am a man of my word. As far as I'm concerned there is nothing more you need do. Don't waste your time.’
She told him she would bill him by post. ‘I’d like you to visit me and Luke for dinner with some friends. Bring your sister. We can introduce her to somebody with good connections.’
He looked at her blankly. Connections to what? He wasn’t thinking about socialising at the moment. He couldn’t put his mind anywhere sensible that didn’t inspire anger. ‘Sure,’ he said vaguely.
They shook hands and she opened the door for him; she wanted him gone. ‘Sorry that it’s all turned out bad for you.’
‘Please don’t apologise.’ He put on his overcoat. ‘You’ve succeeded where others had failed. I’m grateful. Goodbye.’
The noise in the outer office didn’t register and he ignored the fluttering eyelashes of the receptionist. He walked aimlessly for several blocks before hailing a black cab, wondering how to tell Ellen. She had a right to know the truth.
16
Ellen
The room smelt of roses. The aroma was subtle, but there, lingering in the air. There weren’t any vases in the flat. She followed Mark into the living room where Mark stuffed a twenty-pound note into her hand.
‘For the cab.’
She scrunched it into her pocket. He poured her a glass of wine and handed it to her. They sat, glasses perched on their knees, and he sighed a few times.
Worn out and lost, he was out of sorts in every way: scruffy pair of jeans with holes over the knees; a faded t-shirt with blotches of sweat under his armpits – old sweat, she reckoned; smudges of greyness under his eyes would worsen with the sleepless night he had yet to have. He fidgeted with the stem of his glass, spinning it with his agitated fingers.
‘So?’ she said, inquisitively. Better have it over.
‘Dad committed murder, not manslaughter. There was no self-defence. It was premeditated and unprovoked.’ He glanced in her direction. ‘But I guess you're not upset by any of this.’
‘No, not really, but I'm not pleased. Why would I be? Dad screwed us both over. What happened at the solicitors?’
He told her about the eye-witness who had held back from giving evidence to protect Bill from worse charges. He might not have saved Bill from a guilty conviction, but he had probably lessened the sentence by keeping silent.
‘No motive provided. Dad banked on getting that self-defence plea, but he didn't leave enough evidence inside the car to support his false confession. All he had were two knives. One for him, one for the victim to hold, wiped free of his fingerprints.’
She nearly dropped her glass. The base landed on her lap and she managed to salvage the spillage with a brisk wipe of her sleeve. There had been two pockets sewn into the coat. She said nothing – what was the point? Mark knew now what she had known since she was eleven years old. Bill Clewer was a cold, calculating criminal. The judge’s two key sources of mitigation were Bill’s remarkable previous lack of convictions and the supposed spontaneity of the killing.
‘He lied, Ellie. Lied and lied. He promised me… He.’ Mark's voice broke. He slumped like a sack of potatoes and downed half the glass in one go.
She stretched out to touch his shaking hand, then changed her mind. Those fiery eyes brimmed with anger. Such suppressed rage wasn't healthy, and she should know. It sent a shiver down her spine seeing him like this: so like her.
He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. ‘You know what really pisses me off? It doesn't make a jot of difference. This appeal was never going to free him. So why, why fucking why drag it out for years? He could have pleaded guilty and got some mitigation and a shorter sentence. I was willing to go with this damn appeal because I had this thing in the back of my head that he was decent. I never saw him as a heartless assassin.’
Ellen sipped her wine. She didn't want to get drunk here. Later, maybe. ‘He hoodwinked a few people,’ she said quietly. ‘If he had his reasons, he's keeping them locked inside with him. You've got your closure.’
‘I don't get it.’ He hung his head and sloshed the wine about in his glass. ‘Sophia couldn't explain it either. Denial is like grief, she said. And he's been holding on to it for eight years. I've got to tell Mum all this.’
She didn't want to be in the flat when that happened. ‘Well, don't be surprised if she refuses to believe you. She's incapable of changing her lies as well – the pair of them are made for each other.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Oh, come on. She had to know about Dad, what with all those men coming to the house. Arguments they had about where the money came from. She turned a blind eye in the end and stuck by him because she spent so much time lying for him, she couldn't speak the truth. And she liked having the money.’
‘How would you know? You hid in your room.’
She ground her fingernails into her thighs, right on top of her scars. No, not again. Mark's bitterness wasn’t her fault. While she might have stayed out of sight in order to protect herself from seeing things, Mark had been kept occupied and deliberately distracted by their father's legitimate hobbies; things that wouldn’t raise eyebrows. Mark had been adept at gluing himself to the better side of Bill.
She spoke with as much neutrality as possible. ‘Tell her. Then forget it, and don't go looking for a reason, you won't find it.’
He finished his wine. ‘So. That's that.’
‘Not quite. I've got my own news to tell.’
‘Oh?’
She reeled in the excitement. ‘I've got a chance to go to Ireland and join a dig. It includes accommodation and some pay. I'm waiting on confirmation.’
Mark’s eyebrows shot up. ‘What about uni?’
‘It can wait. Experience is just as impor
tant.’
‘How did you find out?’
‘I've a friend over in Dublin with contacts. He's called Freddie.’
‘Freddie. You've not mentioned him before now.’
A hazy conversation echoed in her mind. Perhaps she hadn't mentioned his name. ‘Why should I? It's not as if you show any interest in me. I'll have to quit work—’
Mark’s reclining pose shifted into a rigid one. ‘What? How long is this for? When?’
‘Next month. And I don't know exactly how long. I don't care about work. I can get another job when I get back. Which brings me to your offer. I'm going to hand in my notice at work and on the bedsit and pay the last month off. Then I can move my stuff here to your spare room while I'm away.’
He blinked several times. ‘You're going but dumping your things in my spare room. That's it?’
‘Yes.’ She nodded defiantly, then swiftly softened her voice into sweet contrition. ‘If you don't have other plans for the room.’
He rose and carried his glass to the kitchen table. ‘I've got a girlfriend.’
The scent of roses. She had been right. ‘So this works better for you. Not having little sister around?’
Mark’s face was an admirable portrait of neutrality. ‘My offer for you to live here remains. I prefer her place.’
Things made more sense in the light of finding out he had a love interest. ‘You're moving in with her?’
He laughed. ‘No. We're not in that kind of relationship. We're friends with benefits.’
She called Nicky her friend without benefits.
Ellen handed Mark her wine glass. ‘Finish it. I'm not in the mood.’
He caught her sleeve. ‘Wait. There's something else. Sophia has invited us to her place for dinner.’
‘Oh, no. Not another Razzles, please—’
‘We should go and say thank you for her effort. Luke's too. I'm sure her fee will be discounted. Luke is Jackson's brother.’
She had nothing to thank them for. ‘I'll drop her a postcard.’
‘Ellen, they're inviting a professor you should talk to. It might give you another option, instead of going to Ireland. A good word from an eminent academic, yes?’
Freddie had given her a good word, too. However, if it shut Mark up and let her store her things for nothing at his place then she’d go. ‘Okay.’
~ * ~
She confessed again. The compulsion to serialise her life into brief snippets continued to evolve and, back at home, she typed it out for Freddie to read.
I told him. Mark, that is. He wants me to meet somebody else, a professor.
He doesn't think you should come here?
He doesn't think I should ignore a Haynes offer. Mark's been given the name of an alternative who I should meet.
Your brother shouldn't decide for you. My name is Freddie Zustaller. See, I'm good on my word. Is Mark? I think you know the answer. I'll let you decide.
He'd attached a drawing, an old map of Wicklow. It was annotated with jottings and marks about possible trenches and geophysical points of interest. Something real, tangible: a lure, and it worked a treat. One day she would control everything, be in charge of a major project and earn a reputation that was worthy, instead of contrived with the edge of a razor.
Ellen's fingers curled into a ball and she punched the air. The truth was she knew exactly what she wanted to do. Freddie had filled the void and if anyone deserved the recognition, it was him. She couldn't wait to meet him, touch him. Yes, even that. She would happily go where he sent her.
17
Julianna
Mark rolled off Julianna and flopped onto his back. She lay her arm across his chest and curled the black hairs around her fingers.
‘This thing with your dad has really upset you.’ She’d listened over dinner to Bill's story. She had hoped Mark might put aside his anger in the bedroom. Clearly not. It clung to him: a straightjacket of raw emotion.
‘I’m sorry, I’ve not been good company.’ He sighed, labouring the exhale.
‘I don’t mind.’ Shuffling closer, she pressed her warmth onto him, hoping for a better response. But, nothing. He sighed, again.
‘Your mum must have taken it hard.’ She was surprised Mark hadn't regaled her with a woeful tale about his mother's response to the news.
‘Haven't told her.’
She snapped one of his hairs and he slapped her hand away.
‘Don't. She's in this bubble, why pop it? The longer I hold off the better. She'll be impossible to handle. Weeping, wailing. Gnashing of teeth. She can tell Dad then. I'm not going to see him. Ever. I'm considering burning his letters.’
Beneath her steady hand, she felt his heartbeats, the rapid knocks on his breast. The burning, she assumed, would be metaphorical. ‘How did Ellen take the news?’ she asked gently.
‘Indifferent. If she cares, she can't be bothered to show it. I doubt she does. In any case, she's moving on.’
‘You mean moving in?’ Julianna sat up. Mark remained rigid. He pulled the sheet back over his lower half, hiding his failure.
‘Nope. She's going to Ireland to do some field work. As in real digging in the dirt. She's going to dump her stuff at mine for the duration.’
‘Wow. How long will she be gone?’
He folded his arms across his chest. The arrangement of limbs was uncomfortably defensive and unnatural in bed. ‘Does it matter? She's excited. It's more interesting than her job and they'll give her somewhere to live out there.’
Julianna drew her knees up and hugged them. ‘Sounds fun for her. Who is they?’
He screwed his face up. ‘Dunno.’
‘She met someone?’
‘I don't think so. Dunno. She's got this friend, Freddie, I think she called him. He's out there helping her.’
Julianna frowned this time. ‘She's not met him?’
‘I don't think so. No, she said she hadn't.’ He rubbed his eyes. ‘It's her life.’
Mark's interest in Ellen's life had peaked and fallen away. Julianna wasn't in a position to judge. She barely spoke to her own sister, although that was more to with envy than belligerence.
‘I'm sure she'll be fine,’ she said. What that meant was up to him. If he wasn't worried about his sister, why should she be? Something else was bothering him. He had heaped countless things on his plate in the last few weeks.
‘I'm sorry. I’m probably tired. Busy day at work. Which reminds me. I’ve been given this assignment and it turns out to be pretty complicated. I could do with your analytical mind.’
‘You think you’ve got a terrorist network?’
‘No.’ He skipped over her attempt at humour. ‘A problematic Jackson Haynes acquisition. He’s asked me to go through some irregularities.’ Mark waved two fingers in the air to indicate the speech marks. ‘Can you come by my office first thing tomorrow?’
‘Sure.’ She kissed his cheek. The wiry bristles grazed her lips. Humour hadn't lifted his mood, so she tried a different tactic. ‘You're good at this job, you know that. You don't need me.’
‘Once, maybe...’ He stared at the lampshade above his head.
‘Come on.’ She swiped his arm with her knuckles. ‘That business in Manchester, you caused the collapse of a corrupt accountancy firm.’
He covered his face with his hands and groaned. ‘People lost their jobs. I betrayed my boss.’
She snuggled closer to him again. ‘What was his name?’
‘David Henderson. The senior partner in the firm. Haydocks was his baby.’
‘Must have been worth his while: laundering money, dodgy deals.’
‘Let's say he had these.’ He spread his fingers out and stabbed them in the air. ‘Pies.’
Henderson had to be a specialist in money laundering and not just a casual operative. ‘Oh, more than one?’ she asked.
‘I found six clients with dubious accounts.’
‘Six!’ What a treasure trove. ‘Why wonder you went into hiding. Didn't you w
ant to take the credit?’
‘I worked there for three years – my first job. Dave was my mentor. I wonder sometimes if he thought I was going to help out, become a crook like my dad. Perhaps he let me find the money. I don't know. I left. I didn't want to be implicated.’
‘Oh, I guess that's always a risk if you blow whistles.’ She pursed her lips. ‘So, these clients, who were they?’
‘Names. Just names and accounts. It was complicated. He'd covered his tracks and I didn't suspect anything for three years, until...’ He yawned and stretched his arms above his head.
‘Yes?’ She twirled a few chest hairs again.
‘Swedish... no Norwegian. Redningsmann, something like that. Redder: that cropped up too. It made me curious – those two: Redningsmann and Redder accounts were the biggest. Look, I drank a lot for a few months, trying to work out what to do with what I had found out. Then I panicked when Dave started bombarding everyone with questions. He was under pressure from somebody, probably the dodgy clients getting twitchy. I handed in my notice and decided to tip off the police, anonymously. Hardly the actions of hero. Dave knew something was up, but by then, a few of us had resigned from Haydocks; it helped cover my back.’
‘You weren’t going to help the police?’
Mark examined his fingernails. ‘I don’t exactly feel comfortable talking to the police. My family is known to them. It was easier not to get involved. They had all the clues they needed to arrest Henderson for money laundering.’ He flung back the duvet. ‘I should go.’
He grabbed his pants and left Julianna stranded on the bed.
‘Sure you don't want to stay?’
‘No, thanks, sweetheart.’ He disappeared into the bathroom.
The endearment felt wrong. They weren't sweethearts, or darlings, or honeybuns, or whatever stupid phrase came to mind when they kissed. She’d not even considered calling him anything other than Mark. She was on a fence, somewhere between lover and friend. It didn't help she was wearing her detective hat too. Mark didn't seem the slightest bit curious about the criminals he had upset. Probably because it reminded him of his father. Somewhere, a hive of angry bees had been stirred and the fallout had to have been considerable and sufficiently intriguing to engage an outsider like Jackson.