A Chance Encounter

by Rae Shaw

  Mark stuck his head around the door. ‘Oh, and I'm taking Ellen to dinner at Luke and Sophia's. So we can say thanks. You don't mind?’ He had a toothbrush in his hand, one of the few items he had left at hers, along with extra strong condoms and a stash of espresso coffee beans.

  ‘No, why would I be?’ She squirmed. She was bothered, but then, if he had turned up with the not-quite-a-girlfriend, it might be awkward. Luke was a Haynes and the Haynes family were a spy network in their own right.

  ~ * ~

  Julianna ran her eyes over the documentation Mark had provided, along with a steaming mug of coffee.

  ‘Lots of complex client relationships. Does seem suspicious, Mark.’ Julianna sipped on her drink.

  He ran his hand through his hair, ruffling it into a few indignant spikes. She could happily smooth them down. But she didn't. They were in his office. Instead of touching, they talked strategy. A little after half past nine his office phone rang.

  He reached out with his hand, then snatched it back. ‘I'll let it ring. It's Mum.’

  Seeing how he fought with himself, she wished there was a way to help ease his pain. His concerns about his father's guilt weighed heavier than ever, dragged down by the need to know why Bill had lied. Unlike her previous job, she no longer had access to criminal records or other intelligence systems. But she knew somebody who had contacts.

  Chris Moran stabbed at his keyboard with two fingers. Occasionally, he would scowl and hit the back space a few times. She hid a smile behind yet another sociable mug of coffee; perhaps she should switch to herbal teas… the grin spread at the unlikeliness of changing her habits. Coffee and the punch bag both remained essential. Poor Chris: computers weren’t his friend. Some years back, Chris had been an armed police officer, he patrolled streets and ate sandwiches in his squad car while he undertook countless surveillance operations. The switch to private security was the result of a gunshot wound. He had lost the tip of his forefinger. However, he could still type with it.

  The weekly catch-up meeting was something of a formality. Most weeks neither of them said much and since Julianna wasn't doing any protection work, he had even less to say.

  ‘I'm working with Mark on something for Mr Haynes,’ she said, emerging from behind the mug with a sombre expression.

  ‘Okay.’ Chris continued to batter his keyboard.

  ‘Mr Haynes has taken quite an interest in Mark, hasn't he?’

  Chris ignored the bait.

  ‘Given what Mark did in Manchester, I'm surprised the boss took him on,’ she said.

  He ceased pecking at the keyboard, pushed it to one side and folded his arms. ‘I don't read minds, Julianna.’

  ‘His first accountancy job. He shopped his boss to the police. Mark told me about it. It's not in his personnel file. Now, knowing how Mr Haynes is about who gets near his wife, the omission is odd.’

  ‘Meaning?’ Chris shuffled a few random sheets of paper about on his desk.

  ‘Why the cover-up? He's ideal for the job he’s doing and has proved he can investigate fraud. Yet, given his experience, there’s no mention of Haydocks on his file. It's like it’s been scrubbed out.’

  Chris stilled his hands.

  She had his attention now. ‘He uncovers this fraud, very extensive and involving several companies, passes the info to the police and then bolts. He ends up here, employed by Haynes, who I know is aware of what he did, but Haynes doesn't seem perturbed.’

  ‘Whistle blowing isn't against the law,’ Chris said. ‘Henderson is the one behind bars.’

  Chris was unsurprisingly well-informed about Haydocks; she hadn’t mentioned Henderson.

  ‘I guess the police in Manchester could have found Mark, questioned him, but they're still wading their way through the huge amount of information Mark leaked. They let him go. Haydocks would have been on his resume and I assume you followed the breadcrumb trail and pieced together the timeline. Mark was the obvious contender for dishing the dirt on Henderson. So why not leave it on record? A badge of honour and an explanation for why Mark got the job here.’

  Chris's nose twitched. ‘Haynes has his reasons.’ A cop-out answer and it only stoked Julianna to push harder.

  ‘Did Mark do more than he's letting on? Was he involved?’

  ‘Look, Julianna, trust me, Mark isn't a crook, and neither is Haynes. Mark simply blew apart something big. Way bigger than he probably intended.’

  ‘Mark doesn't know the full consequences of what he did. But Haynes does. So it has to have affected Haynes personally. Mark uncovered a network of phoney companies.’

  Chris leaned across his desk, lowering his voice, which was unnecessary. They were alone. ‘One name came up. It's relevant to the threats.’

  Julianna stiffened. ‘The threats against Haynes. Against Hettie?’

  Chris nodded. ‘Jackson immediately sought a means to get Mark here, in this building, without raising suspicions. You understand? And he made sure you two met.’

  ‘He orchestrated our relationship. I guessed that.’

  ‘He ensured you were interested in Mark. He doesn't care that you fuck each other. He knows you'll be his ears and eyes. But Mark hasn't a clue what he got himself into.’

  Although her cheeks flushed hot when he revealed he knew about their relationship, she was more alarmed by the implication she was supposed to be protecting Mark. The extent of Haynes interference was far-reaching.

  ‘Mark hasn't mentioned any threats.’ Their conversations were mostly wrapped around innocuous topics because Mark shied away from intrusive lines of questioning.

  ‘Once they know he's implicated, he'll be on their radar. You know they won't let him get away with it. Millions frozen in bank accounts because of the raid on Haydocks.’

  ‘His sister? His mum?’

  ‘There's a limit to how far Jackson can stretch resources without attracting attention. The boss is a target, and you know about Hettie. If we surround Mark's family, it will arouse suspicion. I don't think he's a target – there's no evidence and you've not commented on any unusual activity.’ He raised his eyebrows, expecting her to confirm.

  Julianna couldn't think of any occasion when they had been together that indicated he was being watched. He hadn’t talked about harassment either. ‘If you followed the breadcrumb trail, then they could, but in the opposite direction: to here.’

  ‘Let's hope they're too busy protecting other assets to worry about Mark or his family.’

  ‘I haven't met his sister. She's leaving London soon.’

  ‘What's her name?’

  ‘Ellen Clewer.’

  Chris wrote it down on a scrap of paper. ‘Is she aware of what Mark did?’

  ‘No, I don't think so. What about their father?’

  Chris leaned back in his chair. ‘Ah, William Clewer. He's not going anywhere for the time being, especially now his appeal is over.’

  ‘How did—’

  ‘Luke told Mr Haynes, who told me.’ The Haynes family network worked quickly.

  ‘Mark has no sympathy for his father. Fury, more like it. His dad lied a lot.’

  Chris smirked. ‘And probably still is lying a lot.’

  ‘Meaning?’

  ‘Gangs. It's all about money and gangs. Rivals and allies. They're all stabbing each other in the back.’

  She swore under her breath. ‘What doesn't Haynes know? He's pushed me to find stuff out by dangling Mark in front of me.’

  ‘You're astute. It's why Haynes likes you. He likes Mark, too. He's taken him under his wing. But Jackson Haynes style, you know?’

  She didn't know. She wanted to know but probably not first hand. ‘So you don't think Mark is under any immediate threat?’

  Chris shrugged his shoulders. ‘Guess that's for you to find out.’

  ‘I'm the one piecing everything together, aren't I?’ She rose to her feet. ‘What's the name that came up at Haydocks?’ she asked.

  ‘Redningsmann.’ Chris scribbled it down
and handed her the note. ‘Run it through a translator and you'll see why it grabbed Jackson's attention when he read the reports that came out. He doesn’t think it’s a coincidence. He would like you to prove him wrong, if only for both of your sakes, since that’s where you’ve invested your interest.’

  She ignored Chris’s smirk and stuffed the note into her jacket pocket. She didn’t need the paper; Redningsmann was already stashed in her memory. Now she was about to find out why. It wasn’t the only name Mark had mentioned. There was Redder, too.

  18

  Mark

  Bev and Tulip were vegetarians. Ellen was delighted. It helped break the awkwardness that came when strangers met for the first time. She had already drunk two glasses of wine by the time another couple arrived. A sanguine Ellen poured herself a third glass. Caroline, a plump lady with letterbox glasses said little, unlike the weathered Derek, the mysterious professor of archaeology.

  ‘I'm driving,’ he said, when Ellen passed him the wine bottle. He handed it to Mark, who helped himself to a small measure. Sobriety wasn't a requirement, but Mark wasn't in the mood for alcohol.

  Mark envied Luke’s generous apartment, especially the simplicity – each room seamlessly folded into one another. Sophia summoned them to the dining table. Luke adjusted his misaligned fork before sitting down. Mark accidently knocked his onto the floor and apologised.

  ‘I'll get you a replacement.’ Sophia dashed to a kitchen drawer. ‘Don't worry.’

  Mark had been on edge for days; he was on borrowed time. Deidre’s desperate messages had increased in frequency and she had even threatened to come down on a train. He had reassured her he was alive, and very busy. It had placated her for the time being.

  While Mark took time to open up to people, Ellen possessed qualities he had not noticed before. She helped in the kitchen, collected up the dirty dishes and kept the sometimes stilted conversations going. Razzles had been a disaster, but dinner with Sophia proved a success up until the dessert course. As Luke topped up wine glasses, and Sophia and Tulip talked about the best recipes for cheesecakes, Ellen fell apart in slow motion; her capacity for alcohol tolerance was breached. She stared unfocused with a familiar glassy-eyed smirk, and burped.

  ‘Oops, sorry.’ She covered her mouth and slouched, almost on the cusp of slithering beneath the table top. Throughout the meal, she’d showed no interest in Derek's lengthy digressions into the world of archaeological research. Mark was peeved with her and bored of Derek.

  ‘I'm going to Ireland to do some field work.’ She raised her glass to her lips.

  ‘Oh, where?’ Derek enquired.

  Startled, she spluttered, ‘South of Dublin, near Wicklow. Bronze Age site.’

  Derek’s wrinkly forehead formed trenches. ‘I wasn't aware that there's an active Neolithic site near Wicklow.’

  Ellen blushed. ‘I'm only going for a short while. Just to help out. It's a new thing. I've a friend, you see. One you won't know because he's Irish. I think.’ She tossed the napkin on her plate and patted her streamlined stomach. ‘Stuffed.’

  ‘I'm more interested in coastal archaeology,’ Derek said. ‘I'm overseeing a few projects across the country, including one in Scotland. We could do with some keen helpers there too.’

  Mark winked at Ellen. Say something, he mouthed.

  ‘I don't like the seaside.’ She slurred the consonants into one another. ‘Don't remember any decent holidays by the sea.’ She’d regressed back to the childish attention seeker of old. She ignored Mark's warning glares. He had judicially kept out of the conversation and Luke seemed content to listen diplomatically with the same watchful eyes as his older brother.

  The table was cleared and the coffee maker switched on.

  Ellen tottered into the kitchen. ‘Let me do the coffee, Sophia, you’ve given us such a lovely meal. It’s the least I can do.’

  Sophia politely declined the offer.

  ‘I'm so grateful to you and Luke, you know, for Dad,’ she lowered her voice, but not enough for Mark’s keen ears. ‘Naughty Bill Clewer.’ She giggled.

  Mark cringed behind his cupped face, hoping that shrill whoop of glee wasn’t the reason for Derek’s gruff expression. Sophia adeptly steered his sister toward an armchair. ‘I'll bring you coffee,’ she said.

  Mark intercepted Sophia on route to the kitchen for a private conversation. ‘I am so sorry, Sophia. She's not taking this business with Dad well. She doesn't talk to me about it,’ he whispered, checking over his shoulder. ‘She gets drunk.’

  Sophia pressed her hand over Mark's. ‘Don't worry. It's a big thing to come to terms with. I'm sorry it didn't work out for you both. She'll come round eventually.’

  He joined the others around the coffee table.

  Luke stared up at the ceiling. Bev had managed to engage Caroline in conversation. In a bubble of contentment Tulip helped herself to every one of Sophia's recipe books. The motley gathering offered Mark nothing and Ellen, who was supposed to be benefiting, had formed an unbreakable alliance with somebody else miles away. The loyalty she demonstrated to this person remained a mystery, but he didn't particularly care as long as it kept her happy. The evening might have gone so differently if Julianna had accompanied him.

  Luke bent to speak in Mark’s ear. ‘Could I have a word in private.’ The tone of Luke’s voice reminded him of another man.

  ‘Sure.’

  They went to Luke’s immaculate study where the law books were lined neatly on dust free shelves above Luke’s barren desk. The pictures on the wall behind him were abstract barring one, which was a watercolour. Mark recognised the artistic style.

  Perched on his desk, Luke cleared his throat. ‘I wanted to say I’m sorry about your father and that we didn’t bring this matter to a happy conclusion. The contrary in fact.’ He spoke with a legal ease, the kind of tone Mark had heard many times when dealing with his father's case.

  Mark wasn't prepared to discuss Bill. ‘Well, I know now. So it’s done and dusted.’

  ‘Well, not quite. The tape recording,’ said Luke, ‘the witness’s confession of your father’s guilt. What do you want us to do with it? Keep it in case you want to hear it, or your father does. Or destroy it?’

  Mark had given little thought to the condemning evidence. His first reaction was to destroy it and forget everything. He scratched his chin. ‘I haven’t spoken to my mother yet.’

  ‘I see. You think she'll need to hear it?’ Luke asked.

  The answer to that lay in Deidre’s stubbornness. ‘I don’t know, to be honest. Can we leave the decision for now?’

  ‘No problem. It’s your decision though. I'm allowing you this out of respect and because you're Jackson's friend. I should turn it over to the police.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Why was he thanking Luke? His father benefited, not him. The witness's loyalty to Bill was commendable; Mark's was slipping away to nothing. He pivoted on his feet, ready to leave when Luke spoke again.

  ‘Don’t blame those around you for what you’ve found out.’

  ‘What do you mean by that?’

  ‘Ellen. You two are okay?’

  Surrounded by do-gooders; their pretence at sympathy infuriated him. Hierarchy he could respect; wisdom and experience too. But Luke wasn't his boss.

  ‘Yes, of course we are,’ Mark said curtly, then seeing Luke’s bruised expression, he laced his voice with regret. ‘Sorry, it's been a stressful time for me. Thank you for your time and everything. I can handle Ellen. She's my sister.’

  ‘Understood, Mark,’ Luke said, his face stony and unmoved. The damage was done.

  Mark took Ellen home. The already frigid atmosphere cooled further in the taxi.

  ‘There was a chance there,’ Mark said. ‘Derek. Scotland. It might have been the beginning of something for you and you blew it.’

  ‘I'm going to Ireland. It's all arranged.’ She shrank into the dark corner of the cab as if cowered. But her livid eyes reflected the passing streetlights. She was
n't upset, she was angry, and he suspected she had deliberately used her drunkenness to foster resentment between them. It was a pity that her attitude had caused collateral damage with the other guests.

  ‘Then I hope it works out for you.’ He stared out of the window until the cab drew up outside his flat.

  Having filled a glass of water in the kitchen, she walked past him and slammed the spare room door shut behind her. Mark sat on his bed, head in hands. He wasn't cut out for being a big brother. Or a son. He couldn't handle either of those roles.

  19

  Mark

  A week later, Ellen had moved some of the bulkier things into his spare room, stuff she wasn't going to take with her to Ireland. He had given her a spare key and she deposited the boxes while he was at work. Their paths hadn't crossed, and she left notes on the kitchen table.

  Sophia wanted to return Bill's appeal papers to Mark. He decided Ellen wouldn't take well to seeing them alongside her stuff. He had politely put off Sophia with some feeble excuse. Once Ellen was gone, he would arrange for them to be collected.

  He spent another night with Julianna. He planned to spend more time there. Waking up, he patted the cool dent on her side of the bed. Julianna had already left for work. She survived on less sleep than him and often worked out in the cellar downstairs before breakfast. It was a claustrophobic space with a punch bag and mould growing on the walls.

  He clambered out of her bed just after seven and dressed. Jogging down the street to the bus-stop, he dashed into the mini-market and bought a Mars bar for breakfast. Coming out of the shop, chocolate bar stuffed in his mouth, a car passed him. Waiting for the bus, which was late, he saw the same black BMW circle three more times around the block. A private taxi? It didn't have license plates for carrying passengers. Each time it drew close to the kerb, it slowed and crawled in the traffic, annoying the vehicle tailgating it. A car horn sounded, and the BMW sped away, screeching its tyres and swerving between the parked cars. The old lady next to Mark in the queue complained about reckless drivers and the need for speed bumps. Mark agreed.