A Chance Encounter

by Rae Shaw

  He straightened his tie, headed for the lift and hit the button for the top floor. It was too early for Diana to shoo him into Jackson’s office so he rapped his knuckles on the door.

  Jackson gestured to Mark with a wave of his forefinger. ‘In.’

  Mark wasn’t offered a seat. The formality didn’t surprise him; it only disappointed. He hovered before the vast desk, waiting for Jackson to occupy his chair.

  ‘How is Ellen?’ Mark asked.

  ‘Confused, tired,’ Jackson said vaguely. ‘She gradually opened up. Not about Friday, too early for her to deal with that trauma.’

  Trauma – an appalling word. Mark swayed onto the heel of his shoes. ‘She wasn’t badly hurt? Drugs—’

  ‘No drugs in her system. She’ll heal quickly. She understands that she has to move on with her life. However, Zustaller is still out there. That has been hard for her.’

  Mark swallowed a hard lump. His throat ached. ‘Will he come after her? Me?’

  Jackson picked up a pen, then let it go with a spin of his wrist. ‘I don’t know. He’s a delegator.’ Like me, Jackson didn’t add. ‘He plays a long game. He can’t risk exposing himself too soon. I don’t get the impression that he’s impulsive. He’s left Bill intact, because it serves a purpose to make your father sweat it out in prison, indefinitely. Punishment, not execution, is his style.’

  ‘So… I shouldn’t worry too much.’

  His boss guffawed. ‘If he wants you, Mark, he’ll find some way, maybe not immediately.’

  Mark felt the blood drain from his face. ‘I’ll have to move. Again.’

  ‘I’d advise it. And Ellen, she'll have to leave London and go somewhere quiet, somewhere like Scotland.’

  ‘I don't think she'll miss London, and Derek seems a decent guy.’

  ‘Yes.’ Jackson leaned back and the chair tilted with him.

  ‘Whatever I can do to help, I'm here for her now.’

  ‘The best thing you can do is leave her be, don't you think? You need to resolve a few things with your father. And your mother.’

  ‘I'm not going near them.’ Heartless maybe, but he was past caring. Pain shot across his forehead.

  Jackson rose from his seat and came within an arm’s reach of Mark. His pupils were black dots in a sea of blue; finely tuned, razor sharp around the edges. Mark flinched.

  ‘I... don't want to speak to her.’

  ‘You’ve always known your father’s guilt, haven't you?’ Jackson spoke with the enviable confidence of a boss in his place of power. ‘You hoped he’d give up with the appeals. I bet he would have happily pleaded guilty and accepted his fate. But he didn't or couldn't. Your mother is behind all this, isn’t she?’

  The height difference was subtle, yet Jackson, though only a couple of inches taller, towered over Mark.

  ‘I knew he’d killed a man. But I believed him when he said it was self-defence not murder. But yes, she walked all over him. Bullied him for years and years. I hate her!’ He screwed his hands into boxer’s fists.

  Jackson stepped back, leaving Mark to expel a rasping breath.

  ‘She made him the way he is,’ he said, bitterly. ‘He was a decent man once. But she's greedy, always wants more money for her clothes, nights out, whatever. He's no backbone; a gentleman with women, but he won't stand up to her. He started stealing or selling stolen stuff just for her. All that extra cash went into her pocket. We weren’t poor. She's a selfish, greedy bitch.’ He paused, seeing Jackson’s reaction, the taint of grief in his eyes. True, it wasn’t all her fault. ‘Then everything went wrong. Wrong people. Wrong criminals. Wrong crime. She couldn’t deal with it – her husband a murderer! What would her precious friends think? He has to be innocent for her sake, not his.’

  ‘So here you are,’ Jackson said, calmly. ‘Outwardly the dutiful son, listening to his mother’s rants while deep down you despise her and know you can do nothing for your father, who, behind bars, kowtows.’

  Mark let out a cry of frustration. He turned away, placed the palms of his hands on the cool wall and leaned against it for support. He was right next to one of Hettie's beautiful compositions. Breathing heavily, he waited for the pain to ease.

  ‘I’m coping,’ he said, quietly seething. ‘Was coping. But she wouldn’t stop ringing me. That voice, over and over in my head. I think Dad prefers being in prison. He doesn’t have to listen to her.’

  ‘For the time being he’ll remain there. Although, I'm inclined to hire a good lawyer for him and get him moved somewhere safe, so he can turn evidence. If he's safe, he might do it, but he isn’t.’ Jackson prodded Mark's shoulder. ‘Think, Mark. Think of what your father did.’

  Mark pivoted and rested his shoulders next to painting of river punters; a serene scene. ‘The idea of young girls would appal him. So I guess he found out as much as he could about Zustaller's weak spots, killed the key contact to initiate a war and took the blame in the safety of jail. His only stumbling block was my mother and her insistence on proving him innocent. She nearly ruined everything.’

  ‘I think your father knows Ellen found out the truth. For him, that was unfortunate, she was too young to cope with it. However, he hoped you would persist in looking beyond the evidence to see the connections, but I had to help you, prod you. And watch over you. Although I apologise, I didn't anticipate the threat to Ellen, who, out of misguided and confused love for Bill, colluded to keep the secret of his guilt. Your father, in his own way, remains a decent man. Remember that.’

  The room descended into silence. There was no mention of Haydocks. The unspoken question remained: had his father sent him where the money lay hidden in the hope of destroying Zustaller or stealing it for himself, corrupting his son in the process?

  He pressed his hand to the throbbing temple. The blasted curse was back with a vengeance. The slightest sound was amplified in his skull. The nausea, acute.

  Jackson’s voice was hushed, and catastrophically close, as if by Mark’s ear. ‘What happened, Mark? Did somebody beat you up?’

  He shook his head, instantly regretting the sudden movement. ‘Nicky was going to... he isn't really that kind of person. Ellen chose right with him. It's me. I’ve not been well.’

  Jackson poured him a cup of water. ‘Drink it all. You’re white as a sheet.’

  He swallowed the arctic liquid in one go, feeling it strike his wretched stomach and form a cold puddle. He looked at his feet, unable to take Jackson’s searching blue eyes for another second.

  Jackson gently patted his shoulder. ‘Good grief, you’re not going to be ostracised for what your father is or is perceived to be. That is your fear, I know it is. No, what you will do is stop living out the anger you feel towards you parents and concentrate on somebody more deserving of your attention. She’s waiting for you. Don’t deny it, you’ve fallen in love with Julianna. She certainly has with you.’ He dusted down Mark's jacket with a brush of his slender fingers and straightened the necktie.

  ‘You’ll do,’ said Jackson, stepping back with a smile. ‘Take some time. Go watch the best of Man United’s goals or whatever cheers you up, but perhaps you should seek out beneficial company. Plan a fancy romantic meal for her and tell her. Come back to work when you're ready.’

  The heat rose into his cheeks. ‘Thank you, Jackson.’

  He strode out past the bemused Diana, and straight to the lift.

  34

  Julianna

  Julianna usually typed quickly and with accuracy. However, not that morning. She ran her eye down the document, spotting a significant number of errors. She clucked her tongue and hit the backspace a few times with a furious stab of a digit. She should be feeling elated. It wasn’t happening; the sensation eluded her. The reason why was probably the lack of closure. Or the drop, the potent hangover following a thrilling adventure, when life returned to normality with a bump. Both probably.

  Compared to emergency helicopter flights to Dublin and rescuing a woman about to be sold into sexual slav
ery, Monday morning was tedious. She examined her bruised hands and sighed; they hurt, but not as much as other things. Why hadn’t she said something before she left for work, just a word or two in his ear to soothe his troubled mind?

  Her heart and soul had been kidnapped more successfully than Ellen’s abortive abduction, and the culprit even managed to creep up on her.

  ‘Julianna, could I have a word in my office. Thanks,’ he said briskly, fiddling with the sleeves of his jacket.

  She shut her laptop lid. ‘Okay.’

  The whites of his eyes were tainted by a little redness, the rest of his face was drained of colour though – the migraine lingered in some form. He shut his office door behind him, his hands still restless.

  ‘What did Jackson want?’ she asked.

  They had anticipated separate debriefings. She had dealt with Chris’s enquiries first thing. His concrete face had broken into a perfunctory smile and he’d issued a congratulations on her success, followed by a firmer rebuke for her excessive force. Face to face with Chris, she had been more honest than in her report. However, nobody with a pulverised face had been admitted to hospitals around Dublin. Perhaps he’d walked out unaided, she had told Chris, who had shared her optimism with a pessimistic frown. He wasn’t happy about the fallout either, but it wasn’t their job to hunt down traffickers, only the women. As for Opportunitas, he accepted her changing role without a fight, which meant Jackson had already told him.

  Mark flopped into his chair. ‘He wasn’t gentle with me. He pushed me to see things. I'm allowed to hate my mother, it seems. And I can declare my father decent, at least as far as motives, if not the crime itself. Of course, it doesn't actually mean anything to have Jackson Haynes sanction these things, but it helps to know he'll watch my back, and Ellen's. She's going to Scotland. He offered some reassurances about my future. It’s good. My work here must be my priority from now on.’

  She rested her hands on his shoulders, gently massaging the rigid muscles. He moaned, and cricked his head from side to side.

  ‘And?’

  ‘He’s told me to go home for a few days and rest. I think I might need some nursing care.’

  ‘Do you now?’ she said, dryly. ‘From whom?’

  ‘Oh, a certain Nurse Julianna. I’m sure she could do with a break. He pretty much implied that. So here I am, in desperate need of some love and attention.’

  ‘Love and attention?’ she said quietly, her heartbeat noisy.

  ‘I love you,’ he said, twisting his head over his shoulder. ‘I’m sorry, sorry that I made you wait for me to say this. I couldn't in the car. I couldn't last night. I'm not great at saying these things—’

  ‘Most men aren't.’ She moved around him and perched on the edge of the desk. Perhaps she had been hasty, too. Mark’s safety remained crucial. Zustfaller was unlikely to stop what he had started. ‘Move in with me.’

  He raised his eyebrows. ‘I'm not suggesting we should marry—’

  ‘Pufft. Nor am I. I'm asking you to come live with me because it’s safer.’

  ‘Safer?’ He folded his arms across his chest.

  ‘I'm a highly trained bodyguard.’

  ‘I know. And, anything else?’

  ‘A smooth lover?’

  He laughed. ‘I think we could try harder at that, don't you?’

  She slid onto his lap. ‘Fine. Dandy. Whatever it takes. I just want us to be okay again, like we were—’

  ‘Before I bottled my emotions and let things slide.’ He stroked her thigh.

  She stilled his hand. ‘Give yourself time, Mark. Go see your father.’

  He puckered his lips and knotted his eyebrows. ‘Dad, but not yet. Certainly not Mum.’

  ‘No, not Deidre. She can wait. But Bill needs to know he’s not lost to you. He wrote you letters; kind of sweet and old-fashioned of him. I would call him an old-style crook. Bad, but not psychopathic.’

  ‘Nice of you.’ He inhaled and rubbed his temple. ‘Okay. I'll write to him, start things there, but nothing about Freddy, not until we’re sure the threat is gone.’

  ‘And your mum?’ She collected her leaden handbag.

  ‘She can wait. If I’m going to start mending bridges, then Ellen deserves it more than her.’

  She concurred – an admirable idea. However, the only thing lurking unresolved was the Deliverer. What was he planning to do now that Ellen was safe and Mark was fully aware of the connection between Bill and Haydocks? Probably let loose all kinds of hell.

  Part Two

  * RETRIBUTION *

  35

  Mark

  SPRING

  From the frisking down at the gate to the monotonous voices of the guards, the rituals re-enforced the strangeness of the place. Mark followed the signs and listened to the instructions. He had heard them all before. However, it had been a long time since his last visit and the appearance of his father shocked him: prison killed a man in slow motion, sapping his humanity and leaving only the bones of life.

  The use of a communal visiting area forced Bill and Mark to speak in hushed tones. Mark didn't bother with pleasantries and hoped his face looked like thunderclouds.

  ‘You're guilty. I traced the witness, and he confirmed it. But don’t worry, he’s staying silent. Don't waste any more of my life pretending otherwise. Come clean, Dad.’ Mark leaned across the table, knuckles white and clenched. ‘If you don’t, I’m not coming to see you ever again.’

  Dressed in an unflattering monochrome uniform, pale in his sunless skin and ragged around the eyes, Bill crumbled with sagging shoulders into a heap on his plastic chair until his chin nearly rested on the table. The room buzzed with voices, some loud, others like them, hushed and confrontational. He spoke so softly Mark had to cup his ear to hear him.

  ‘I didn’t want you growing up with a murderer for a father. Mum... she thinks it will ruin your chances in life.’

  The cheap excuse didn't stand up – it was an old one and overly used. ‘I prefer honesty to duplicity, Dad,’ said Mark. ‘Tell me, did you set me up with Haydocks? Did you want me to unearth the laundering?’

  Bill jerked, levelling his head with Mark's. The flash of daylight that crept in through the barred windows lit up his eyes. There was the spark, the fight Mark wanted to see.

  Bill licked his lips and glanced around. ‘You found it? The money?’ he whispered. ‘It was you?’

  Mark nodded. ‘I cleaned them out.’

  His father grinned. ‘Good,’ he mouthed.

  ‘Why didn't you tell me, Dad?’

  ‘Tell you what?’

  ‘That Henderson’s a crook.’

  Bill perched on the edge of his seat and folded his body over the table, keeping his back hunched. He spoke to the table, not Mark. ‘I wasn't sure, I suppose. Whatever happened, you'd have a job at Haydocks; a start in life.’

  Mark scratched his chin and gaped at the explanation. It took a few seconds for it register. ‘Seriously? That's your logic. Just dangle this lure and hope the bait works, that I'll been drawn into finding out the truth?’

  Bill scratched his stubble. ‘You’re a canny lad. I had nothing to do with the money side. It was always others who handled that stuff. I took my cut…’

  The prison jacket was too large for Bill. The weight loss was more apparent during this visit; when he shrugged, the jacket slipped off his bony shoulders. Bill's gaze swept around the room.

  ‘The walls listen here. They listen everywhere.’ He lowered his voice. ‘If I pleaded guilty, they'd assume I was paid to do it. Get it? I'm not that kind of man, you know that.’ His voice was fracturing.

  ‘I know, Dad. It was because of the girls.’ It would break his heart if Bill knew how close Ellen had come to being one of the lost ones. The way things played out wasn't all Bill's fault, even if he had planted Mark in Haydocks; it had been Mark's choice to blow the operation apart.

  Bill found his voice again. ‘I left you a breadcrumb trail. I knew your mum wouldn't lift a fin
ger beyond begging for help. She's broken. I can't fix her. Once... maybe.’

  The hollowness of his eyes intensified. Mark despised his mother even more for not seeing this man; afraid and dislocated from the world outside, and with Zustaller out there waiting, Bill was stuck in a grim hole of his own making.

  ‘She's still hoping for some magical resolution to all this.’

  ‘It ain't going to happen, son.’ Bill settled back, appearing more relaxed.

  Mark folded his arms across his chest. ‘So, you're not going to co-operate with the police?’

  ‘Nah,’ Bill said, louder.

  Mark closed his eyes. He felt no empathy, not unless it was creeping up on him in the guise of pity. But he couldn't leave his father believing there was no hope. He opened his eyes and leaned right across the table, seizing the attention of the lacklustre guard, who waved him back. Mark stayed poised, halfway, neither in his seat, nor touching his father. He spoke quietly. ‘Dad. I've got a friend who’s willing to provide you with a lawyer. And I mean a very good lawyer, if you change your mind and tell them everything, all the things you did back them, names, places, they’ll give you protection. Hide you away.’

  ‘I appreciate the offer, son. Tell your friend, thank you. But, I'm safer like this, ain’t I?’ He cocked his head toward the guards.

  The guard coughed. Mark sat down. While Zustaller was at large, his father wouldn't take any chances. However, Bill's eyes sparkled, something Mark hadn't seen in years. He might not be released on appeal, but now that Mark knew the truth, Bill didn't need to pretend to be anything other than a likeable rogue who was caught up doing bad things and tried to do something good. His father never would be morally sound, but he wasn't evil or a monster. One day, Ellen would understand, too.