“Really?”
“Indulge me. I’ve got a vested interest. I don’t want to raise over a dozen children on my own.”
I urinated what felt like a long pint.
Christmas seemed satisfied. “No blood.” She held me and breathed into my ear, “I think I detect priapism though. Do you feel up to it, just in case you don’t wake up?”
“If you insist.”
“Darling, are you suffering?” she asked, suddenly very concerned.
“No I’m fine. I just like you insisting.”
Later, I thought about how lucky I was that Christmas had arrived in time to save me that morning. I wondered if it was just a short reprieve. Darren wasn’t being held in a jail cell, even though he’d tried to kill us both.
I said to Christmas, “Keep your gun ready. I don’t want Darren surprising us.”
She got up and put the pistol under the mattress. “Be careful not to scare me during the night. We don’t want any confused identities in the dark.”
FORTY-FIVE
By the morning, Christmas had almost fully recovered from the spider venom. Also, the bruise on her face was less vivid and the swelling had gone.
I could stand and walk more easily.
On the road back to London, Christmas got a call from Detective Sergeant Cattermole. She put him on the hands-free speaker. It’s the law he said.
“Who else is in your car?”
“Just me and Zav.”
“Here’s the update then. Your would-be assassin has made a surprising move.”
“He’s run away?”
“Far from it. He’s got your HomEvo corporate lawyers pulling some big strings. They’ve approached the CPS, that’s the Crown Prosecution Service to you Mister Fox, who I’m sure you will be getting acquainted with at some point from the other side of the fence—”
“I’m not guilty of anything.”
“I doubt that very much, but sticking with the case in question, Darren’s legal team has proposed an out of court disposal and restorative justice to deal with his twin charges for attempted murder.”
“What’s an out of court disposal?”
“It’s when the CPS agrees that there’s no need for charges and a trial. Instead, the criminal has a chat with the victims and says he’s truly sorry, promises not to do it again, and offers to repaint their wall. Because usually, that’s the sort of crime it’s reserved for. Graffiti and vandalism. I’ve never heard of anyone suggesting it for attempted murder.”
“Is the CPS going to accept this then?”
“Seems they’ve been given approval by no less a person than the Attorney General. He represents the CPS to Parliament. He’s got no influence over prosecutions usually. But he gets involved when national security is at stake. I would ask you if there’s something you’re not telling us, but I already know that you’ve not been completely honest. And since this situation is crawling with people that I don’t want to deal with, I’m going to keep this simple. I’m guessing that the national security angle is something to do with HomEvo as a defense contractor. Your assailant is offering restorative justice.”
“I’ve only just had my walls repainted.”
“Well I think it’s safe to say that we’re in uncharted legal territory. A murky political case would take up a lot of my colleagues’ time and effort, so I’m going to leave it with you and your own lawyers to work out a resolution. Since you, Mister Fox, have consistently failed to take police advice, this is probably your own fault. I just hope that justice is being served.”
“What does Larry Pink say about this?” I asked.
“The boss has a career to think about. No one here wants to get involved with the Attorney General.” Cattermole gave us the name of Darren’s lawyers and rang off.
I asked Christmas, “Why doesn’t anyone want to argue with the Attorney General?”
“Because he’s appointed by the Queen. On the advice of my uncle. Police detectives don’t fight the establishment. They uphold it.”
“I suppose Darren is offering his silence about the Limewood community and everything he knows about HomEvo in return for getting away with attempted murder. But you’d think they’d be on your side. Darren tried to kill you too.”
“Well I did put a bullet in him. That must’ve hurt. He’s lucky my second shot didn’t take his head off. I suppose I’m about even with him at this point. But he’s going to have to go some distance to make amends to you.”
“I know exactly what that distance is.”
“You do?”
“Yes. Grimsby. Plus a million pounds. And he can do a lot of unpaid community service.”
“I think that’s very generous of you.”
“Ultimately, it’ll probably be generous of you and all the other HomEvo shareholders. I’m guessing it’s the company that’ll fund any settlement.”
“So where do you get your million-pound figure from?”
“Twice the largest unit of measure for death compensation. Do you mind me demanding a million?”
“Best million ever spent in my view. If anything, I think you might be letting him off cheap.” She squeezed my leg as we roared down the outside lane of the expressway.
“I don’t want to exploit the situation and create a big problem. Better if people think it’s easier to pay me, than drown me in the river. And that reminds me,” I said. “I know this might seem vulgar and a bit presumptuous, but if you decide that you’d like our children to be born to married parents, I’d like a prenuptial agreement. Since you’re so fabulously wealthy, there should be at least one person close to you who thinks you’re worth more alive than dead. And none of your relatives will be calling me a gold-digging little maggot.”
“That was just Miranda.”
“I’m sure the others have thought it.”
“You’re just worried about me getting Darren’s million back, aren’t you?” she said mockingly.
“Maybe that too. Do heiresses crave small change from their husbands?”
She laughed, “Every penny I can get.” She thought for a moment. “And that is the worst marriage proposal I’ve ever had. It sounded more like a financial prospectus crossed with a contract killing.”
“Let’s see if I last the day before you consider signing up to it.”
* * *
We arrived back in Christmas’s road in the afternoon. She parked the car in the underground garage and we walked up to her block. The street was almost deserted. No police officers. Just some men in business suits, strolling idly and pretending not to look at us.
Christmas looked at them anxiously. “We’re almost out of time. You’ve got to call Mrs Naumowicz. Now.”
“Okay. But not here. I’ve still not worked out what I’m going to say to her. Let’s go to the National Gallery. Witnesses will make me feel a bit more comfortable. I don’t want her to think I’ve got a gun to my head.”
FORTY-SIX
We hailed a cab at the corner café. Ten minutes later we got out at the southern side of Trafalgar Square.
A foreign school party filed in a single line across the square to Nelson’s Column. Their guide talked to them about the battle scenes depicted on the huge bronze reliefs in the square base of the monument.
We looked up at Nelson staring proudly despite the eye-patch, an empty coat arm folded across his midriff.
“You know, if you’re worried about getting shot, this might not be the best place to be standing.”
“Let’s get inside the gallery.”
We walked across the square and up the wide staired paving to the National Gallery.
Inside the building, we sat on a bench in front of Delaroche’s spectacular painting, The Execution of Lady Jane Grey.
I said, “Who am I in this scene?”
Christmas had been looking around warily at the other people, her coat unbuttoned, hand at her waist. She looked up at the painting. “Well we could work it out by a process of elimination. Beautiful
Jane the redhead has to be Louise Picton.”
“That makes the executioner, Aleksy the truck driver.”
“So the person guiding her to the block, the lieutenant of the tower, that has to be Miranda since she’s guided the majority of the actions in this drama.”
“Are you saying that I’m one of the ladies-in-waiting?”
“Well this was your idea and they’re all that’s left. The other lady-in-waiting has to be Sophie Miller. I reckon you’re the one crying against the stone column.”
“Thanks. Where are you in all of this?”
Christmas pointed to the space between the lieutenant’s robe and the executioner, “See that pointy weapon, a halberd or something? It’s being held by a guard, out of sight at the bottom of that stair rail. That’s me. Watching and waiting and ready to give cold steel to anyone making trouble.”
“That sounds about right. Keep your twenty-first century hot lead ready. It’s time for the tear-stained lady-in-waiting to call the executioner’s mum.” I called Mrs Naumowicz’s number from my cell phone.
Shadows swirled around me on the dark wood floor. Christmas looked apprehensive, swiveling on the bench and glaring at everyone who came close.
I said to the old lady who answered, “I have news.”
“Yesterday, I wonder if you are still alive.”
“So far, I’ve been lucky.”
“Tell me news.”
“I know what happened to Aleksy.”
“You have found his killer?”
“Sort of. He caused a fight. He had a girlfriend here and he was rough with her. He hit her so hard, she had a brain hemorrhage and died. Before she died, she fought back with a venom and killed him.”
“She murdered him.”
“He murdered her. She retaliated.”
“Aleksy is not a killer.”
“At the moment, the authorities don’t know that he is. But you and I both know that he was violent to women.”
She was silent.
“Mrs Naumowicz?”
“He was not convicted of anything.”
“No, but he was guilty of a lot. You’ve had to pay families to keep them quiet. That’s true, isn’t it?”
More silence.
“The fact is Mrs Naumowicz, since the authorities don’t know what I know, they’re willing to offer you compensation in a roundabout way. No one needs to know about Aleksy beating this girl to death. His memory can remain untarnished. Broadly speaking. And you’ll be paid a substantial sum as compensation.”
“The money means nothing. Why would you be silent about this?”
“Because it doesn’t help anyone if I talk about it.”
“What is the name of the girl?”
“Her family don’t want it to be known.”
“Who is her family?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“What about my wants? My son is dead. You are working for me.”
“Your son killed their daughter. And I work for myself. Your money hasn’t covered my costs. I’m just trying to help you. And do the right thing.”
“You were not there. How can you know what happened?”
“Look, the girl has a history of painting birds and butterflies, rescuing lost dogs and working with children. Your son has a history of beating women up and getting arrested. We both know what was likely to have happened.”
“You are judging Aleksy.”
“That doesn’t mean I’m wrong.”
A long pause and then Mrs Naumowicz blowing her nose gently. “What else can you tell me?”
“The company that created the poison will offer you compensation.”
“No one gives money if it is not their fault.”
“Well the police won’t be able to prove that it is their fault.”
“What do I do now?”
“Take the money they offer you and spend it on your other children. It’s the best outcome you’re going to get. And the best for Aleksy. An official from your government will present the offer to you as a sympathy payment. I’ve been told it will be half a million pounds.”
There was another long silence and then, “You tell me to take money for my loss. The loss of my child. As if he is replaceable. You know nothing.”
“I know a different kind of pain. And I’m sorry.”
She blew her nose again. “Do you need money?”
“No. I’m sorry the result hasn’t been what you were hoping for.”
“You are alright?”
“I ran into a lot of bad people while I was trying to find out what happened to Aleksy. The last time we spoke, I’d been shot at, stabbed and attacked with poison and my home smashed up. Since then I’ve been kidnapped, shot at some more and poisoned almost to death. I was in the middle of a gun fight a few days ago; eight people were killed.”
“This is to do with the girl?”
“No. It’s to do with me disturbing a rats’ nest of criminals. Take the money. Do something nice with it in Aleksy’s name.”
“I will think about it. If you come to Rybnik, visit me.”
“I will. Goodbye Mrs Naumowicz.”
The shadows had disappeared.
One of the gallery staff had been walking toward me. He stopped when I finished the call.
I sat down next to Christmas on the bench. From my phone I emailed London’s first commercial radio station and asked them to play an old song; maybe even the whole album.
We gazed silently at the blindfolded redhead in the painting for a while. Then Christmas and I left the gallery, walking down the stairs to the square outside.
FORTY-SEVEN
I felt an unyielding bulk under her jacket. “I hope that’s a gun on your hip.”
“Us beautiful heiresses need to be careful. Especially when our loved ones need protecting.”
In the warm sunlight, we looked across the square. The school party had moved on. A small boy stood alone by the column. He waved at me. A big wave, his arm outstretched and his body swaying left and right.
I waved back.
He turned, skipping and laughing joyfully, and ran away, disappearing behind the bronze lions.
“Who are you waving to?”
“I thought I saw someone I knew.”
Christmas peered in the direction of the column. “I don’t see anyone.” She looked at me and said, “Come on, let’s get a drink.”
We turned away from Nelson and walked arm in arm, north toward Leicester Square.
She studied me closely. “What did Mrs Naumowicz say?”
“I told her that her son was a killer.”
“I heard that part. How’d she take it?”
“I think she knew already.”
Christmas said, “Well she knows as much as she needs to know.”
“Perhaps, but it’s not the whole truth.”
“Do you really want to burden her with the knowledge of the coming race?”
“No, of course not.”
“So what’s next?”
“Go and find some work, I suppose.”
“Don’t you think you should be paying a visit to my father?”
“I’d like to. Is it urgent? Is he ill?”
“He’s no worse than when you last saw him. Not exactly fighting fit, but he might last a while yet. There’s no telling at his age. I just thought you might want to ask him for this thing you’re holding?”
“What thing?”
She waved our clasped hands in front of my face.
“Oh I see! Yes, of course I do. But it’s only been two weeks. Isn’t it a bit early?”
“It’s early if you don’t really want to.”
“I want to. Very much.”
“Time’s running out for him and,” she put my hand on her stomach, “the clock is ticking for us too. Besides, we’ve faced death together. We’ve learned more about each other in two weeks than most people discover in a decade. You don’t need to worry about my dad. He won’t be surprised. Why do you thi
nk he sent you to me?”
“I thought he wanted you to stop me from getting killed and to help discover who’d gone rogue in the Limewood community before the police got there.”
“You’re forgetting the other part of the instruction; Protect him and help him and he will help you. I needed saving too. If it hadn’t been for you, Miranda might have succeeded with her plan to inherit my dad’s fortune. And Dad also noticed that you fulfilled my demanding specification, you know,” she stroked my face, “kind, courageous, intelligent and moderately handsome. Obviously I’ve had to compromise a little on the last item.” A mocking smile spread across her wide mouth. “I want a family, though I know there are risks. You’re the father of our unborn children, so I still need your help. And you need mine.”
Perhaps I’d just been a pawn on Ray Pendle’s chessboard. But if this pawn could be with this queen, I wanted to be in the game. And with luck, it would never end.
We stepped inside the quiet hotel bar on the south side of Leicester Square and loitered in an empty space beside deeply upholstered sofas. The radio in the bar was playing the song I’d requested; Oh! You Pretty Things.
Christmas kissed me and I held her close in a way that I knew I would never hold anyone else.
“Let’s drive to Whitby,” I said.
END
A few words from Max Thorn
Now that we’ve left Zav and Christmas to tackle a marginally less dangerous challenge, I hope that you have found this story entertaining and thought provoking. If you purchased this novel online and enjoyed it, I’d be very pleased if you would leave a review—without plot spoilers though—and recommend it to a friend.
Max Thorn, Deadly Pretty Strangers
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