Ascension Day (22 page)

‘Not to put too fine a point on it,’ Jac said cuttingly, ‘wouldn’t that have been the best time to haul my client in –
when
you’ve got your lab conclusions. Rather than bringing him in on this fine afternoon just to comment on what a good head of hair he has for a man of his age.’ He smiled wanly.

Pyrford’s jaw tightened. He glared at Jac for a second before answering. ‘Don’t worry – he’ll be the first to know.’

‘When?’

‘Couple of days, tops.’

‘Fine.’ Jac picked up his briefcase and nodded to Morvaun. ‘Look forward to it.’

‘Me too, Counsellor,’ Pyrford said, his stare icy. ‘Me too.’

‘Thanks, Jac,’ Morvaun said as they headed down the corridor. He gave a lopsided smile. ‘But less of the two white-boys ego-posturing next time, if you could. If things turn sour, it’s my po’ black ass they take it out on.’

‘I’ll try,’ Jac said, returning the smile. They went through the station-house doors and out onto the street. ‘But if there’s no connection with you on this one, Morvaun, stop worrying. They’re not going to be able to pin it on you. I’ll make sure of that.’ The confident tone of a lawyer who, having cleared his client for a crime he
did
commit, thought one he didn’t should be a walkover.

   ‘Like I said, Jac, I’m clean on this one. Never even heard o’ Mrs Jardine before. They’re just tryin’ for a fix – most likely ‘cause they couldn’t nail me last time.’

‘And they won’t this time, either.’ Jac smiled tightly and laid one hand reassuringly on Morvaun’s shoulder as they parted. ‘Don’t worry.’

Watching Morvaun Jaspar head off along
North Claiborne Avenue
, shoulders slightly sunken, Jac wondered whether it was simply the gait of an old man worn down by the two hours of questioning, or if there was something Morvaun wasn’t telling him.

Though as Jac turned and looked out for a cab, he probably appeared little different: the spark of fresh hope from the video in his briefcase not enough to lift his spirits from the nightmare showdown he was facing back at the office with Beaton.

12

‘I thought I should let you know – I read what happened to Raoul Ferrer.’

‘Yeah, you and half of
New Orleans
that read beyond the first page of the local rags,’ Nel-M said with a huffed breath. ‘And your point is?’

It had taken Truelle three full days to work up the courage to make the call. He’d turned over which path the conversation might take so many times in his mind that his concentration had started lapsing during sessions at work and he’d had to ask patients to repeat themselves. He thought he’d better make the call before it drove him and his patients mad – or ‘madder’ to be more precise with both of them – or ditch the idea completely. The final bit of Dutch courage was provided by an extra-curricular visit to Ben’s bar, but he was still uncertain about the wisdom of making the call after the first shot, his hands still shaking. He ordered another – but then eyed it hesitantly. He’d need all his wits about him tangling words with Nel-M. He could feel the warmth of the drink in his hand drawing him in. Maybe he should just knock it back and forget the idea of making the call, stay here in the warm cocoon of the bar and order another, and another, and… He slammed the drink back down on the table and pushed it at arm’s length as if it were poison, getting quickly to his feet and heading out before his resolve went completely.

 He made the call to Nel-M when he was a block away from the bar – but now with just a few testy words from Nel-M, his nerves were back with a vengeance, his hand shaking on his cell-phone. He wished now that he had downed that second shot.

‘My… my point is, the timing. You visit me one day to make sure I’m okay with everything going down now with Durrant – then the next day Raoul Ferrer is dead.’

‘Coincidence. In Ferrer’s line of work, he’s just one step away from a bullet every day. In fact, annoying little snake-eyed creep that he is – or
was
– I’m amazed he lasted so long.’

‘Are you trying to tell me that you didn’t kill Raoul Ferrer?’

‘I’m not trying to tell you anything – it’s you that’s made the call, doctor. But if you’re any good at analyzing what your patient’s say, you might have gathered from my last comment about Ferrer catching a bullet from anywhere that, yes, that’s exactly what I’m getting at.’

Nel-M’s tone was teasing, taunting. Truelle purposely kept his tone flat, matter-of-fact, didn’t want to give Nel-M the satisfaction of knowing that he’d risen to the bait.

‘You can say it whichever way you like – that doesn’t mean I have to believe it.’

‘Oh, is that what you’re saying to your patients these days? You can tell me you’re Batman as many ways as you like – but that doesn’t mean I have to believe it? I thought you guys had more subtle ways of putting things, like: as much as you might have liked to take such an action yourself, the actual taking of it is too shocking and burdensome for your conscious mind to cope with – so your sub-conscious then develops various alternative scenarios.’

Truelle bit at his lip. Nel-M was playing with him. He should never have made the call, should have known that he wouldn’t get a straight answer. But he just couldn’t resist the snipe back.

‘Yes, you’re right – we do have more subtle ways of putting things. I just dumbed it down especially for you.’

‘Ooohh, my, my. We are feeling frisky today.’ Nel-M’s voice suddenly dropped, becoming more menacing. ‘But then if you truly believe that I did waste Ferrer – maybe that’s not the wisest thing to be saying to me.’

‘Ain’t that the truth.’ Truelle said it flatly. It was probably the
only
bit of truth to pass between them in the past couple of minutes, and he still had strong doubts that the call in itself was the wisest move. He took a fresh breath. ‘Let’s cut to the chase and the main reason for my call now.
If
you were responsible for Ferrer, and
if
you and Roche have got it into your minds to do the same with me – then think again. I took the precaution way back of preparing a couple of insurance policies. Everything surrounding us and the Durrant affair, chapter and verse. All in sealed envelopes – only to be opened in the event of my death.’ Truelle paused to let the revelation sink home. ‘So, you see, you and Roche have a great vested interest in keeping me alive. In fact, those envelopes get opened whichever way I happen to go – even in an unsuspicious, unrelated accident. So if there’s been any talk of me being “taken care of” then, literally speaking, that’s exactly what should be happening – if you’ve got any time to spare. Making sure the road’s clear before I cross, or there’s no banana skins in my way… or I haven’t had one too many drinks before I get into my car.’

As Truelle got into his stride of taunting Nel-M in similar mode, giving as good as he got, he felt his nerves ease for the first time since he’d got on the phone. He couldn’t resist a lightly mocking chuckle as he hit the last words – but it died quickly in his throat.

‘We know all about your little insurance policies. Have done for some while now.’

‘
What
?’ Truelle quickly forced another chuckle to cover his surprise, but feared it had come across as quavering and uncertain. Surely Nel-M was bluffing? They might have guessed he’d somehow covered his back, but they wouldn’t know any of the details. He took a long breath to calm his voice, sound more certain of his ground. ‘I can read you like I read practically every one of my patients. You know nothing.’

‘Don’t kid yourself, Leonard. We know everything, every little move. You see, we’ve been listening, have been for some time now.’ Nel-M paused, smiling slyly as he heard Truelle swallow hard and his breathing become more rapid. Either Truelle was walking fast, or the comment had hit the mark.

‘You’ve been
what
?’

‘You heard, man.
Listening
. You know – what you’re meant to do every day with your patients. When I get off the phone from you now, I can go to a little room where a man will replay everything we’ve just discussed. And that’s been the way for many a year now. We got more tapes with labels on them than the
Friends
re-runs library. Every little detail. Most of it painfully boring – but, hey, some of it, pure magic.’ Nel-M’s jocular, taunting tone was back. ‘Especially where you’ve tried to outwit us and we’ve been listening in, knowing that you’ve failed before you’ve even started.’

‘You’re bluffing,’ Truelle said, but his voice was suddenly hoarse, lacking any conviction. The blood was pounding so heavily through his head that when a large truck rolled past close by, the sounds merged; one thunderous, vibrating roar that seemed to fill the street.

‘You just keep telling yourself that, Leonard. Our little man in his room is laughing himself stupid right now as we speak.’

Nel-M started laughing then, and it too became a roar that merged with the noise of the passing truck – until Truelle cut it short by ending the call.

And left there in the silence of the street as the noise of the truck faded into the distance, at least now Truelle had his answer: he shouldn’t have made the call. His legs felt weak and unsteady, and there was a sudden wave of acid bile in his stomach that made him want to retch. Though when he shuffled to the kerb and leant over, nothing came up.

As he straightened and noticed a man passing on the opposite pavement looking over at him, he was reminded of past times when this had happened. He felt like shouting out, ‘I haven’t been drinking!’ But of the two, sick with fear or from drink, he knew now which he preferred.

He looked pensively back along the street towards Ben’s bar, wondering whether the drink he’d left on the table might not have been cleared away yet.

A faint tremble ran through Jac’s body as he walked back into his apartment after work that evening; a combination of what he’d seen on the video tape from
Internet-ional
an hour before he left the office – the first undisturbed moment he’d been able to grab on the video player in the boardroom annexe – and his earlier confrontation with Beaton.

‘You see, Mr Beaton, the reason that I didn’t say anything to you, or indeed anyone, was  that Warden Haveling specifically asked me not to. Not, that is, until he’d had time to deliberate more on a certain situation with
Lawrence
Durrant.’

‘You’re talking in riddles, McElroy. I wanted to see you because I discovered you’ve been withholding information from me – and you’re still doing that now.’

‘
I’m sorry, Mr Beaton… but, as you can see, it’s awkward with my hands tied like this by client confidentiality
.’

Before the meeting, Jac had quizzed Langfranc again; but there wasn’t even a hint as to which withheld secret Beaton knew about. So Jac hoped that if he fumbled around vaguely in the opening minutes, Beaton might let it slip – but there’d been several anxious, scrambling moments before he finally did, Beaton eyeing him as if he was some sort of alien bug as Jac explained about the differing accounts between the prison guards and Durrant giving Haveling pause for thought, and, in turn, Haveling asking Jac to maintain secrecy until he’d decided which account had the most validity.

As soon as Jac was inside his apartment, he slotted the video tape in his machine, his jaw setting tighter as it played; then stopped, rewound and played the segment again. Then one final play, this time stopping it at intervals and moving closer to the screen to gauge angles and clarity.