Tedd and Todd's secret (26 page)

Even though the rock face was in a gymnasium, and it was at most seven metres high, the decision to climb had been a mistake. He should have told his companion that five minutes earlier. And now that the other climber was near the top, the rope was taut and his safety depended on him, the tension had become unbearable. And that was the last thing Allan White needed today.

Allan was forcing himself to wait until his companion had finished before he told him that he'd prefer to try another activity that was less likely to provoke panic attacks. But that was still some minutes away, so he just fidgeted where he was, playing with the rope fixed to the harness around him, hoping the whole thing would be over as soon as possible.

He'd been to his therapist earlier that morning and listened to a variety of psychiatric theories that he hadn't understood very well. The only thing that was clear for him was that Dr Stark was firmly convinced that Allan wasn't suffering from split personality syndrome. And while that was a relief, it was also disconcerting not to know exactly what was wrong with him. Stark's words were ambiguous. He sounded like he knew what he was talking about, but hadn't given him any real direction. The only definite thing the psychiatrist had told him was that the treatment would be long.

The tranquillizers that Stark gave him had worked and given him a good night's sleep. But the psychiatrist didn't want him trusting too much in the pills. He'd suggested an increase in Allan's physical activity, and as he'd had no sport to turn to straight away, he decided to join the first gymnasium he could find and get some professional advice. After extolling the virtues of rock climbing, a trainer sold him all the equipment he'd ever need and here he was now receiving his first class on the climbing wall.

"Stretch your right arm as far as you can and you'll make the next hold," Allan called out to his companion.

What he wanted was for the other man to get to the top as quickly as he could and let Allan get the hell out of there. He was close to doing that now. A couple of metres and he'd be there. Allan was teasing rope out, just as the trainer had shown him, so the climber could ascend comfortably.

His heart stopped beating as he watched the climber stretching out for the hold, just as he'd suggested. His fingers were scrabbling to cover the last few inches. The more he studied the scene, the more he doubted his own advice. Maybe the hold was out of reach. He was about to tell him that when the climber reached out and missed the hold, lost his footing, and started to fall.

The rope tensed around the harness and stretched tight, stopping the dangling climber falling more than two feet.

"I've got you," Allan called out. "Pull yourself back…"

Something was wrong and it had nothing to do with Allan's nerves. A new sensation invaded his mind. He couldn't define what it was even though there was something familiar about it. He began to feel confused and a new desire overtook him. He had to get out of there straight away.

"Someone come and secure this rope," Allan yelled. "Hurry!"

"What's the problem?" the trainer asked from five metres away, showing another pupil how to put the harness on. "Just let the rope out slowly and let him come down. It's very simple."

"Just get someone over here now," Allan yelled, consumed by panic. The desire to leave was an order now. There was no way he couldn't go. And, as incredible as it seemed, he knew exactly where he was going. "Please, there's no time…"

The trainer, who had been moving towards him after hearing the desperation in his voice, froze when he saw Alan's rock-climbing outfit suddenly change into an elegant white suit. His expression had changed too and the trainer groaned when Allan let go of the rope and disappeared with a look of indifference.

The terrified climber fell to the floor, his leg twisted and broken. Allan didn't even blink, the climber's screams no more than whispers behind him.

London was just as he remembered it. Five years had passed since he'd walked its streets and immersed himself in an atmosphere that only a great historic city can produce. Bradley Kenton felt so happy to be back that he wasn't even aware of another one of London's bad-weather days.

The wind whipped across his car and blew in through the small side window that he'd left open. He wanted to smell the nostalgic aroma of the capital. Then, as he was driving across a bridge over the Thames, a car crashed into him from behind and his good mood evaporated in an instant.

He was only a few hours out of jail and now he was involved in an accident. He cursed and slammed the door closed and turned to face whoever had made the mistake of ruining his day. But on seeing the yellow Ferrari his fury was checked. Whoever was driving a car like that had to be crazy to have rammed into him.

"What's your problem, are you blind?" Bradley yelled, striding towards the Ferrari. "You should have taken the Underground. That would be a lot easier for an idiot–"

The driver of the Ferrari got out right then and Bradley froze. He recognized him immediately and it was the last person he wanted to see on his first day of freedom.

"Accept my apologies," Aidan Zack said, walking up to him. "There's no doubt it was my fault. Don't worry. We'll work this out straight away."

He should have been running now. Five years in prison had sharpened his sense of danger, and right now the alarm bells were ringing. The tension felt unbearable and his legs were paralysed. It couldn't be a coincidence that a few hours after his release the husband of the woman he'd killed in an accident five years before had run his car into his.

"I… I've paid my debt to society," Bradley stuttered. "It was an accident. I'm sorry."

"I don't give a fuck about society," Aidan informed him as he grabbed him by the lapels of his coat. Bradley could feel the strength and intent coming out of the detective. This wasn't going to finish well. "Now you're going to answer my questions."

"Yes, yes. Of course."

Around them, chaos was increasing. The crash had blocked one of the lanes and the building jam of cars were blowing their horns. A group had formed around them, expecting a fight.

Aidan dragged Bradley to the edge of the bridge, pushing him half over the side.

"Who are these Black and White bastards who are going around the city killing each other?"

"What? I don't have the least idea what–" Aidan's punch snapped the wind out of him and he doubled over, but Aidan held him up. "I don't know anything about that. I swear."

"You're not giving me much," Aidan warned him. "Don't test my patience."

"I'm not lying. I've been behind bars for five years," Bradley reminded him. "I don't know anything about what's going on out here."

"You've got a big problem, my friend, and that is simply that I don't believe you."

The crowd looked worried and some of them asked Aidan to let Bradley go. Aidan ignored them.

"The Blacks and Whites began all this the day you crashed into us on this very bridge. It can't be a coincidence. Talk!"

"Listen to me," Bradley begged him. "I read the news in jail. I know that your wife died in the river. But it was an accident. And I don't know anything about these people you're talking about."

"Are you trying to tell me that you lost control of your car? That excuse helped you in the trial but it doesn't carry much weight with me. You pushed us into the river. And I know it had nothing to do with drinking. You did it on purpose. But we're not in a courtroom now. I'm warning you, don't lie to me."

Aidan tightened the pressure around his neck. Bradley began to see that lying wasn't going to get him anywhere. Aidan's eyes were wild and Bradley could see that he wasn't going to respect any law, or anything else for that matter. He just wanted the truth. And the only way out seemed to be to open up or pray that more police would come and deliver him from this madness. The way things were going, he'd be dead in a couple of minutes if he didn't tell the detective what he knew.

"You're right. I didn't lose control. I planned it." The pressure around his neck relaxed. "I didn't mean to kill your wife, though. I didn't even know she was in the car with you."

"So?"

"I wanted to kill you! I didn't have anything against you. It was a deal. I was paid."

"Who? And why?"

"My contact didn't tell me. But I found out it was a drug dealer that you were harassing at the time. You were making things tough for him and he wanted you out of the way."

Aidan crashed a right into Bradley's face, splitting his lips. His fist was covered in blood.

"You killed my wife, you bastard," the detective screamed, kneeing him in the ribs.

He was on the ground now and Aidan kicked him in the head. Bradley gave out a groan and was about to receive another kick when two men restrained Aidan.

"Give it up, man. You'll kill him if you go on like this."

"Let me go. I'm a policeman!" Aidan yelled, twisting out of their grip and showing them his badge. "And this is none of your business."

Everybody stepped back. Some started running. Aidan cut a terrifying figure at that moment. The wild look on his face, and his size, kept those who were still there quiet.

"You remember this place, don't you ?" Aidan asked Bradley, lifting him up and pointing his head towards the river.

"I'm sorr– I'm sorry. I didn't mean–"

"Shut up and stop lying," Aidan paused, looking down at the water. "What's going to happen now is justice. But not court justice. And if your family's lucky they might find your body."

With the speed of a bolt of lightning Aidan lifted Bradley up by the arms and, before anybody could do anything, he threw him into the turbid waters of the Thames.

The waiter walked through the tables under the angry looks of the queue of diners waiting to be seated. The shopping centre was full of people and the restaurant was full to overflowing. In the next two hours the waiter wasn't going to have a second to himself.

"I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to leave," he said, with a note of urgency in his voice. "You can't occupy two tables alone."

"Our friends will be here soon," Ethan Gord said. "And they're the ones who leave good tips."

"That doesn't concern me," the waiter replied. "You've been occupying these two tables for the last half hour and there are people waiting. We're here to make money."

"But these tables were reserved by telephone."

"You can wait at the bar and keep on drinking," he told them. "But two people can't occupy the space meant for twelve, especially when you're not eating."

"You've tried," Dylan Blair said. "Now, let me take care of this."

"That seems fair," Ethan said, "You're the one who wanted us to sit here in the first place."

"Very well argued, young man," Dylan complimented the waiter. "My sorry friend here hasn't even been able to persuade you to bring us a glass of water. We're going to settle this like men."

"Sir, there's no argument here," the waiter corrected Dylan politely. "My boss has asked me to explain to you why you can't stay here. I'm just the messenger. I can't accept explanations."

"I'm sure you'll accept this, though," Dylan said, tossing him a wad of notes.

The waiter caught it in the air. "There's another one like that if you bring us a bottle of Johnnie Walker quick," he said, winking at the waiter.

The waiter looked at the wad of notes and quickly realized that there was more than a month's wages there. He stuttered his thanks and raced back for the whisky. Dylan looked content and Ethan horrified.

"That's your way of fixing everything, isn't it?"

Dylan shrugged his shoulders. "If it works, why not?" He paused. "Anyway, relax. We're comfortably installed in the best place possible."

The waiter returned with the whisky and waited until Dylan pulled another wad of notes out and gave it to him. After pouring out a generous measure for Ethan, the millionaire poured a little into his own glass and sniffed it approvingly.

Ethan took a sip of his drink. "We could have found something just as good without bothering the owners of this restaurant and without taking up all this space," he complained, once more trying to reject Dylan's values as much as he could.