The Copy (2 page)

CHAPTER FOUR

JEFF LET HIMSELF INTO the house through the kitchen door.

He was nervous.

The drive over had unsettled him more than he cared to admit. While he felt like he'd just awoken after a night's rest the reality was that he had stepped out of time. His awareness had been in stasis while the world moved ahead - eight years ahead. He was out of synch. The radio played songs he'd never heard and DJs blathered about news and events foreign to him. The lighted billboards advertised products and devices almost wholly unknown, incarnations of those familiar to him but fast-forwarded into morphed future versions.

Geoffrey had briefed him on what changes to expect in the household, and had brought him up to speed on the lives of friends and family, but what truly unsettled him as he swung the kitchen door open were the kids. His kids. The words felt strange on his tongue.

He closed the door and leaned against it. Shut his eyes and breathed in the familiar smells of his home.

"Daddy!" The shrill voice pierced his veil of nostalgia. His eyes flew open to find a dark haired wraith coming at him across the cool earthenware floor. The boy's eyes were blue and luminous and glistening with delight, his hair a shock of dark waves almost the color of tar. He slammed into Jeff's legs and hugged his kneecaps ferociously. With a lump in his throat Jeff lifted the boy into his arms and looked him in the face. A face so new and bright and impossibly smooth it made him wonder anew at the power of nature. "What's your name?" he whispered.

"Daddy!" The boy released a squeal of delight. "Silly! Iz me, Patch."

"I know." Jeff smiled. He couldn't tear his eyes from the boy's face. He pulled him close and Patch nestled into the nape of his neck. Jeff closed his eyes and inhaled the scent of his son.

"Senor Bartell, I sorry, he run off when hear door." Jeff opened his eyes to see a middle aged hispanic woman entering the kitchen, her face stretched between fear and compassion.

"It's perfectly all right, Augustina." Jeff smiled at her. She seemed afraid that she'd been found wanting. "Now, where is-" As he said the words, a lithe seven year old stepped into the doorway. "Lilian," he finished.

"Hi Dad," she said cooly with a noncommittal wave.

"Hi," Jeff said. He stood transfixed as he took in the sight of her. Lean and tan with blue eyes and long ringlets the color of burnt honey, she was the spitting image of Camilla. His heart clenched.

"Eez time for the bed," Augustina clucked, reaching to unburden Jeff of his son.

"I'll take them up," he replied, and without waiting to see the constipated look on her face he stepped past her and offered his free hand to Lilian. After a moment of pursed lip and raised eyebrow Lilian relented and took his hand, and together they marched off through the dining room in pursuit of the stairway.

Augustina was still standing in the kitchen when Camilla found her. After quizzing the governess on the unusual turn of events, Camilla went upstairs to investigate the anomaly for herself.

She found the three of them in Lilian's bedroom. Patch was sprawled across the far side of the bed, fast asleep with a stuffed dog and picture book clutched to his chest. Her husband sat on the near side, bent conspiratorially towards Lilian who lay propped in a sea of pillows. They were talking softly. Camilla could not make out the words but it was plain from the rhythms of their speech and frequent giggles that the two were clearly enjoying themselves. Just what was Geoffrey playing at?

Camilla watched them from the doorway, struggling to reconcile this new behavior in her husband. After about ten minutes Lilian's eyelids began to droop. Geoffrey stood up and after helping her snuggle down under the covers he brushed a lock of hair from her face, then kissed her gently on the forehead. He stood by the bed for a minute, staring down at her, his face a picture of contentment. Once Lilian's fluttering eyelids settled closed he walked around the bed, gathered up Patch in his arms, and carried him through the connecting door to his own room.

Camilla tiptoed into the room and kissed her sleeping daughter. She dimmed the lights on her way out, gently closed the door, then headed down the hallway to Patch's bedroom. Her husband was just coming out as Camilla approached. She bristled, preparing for the inevitable hostilities.

"Geoffrey, what are you doing?" She demanded.

He turned and gazed upon her with a look that had she not known better she might have mistaken for adoration. "Camilla." His voice held a note of breathlessness and his eyes drank her in, as if for the first time.

"What are you doing here?"

"I-" He looked at Patch's bedroom door, then back to her. "I wanted to see the kids before bedtime." He took a step closer and reached for her hand. "And you," he finished.

She withdrew her hand before he could take it. "Geoffrey, just what in the hell is going on?"

"What do you mean?" He asked, a wounded look on his face that gave her a measure of satisfaction.

"Don't be obtuse, Geoffrey. We've barely seen you in years and now - with the senate hearings beginning tomorrow, mind you - now you suddenly want to play the doting husband and father?"

"I have things under control at the office; And I just wanted to be home tonight."

Camilla opened her mouth to lash out, but words failed her. The depth and fluidity of his grey eyes stirred something within her - something long dormant, encysted in bitterness and regret, and sequestered in a dark corner of her being. Yet as his gaze languished on her she felt a gentle tug, a resonance within her that caused a hardness in her throat.

"Camilla," he said, his eyes wide and searching, "you are so beautiful."

He reached for her and this time she allowed him to take her hands in his. He pulled her inwards and wrapped her in a hug, burying his face in her waves of dark curls. His voice was rough with emotion as he whispered in her ear, "I've missed you."

The resonance became a wave that crashed over her, breaking free that long encysted emotion. She felt the heat of his chest against her cheek, his rough breathing and rapid heart beat, and her own tears cool and damp against his shirt. She closed her eyes, letting the moment take her, and replied to her husband: "I've missed you too."

CHAPTER FIVE

DISTRICT ATTORNEY ALTON MCBRIDE buttoned his jacket and prepared to enter the courtroom. Through three days of testimony he'd constructed an almost impenetrable case. Almost impenetrable. The 'almost' is what frayed his nerves: the single unescapable fact that the victim remained unidentified.

As he reached for the filigreed brass door-handle his phone vibrated. Turning away from the doors he slipped the device from his inside coat pocket and glared at it. The screen showed Jon Cramsdell, his deputy investigator. "Tell me something good, Jon," he said, "and make it quick; I'm in court in one minute."

"We ran the victim's prints and DNA through the databases again, like you asked, Chief. Still nothing."

"Alright, Jon. Thanks for trying."

"Chief, there is something else though."

Alton watched a group of reporters file into the courtroom. He glanced at his wrist-watch. "What is it?"

"We finally traced the car."

Alton's mind spun but came up blank. "What car?"

"The Mercedes. The one the butler reported having seen in the driveway earlier that evening. Turned up parked in the garages. The cops overlooked it assuming it belonged to the family."

Alton's heart-rate increased. "And?"

"It was a rental."

"We've no time for a subpoena. Tell me you got a name out of the agency voluntarily?"

"I got a name, Chief."

Adrenaline surged into Alton's bloodstream. He felt it as a flutter in the stomach and a tremor in the hands. "Who is it?"

Jon hesitated. "Not sure you're going to like it-"

"Who?" Alton snapped.

"The order was placed by a GenLabs clerk three months ago, on their corporate account. But the car itself was picked up and signed for by Geoffrey Bartell the Third."

"Bartell?"

"That's what they're telling me."

"That makes no sense."

"I know, Chief. The guy has a stable of million dollar rides, what the heck would he want with a middle class sedan like-"

"Jon!" Alton interrupted. The man was a keen investigator but had a tendency to ramble on. "Have you seen the records with your own eyes?"

"On my way there now. ETA ten minutes."

"Good. Keep me informed."

Alton stabbed the end call button and dropped the phone into his pocket.

What the hell had Bartell been playing at? The man held secrets, of that there was no doubt. But James Scott May would never put his client on the stand. No defense attorney worth his salt would do so. Not in a capital murder case.

Alton took a long, steadying breath. Then he straightened his tie and turned back towards the courtroom doors.

Let Bartell keep his secrets.

It wouldn't stop Alton from sending him to the chair for first degree murder.

CHAPTER SIX

JEFF WATCHED CAMILLA as she slept.

The clock on the nightstand urged him to get up and moving, but he couldn't. Looking at her now he was overwhelmed with emotion. The way she'd reacted to him last night had hurt, even in spite of Geoffrey's warning. But Jeff had chosen to ignore it. He knew his memories stopped when their relationship had been at a high ebb, while hers contained eight further years of betrayals and regrets and careless words spoken in anger yet never reconciled. That's why he'd chosen to ignore her callousness and speak only to the beauty in her, to the love he knew lay dormant there.

The certainty of her love was a given to Jeff, just as was his love for her.

He thought of the early moments during their courtship, how he would take her for walks on the beach after dinner though he hated the sand - hated the feel of it on his body and the way it would get into his socks and onto the car mats no matter how thoroughly he dusted his feet - but he would smile as they walked hand in hand and breathe the waves of joy that came off her, every bit as palpable as the salted night air. Often they would lie on the dunes to gaze at the stars, and just as the feel of the sand in his hair would bring him close to screaming she would turn to rest her cheek on his shoulder and sigh, and the look of pure contentment on her face would fill his heart to the point of bursting, the universe fading to blackness save for her perfect face.

The darker moments were there of course - he wasn't naive enough to think their marriage had been all bliss - but he chose to ignore those. Why bother? They had always reconciled any disagreements. Their rule was to never lay their heads down to sleep on an upset, no matter the hour. And they hadn't. Until that last night. His final memory of her.

Jeff's phone buzzed on the nightstand. He lifted it and glanced briefly at the screen before answering, keeping his voice low. "Hello."

"Where are you?" barked Geoffrey.

"In bed."

"Christ! It's after eight, Jeff. I'm disappointed in you. I thought we both understood the importance of what we're doing here?"

"We do. I do. I had a really late night."

"Fine. Whatever. I need you to get something. See the shield hanging above the fireplace?"

"No I don't."

"It's new, you wouldn't remember it. Just get your ass out of bed and step over to the fireplace. Grab the shield on the left side and pull it outwards."

"Geoffrey, I'm not in the den."

"Christ Jeff, you just said you were in bed! Then what the hell bed are you in?"

Jeff slipped from the bed and padded to the bathroom, closing the door as quietly as possible behind him. "I'm upstairs. In the master bedroom."

"With Camilla?"

"Yes."

There was a long silence on the line. Jeff knew himself well enough to know what was going through Geoffrey's mind. He wasn't sure how he would react had the roles been reversed.

"Did you...?" Geoffrey finally asked in a measured tone.

"No. We just talked late into the night, then fell asleep. There was so much that needed saying. Geoffrey, you've neglected her signific--"

"Don't you fucking lecture me!" Geoffrey's voice was hard and cold and Jeff could hear his ragged breath coming over the line. "Get your ass up and dressed, now. Bring the Bentley and meet me at the Avis Car Rental on Longwood Avenue in fifteen minutes. Sharp!"

"Geoffrey, I didn't mean-"

"Just do what I said. We'll sort the rest out later."

The line clicked dead. Jeff tossed the phone onto the counter and stepped into the shower, turning the water up as hot as he could stand it. He let the scalding flow rush over him, clearing his mind of everything but the hiss of water and press of steam, cleansing, purifying him of the dark thoughts that had risen so suddenly during the phone call.

Geoffrey opened the door of the Bentley and slid into the passenger seat even before the car had come to a complete stop. "You're late," he said.

"I'm sorry." Replied Jeff, choosing not to antagonize him, "Traffic."

"Whatever. Pull around to the side of the building."

Jeff eased the big car around the building, out of sight of the rental office doors. "What are we doing here?" he asked.

"We can't have two of my cars in use at the same time. Someone's going to notice. So, whoever is officially being me will drive one of mine, the other will use the rental."

Jeff nodded. "Fair enough."

"So, if I'm staying at the office you take my car home and leave the rental parked in the employee lot. And vice versa."

"Okay."

He tossed a set of keys into Jeff's lap. "It's the black Mercedes over there, on the end of this row. There's a briefcase in the trunk and a plane ticket in the center console. You're on the noon flight to DC for a two o'clock with Senator Denville."

"Denville? Is he still fighting us?"

"Not for much longer," replied Geoffrey with a smile, "Call me when you land and I'll walk you through the details."

"Okay. When's the return flight?"

"Six PM."

"Shit. I promised Camilla I'd be home for dinner with the family tonight."

Geoffrey said nothing, just shifted in his seat so that he faced Jeff and spent a moment taking in the man's profile. It was unnerving to see himself from an exterior view. He imagined it might be similar for identical twins but this was intensified as he shared not only DNA with this man but also memories, experience and, ostensibly, ambitions. Jeff turned to look at him. If Geoffrey wasn't mistaken there was a hint of defiance in his eyes. He wondered if the shared ambitions might present a problem, a source of conflict between them. He'd considered that when embarking on this grand experiment but the benefits seemed to have outweighed the risks, or so he'd thought at the time. He wondered now if that would remain the case. Even now an ember of jealously was kindling within him.

"Speaking of Camilla," he said, "what exactly happened last night?"

Jeff explained that they'd talked late into the night, covering the last eight years, and that he'd apologized for all of his - or technically Geoffrey's - shortcomings over those years.

"We made a good start on reconciling things," Jeff said, "but there's a lot more work to be done."

Geoffrey bristled. "You're not here to be a marriage therapist, Jeff. You're here to keep the family running smoothly and help fix this mess we're in. I don't want you making any promises to Camilla that I can't keep. Remember that even though we're essentially the same person, you're the copy. You're not me. And you're not married to Camilla. So just show up for dinners, play with the kids, do Sunday brunches at the country club, and keep up family appearances. I don't want you meddling in my relationship."

"Okay," Jeff said softly, his eyes unfocused, looking straight ahead.

"And Jeff," Geoffrey said, leaning in close until his lips almost brushed Jeff's ear, "do not, under any circumstances, even think of fucking my wife."

Jeff swallowed and gave a small nod. He could feel Geoffrey's eyes boring into him.

Geoffrey drew back a few inches, his eyes fixed and intense. "Are we clear?"

Jeff swallowed again, his jaw muscles flexing. He turned towards Geoffrey and met his eyes with a level gaze.

"Yeah. We're clear."