The Missing Hours (10 page)

‘I’m …’ She shakes her head. ‘I’m alive. That’s pretty much all that can be said for me. I still can’t believe it. It feels like I haven’t taken it in. Not yet.’

‘No.’

‘Dominic … he was such a good man.’

It is the second time I’ve heard him described that way since I walked through the front door. I wonder if it is true. Or is it simply a case of death washing away all the sin, until all you are left with is the remembrance of the victim’s best?

‘Tell me about him,’ I say.

Bronwyn smiles. ‘He was a good man,’ she says again. ‘Very clever, educated. Kind. He always wanted to help. Wanted to give people a chance. To see the best in them.’

I think of my sister. Were someone to ask me, I would say exactly the same about her. I think about the rain that I poured on her parade last night and feel a flush of guilt.

‘He didn’t just want to represent our clients, he wanted to help them. Make their lives better. You know about his work with users, right?’

I shake my head.

Bronwyn smiles. ‘Dom always did love a hard-luck case. We get a lot of drug users through here, as you can imagine. Petty crimes to support the habit, violent crimes when they’re high.’ She pulls a face. ‘To be honest, I’ve not got much patience with it myself. But Dom, he was a big believer in fixing the root cause of the problem. Encouraging clients into rehab, trying to get them to make their lives better.’ She sighs heavily. ‘He was a far better person than I am.’

‘Did it work?’ I ask, curious.

‘Sometimes. Mostly not. Of course, we always had Fae to hold up as an example of how a person can turn their life around.’

‘Fae?’

Bronwyn flicks her acid-yellow nails towards the door. ‘Lovely girl. Had a bad run of it a few years ago. Got into drugs. Brought low by some man, I think. But Dom took her under his wing, set her up with a counsellor, rehab.’ She shrugs widely. ‘I was sceptical, as you can imagine. But no, in fairness to the girl, she pulled herself together, got clean, got a degree.’

‘And got a job,’ I offer.

Bronwyn grimaces. ‘I took some persuading. It was a good call, though. You won’t find anyone more reliable or hard-working than our Fae. Just goes to show, I guess.’

I look to the closed door. ‘I’d never have guessed.’

‘Well why would you? This was years ago. People can change, you know, Finn.’

I look back at her. ‘Tell me about Dominic and Isaac. What was their relationship like?’

Bronwyn plucks at an invisible thread on her sleeve. ‘When he met Isaac … it was love at first sight. For Dom, at least. And for Isaac too, I think. They made such a good couple. I was happy for them.’

That last bit jars, sounds wrong after what came before. It is held up at me as a shield. What is it protecting her from? I raise an eyebrow.

She studies me, considering, and then sighs. ‘Dom and I, we met a long time ago. Nearly twenty years. We were both new to the firm … a small operation, delusions of grandeur; it went bust years ago. But we clicked. I … God, I fell head over heels for him. We started dating – he hadn’t come out then. We were together for a while. A year or thereabouts. And it was good, you know? But looking back, I knew it wasn’t the same for him. You do, don’t you? When you love someone more than they love you?’

I nod, like I have any idea about anything. Like I’m not a thirty-two-year-old man with the relationship history of a fifteen-year-old.

‘He admitted it, in the end. Said that he was confused, that he thought perhaps he might be gay.’

‘That must have been tough.’

She looks up, smiles grimly. ‘I survived. We split, obviously. But we never stopped being friends. You can’t. Not when you love someone that much.’

‘And then he met Isaac?’

She shakes her head. ‘There were others before Isaac. A couple of serious ones, but nothing really stuck for him. Not until Isaac.’

‘And that didn’t bother you?’

‘No. Well, I was married myself by then.’ She pulls a face. ‘That didn’t stick either.’ Then she considers. ‘Although, to be perfectly honest, the women bothered me. There were a few of those for Dominic too, and even when I was married, I used to think, if you’re going to be with a woman, why not me? Anyway. Then he met Isaac.’

‘Tell me about Dominic and Isaac,’ I say again.

Bronwyn gives me a long look. ‘Isaac … he loved Dom. They were happy together. Dom and I, we talked about everything. He never told me about any fights, about any issues. They just … they loved one another. And I’ve never seen Dom so happy. It wasn’t Isaac, Finn. It couldn’t have been Isaac.’

I nod. Pretend that I believe her. When really what I am thinking is what Leah said – how can we ever know what goes on inside a relationship? Can we really say for sure whether the ice under it is glacial thick or paper thin?

‘What about the last time you saw Dom?’

‘I … It was a normal day. Just any other day. I was in court. I’m not sure what Dom had on, but you should check with Fae. She can pull his diary for you. I saw him when I got back to the office. Four, four thirty, maybe. We had a quick chat, nothing special – just, you know, chit-chat – and he left about six. I keep thinking, if only I had known that it was the last time. There are so many things I would have said to him. I wish I had known it was the last time.’

‘Were you still in love with him?’ I don’t know why I ask this. I don’t know why it matters. I just suddenly have an overwhelming urge to know.

But Bronwyn has looked away now, is brushing tears from her face, pretending that she hasn’t heard me.

I don’t push it. I let it slide.

After long moments, she turns back to me.

‘When he left,’ I say, ‘did he say where he was going?’

‘Home,’ Bronwyn says. ‘He was … No … that’s not right. He said that he had to leave, that he would have to stop on the way home.’

‘Where?’

‘He said he needed to see Beck Chambers.’

Case No. 25

Victim: Alexa Elizondo

Location: Caracas, Venezuela

Company: Private case, unaffiliated with any insurance provider

19 June 2007

Initial event

At 2.45 p.m. on 19 June, Mrs Alexa Elizondo, a sixty-one-year-old widow, had gone to the local market in order to do a food shop for her employers. Mrs Elizondo had been employed as a housekeeper by the Rayer family, an American family with a string of businesses across the Americas, for ten years. Having finished the food shop, Mrs Elizondo was returning to the vehicle provided to her by the family for such purposes when she was the subject of a kidnapping. The family’s driver attempted to intervene but was shot and killed in the process.

Following Mrs Elizondo’s kidnapping, Mr Matthew Rayer immediately began taking steps to ensure her release. Whilst his own K&R insurance provision would not extend to cover Mrs Elizondo, the Rayer family’s relationship with their housekeeper was such that they were willing to cover any costs incurred in ensuring the housekeeper’s safe return.

A ransom demand of $10,000 was issued within twelve hours of her abduction.

Whilst Mr Rayer was happy to engage in no small measure of financial outlay to ensure the safe return of a member of staff who had become as close as family, the sizeable nature of this demand gave him pause.

Following some consideration, however, the decision was made by the Rayer family to pay the ransom, their financial position being one that could cover such a hefty demand without too much strain.

A drop was organised as per the kidnappers’ instructions in a large park on the outskirts of Caracas. An employee of Mr Rayer took the cash to the stipulated site. Following the kidnappers’ instructions to the letter, he left the ransom and then proceeded back to the Rayer family home to await confirmation of receipt and instructions for the collection of Mrs Elizondo.

A call was received an hour later thanking Mr Rayer for his ‘down payment’ and requesting a further payment of $500,000 in order to secure the release of Mrs Elizondo.

Mr Matthew Rayer contacted the Cole Group immediately following this call.

Response

The response team in this case consisted of myself (Ed Cole) and Selena Cole. We arrived in Caracas eighteen hours after initial consultation. Upon arrival, it became immediately apparent that the kidnappers had been reassured by the Rayer family’s speedy capitulation to their demands and so felt comfortable pressing their advantage.

This left us in a somewhat compromised negotiation position, as the kidnappers were now aware of the ease with which Mr Rayer could access large amounts of money. An awareness that substantially added to the degree of danger presented to Mrs Elizondo.

Selena Cole led the negotiations, the early portions of which were dedicated to calming an extremely inflamed situation. A number of threats were made to the life of Mrs Elizondo. The severity of these threats was made clear by the sounds of the hostage being beaten and, we were later to discover, raped whilst Dr Cole was forced to listen, unable to intervene.

The weight of these events on both Selena Cole and myself cannot be overstated.

After an extremely tense period of negotiations that lasted for ten days, Dr Cole was finally able to persuade the kidnappers to agree to a second payment of $20,000. It was made clear to them that the family’s resources were now at an end, and that their willingness to engage in financial outlay for a person who was, ultimately, merely an employee, had been exhausted.

These negotiation tactics were not shared with the Rayer family, all of whom were extremely distressed and were in fact prepared to invest whatever funds should be required in order to effect the release of Mrs Elizondo.

The exchange was undertaken by myself, with Dr Cole as back-up. This was deemed necessary due to the extreme level of trauma inflicted on Mrs Elizondo, and in fact proved wise.

Upon release, Mrs Elizondo suffered an immediate collapse.

We transported her to the nearest hospital, where she was deemed to be physically well, although severely traumatised. A rape exam confirmed that she had been sexually assaulted.

Mrs Elizondo remained in hospital for three days, throughout which she remained extremely confused, agitated and in a highly dissociative state. Her recollection of the events surrounding her kidnap was almost non-existent, and she was unable to describe what had happened after her departure from the Rayer family home. This amnesic state was identified by Selena Cole as being a function of the trauma to which she had been subjected.

An extensive programme was put into place by Dr Cole, designed to help Mrs Elizondo recover from her experiences.

Unfortunately, she never got the chance to implement it. On her third day of hospitalisation, Mrs Elizondo suffered a massive stroke. She died two days later.

Note

Following the events documented in this case, a memo detailing the consequences of handling kidnapping without the aid of professionals was sent to all clients of the Cole Group. It emphasised the increased dangers presented to the hostage when a ransom is paid without any effort to negotiate, and made clear that NO ransom should EVER be paid without the express instruction of a K&R consultant and/or under the guidance of the appropriate local authorities.

An impression of a victim

DS Finn Hale: Wednesday, 9.58 a.m.

WHEN YOU ARE
looking for a murderer, the best place to start is with the victim. Who were they? What did their life look like? Because in some way, that life has placed them alongside the person who ultimately killed them.

I let myself into Dominic’s office and stand there for a moment in the dim grey daylight. There is a lingering waft of cologne. It fills up the small room with its closed windows, knotting itself up with the leather of the books. I try to identify it. But then, unless Dominic’s choice of cologne was a Lynx spray, I’m unlikely to have too much success. I’m a philistine, I know.

The room awaits his return. There is a coffee mug on the desk, the remnants of his last cup dark at its base. You need to find the victim. Because when you find the victim, you will find their murderer.

I snap on the light.

The room is smaller than Bronwyn’s, buried at the back of the town house that serves as Hartley & Newell’s offices. An excuse for a window that looks out on to a yard beyond. I glance out, think that this room would always be dark, that sunlight would be gobbled up by the boxed-in square that represents the garden.

There are no walls.

Or rather, what walls there are are buried beneath banks of books. The modesty ends here. They line up, legions at attention, leather-bound, rosy red. They swamp the room, drowning it in now useless knowledge.

I walk the lines of them, a general inspecting the ranks. Can see dust accumulated over the mahogany shelves, the marks in it a Morse code that says: this book I have recently read.

Then the desk. It is neat. Squared away. I think of my own desk, the way the paperwork leans, threatening to tumble. But Dominic … he liked things to appear a certain way. He’s dusted the desk. Or at least someone has. But if it were a cleaner, wouldn’t they have dusted the bookshelves too? So, no cleaner. Him. He has dusted the desk, arranged it just so. So that when a client or a colleague sits across from him, they see his world as neat, orderly.