The Natural Law Page 7

  “What the fuck sort of message is that?” he asked.

  “It’s a classic and deeply flawed argument used to justify execution,” I said.

  “Who the fuck’s Gladiator? Is this some sort of queer thing?”

  “I have no idea who is sending these messages,” I said.

  “It’s your bloody phone, you nonce,” he said.

  A beep indicated another text, which we both read: Rook is now going to take the gun from you and shoot you in your stupid head. Leather Jacket looked perplexed, then he turned to see who might be watching and that gave me a moment. I kicked him as hard as I could in his left shin. He howled and fell off balance. I grabbed his arm that held the gun with one hand and tried to pull the gun away with the other. He was too strong and held on to it. I kicked him again in the shin and he howled and went down on one knee. I still held the hand with the gun but he grabbed it with his free hand so that each of us had both hands on it and he started twisting it round so that he could shoot me. We circled and gyrated as if involved in some macabre dance.

  His breath was stale and oniony. I was no match for his strength. I smashed my own face into his and bit as hard as I could. He twisted away and his upper eyelid flapped open and started spouting blood. I spat out skin and something else and kicked again. This time I caught him squarely in the groin. He wheezed and went down on both knees.

  We were still holding the gun with both our hands. I leaned down and bit hard into his left hand. He let go and I snatched the gun away, falling over with the momentum. I got to my feet and faced him. He was still on his knees, his eye a bloody mess. He blinked furiously and spat at me. It had all happened in ten seconds but I was breathing heavily and my legs felt like stone.

  My phone was on the floor at my feet. It beeped and vibrated again. I could read the text: Now finish him. I pointed the gun at his head. I only had to pull the trigger and this lowlife would be dispatched. I was almost detachedly aware of adrenalin and blood pumping cartwheels around my head.

  Then the rush stopped and I was me again, suddenly deflated. Most importantly I was aware I was being played. Merely a puppet in someone else’s opera. Everything changed. Leather Jacket sensed it and slowly, in a series of wobbles, got to his feet. He looked at me contemptuously with his unbloodied eye, and smiled. I noticed he had a gold filling in a left incisor.

  “Don’t have the bottle, do you? You didn’t kill Rod. Couldn’t have, worm like you. And now I’m going to show you how to do it.”

  He stepped towards me, and then he suddenly stopped as if an idea as powerful as a bullet had just entered his brain. In fact that is precisely what happened. A perfect hole in his forehead, and he fell backwards like a toppled log and the wound began gushing more blood than I thought a head could hold. His left leg twitched uncontrollably and a stain spread from his crotch where he had wet himself. A mix of foam and mucus dribbled from his mouth. Death is never like the movies. It is often ugly and visceral. Only I hadn’t killed him. I looked around, wondering if I was next.

  Another text: Get out now. They’ll be coming in a few minutes. Gladiator. The courtyard had four high walls. Whoever fired the shot must have been on the roof. How did he know I’d be taken here? Was this a strange brew of luck and intelligence? Then I saw a window halfway up a wall – the angle meant the shot had been fired from there. I had to get out before Father Christmas and his cohorts realised something was wrong, but I was also curious. Hell, I’d just escaped death – it wasn’t my day to go.

  I ran inside and up some stairs, through a few doors and found the room with the window. No one there, of course. I went to a room on the opposite side of a corridor, just in time to look through a window and see a black BMW driving away. An arm raised out of the window gave me a wave. He was wearing a blue bomber jacket. Cheeky. Ridiculous. There was no chance of seeing anything in detail and I only caught an ‘M’ and an ‘R’ on the license plate before the car swung round a corner and was gone. I needed to be gone too and ran out of the building. My spare keys were under the driver’s seat, and my hand scraped against something else, stuck to the underside. I pulled it off. A small black box, the size of a matchbox. A tracking device; these were something I knew about and I often used them myself, but I preferred small ones, easily hidden. How many others were there, and where were they? And why did he save me? If he’d simply let Leather Jacket kill me then I’d be off his back. As I’d realised before, he now saw us as a team, and if I had shot Leather Jacket as instructed, that would deepen our bond. I suspected it was also something to do with a weird code of honour brewed in the highly coloured crucible of his imagination. Or perhaps I was useful in some other way? There were some people about whom you had to think sideways to track. I drove away as fast as my old Saab would allow.

  *

  Cass was in my office looking moody and squaring for a fight. I was feeling distinctly wobbly now the adrenalin had worn off. She took in my appearance. My cheek was still bleeding.

  “What happened?” she asked.

  “I cut myself shaving.”

  “I’ve been here hours. Everyone else has gone. You were meant to be here for tutorials.”

  “I got caught up.”

  “Caught up with everything except me. You’re not even letting me in on the case. And I need to talk.”

  “When women say that men usually run away,” I said.

  “Pathetic,” she said and left, slamming the door.

  “I’m sorry, Cass.”

  I went out to the corridor but she’d gone. Another moment appallingly handled. I have such a talent for it. Alfred was in a thoughtful mood. I gave him some cobnuts, which he cracked open and ate, eyeing me askance, his eyes like black pearls. He walked along my desk, and then knocked a pile of essays to the floor with his beak.

  “Good work, Alfred,” I said.

  “Into the valley of death,” he said contemptuously.

  “Exactly,” I said. “But how can I be so stupid with my own daughter? When I love her so much.”

  “Cannon to the left of them, cannon to the right of them,” he said.

  I knew that, cannon everywhere at the moment, and knowing it wasn’t helpful. The door opened and Audrey entered. She seemed to be wearing a giant puce lampshade and earrings like melting globules of mucus. She looked at my cheek.

  “It’s polite to knock,” I said.

  “I think you and I know each other well enough to dispense with formalities,” she said.

  “On the contrary, Professor, our knowledge of each other, professionally, personally and certainly biblically, is so scant as to be non-existent.”

  “Have you been in a fight?” she asked.

  “I’m always in a fight.”

  “Where were you this afternoon, Dr Rook?”

  “I went to see a man who was garrotted on his own toilet, then had an altercation with a gangster who held a revolver to my head, right here…” I pointed to the spot. “…but I was saved by a psychopathic serial killer. And how has your afternoon been?”

  “Always sarcastic. I’ll cut to it. Your behaviour is unprofessional and unacceptable. You are hardly here. You constantly cancel things. Take this as a formal reprimand. If things don’t change soon I’ll implement a disciplinary enquiry. And that parrot breaks at least six regulations. Get rid of it.”

  Alfred shrieked and flew onto the top of my PC.

  “Don’t hit me, please, don’t hit me. I haven’t said anything. I don’t know anything. Just go away. Please,” he shrieked.

  Audrey bristled in her lampshade. I tried to imagine her naked and shuddered inwardly at the thought. It would be like looking at skewered tripe.

  “That parrot must be out of here by the end of the week.”

  She left in what she imagined was an authoritative flourish. Alfred and I looked at each other.

  “She means it,” I said.

  “Aquinas distinguishes four main kinds of law: the
eternal, the natural, the human, and the divine. Eternal is at the top, then natural, then human. Divine law supposedly reaches human beings by a sort of revelation.” Alfred was repeating what had been said during the tutorial. And now an idea started to form in my mind. Ten minutes later it had a definite shape.

  I fell asleep on the battered couch as the adrenalin drained and left me exhausted. When I awoke it was dark. I gave Alfred fresh water and left. I was deadbeat and when I saw Ron running towards me down a corridor I scooted and just made it to my car in time. I was looking forward to a hot bath, a large scotch and ten hours sleep. When I got to the flat I went to the kitchen to get my Famous Grouse, opened the door and surprised them, Cass in her dressing gown in Symon’s arms, their faces an inch apart. I felt sick. Dizzy. Murderous.

  Chapter XIV

  ‘Mysteries are due to secrecy.’

  Francis Bacon

  Symon looked at me guiltily.

  “It isn’t what you think, Paul,” he said. His arms fell away from Cass.

  “As if you know what I think. As if you dare to presume anything about me,” I said, squaring up to him.

  “Dad! What are you doing? Don’t be stupid.”

  “Stupidity is my forte, Cass. How long has this been going on?”

  The anger was bubbling and needed to go somewhere. I kicked over the rubbish bin and noticed there were three empty scotch bottles in it. I really must watch my drinking.

  “Paul, if you just let me explain,” said Symon.

  “All you need to do is pack your grubby things and get out of my flat. You’ve got five minutes. After that I burn anything left.”

  I poured a scotch and waited, seething. A few minutes later Symon walked by with his case. He didn’t slam the door as he left. Cass looked at me. She was nineteen. A young woman. Did I still want her to be my little girl? My baby? She folded her arms defiantly and looked at me. Suddenly her eyes filled and my heart ached. I went to her.

  “Cass, he’s my age. What were you thinking?”

  She fought back the tears and looked at me.

  “He’s funny. He listens to me. And I fell in love with him. A bit. That’s why I wanted to talk to you, but you were so scratchy. I came back and told him and he said he was your friend and he was too old for me anyway. And now you’ve embarrassed me and made a complete prat of yourself.”

  “Why can’t you be normal and go for boys your own age?”

  She looked at me, genuinely surprised.

  “Normal? You dare to ask why I’m not normal. I give up.”

  She went to her room and slammed the door. She had a point. A father with a double life, a broken marriage, a job he rarely goes to and seemed determined to lose, more a shadow than a human being, full of strange addictions….the list started to depress me so I stopped it. Another scotch was called for. A night of serious thinking and drinking beckoned. Something had been nagging at me. I needed to know. I phoned Symon on his mobile.

  “You’re a complete bastard and I’m going to castrate you but I need to know something.”

  “I can hardly wait,” said Symon, obviously full of righteous indignation.

  “You said Ocean Investment dealt in currencies, but I’ve got a file that suggests that it deals in weapons, I guess illegally.”

  “Where did you get that?” he said.

  “A private folder belonging to an MP.”

  “Did it mention names?”

  “HD. Perhaps Hugh Dillsburgh.”

  “Could be. The weapons link surprises me, but it may be that they spread their activities and investments and their link is indirect. Can I say something about Cass?”

  “No,” I said and ended the call.

  I’d overreacted. Symon clearly had tried to extricate himself in a gentlemanly fashion, but the damage was done and I’d have to let Cass cool off. I underestimated her ability to bear a grudge. Now where could she have inherited that from, I wonder?

  I sat in the lounge with my laptop and made a list of what I had so far:

  WEAPONS LINK: OCEAN INVESTMENT, ANDY KING, HUGH DILLSBURGH, PRAGUE, ROD WHITELEY

  This was big enough for at least one political party to be worried. Big enough for five people to be murdered. The body count was alarming. I rang Lizzie.

  “It’s me,” I said.

  “Is Cass alright?”

  “She’s fine. Listen, this is difficult but something’s happened and I don’t like it. Leaves a bad taste.”

  “What?”

  “I saw David.”

  “I know. It took two bottles of Chablis to calm him down.”

  “But that’s a girl’s drink.”

  “Paul – is there a point to this?”

  “Well, we had a few drinks and he started saying how much he loved you, and you him…and then…”

  “Then what?”

  “He showed me emails you’d sent him. To prove a point, I suppose. Some sort of competitive drive, to show you love him more than you ever did me. It’s childish but made me feel a bit grubby.”

  “You are grubby. And you’re lying.”

  I quoted verbatim.

  “You’re the only one…your integrity, openness, the opposite of Paul…I love the smell of you, your hands on my back…”

  She put down the phone. I calculated it would take fifteen minutes. Antebellum. Twelve minutes later my phone rang. It was David. I knew he wouldn’t have the balls to actually come round.

  “You absolute bastard,” he began.

  “David, what a pleasant surprise. How can I help you?”

  “You are the lowest scum I’ve ever met.”

  “Oh, come on, you’re an MP, your bathe in effluence every day.”

  “Do you realise the trouble you’re in? You have committed crimes that could put you away for years.”

  “Your word against mine. I’ll say you gave the files to me.”

  “What have you seen? And why the hell would I do that?”

  “I’ve seen everything that’s on your computer. I’ll say you had a few drinks and started boasting about what a big slapper you are, how they trust you with secrets, like the Hugh Dillsburgh affair. Good tabloid-y stuff.”

  A pause. I knew his testicles were disappearing into his body and a cold sweat was forming pleasingly on his forehead as the implications sunk into his sludge. I allowed a few seconds for the fear to take root. He was so easy to hornswoggle.

  “You’re just trying to wreck things between Lizzie and I.”

  “You’re perfectly capable of doing that without my assistance, David. This is about Hugh Dillsburgh. I want you to tell me about the weapons. And Ocean Investment.”

  A pause. He was trying to work out what the hell was happening.

  “But why would you want to know? You’re a failed academic in a second rate toilet of a university. You’re not a political animal.”

  He was completely baffled. It was a pleasant sensation for me. On the other hand I needed to cover myself so that he wouldn’t know about Rook Investigations.

  “It’s personal. A dear friend of mine lost her husband and he was somehow in cahoots with Dillsburgh. When he died she was terrified it wasn’t an accident and something might happen to her and her family. I need to reassure her. That’s all I need.”

  “And if I tell you to sod off?”

  “I send all your computer files to a newspaper. Then you’ll be begging for a post as a failed academic in a second rate toilet of a university. Given that you won’t be a political animal any more. Give me at least some of the story then I’ll know what to tell her. Don’t lie, because I’ll know.”

  “You’re insane. This is classified. Official secrets.”

  “It won’t be so secret once everyone knows and you make the front page of The Sun.”

  He tried to find a way out, but there wasn’t one. He was too self-important to take a risk.

  “OK. When we were in power Dillsburg
h set up an illegal arms trade with insurrectionists in Afghanistan. It had approval but he went much further – personnel as well as arms. It was also lucrative for him. To be honest, there was a lot of relief when he died.”

  “OK. I believe you. Suppose it was neither an accident nor suicide?”

  “Then your friend needs to be careful. Someone is out there with a grudge, though God knows who, or why.”

  “OK David. That will be all.”

  “Rot in hell. What about my files?”

  “They’re safe.”

  I ended the call. Now I had real information. And I’d kept Rook Investigations in the shade. I was tired, a little drunk, my daughter was furious with me, my career was on hold, my ex-wife hated me, I’d just thrown out my best friend, but I felt damned good and I had a parrot who liked me. The glass was half full, in this case with scotch.

  Chapter XV

  ‘Only the dead have seen the end of war.’

  Plato

  I booked a flight to Prague, and then filled in a university fees and expenses form to claim the money. Audrey’s response would be interesting. It was a sunny morning; my office was filled with light and you could see galaxies in the swirling dust motes. Alfred was on the window sill looking out at the sky and muttering to himself. I wondered if he dreamed of freedom and what he might do with it. I’d miss him. I had a seminar about to begin and Anna’s funeral afterwards.

  Cass remained sultry and uncommunicative throughout the seminar. As the students trooped out I called her back. She came and stood by my desk, pointedly not looking at me.

  “I’m sorry. I overreacted,” I said.

  “How do you think I feel?”

  “I don’t know. Tell me.”

  “It’s a bit late for that. You always listen when it’s too late. Sometimes I think how impossible it must have been for Mum. You keep everything in. Words are smokescreens for you. Sometimes I just long for you to say, simply, without irony, what you feel.”

  Alfred turned from the window and said in a voice alarmingly like mine: “If anything happened to Cass the world would end. I love her so much, Alfred, yet I rarely tell her. What kind of fuckwit am I? I’d do anything for her.”