Authors: Michael Robotham
‘Tonight I will introduce you to everyone,’ he told her in Spanish.
‘And what will you say of me?’
‘I’ll say you’re my girlfriend.’
She was still staring at him. His cheeks grew hot.
‘That’s what you want, isn’t it?’
She didn’t answer.
‘I can’t marry you. Twice bitten, you understand, but you’ll have everything a wife has.’
‘What about my son?’
‘He’s happy where his is. You can still see him on weekends. Holidays.’
‘Why can’t he live here?’
‘People would ask questions.’
The party began at dusk. Audie’s job was to direct traffic through the big stone gates and park the cars. Most of them were expensive. European. He could see Urban mingling with guests, shaking hands, telling them jokes, playing the genial host. At eleven Belita brought him a plate of food. Her silk dress had a translucent black veil across the high part of her breasts and seemed to stroke every dip and curve of her body. Held up by shoestring straps, lighter than air, it looked like at any moment it would slide down and pool around her ankles.
‘Marry me instead,’ he said.
‘I’m not going to marry you.’
‘Why? I love you. I think you love me.’
She shook her head and glanced over her shoulder at the party. ‘I can’t remember the last time I danced.’
‘I’ll dance with you.’
She stroked his cheek sadly. ‘You have to stay here.’
‘Can I see you later?’
‘Urban will want me.’
‘He’ll be drunk. You could sneak out.’
She shook her head.
‘I’ll wait for you near the gates,’ said Audie as she walked away.
He spent the rest of the evening listening to the music and watching Belita dancing with her hair tied up and her chin held high and her hips moving like water and every man watching her like moths drawn to a porch light.
At midnight he heard ‘Auld Lang Syne’ and saw the fireworks explode in balls of dripping light across the ridge, setting dogs barking and horns blaring.
The last of the revellers had gone by four. Urban waved them goodbye. Drunk. Swaying. Audie closed the gates and collected empty bottles discarded along the driveway.
‘Did you have a good time?’ asked Urban.
‘Parking cars?’
He laughed and put his arm around Audie. ‘Why don’t you go down to the Pleasure Chest? Choose a girl. On me.’
‘Happy New Year,’ said Audie.
‘And to you, son.’
He waited outside the gate for Belita. The trees in the garden were still twinkling with fairy lights. An hour passed. Two. Still he waited. Still she didn’t come. He had a key and let himself in the rear door of the house, creeping along the hallway to Belita’s room, where he undressed and slipped into bed, not wanting to wake her. Rather than touch her skin, he held the edge of her nightdress in his fingertips and watched the way her chest lifted and fell as she breathed, barely making a sound.
He fell asleep.
She woke him soon after. ‘You must leave.’
‘Why?’
‘He’s coming.’
‘How do you know?’
‘I just know.’
She looked at the door. ‘Did you leave it open?’
‘No.’
Now it stood gaping blackly.
‘He’s seen us.’
‘You don’t know that.’
She pushed Audie out of bed and told him to dress. He crept through the house barefoot, carrying his socks and shoes. He heard a radio playing in one of the rooms. Smelled coffee. He slipped through the kitchen and down the steps, gingerly dancing over the sharp gravel on the drive.
He drove back to his room. It was New Year’s Day and the streets were almost deserted. A handful of cars were parked outside the bar. Some of the girls must be earning overtime, thought Audie.
As he stepped through the door into his room he was shoved from behind. Three men forced him down. Tape was wrapped around his head, across his mouth and eyes, screeching as it was ripped from a spool. Hooded and bound, he was dragged down the stairs and bundled into the back seat of a car. He recognised the voices. Urban was driving and two of his nephews were sitting on either side of Audie. He knew them only by their initials – J.C. and R.D. – and their matching skinny-leg jeans and snap-button shirts. They also sported designer stubble that magazines had once suggested was fashionable, but Audie suspected appealed more to homosexuals than to women.
Audie’s mouth had gone dry and he could feel the skin on his face shrinking. Urban knew. How could he know? He saw them together. The strongest urge was to deny everything. Then he considered falling to his knees and confessing. He could live with the guilt. He could take his punishment – as long as Belita was spared.
Audie tried to keep track of the corners, but there were too many of them. One of the cousins joked to the other. ‘He’s lucky he’s not in Mexico or they’d find his head in a ditch.’
The car pulled off the road. The ruts were so deep the chassis bashed against the earth and the wheels slid sideways into potholes. They stopped. Doors opened. He was dragged outside. Forced to kneel.
Urban spoke. ‘We don’t choose the moment of our births, son, but the hour of death can be predetermined by a bullet or some other lethal intervention.’
He pulled off the hood and the sudden brightness stung Audie’s eyes. He blinked it away and saw the hewn rock wall of a quarry with water pooled at the base, forming a small lake, blacker than sump oil.
The tape was ripped away, tearing at his hair and skin. Urban had taken Audie’s wallet. He pulled out the driver’s licence and social security cards, dropping them in the dirt. He found a photograph of Belita – one taken in a photo booth at Sea World with Belita sitting on Audie’s lap. Urban tossed the picture into the water, where it spun like a floating leaf, pushed by the breeze. Squatting next to Audie, he draped his hands on his thighs.
‘Do you know why you’re here?’
Audie didn’t answer. Urban signalled his nephews, who pulled Audie to his feet. Urban punched him hard in the solar plexus so that Audie’s whole upper body jackknifed forward and he cried out.
‘You think you’re smarter than me,’ said Urban.
Gape-mouthed, Audie shook his head.
‘You think I’m some ignorant spick, who doesn’t know the difference between his ass and a hole in the ground.’
‘No,’ Audie gasped.
‘I trusted you. I let you get close to me.’
Urban’s voice shook and his eyes shone. He nodded to his nephews, who dragged Audie to the edge of the water, forcing him to kneel. Audie could see his reflection in the smooth, glass-like surface; see himself aging, growing old in the space of a few seconds. He saw his father’s white hair. Wrinkles. Disappointment. Regret.
His face touched the water and the image dissolved. He attempted to twist away from the hands, but they pushed his head deeper. He kicked with his feet and tried to keep his mouth shut, but soon his body cried out for air and his brain reacted instinctively. He drew breath, flooding his lungs. Air bubbled from his mouth past his eyes. His head was jerked upward. He coughed and spluttered, his mouth opening and closing like a dying fish. They plunged him forward again and leaned their weight on the back of his neck, pushing his head so deep that his forehead touched the bottom. The more he struggled, the weaker he grew. He grabbed at their legs and belts, trying to crawl up their bodies like a man clinging to a rope on a cliff face.
He lost consciousness and didn’t remember being dragged from the water. When he came to he was lying on his stomach, spitting water, his whole body heaving. Urban squatted next to him, cupping the back of Audie’s neck in a fatherly way. He pressed his mouth closer, his breath like a feather against Audie’s skin.
‘I let you come into my house, eat my chow, drink my booze … I treated you like a son. I would have made you one. But you betrayed me.’
Audie didn’t answer.
‘Do you know the story of Oedipus? He murders his father and marries his mother and brings disaster upon his kingdom, all because of a prophecy made when he was born. The old king tried to stop it happening. He took the baby and abandoned it on a mountainside, but a shepherd rescued Oedipus and raised him, so he grew up and he fulfilled the prophecy. I do not believe in these myths, but I can see why they last. Perhaps the old king should have killed Oedipus. Perhaps the shepherd should have minded his own business.’
Urban squeezed Audie’s neck more firmly. ‘Belita loved me until you showed up. I rescued her. I educated her. I gave her clothes and put a roof over her head.’ He waved his finger back and forth. ‘I could have filled her stomach with balloons of cocaine and sent her back and forth across the border, but instead I let her share my bed.’
He looked at his nephews and back at Audie, raising his voice again. ‘If I ever see you again, I will have you killed. If you ever come near Belita, I will have you both killed. If you want to be a martyr, I can arrange that. If you want to die like Romeo and Juliet, I can make that possible. But it will not happen quickly. I have associates who can keep someone alive for weeks, drilling holes through bones, pouring acid onto skin, scooping out eyes, severing limbs. They enjoy it. For them it is natural. You will plead for death, but it won’t come. You will renounce everything you have ever believed. You will give up your secrets. You will beg and plead and promise, but they will not listen. Understand?’
Audie nodded.
Urban looked at his fists, examining the broken skin, then he turned and walked toward the car.
Audie called after him. ‘I’m owed money.’
‘That has been forfeited.’
‘What about my things?’
‘I hope they’re flammable.’ Urban had opened the car door. He took his coat from the seat and shrugged it on, tugging at the sleeves. ‘If I were you, I’d forget about Belita. She’s been used more often than a jailhouse condom.’
‘Then let her go.’
‘What sort of signal would that send?’
‘I love her,’ blurted Audie.
‘That’s a wonderful story,’ replied Urban. He nodded to his nephews and each of them swung a boot into Audie, one kicking his stomach, the other his back. The pain almost shook loose his bowels.
‘Have a nice life,’ said Urban thickly. ‘Be thankful.’
39
In the basement of the Dreyfus County Criminal Court there are records of every case tried before a judge dating back 150 years: legal briefs, trial transcripts, exhibit lists and statements – a vast repository of bleak stories and black deeds.
The woman sitting behind the screen is called Mona and her hair is darker than midnight, piled so high it makes her look top-heavy. She sets aside a half-molested sandwich and looks up at Desiree. ‘What can I do for you, sugar?’
Desiree has filled out a form asking for archival material.
Mona looks at the request. ‘This might take a while.’
‘I’ll wait.’
Having countersigned the form and stamped it twice, Mona rolls it into a tube and tucks it inside a canister, which is popped into a chute and sucked downward. She tucks a pen behind her ear and studies Desiree more closely. ‘How long you been with the Bureau?’
‘Six years.’
‘They make you jump all the hurdles?’
‘A few.’
‘I bet they did. I bet you had to be twice as good as any man.’ Mona gets up and leans forward, glancing at Desiree’s shoes.
‘Is something wrong?’
Mona looks at her sheepishly and points out the waiting room.
Desiree takes a seat and flicks through several out-of-date magazines, periodically checking the watch on her wrist, which belonged to her father. He gave it to Desiree on the day she graduated, telling her that she had to wind it up every night and think of her parents when she did.
‘I was late for work only once in my working life,’ he had told her.
‘On the day I was born,’ she replied.
‘You know the story?’
‘Yes, Daddy,’ she laughed. ‘I know the story.’
The cavernous archive smells of copier fluid, floor polish, paper and leather bindings. Dust motes are trapped in the bright beams of light that angle from the high windows.
She gets a coffee from the machine, but flinches at the first taste. Discarding the cup, she chooses a soft drink. Her stomach rumbles. When did she last eat?
Mona calls her name and slides a dozen folders through an opening in the screen.
‘Is that all?’
‘Oh, no, sugar.’ She points behind her. A trolley is stacked with boxes. ‘And I got two more just like that one.’
Desiree finds a desk in the reading room and pulls out a pad. She begins reading about the robbery, laying it out page by page, threading the details together as if editing a film, cutting and splicing the footage in her mind. Photographs. Timelines. Autopsy reports. Statements.
The truck was hijacked just north of Conroe shortly after 3 p.m. The security firm Armaguard had a contract to collect the damaged bills from banks and credit facilities, which were then to be delivered to a data-destruction facility in Illinois.
The delivery schedule and route were changed every two weeks, which meant that somebody tipped them off. The guard who died in the robbery, Scott Beauchamp, was suspected of being the inside man, but no evidence was presented at the trial. His phone records and movements were investigated as agencies searched for the final gang member and the missing money, but the only evidence against Beauchamp was circumstantial.
Audie Palmer pleaded guilty, but refused to reveal the names of anyone else involved. He didn’t give up his brother or implicate the security guard. Because of his injuries it was three months before police could interview Audie and another eight months before he was well enough to stand trial.
Desiree turns to the witness statements. According to police logs, at approximately 20.13 – five hours after the hijacking – a DSCO patrol deputy and his partner on a routine patrol observed an armoured truck parked on the northern service road of the I-45 at League Line Road. While running the licence plate, the deputy noticed a dark-coloured SUV pull up with a single occupant. The rear doors of the armoured truck were opened and bags were transferred between the vehicles.