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“Not yet. Being a solicitor for probate, wills and trusts and such, everything was in order as you would imagine, but there’s something just a little too tidy about it. Like maybe he knew his time was marked. And it very well could have been his heart. Brynne knew he took blood-pressure medication and she worried about him. You’d never know to look at him. The guy was very fit.”
“Hmmmm. The only people who would benefited from his death are Senator Oakley’s camp.”
“I know. I hate to know it, but I do. Everything goes to Brynne—the house, the cars, the investments. No surprise there, but I’m wondering if Tom left anything incriminating against Oakley.”
“Like a videotaped deposition?”
“Yeah . . . exactly like that. May know tomorrow. We have a meeting with his business partner in the morning to go over the trust, then the funeral and service. It’s gonna be a long fucking day.”
“When are you coming home?”
“If we can wrap everything up, the red-eye tomorrow night. I want Brynne out of here. Makes me fucking nervous. I’m out of my element.”
“Right. Give her our condolences, please. Ring if you need me. I’m here.”
“Thanks . . . see you in twenty-four.”
I ended the call and lit a second clove, the smoke curling slowing up into the still night air. I smoked and thought, my mind going back to a place I’d not been to for a long time. It terrified me, and with good reason.
Drowning is a horrific way to go out. Well, it is if you’re conscious. This was something I knew from experience. The cold and desperate feeling as water invades your nose and mouth. The impossible attempt to stay calm and hold your dwindling breath. The pain of lungs utterly depleted of oxygen.
I think the Afghans experimented on me to see what all the fuss was about with waterboarding. It wasn’t their preferred method, that’s for sure. Winching me up by the arms and shredding my back was their favorite. That and depriving me of sleep for what seemed like weeks at a time. The mind does crazy shit when there is no rest for the cogs.
I looked up at the stars and thought of her. My mum. She was an angel up there somewhere. I knew this. Spirituality is deeply personal and I needed no other confirmation of what I believed other than what I knew to be real inside my heart. She was up there watching over me somehow and was with me when they were going to cut off my—
Nope. Not going to that fucked-up horror right now. Later . . .
I got up quickly and stubbed out my second ciggie. I tucked the butts back in the pack and went inside my father-in-law’s nice American modern house. I’d never speak to him again, but ironically, one of the most important conversations I’d ever had, when weighed against all the others in the whole of my life, had been with him. An email with a plea for my help . . . and a photograph.
As I went back in to crawl into bed with Brynne, I prayed. I did. I prayed that Tom Bennett had been unconscious when he left this world.
? In a black Chanel suit with her hair pinned up, Brynne looked gorgeous. Terribly sad, but tragically beautiful. Her mother had brought the clothes over for her to wear. They were the same size, apparently, and Brynne was pretty much helpless against arguments at this point. I sensed she was merely coping to get through and hadn’t really allowed herself the freedom of indulging in her grief yet.
I stayed on the fringe and kept out of discussions as much as possible. Brynne was in no shape to bear a family row, and so I held my tongue to keep the peace. Mrs. Exely and I had a wary truce—we pretty much avoided direct contact. I never heard her ask Brynne about how she was feeling with the pregnancy once. Not one time. It was almost like she pretended it wasn’t happening. What mother didn’t care about her daughter being pregnant enough to even ask her about it?
I wished for this to end swiftly so I could get my girl out of here. I wanted her back on Br
itish soil. The flight home tonight couldn’t come soon enough for me.
The funeral had gone off well; if a death suffered too soon could be memorialized in a good way, that is. I wanted it to be an unfortunate consequence of life, not murder. Brynne had not asked me. I don’t think the idea occurred to her, and for that I was grateful.
I knew him the instant he walked into the gathering after the graveside service. I’d seen enough photos of the slimy prick to know him on sight. Bollocks must be the size of grapefruits for him to stroll in here looking entitled, as he most definitely did. He came right over and put his hands on Brynne, hugging her, and offering his fake sympathies for her terrible loss. I think she was too sad to react much to his presence. Her mum stood alongside and engaged him with demonstrative affection, which angered me. How could she do that to Brynne? This man’s son had raped her child, made a public video of it, and she called him a friend? Blah, blah, bullshit. I locked eyes with Oakley and made sure my handshake was delivered overly hard.
Yeah, that’s right, Senator, we’re just getting acquainted. You’ll meet my dick in a bit. It’s huge.
I had to step away and pull myself together. I kissed my girl on the forehead and told her I’d be back shortly. The senator and I had a date.
I tracked him around and pegged his security detail immediately. I mean, we’re all recognizable in the trade. All I would do was talk to the senator. Harmless, right?
When Oakley left for a piss I made sure I was a bit delayed behind him. Perfect timing. Security goon was busy filling his plate with food. The men’s room had a lock, which was an added bonus. My luck seemed to have no bounds today.
I was leaned up against the wash counter when he came out of the stall adjusting his belt.
“We are alone and the door is locked, Oakley.”
He stopped dead flat and assessed the situation. The senator seemed to have been blessed with some modicum of intelligence, I’ll give him that. He did not panic.
“Are you threatening me, Blackstone?” he kept his voice level.
