Robert Parker - Snow Storm

Edwards suspended the interview and stopped the tape before making to leave. “Of course, there are things we can do Victor. You really should give it some thought.”

He was, Burke decided like a man trying to close an insurance sale which made him want to hit Mike Edwards all the more.

Giles was not a well man. The booze alone he could probably have coped with, given his track record, but he was not the greatest flyer. It was one thing he tried to work on; a major bone of contention he had with himself. There was no point getting the jet set lifestyle together when you couldn’t get on a jet without feeling the urge to retch. The Cessna was not exactly an improvement. Everything had started off well enough. He’d been so keyed up by the violence preceding take off and at the same time subdued in part by the residual drink that he hadn’t really thought too hard about it. The familiar feel had returned in full force though. As he climbed into the cockpit and belted up he couldn’t help notice the shaking of his hands.

The pilot took one look at him and handed over a sick bag.

Take off wasn’t quite as bad as expected, mainly because he’d been expecting the worst case scenario, the one that ended in a fire ball. The view was quite something if he’d been into that kind of thing, if he hadn’t been in so much of a mess, hadn’t been thinking about not throwing up and hadn’t been trying to work out what to do with his biggest client.

As the bay disappeared behind them he began to toy with the idea of drifting off for half an hour. The Galloway hills had other ideas. The turbulence was a wakeup call. As things seemed to gain a modicum of calm they would drop what seemed like six feet without warning. It wasn’t easy keeping it together in the throws of a full on fight or flight fit when you couldn’t run anywhere and the only person available to fight was currently in charge of keeping you alive.

It was a long flight. The pre-ordered car at the airfield took him straight to Gayfield Square. He’d never actually been in this situation. He wasn’t that kind of lawyer. He was a corporate lawyer; a fixer and facilitator. He enjoyed the challenge of setting things up; contracts, trusts, loopholes, anything that circumvented or took advantage of the rule of law, legal process or tax loss; that was what appealed to him. It pushed his buttons and generally gave him a good enough kick to get out of bed in the morning. He was not a criminal lawyer. He wasn’t used to speaking to officers of the law regarding clients’ attempts to bludgeon and kick their way through busy bars.

He didn’t have the street smarts or know the tricks. It was a lack of practice more than anything. These guys were well versed in the to and fro of interviewing suspects. He was not well versed in the defending of said suspects.

He had not met Victor Andreyevich before. He knew that he was his major client. However, everything was done through the company. He preferred it that way.

Andreyevich did not disappoint. He had a natural air of authority afforded by sheer physical bulk. Giles didn’t approve of the excessive jewellery. All very well a signet ring that had been passed down from the forefathers, but a collection of Christmas baubles adorning ones fingers was just a bit nouveaux riche.

After some consultation time, in which he was given some terse instructions they faced the inquisition. The two detectives they encountered were higher ranked than he was expecting. Was this due to his client’s high status or did they genuinely think they had something on him other than the obvious.

The taller one of the two, Edwards, seemed intent on doing most of the talking. Giles felt he recognised him from somewhere. Not school, he was too old for that but maybe he had a brother or something. In any case, he seemed to be going round in circles a bit, which Giles supposed was to be expected, given that he and his client gave them no material to work on.

Andreyevich’s plan, or at least this part of it, had been spelled out. It was a straight policy of saying nothing. He answered not a single question. Throughout, he eyed Edwards in a nonchalant way that seemed to imply he wasn’t particularly worried about this. The only time he had to interject was when Edwards started banging on about attempted murder. The charge seemed a little ambitious even for a man who clearly set high targets for himself. The other one, Burke, seemed a little disconnected, like he was observing from afar. He didn’t look like a detective, more like someone who should be trying to sell something he’d just invented on Dragon’s Den. He was a bit of a quiet one compared to his sidekick who looked more like the captain of the school rugby team.

The strict policy of non-ball-playing meant the interview did not take long. There had been one hair raising moment when Edwards started talking about a murder or murders his client might be able to ‘shed some light on.’ He didn’t get the reference and was about to interject but his client waved him away, laughed and shook his head. The lack of concern was a boost, as at this point if Giles was totally honest with himself, he was merely playing off the man’s reactions and had just about zero knowledge of any use.

He thought Burke might have been staring at him. He never actually caught him but he was sure he looked away a couple of times to avoid his gaze. Maybe it was a cop thing. Maybe they were always trying to recognise someone they’d seen somewhere or other that had done them or the general public some ill. Or maybe he just didn’t like the cut of his jib. Whatever the case the feeling was mutual. The man could at least have shaved for this morning’s interview.

Other than his mounting paranoia at Burke’s staring and his nausea at Edwards constant babble, he had to admit it was not the worst hangover he’d ever had.

But leaving his client in the holding cells, he had a feeling it might be about to get a whole lot worse.

As Andy’s eyes slowly opened he began to grow accustomed to the darkness unfolding before him. His neck hurt from the awkward unnatural way he’d been forced to sleep. At first he woke every time his chin hit his chest, but eventually his body had given in as it had to when in such dire need of sleep. Now the back of his neck ached in a way that made him think his upper vertebrae were all out of line permanently. This was probably the kind of thing that made you walk around with your head tilted forward for the rest of your days, turned you into a hunchback or something. He couldn’t imagine it ever feeling normal again, or that it ever had.

His hands were now numb and he found himself worrying about the possibility of circulation loss and the inevitable consequences of this, namely gangrene and the loss of limb.

But most of all though it was the pain in his head that really registered. It wasn’t even that sore. He’d had more pain in his limbs after a good work out. It was more that everything was not as it should be. One side of his head was swollen and even in this light his eyesight seemed to have diminished although maybe that was down to the fact his eye was bruised closed.

At first he’d thought it was his captors who kept waking him up. Maybe they were about to start the hard core water boarding or wire his nuts to a car battery after a spot of light sleep deprivation. But then he’d heard the soft female voice, talking to him in a soothing way in a language not his own as the side of his head was gently massaged and stroked with some kind of wet material.

The gag was gone. He tried to speak but at first she just said ‘shhh,’ and then later she seemed somehow different, voice at a slightly lower pitch though still talking to him in a foreign tongue.