Alan Goodwin - Gravity's Chain

‘Fine.’

‘Still teaching?’

She nodded.

‘Boyfriend or partner?’

‘It’s funny, you know, I never really liked Jo. I mean I had no time for her at school and when she was after you back in the old days I resented her. Since then we’ve met at the occasional thing and we’ve talked and kept our silence about the past, but now I feel an overwhelming sense of guilt.’ For the first time she looked at me. ‘Not that I have anything to feel guilty about, not like some, but I find I have to be here. Perhaps it’s more for me than her, a guilt that I never made the effort with her and if she dies that chance will be lost for ever.’

‘What do you mean, not like some?’

‘Last time I saw Jo she was staggering off into the sunset, or should I say moonset…with you. Two days later she’s found in the Hilton in a coma.’ She turned back to Jo and straightened the sheet that had attracted so much attention over the past few minutes. ‘Aren’t you staying at the Hilton?’

‘Are you trying to say something?’

‘The facts speak for themselves. Have the police talked to you yet?’

There are times in life when words truly lose their meaning. You fail to hear them individually, but their total effect is so overwhelming that the body jolts in physical reaction. ‘What?’

‘The police, they’re investigating what happened. Jo’s in a coma from a drugs overdose and they’re ruling out any form of suicide attempt. They think someone gave her the drugs.’

‘I’m not sure I understand exactly what it is you’re trying to say. Are you accusing me of something? Is that why you’re here, to watch my downfall—all those years of waiting and now you have your chance? Are you trying to frighten me, Mary?’ I stood and paced the room, my shoes making a solid sound on the lino floor. At the end of the bed I crossed to Mary’s side; this was the closest I’d been to her since Caroline’s funeral. The lines around her eyes and from her nose to the corners of her mouth were deeper than I remembered but despite the years she still looked beautiful. In another time and place the moment would have taken my breath away.

‘Why should you be frightened of what I’m saying?’

‘It sounded more like a threat than the sharing of a casual conversation.’

‘There was no threat, Jack. I was stating the truth.’

‘I suppose you’ve already spoken to the police. I bet you enjoyed that opportunity to articulate all your juicy speculation.’ These words were mere bravado. Inside I felt the largest possible sense of fear. I might already be a hunted man. Inspector Plod might be sitting with Bebe in a long silence waiting for me to return. How good was Bebe’s cover-up? And Claudia, was she gone or was she primed for a flawless entry at the end of the scene? Newspaper headlines scurried through my thoughts as did the company meetings and memos in which everyone severed their connections. No one would want to be tainted with my name. ‘Jack Mitchell? No, never had anything to do with bringing him on board. In fact I told my manager I thought it was a bad idea…’ Oh yes, the rats would be running. Goodbye, planet fame, it’s been nice knowing you.

‘Did you see that?’ Mary was on her feet now, gazing first at the bed, then at me, all her hostility melted away. ‘I think you might have been right, I’m sure I saw something move.’

‘Good, good. That is good, isn’t it?’

‘I guess so, yes.’

We both waited a while, but nothing more happened. The room started to darken as the afternoon faded. I was due to leave Auckland later in the evening, but how could I just walk out? Any move and Mary might draw a conclusion I didn’t want her to draw. Fortunately my dilemma was solved by the appearance of Jo’s hapless parents. Mary introduced me, her voice the softest it had been all afternoon. They were impressed that I’d taken the time to visit their daughter. I felt a fraud, but I don’t think they noticed. They expressed their gratitude again and again. Their admiration left me in no doubt that they hoped I might lay hands on their daughter and make her well. They didn’t know I’d already laid hands on their daughter and made her sick.

After what felt an appropriate time I left. Mary followed.

‘By the way, I’ve spoken to the police, but I haven’t told them anything. They do know, though, that you left with Jo. When they asked if I saw you leave, I said I must have been in the loo. I don’t know who told them, but there were plenty of people who would have seen you leave together.’

‘I haven’t done anything wrong, Mary.’ I crossed my fingers.

‘I hope not.’

‘She’ll pull through.’

Mary leant against the corridor wall. ‘I know you want her to live, because I don’t think you want the death of two women on your conscience.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘First Caroline, now Jo—two deaths, Jack.’

‘I didn’t kill Caroline, you know that, Mary.’

‘I didn’t say you did. I just said you wouldn’t want a second death on your hands. Causing one is careless—two is irresponsible.’

‘Caroline killed herself and Jo took an overdose. I’m not responsible for either.’

‘I’m sure that’s how it is for you, Jack, but is that right? At some time you just have to stop the ride and ask whether it’s right.’

I watched her walk away and after a couple of minutes followed, head down as I negotiated the corridors. In the car I sat huddled against the door. I thought of nothing.

T he simplest way of dealing with Bebe was to lie. I could have said I’d been to see Dad, or gone shopping, but it never entered my head to deceive him. I never lied to Bebe for two reasons. First, when someone knows everything about the worst of your nature, what’s left to hide? Second, I accept that he will always find out. I learnt at the very beginning of our relationship that he possessed an unsurpassed nose for detecting bullshit. In his present state of heightened anxiety there was no question he would debrief my driver, so, with a drop of the head, like a boy whose father has found condoms in his sock drawer, I confessed to Bebe that I had visited Jo in hospital.

Bebe passed quickly through the anger barrier and soared to rage. He lectured me on every conceivable reason why I should have stayed clear of the hospital but he saved the best for last. The police, in the shape of Detective Ryan, had already visited Bebe and wanted to interview me before I left Auckland for the Wellington show. The piece of news lanced Bebe’s rage boil and I watched him deflate in the same way an imperfectly tied balloon loses air on a party wall until he finally sank to the nearest chair. His chest heaved with the emotion of the moment. We sat in silence for ten minutes in almost total darkness. I wanted to draw Bebe out of his despair, but I knew deep down that if I sank he’d go down with me, so I let him be until he was ready to resurface. And ready he had to be, because like all the greatest conspiracies it wasn’t the crime that sent you down, it was the cover-up and that was where Bebe was in the shit up to his neck. Oh yes, it’s always the lie that gets you—that’s the lesson of Watergate, of Clinton. The moment they lied they were dead meat: the public can tolerate weakness; what they can’t stomach is lying. Bebe knew this simple rule, and that’s why he was so angry.

We spent thirty minutes going through the story. It was of vital importance, Bebe said, that I understood completely what needed to be said at the coming police interview. I learnt my script and then we left.

Detective Ryan met us at the front desk and we followed him down polished corridors to an interview room where I was asked to wait while he showed Bebe to another room. There had been a discussion about a lawyer, but Bebe and I had agreed to refuse one because nothing could be added to what needed to be said. This was confirmed to Ryan, who accepted the information politely and chatted to me as he set up for the interview. There was an odd institutional smell in the room, the smell of old plaster and damp metal. The only furniture was a table with two chairs on each side and a tape machine. A second officer entered and sat next to Ryan, who meticulously peeled cellophane from the tape case and precisely placed it in the second deck. I liked Ryan. He’d been polite, courteous and apologetic throughout the whole process. I felt he was on my side, that he was rooting for me and that he knew what an imposition this was. Normally they wouldn’t tape a conversation like this, he told me, but because I was leaving Auckland and then New Zealand they wanted to ensure they covered everything. He smiled as he spoke. The second detective, whose name was Orton, was less forthcoming, but I sensed no hostility from him either.