Alan Goodwin - Gravity's Chain

‘What did you do?’ Seeing her so distraught brought the first tears to my eyes.

‘The morning she died she’d rung me. She was so upset. You’d argued and she was so desperate she had to talk to someone, and there was no one but me.’

I remembered the broken phone from the morning of her death, the cord snaking across the floor.

‘There was my chance, so I told her about the letter, Jack. I told her about our letters. I told her how you’d apologised on the bottom of her vile letter from London and I told her how we carried on writing after that. It couldn’t have been worse. Shagging she could have understood—sex wasn’t that important—but she thought she had your entire mind, your wonderful bloody mind, but she didn’t. I had some of it still and she couldn’t bear that betrayal.’

‘You should have told me.’ I gripped my head in my hands.

‘I blamed you too much. If you hadn’t written those words at the end of her letter, none of this would have happened, but there was that little bit of kindness left in you—and it was enough to kill her.’

‘I’m sorry, Mary,’ I whispered in my grief.

‘You’ve repaid your debt now, Jack. There’s no need to be sorry.’

I shook my head. ‘No, there are much greater debts for me to pay, believe me.’

Detective Ryan,

I’m writing to tell you I wish to amend the statement I made about the unfortunate death of Jo Thompson. I lied. I know you never believed me, and you were right to be so suspicious. I’m available for re-interview at any time.

I was in the room with Jo and the Russian prostitute. Drugs were taken. Honestly, I can’t remember where they came from. I had enough in that room to knock out an elephant.

For too long I’ve avoided the truth of what I did. Well, no longer. I lied to you and to Jo’s family and you all deserve to know the truth.

At the Auckland High Court yesterday world-renowned New Zealand scientist Jack Mitchell was sentenced to one year’s supervision.

The 30-year-old founder of the Superforce theory pleaded guilty to a charge of perverting the course of justice. The charges arose following the death of 31-year-old Joanne Thompson at Auckland Hospital in March of this year. Thompson died from a cocaine overdose, taken at a celebrity party at the Hilton Hotel held for Mitchell following his successful national speaking tour.

When interviewed by police, Mitchell denied any involvement but later admitted his role in the cover-up. In mitigation, Mitchell’s counsel confirmed that the charges and court appearance had ended his lucrative contract with the Taikon Corporation and that the cancellation of Mitchell’s shows across the United States, together with the loss of other commercial deals, had left him bankrupt and out of work.

In sentencing Mitchell, Justice Simon Paine told him that he was one of the world’s most gifted men and it personally saddened him to see him before the court. However he accepted that Mitchell’s belated actions in admitting his role and his plea of guilty saved him from a custodial sentence.

Outside court, Mitchell asked to be left alone to start work again.

Dear Jack,

I’m sorry I’ve left it so long to write. I know I should have said something before, but somehow it all seemed too hard. I read about your sentence. I’m glad you avoided prison—you certainly didn’t deserve that.

Things were pretty rough after your little confession. My God, meeting after meeting, more debriefs than if I was a spy coming in from the cold. Mason was as wild as any man could be without bursting blood vessels. He swore vengeance against you, and I think he got what he wanted. He could never understand how, having got away with it, you turned yourself in. I tried to persuade him just to release you, but that isn’t his way, and no one was listening to me any more. I warned you this would happen. Taikon will make sure you never get anything. You won’t be able to fart without having to pay for it.

As for me, well, I survived. You know me. In fact I’ve been assigned to look after your old sparring partner, Frank Driesler. Yes, I thought that might amuse you. Nothing has been announced, but he has been signed up as the next big thing. I’ve only met him twice and both times he could do little but talk about you. He really is quite obsessed. Only time will tell, but I’m sure it won’t be anywhere near as much fun as the time with you.

I miss you, Jack. You were a complete idiot at times, but there was never a dull moment with you. I admire you for that; in fact I admire you for what you did. Taikon can take all the material stuff away from you, but they can never take away your genius. Your achievement will be with all of us until the day the human race just gives up.

Finally, I’m sorry about the Nobel not going your way. It will be yours one day, once all the rage has died down and what you did in that hotel room is forgotten. If anyone deserves it, you do.

I hope one day we meet again.

I woke early as the first daylight spilt over the horizon. The sea was calm and the clouds high; it was a perfect day for fishing. There was a rhythm to my days now, so much slower, so much more purposeful than before. Lazily I set about making a pot of tea. ‘Tea’s on the bench, we’re leaving in twenty minutes,’ I called up to the bedroom.

There was an early morning chill and a gentle breeze rustled the treetops. In the boat shed fridge I found a trevally and cut it into strips for bait. I cranked the tractor and followed the time-honoured procedure. Ted from the bach at the far end of the bay had already parked his tractor and was waiting for me to pull up behind him.

‘Ready for some marlin, Jack?’

‘Hope so, Ted.’

He tipped his cap to the back of his head to check the sky and we walked along the beach together.

‘Will you two come along for a drink and a game this evening?’ he asked eagerly.

‘Maybe, Ted, I’ll let you know what we’re up to later.’

He nodded and returned to his boat, whistling tunelessly.

I glanced at the rock outcrop in the distance. The day after the storm was the last time I had seen Mary. Whatever hopes I may have harboured, there was no grand reunion.

In the six months since we had spoken on the phone and exchanged the odd message. A peace of sorts was declared, but it was never enough for her to forgive me the past. Or so she said. I wasn’t so sure. We had a history, a grand history, and that’s never easy to forget. Mike had told me that she was thinking of going to Australia to teach. He said it every time we spoke, but still she remained in New Zealand. I couldn’t help but think that one day, perhaps when I least expected it, I’d look up to see her driving along the beach and back to me.

Back at the bach I went to the kitchen.

‘You really do make the most awful tea, Jack.’

‘Sorry, Dad.’

He poured his drink down the sink. ‘You put too many bags in and it’s stewed to buggery.’ He poured hot water into the pot and added just one bag. ‘Looks like a beautiful day, we should catch something today.’

‘I reckon. Ted would like us to go for a game tonight—I said we might.’ I waited for Dad to finish his tea. ‘I forgot to tell you, the lawyer rang yesterday—settlement on the house has been brought forward a week.’

‘That’s great.’

‘Once we have the money we can really get this place into shape.’

We fished all day with limited success and returned home in the late afternoon. I towed the boat back to the shed and watered her down. After a shower I asked Dad about going out, but he felt too tired, so I strolled along the beach, my feet kicking the gentle surf, to tell Ted. When I returned Dad was asleep on the sofa. I checked my phone. There was a missed call from Mike and a message from Mary. It said nothing in particular—they never did—but it was contact and while it continued there was hope.