Текст книги "Ascension Day"

Автор книги: John Matthews

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Текущая страница: 8 (всего у книги 38 страниц)

But the other reason he was looking at it again now was because of something John Langfranc had said the other day. With still no reply, he’d finally told Langfranc about the e-mail and they’d brainstormed just who might have sent it – friend of Durrant’s, relative, hoaxer, any of the new supporters he’d found since hitting the press again recently, or capital punishment opponents keen to throw a spanner in the works at the last moment – when Langfranc arched one eyebrow.

‘Of course, one other possibility we haven’t thought of: the murderer himself. That need to confess that criminologists are always talking about. Not to mention guilt – with Durrant getting close now to his final day.’

‘No, surely not. I mean why would he – ’ Then suddenly Jac stopped himself as he thought about the e-mail’s wording: I was there at the time. If it was just a hoaxer, then why not say simply that he knew or could tell them? Why be so bold and say that he was there at the time?

Those same words leapt out at Jac now, until everything else on the page evaporated and that was all that seemed to be there… I was there at the time.

9

For the first ten minutes they skirted around each other, keeping the conversation to safe, inconsequential ground: how long had he been in the States? How was he finding it? Relationships with his mother and aunt? But with that, he found himself choosing his words carefully. He knew that, at least from Aunt Camille’s perspective, she considered the Bromwells to be quite close, and he didn’t want to be too ungracious.

But as Jennifer Bromwell sensed his awkwardness, she reached across the table and lightly touched the back of his hand, their first physical contact.

‘It’s okay. I find her a big snob, too. Sometimes too much to take. So don’t be afraid to speak your mind.’

And Jac, in turn, found her skewing her lip slightly when he asked about her father. He reciprocated by touching her hand back. ‘Look, I don’t even know him. But if I said he was a snob as well – would that make it any easier for you to talk about him?’

They laughed, and from there the conversation flowed easily: family, work, life, France – she’d visited twice, Paris for two days as part of a whirlwind European trip, and a holiday of two weeks spent between Cannes and Monte Carlo. Her work was in the PR and marketing department of a local fashion house.

They’d gone to Le Bon Temps Roule, his choice but under her guidance of liveliness and ambience before haute cuisine. ‘I go to enough stuffy high-class joints with my parents.’

There was a funky jazz trio playing in the back room where they’d planned to go after eating, but all that reached them among the front dining tables was its steady bass beat and the occasional forceful vocals or saxophone burst.

At one point Jennifer paused again more thoughtfully, as if, despite his efforts to put her at ease, something still perturbed her.

‘Look – about my father. My mother too, to a lesser extent. I feel I should say this now, before things get too far on, because if you found out later, you’d only be upset.’ Jennifer glanced briefly towards the bar before looking back at him directly. ‘All of this was my father’s idea, with my mom, as always, meekly backing him up. And mainly because of my boyfriend – who they don’t happen to approve of. Rock musician, you see, but just small gigs here and there. And, as my father likes to put it, not heading anywhere fast. Young lawyer with a blue-blood background looks a much better bet.’ She shook her head briefly and reached out and lightly touched Jac’s hand again. ‘But now that I’m here, don’t get me wrong – I’m glad I came. You’re a really sweet guy.’

Jac resisted filling the gap with ‘But?’ – it would only make her feel more awkward, when it was obvious what the answer was: there wasn’t any sexual spark between them, and wasn’t going to be. He appreciated her boldness in speaking openly and, because it took the pressure off him, he felt the least he could do was return the gesture.

‘Same here with me – with my Aunt Camille doing the pushing. Except in my case it was because I haven’t had a serious relationship the past few years. Not since I split up with my girlfriend in France, Madeleine.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry.’

Her hand reaching out and consoling again. Though Jac wasn’t sure whether the ‘sorry’ was for his split from Madeleine, or because with him not having much of a love-life these past years, he might have expected more from this date now.

Jac shrugged. ‘I don’t do too badly. I get the occasional fresh date now and then.’ He didn’t want her to feel awkward for things not heading anywhere between them, but he stopped short of mentioning he had one of those fresh dates the night after next.

‘Like this one.’ She smiled. She started picking at the breaded prawn and calamares the waiter had just brought up. ‘Lawyer and blue-blood was the bait used to get me here. So, what did Camille use with you?’

‘Money.’ No point in tip-toeing around it; blunt honesty had been the order of the day so far.

‘Oh, that.’ She said it with the disdain that comes only from those who’ve had big money for a while: so used to it that it invokes only boredom, and by now sufficiently well-schooled to be wary of the associated problems and baggage that come with it.

Jac went on to explain the tragic chain of events that led to them leaving France – his father’s financial collapse, illness and eventual death – and as a result being forced to live in Aunt Camille’s grace and favour.

‘What didn’t help also was me choosing to switch from corporate to criminal law. Otherwise things might have been a bit easier financially, and I’d have got my mother and sister out from under Camille’s wing by now.’

Jennifer sipped thoughtfully at her wine. ‘Looks like you take after your father in that respect. You’re not that bothered about money.’

‘That’s exactly what Camille says. That, like him, I’m foolish when it comes to money, a dreamer. As a result, I make bad choices.’

Jennifer shook her head. ‘I wasn’t criticising. I meant it actually as a compliment. Kelvin, my boyfriend, is exactly the same. Just follows his dreams and where his nose might lead him, doesn’t give a damn about money. That’s what makes him so different, so refreshing. The problem I always found was that guys either came sniffing around me because of the money – put more effort into trying to impress my father than me – or they got intimidated by it and were frightened off.’

Jac studied her closely for the first time. More Belinda Carlisle than Britney Spears, a touch of red in her blonde hair hinting at depth and fire beneath. And Jean-Marie had been right – he did like her, she was far from the spoilt rich brat he’d feared. Though ‘cute’ was without doubt too lightweight, didn’t embrace her strong savvy streak. Jac wondered for a moment that if she didn’t have a boyfriend and if he didn’t have his thoughts filled with the girl next door – since setting the date, he’d kept running through mental scenarios of how it might go – whether anything might have developed between them.

But they were past that point now, and almost two hours later when they’d exchanged more likes and wants and stories about family and work and put half the world to rights – she was again reaching that hand across the table, this time to set in stone how their relationship would be in the future.

‘Friends?’

He nodded and smiled. ‘Yes, friends.’

She said that she’d like to see him again and he nodded.

‘Yes, I’d like that too.’ Though with the main reason for them continuing to see each other gone, he doubted that either of them would keep to it.

Although, two consolations, Jac thought: he’d had an enjoyable evening when he’d feared originally it might be a nightmare, and in part it would be like a dry-run for his date the night after next, would help ease his nerves.

But it wasn’t, and it didn’t.

Watching the reaction in Francine Durrant’s eyes as Jac explained his dilemma with her husband was like viewing one of those old-fashioned, jolting-frame movies: pain, regret, fear, sadness, smiles and triumph – though the last were rarer, fleeting seconds, and always tinged with irony, as if they had no place amongst such an overriding swamp of regret and sadness. The past thirteen years of her life with Durrant condensed into a rapid succession of flicker-frames mirrored through her eyes.

The home she shared with her partner was a small wood-framed bungalow in a sector of the Upper Ninth Ward close to Bywater clinging to middle-classdom by its fingernails, with half-derelict project complexes and shotgun houses only three blocks away. Green-painted shutters and a mass of terracotta-potted-plants on its front veranda assisted that clinging; though perhaps it was just to brighten its facade and make it more homely.

Since the one photo Jac had seen of Francine in Durrant’s file, taken at their wedding, she’d aged well. Maybe she’d gone up a dress size from an eight to a ten, with a few faint lines now around her eyes, and her wavy hair was tinged lighter and redder now, stronger contrast against her coffee-light-on-the-cream skin tone – but otherwise, little change; except perhaps that her open smile from then was now far tighter, more constrained. Although possibly that had more to do with his visit and the subject being discussed. Maybe as soon as he left, her old easy smile would return.

As he got to the part about the e-mails from their son, Joshua, her mouth became tighter still and she could hardly bear for him to see her reaction any more. She looked down and away, chewing at her bottom lip. When he finally finished, she was slow in looking back up at him.

‘And who told you all of this? Larry himself?’

‘No, he was pretty close-mouthed and defensive when I started asking about family. It came from his close prison buddy, Roddy Rodriguez.’

She smiled crookedly. ‘Figures. He was pretty close-mouthed during our marriage, too. Rarely told me what he was up to.’ The darker flicker-frames were quickly back again. ‘…Including that night he was at the Roche woman’s house.’

Jac reached a hand towards her, but fell a few inches short of actual physical contact. ‘I’m sorry, Mrs Durrant. I know how difficult this is for you. And if there was any other way of doing this without coming here to see you, believe me…’

‘It’s okay.’ She forced the smile back after a second, but it was more laconic and bitter now. ‘That was actually one of the biggest sources of argument between us, you know: Larry’s reluctance to communicate openly – along with the drink, the drugs, the shooting pool and card nights when I suspected he was with other women and I would start phoning round his friends.’ She shook her head. ‘The “Stone Mountain” they used to call him when he was boxing. Not because he was particularly big, he was just light-heavyweight, or could take a lot of punches – but because he never said much. Never gave away what he was feeling inside.’ She clamped one hand to her breast. ‘And maybe that’s okay when you’re preparing for a boxing match and want to appear like a lump of stone, immovable, to your opponent – but let me tell you, Mr McElroy, it’s pretty hard to take day in, day out in a marriage.’

‘I know. I understand,’ Jac said, although he had little idea. He was keen to get her back on track. Not just because the more maudlin she became, wallowing in her husband’s failings, the harder it might be to gain her co-operation – but because of time: twenty-five, thirty minutes before her partner came home, she’d said. Unless he could keep her away from Memory Lane, he’d never get what he wanted in time. He took a fresh breath. ‘It isn’t my intention to get young Joshua into trouble here – but did you know about the e-mails he was sending to his father in prison?’

She cast her eyes down for a second, as if weighing up the implications of her answer. ‘Yes. Yes, I did. Or rather my partner did – he was first to discover them on the computer and told me.’

‘And was it you that stopped Joshua sending more e-mails, or did he decide to stop of his own accord?’

She forced a pained smile. ‘More of a mutual decision, really. Between me, my partner Frank, and Joshua.’

‘I see.’ Jac could just imagine what say Joshua had on the issue with the combined weight of his mother and stepfather ganged up against him.

‘I know what you’re thinking,’ Francine said, catching his look. ‘And at times there’s been issues between Frank and Joshua – particularly where Larry was thought to have had an influence. But this is one occasion where I was right behind Frank. We might try at times to treat Josh like the little man of the house, but he’s still only twelve, Mr McElroy.’ She met his eyes challengingly for a moment before looking down. ‘E-mails back and forth, back and forth… right up until… until.’ Her voice cracked slightly and she bit at her lip as she looked up again. ‘How long is it now that my Larry has left? Thirty-six, thirty-seven days? Just enough time for Josh to get close again to his father, huh? Realclose. Close enough for him to really feel and know just what’s happening to him. Can you imagine how that’s going to crush the boy? The first time he’s really got close to his father, and the next minute…’ Francine snapped her fingers. ‘He’s gone. Is that what you want, Mr McElroy?’

‘No, no.’ Jac shook his head. ‘That’s what we’re trying to avoid. That’s the whole point of this clemency plea now. To hopefully get the Governor to commute the sentence.’

‘And what if you don’t succeed, Mr McElroy? And we let young Josh get sucked into this in the hope of keeping his father alive – only for it to fail. And, job well done, he gets close enough to give his father real hope to want to live again. That closeness and hope, that’s all going to get to the boy, too.’ Francine grimaced tautly. ‘Make him do this, and the loss of his father is going to hit him like a freight train.’

‘It’s going to hit the boy hard anyway, Mrs Durrant.’

She snorted. ‘Yeah, but it’s going to be ten times harder if we get Josh close and build up his hopes that his father might actually live.’

When Jac had phoned Francine Durrant earlier, she’d initially refused to see him, saying that she had a new man and new life now. ‘ And that old life always drags us back, makes our new life more difficult to get on with. Even more so from my new partner’s point of view – he won’t stand for it for a minute.’ He’d had to push hard to get the meeting, tell her about her husband’s death-wish and its apparent link to lack of contact with Joshua. ‘ So while I understand your resentment, if it goes as far as actually wanting to see Larry die – then, fine, don’t see me.’ Hearing Francine Durrant’s heavy sigh, her conscience wrestling with the demons that had no doubt already ripped her apart during these past eleven years – Jac had felt guilty using the sledgehammer approach. But now, he realized, it might take more of the same to finally shift her stance.

‘I take your point, Mrs Durrant. It’s not ideal to have Josh get close at this juncture. But then probably anythinghe does at this stage is going to be far from ideal. If he cuts himself off from his father and has little contact – do you think he’s going to feel any better?’ Jac’s eyes searched hers for a moment before she looked down. Possible concession. ‘Probably not. In fact, he might even feel worse – knowing that he purposely kept his distance and had no contact in those vital final weeks of his father’s life.’

‘I appreciate that, too.’ Francine closed her eyes for a second. ‘But the way we looked at it, that option was the lesser of two evils.’

‘The lesser of two evils?’ Jac repeated with a questioning tone. ‘Is that what it’s come down to now between your son and his father? And what if your son finds out at some later stage that his lack of contact in those final weeks was the main reason his father didn’t want a clemency plea made on his behalf?’

Francine closed her eyes for a moment again, chewing at her lip. ‘He won’t find out. He’ll neverknow.’ When she opened her eyes again, she kept them slightly averted. She didn’t want Jac to see what lay there.

‘He’ll never know?’ Jac’s repetition had now become faintly mocking. ‘There’s going to be a fair bit of media coverage of this, maybe even some books, too. It’s pretty rare that a prisoner doesn’t want clemency put in on his behalf, in fact wantsto die. Gary Gilmore was the last, if I remember right. That generated countless articles and books, people were still debating it years later. And one of the key questions raised is always whythey wanted to die? You think all of that’s going to happen without your son ever finding out?’

‘It’ll only be the first year or so, I can keep it hidden from him for that time.’ Francine fought for conviction to mask the desperation of the comment. She took a fresh breath. ‘Besides, as you say, and I also know from bitter past experience – Larry is always so close-mouthed. No way is he going to admit that his wanting to die is down to his son not making contact. He’s going to say just what he told you: that he’s simply sick of facing more time in prison, and this is his going to God. His “Ascension Day”.’

Give her credit, she was standing her ground well. Jac nodded and held a palm out.

‘That as may be. But there’s always people like Roddy Rodriguez keen to speak out.’ Jac knew that he was on more uncertain ground here. It had been hard to prise from Rodriguez the family backdrop to Durrant’s death-wish. It was unlikely he’d speak so openly to journalists. ‘And even if that wasn’t the case – you’dalways know. Something that might prey on your mind every time you look at Joshua.’

But as Francine looked at him directly and Jac saw the fiery spark there, he knew that he’d stepped too far.

‘Don’t you dare lay that on me. I’ve done nothing butthink of Larry practically every time I’ve looked at the boy these past eleven years – so another ten or twenty isn’t going to make much difference. And it’s not just that his father’s been locked away practically since he was born that I’m reminded of when I look at Joshua. All those taunts and jibes at school he’s had to shoulder through the long years. You know what I’m reminded of most when I look at him?’

Jac shook his head and quietly mouthed, ‘No’, his voice suddenly choked of any strength.

‘What I’m reminded of most is the promise that Larry made when Joshua was born: that he wouldn’t – cross his heart and hope to die – do any more robberies. He couldn’t face doing time again and spending even a minute away from the boy. Especially now we were both depending on him so heavily. And just three months later, he’s in the Roche house – and, who knows, maybe even other robberies in between. Maybe he never stopped. Did you happen to know that too, Mr McElroy, about the solemn promise Larry made to his family?’

‘Yes. Yes, I did.’ Jac looked down slightly, as if he was somehow ashamed of sharing that knowledge.

‘And did Larry himself tell you about that?’

‘No. It was Rodriguez again.’

Some of the fire eased and the sly smile was back. ‘At least he’s consistent. The Stone Mountain remains close-mouthed till the end. He might have found God, but he’s certainly not found his tongue.’

‘I know how you must feel, Mrs Durrant. And you’ve got every right to feel angry for what he did, and the consequences that you and Joshua have had to endure.’ Jac felt immediately at a loss for just how to fight back. All he could think of was placating so that at least she was more receptive when he finally found the right words. He glanced quickly at his watch: only six or eight minutes before her partner was due back. ‘But the thing is, I…’ Jac broke off as she looked sharply over her shoulder, and he too picked up on a faint shuffling in the hallway in that instant. She’d packed Joshua off to his room when Jac first arrived with the strict instruction not to disturb them. Either the boy had come out of his room or her partner was home early.

‘Joshua, is that you there?’ she called out.

They heard more shuffling that sounded as if someone was moving further away along the hallway. Then, ‘Yes… I was just getting a drink from the kitchen.’

‘Okay. Well, you head back to your room now. Leave us private like I said.’

She waited patiently until she heard his footsteps fully recede and his bedroom door click shut again. But as she looked back at Jac, her face was slightly flushed, and he could imagine what she was thinking: how long had the boy been close by in the hallway, and had he overheard any of their conversation?

The momentary break had allowed Jac’s thoughts to gel as he recalled Rodriguez’ words: ‘ In fact, he sees most of this in here as punishment for having broken that solemn promise. Retribution and all that Bible stuff he got into later on.’

Jac shook his head. ‘As I was about to comment, Mrs Durrant, I find it ironic that you should mention that promise. Because that’s one of the main reasons Rodriguez puts forward for Larry wanting to die: guilt over having let you and Josh down.’

‘Oh. I see.’ She let the words out on a heavy breath.

Jac could see that she’d taken the information badly. One of the main arguments behind her not helping now completely turned around as a cry for help: her husband wanting to die because of guilt over the promise he’d made to her and Joshua, and now she was ensuring he succeeded in that by cutting off further contact with his son.

‘Rodriguez said that when the e-mails started coming through from Joshua, he saw the change in your husband. Some hope and light in him that just hadn’t been there before.’

‘Rodriguez again?’ Francine nodded, but now the comment had lost any of its bite and was more of a knowing confirmation than a question.

‘Yes. Hope and light that maybe with that contact, your husband would be able to face the years ahead. And not just because it felt good to have continuing contact with the boy and gave him some future purpose – but because Larry saw the e-mails as some sort of proof that his son had forgiven him for breaking his promise and letting him down. Deserting him through all those years.’

Francine visibly shuddered as she put one hand up to her mouth and closed her eyes for a second. Jac noticed as she opened them again the tears welling, and she held the same hand out as if to shield them as she shook her head.

‘Please, Mr McElroy… don’t say any more. Believe me, I’ve got the picture.’ She wiped at her eyes with the back of one hand. ‘And if I could help, I would. But I’m afraid, Mr McElroy. Frank’s a good man, and I don’t want to lose him over this.’

Jac held one hand out. ‘But surely if you explained to him the situation, as difficult as it might be, in the end he’d understand.’

She shrugged. ‘Maybe he would, maybe he wouldn’t. Worst thing is, I’d probably never know – not, that is, until he just upped one morning and left. Said that he couldn’t “cope” with me and Josh any more. Because that’s what happened with my last partner.’ She shook her head wearily. ‘And I just can’t afford to have that happen again now with Frank.’

‘I see.’

‘Maybe you do, maybe you don’t.’ She shrugged again and smiled tightly. ‘Do you know what I earn, Mr McElroy?’

‘ What?’ Jac was caught off-guard, bemused as to what that had to do with anything.

‘Barely thirty bucks a day at the shoe shop where I work. Mainly because I leave at four most days to collect Josh from school. And I only got that job because the shop’s owner was friend of a friend. “Lucky” to get the job with such kindly hours I was told at the time, and don’t I know it – or, if I ever get close to forgetting, when things aren’t going so smoothly, I’ll get reminded of it by the manager. Well, apart from the fact that Frank’s a good man and been good to me and Josh, without him we just couldn’t manage on my wage. And it seems at times as if I’m just hanging on to that job by the skin of my teeth. “Taken on” is the expression oft used. “Lucky to get taken on”.’ Francine shook her head and fixed her eyes levelly on Jac. ‘And it’s pretty much the same expression used when a man “takes on” a woman of my age with a child in tow. Particularly one still married to the father of that child – let alone that he might be on death row for murder.’

‘I see. I understand.’ And for the first time since arriving, as much as it went directly against what he was there for, he did see and understand.

‘I’m sorry, Mr McElroy. But you can see the dilemma I’m facing. If I went against Frank over this and got young Josh to…’ Her voice trailed off as, with a jolt, she looked towards the clock on the far wall. The mention of Frank reminded her that she’d got more carried away with explaining than she’d realized. Frank was due back at any minute. ‘I… I think we’ll have to leave things there, Mr McElroy.’

He fired a tight but understanding smile as he got to his feet, then handed her his card as they walked towards the front door. ‘If you should happen to have a change of heart, please call me. Please.’

Jac clasped her hand gently and felt it shaking slightly. But she hardly looked at the card in her hand, or at him – her eyes were busy darting between the front door and a side window which gave a partial view towards the road.

They said a hasty goodbye and Jac gave a small wave just before he got into his car towards Francine Durrant, who was still looking through a six-inch gap in the front door. She was obviously anxious for Jac to be clear of the house before Frank got there, so that she didn’t have to explain anything. But at least Jac now had a better understanding of her fears. As pitiful as it might be, she was simply clinging to the remnants of life left after her husband’s long years in prison: a badly paid job and what she saw as her last chance at a relationship.

When he was a block away from Francine Durrant’s house, he checked his cell-phone and saw that Haveling had called, but hadn’t left a message. Good news or bad? Marmont’s condition improved, or Marmont dead? Haveling rejecting or accepting Durrant’s account?

Jac pulled over to the side of the road and eased out a slow, tired breath as he dialled Haveling’s number. But it hardly mattered any more, he reminded himself: if he couldn’t shift Francine Durrant’s stance, the whole case was dead anyway.