Tedd and Todd's secret (2 page)

"Captain!" a fireman shouted from within the cloud of smoke, his voice muffled by the oxygen mask, "If I tell you this, you're not going to believe me. You've got to come and see this for yourself."

"This isn't the time for games, Jim," the captain shouted back from his distant vantage point. "Search for heat pockets and secure the zone. You two," he said, signalling two firemen at his side, "go and see what Jim is doing and lend him a hand. And tell him I'm in no mood for jokes."

The pair nodded and entered the smoke that was beginning to disperse slowly. Stew Walton frowned as he watched them walk off, then turned to give orders to the rest.

"Let me go!" yelled a voice that Stew didn't recognize. "I'm fine."

"It's for your own safety," he heard Jim say.

Stew looked in the direction of the voices and was stunned to see Jim emerging from the smoke with a short, fair-haired man. Not only was it incredible that someone had survived the fireball, but the survivor was dressed in an impeccable white suit. His silky blond hair was perfectly combed. His movements give no indication of where he'd just been. He wasn't limping or coughing, only his clear blue eyes shone with a light expression of uncertainty.

"Get back to work," Stew said to the confused firemen who were beginning to surround the stranger. The captain cleared his way to the man and had the sensation of wanting to touch him to verify that he was real and not a hallucination. "How's it possible that he's come out of this unscathed?" he asked the two men. Jim just shrugged his shoulders. The survivor studied him without saying a word. "Is there anyone else alive?"

"No one," Jim answered. "We've found at least thirty bodies, and maybe there are more."

"I don't know what happened," the strange, white-suited man said when he noted Stew staring at him. "I was sitting in the bus when I heard the sound of tyres screeching on the asphalt. I crashed against the seat in front and I think something hit my head. The next thing I remember is finding myself in this mass of smoke with this man here," he said, pointing to Jim.

"Is that all?" the captain said, taking his mask off now that they were a fair way from the flames. "I've been working as a fireman for twenty years, more than enough time to know that no one walks away from a fire like this, let alone looking like you do." Stew could not avoid lacing his words with anger. "This is unacceptable. I need a better explanation than the one you've just given me. Who are you?"

"My name is James White," the man answered, defensively. "And I can't see why I would want to hide anything. Now leave me in peace."

Astonished, Stew watched the survivor walk away, carrying the mystery of his miraculous survival with him.

"I want you to look at every damn piece of ash you find and give me an explanation of how this individual has left these flames without a scratch," he said to Jim as he rushed after James White. "I'm afraid you can't leave," he said when he reached him. "There are a lot of dead people back there, and until we clarify the cause of the accident I can't let you go. It's possible that later on you might be able to remember something that can help us. Besides, you'll have to spend some time in observation to make sure you haven't suffered any injury."

"But I'm fine," James White complained. "How could I be walking like I am if there was something wrong with me?"

"Although there are no obvious fractures or contusions, there could be other problems," Stew said, thinking that he didn't give a damn what they might find. The only thing that he had as clear as a bell in his head was that he was going to get to the bottom of the mystery of who this James White was. "You could be intoxicated from smoke inhalation, for example. Let the professionals do their work."

After much protesting, Stew managed to get the man on to a stretcher and into an ambulance. He took a note of the hospital they were going to and returned to what was left of the fire.

Unable to stop his lips twisting into a cynical smile, Aidan Zack entered the surgery.

"You're late," Doctor Shyla said dryly.

"I had a bad night," Aidan lied without worrying too much about whether Shyla believed him or not. It was his last session for the year and he wanted to keep it as short as possible. "Besides, the traffic didn't help."

"The only thing this shows is that you don't take therapy seriously, detective," Shyla said, watching Aidan sit down in the comfortable leather armchair that he detested so much. "Do you want to talk about the causes of your bad night or admit there's another excuse?"

"I don't know what's up with you, Doctor," Aidan answered, beginning to regret having arrived late. He'd trusted that his therapist would be less strict in their last session together, at least until the first session in the new year. "Don't take it so seriously. It's our last meeting and no doubt you've already made a decision. I know you've already edited the report. We can get straight to the point."

Aidan relaxed a little seeing the doctor take a deep breath and move in her seat. It seemed she was going to get over her anger, and for once the implacable Shyla would let him do the same. Surely she was as sick of these confrontations as he was of this damn therapy. He leaned his six-foot-ten-inch frame back in the armchair and placed his hands on his knees.

"In the end," Shyla lamented, "I still haven't decided what recommendation I will put in my report. There are many things that still worry me. I'm given to understand that your superiors aren't too happy with you either."

"They're fools," Aidan snapped. He wasn't in any mood for a chat. He'd already argued this point in previous sessions and didn't see why it was necessary to cover his feelings up to someone who knew him so well. "Maybe some of them aren't too pleased, but they know I get the job done."

"It doesn't make any sense to beat around the bush," she said, looking him straight in the eyes. "They're going to release Bradley Kenton very soon. What do you think about that?"

"Absolutely nothing," Aidan replied without any emotion. "That happened a long time ago."

"You don't expect me to believe that, do you? I know you treat it as if it happened yesterday," Shyla said, watching Aidan cross his arms, returning her stare. "Very well. I know I can't prove that you've not got over it, your self-control has stopped you talking about this man unless you're forced to, but I don't have to be a psychologist to know that nobody gets over something like that without talking about it."

"Well, I have," Aidan assured her flatly.

"Five years isn't that long, Aidan," she disagreed. "Especially, taking into account that this man killed your wife. It would take a lot of time for most people to get over a trauma like that."

"That's most people, not me," Aidan said, forcing a smile. "It's another perfect example of who I am."

Both of them knew that was a lie, but there were other more important things. It was a game. Shyla had to evaluate whether Aidan Zack was capable of doing his job as a detective. It came down to whether or not he was a threat to himself or to others. There were many in the force who were carrying big problems that could hinder their work as policemen.

"Your physical recovery is one thing," she said. Aidan had been in a coma for two months after the accident. He'd made a full recovery, getting over injuries that should have been permanent or even fatal. His spinal injury alone should have left him paralysed. "Your physical tests have shown that you're back to normal. But the mind is something else. When was the last time you had sexual relations?"

"Last week," he answered without thinking, "A beautiful twenty-five-year-old blonde. It was pretty good." He paused, hearing Shyla's pen tap on the desktop, seeing her frown. "Ok… ok. Is the frequency of my sexual relations relevant to my detective work? If so, you'd better interview Jake, it's been two years since his last." Shyla's frown deepened and Aidan decided to leave it there. "Five months," he said thoughtfully, "Maybe six. I'm not sure."

"How was it?"

"A true disaster," he said without any sign of embarrassment. "It wasn't one of my best moments. Different tastes, you understand. I would have preferred something else. Do you really want all the details?"

"No. I'm familiar with your tastes. Did you feel anything more than just sexual attraction?"

Aidan didn't know how to answer. If it came to the crunch he hadn't even felt physical attraction for the woman. It wasn't that it had been that bad. It was simply a one-night stand that hadn't worked out well. He'd been in a bar drinking when the woman had walked up and started talking. It had been months since he'd slept with anyone. It had been the right time to take what she was offering with the minimum effort required. Aidan was a good-looking man, and he knew it, but not as much as all the women who walked up to him in bars. He was a well-muscled, low-fat forty-five-year-old. His hair was still on his head, he had movie star features, and his six-foot-ten- stature made him stand out anywhere. Even so, most of the time he was the one who'd taken the first step.

"It was just sex," he finally said instead of inventing a little sentimental drama. "If you really want to know."

"Like always," Shyla observed. "It's time you got over your wife's death."

"I don't see how that will make me a better policeman."

"It will help you generally. And that goes for any profession. I know you're a good detective," she said before he could reply. "Technically one of the best. But your attitude has changed since that terrible accident. You've got problems getting on with your partners, you don't get on with the press, incidences of insubordination are more frequent, and some say you're more violent with criminals."

"I've always got on bad with the press," Aidan said arrogantly, "Even before the accident. Any of my partners can vouch for that. As far as everything else is concerned, I reckon I've improved a lot in the last year. There are hardly any misunderstandings. You can see I'm on the right path," he concluded, smiling.

"It's not enough. Your work's dangerous. I only want the best for you."

"Then let me keep on getting better," Aidan said. "If it's true that you're worried about my health why do you want to leave me without a job? I've already lost my wife and lost a year being in and getting over that damn coma. Do you really think it's good for me to lose my job?"

Before the doctor could answer him, his mobile phone rang.

"I forgot to turn it off. Sorry," he said, secretly pleased that the session had been interrupted. "Yes? Inspector. Calm down… No, I'll get there late. I'm with the shrink." Aidan shrugged his shoulders, looking at the doctor. She just nodded disapprovingly, she was used to the disrespect that the word shrink implied. "I saw something on the news last night. What's that got to do with me? But, sir… I've just said that I saw it. Anyone who survived that accident should be in a hospital bed stuffed with tubes and surrounded by respirators. I can't interrogate him… Is this a joke? Ok. I'll write it down… I understand," he said finally, hanging up and putting the phone back in his jacket pocket. "Well, Doctor, I'm sorry, but I've got to go. If you're thinking of giving me the thumbs down, tell me now. It will save me worrying about this little job for the Inspector."

"I suppose we can see each other next year," Shyla said, taking a deep breath. "Get out of here."

"Thanks a heap, Doc," Aidan said from the door. "I wish all women were like you."

Excited about having finished therapy for the year, Aidan Zack left the building thinking about the interview with the survivor of yesterday's accident in which forty people had died. He lit a cigarette, started the car and drove towards the hospital.

CHAPTER 2

After four years of marriage, it still excited Susan to watch her husband get dressed in an elegant suit, even though this time it wasn't one of her favourites. His body was made for it, the jacket showing his shoulders off in a way that she found irresistible. Despite his short height, she wouldn't change him for anyone else.

"Can't you wear something else?" she asked, as her husband combed his dark hair back from his forehead until his black eyes were satisfied with the image in the mirror before him. "It's not that it looks bad on you, but it's better not to go out dressed completely in black."