Tedd and Todd's secret (9 page)

"Don't be so hard on yourself. You haven't done that much wrong."

"This man Alfred that you were speaking about," he said, changing the subject, "was he short?"

Carol took a while to answer, surprised by the sudden change of direction.

"Yes. He was identical to James White. The eyes and skin too."

"What was his surname?"

"White. The same as James's."

"And the opposite of William Black," Aidan said, running the details through his mind. "Was he decapitated?"

"No, he was cut through the chest. From one side to the other."

"By a sword?"

"No. With something even bigger. It might have been an iron bar or something like that."

Aidan thought it through. It needed a better explanation than he currently had. The physical similarity, the surnames, killed by strange weapons… It was all too unusual to be a product of chance, he was convinced of that. Nevertheless, he needed more information to find out what was happening.

"Was Alfred dressed in a white suit?"

"He might have been," Carol answered, frowning. "I'm not sure. Why ask about the clothes?"

"Black was wearing a black suit when he was murdered."

"The same colour as his surname. Is that what you mean?"

"Yes," he said, thinking she must have concluded he was mad. "And White was wearing a white suit."

"It could be just coincidence?"

"Maybe, but Black's wife said the killer was dressed in white. And he was Black's double, to boot."

"This is crazy," she said. "If you follow that line where's it all going to end?"

"It's pretty obvious that this is, as you say, crazy. Black wears black, has black eyes and dark skin, while White wears white, is blond and blue-eyed. Alfred White conforms to that, according to you. And we have to believe the testimony of Mrs Black. Why would she make it up?"

"You're not suggesting James White killed William Black are you?"

"Anything's possible. But he was here in the hospital. And I don't understand anything about this Alfred that you've mentioned. I've got a hunch, but it's pretty weird."

"Want to share it with me?"

"I said it's just a hunch," he repeated, his voice hollow. "It seems like Black against White. When we find William Black's killer I'll bet on his surname being White."

"Interesting theory. And following that through, Alfred White was killed by someone with the name Black. William, for example. Maybe his murder was revenge."

"It's possible."

"But this thing about the surnames doesn't make any sense. What's it all about – destiny? A group of people with these names killing each other. Or did they all change their surnames?"

"I haven't got the least idea," Aidan said, staring at the floor.

"And how come they all look alike?"

"Can't answer that either."

They remained silent for a while, going over the information in their minds. Aidan drank his cold coffee as an idea penetrated his mind like a sharp prick. He looked at Carol in such a way that she suddenly looked frightened. And for a second he completely forgot with whom he'd been talking. She was a journalist and could publish what he had just said. He'd been so involved in unravelling the mystery that he'd forgotten that. If she published what he was thinking now the investigation would be compromised. Another fight with the press wasn't exactly what he wanted right now.

"You can't publish any of this," he told her.

"Are you talking about my column? I've told you more than you've told me," she said, angrily.

"You only did that to get information from me. Don't you think I know that? This case is very sensitive. Men beheading their doubles. I've already heard other detectives talking about all of this with their wives."

"Look, Aidan. I'm doing my best to understand you, but…"

"You've got your work. But the consequences of what you write is what I'm talking about. I've already seen that."

"You're not starting again, are you? I've already told you that I don't write anything that's false. That goes for this case too. The public's got a right to know."

"And what if that prejudices my investigation? What's more important, entertainment or me catching the killer? Besides if you publish this madness about Black versus White the whole city'll be talking about it."

"I can't avoid that. The other papers are already on to it. It's inevitable."

"Yes, but they don't know about this connection between Alfred and James. They don't know the connection between their surnames. Just leave that out. By the way, why did you tell me this about Alfred?"

"I wanted to help you. I know you've been going through a bad time."

"Carol," Aidan said, rapping the table with his index finger.

"It's true. I swear. I need your help as well. I thought we could help each other out. I tell you this and you tell me how the investigation's going. But you've got to believe me."

"OK, I believe you. What do you want to know?"

"The post mortem. Have you got DNA results? You've got a sample of James White's blood if I'm not mistaken."

"Very clever," Aidan said, surprised. "This is what we'll do. I'll give you the results if you don't publish what I've asked you not to. Is that a deal?"

"That sounds fine," she agreed. "Now that we understand one another, we've got to have that appointment tomorrow," Carol advised him, fluttering her eyelashes as Aidan frowned with the shift in the conversation. "Don't look like that. Trust me. Because we haven't been able to talk to James White, how about coming with me tomorrow to talk to James Black?"

"James Black?" Aidan said, stunned.

Carol nodded. She'd left this bombshell for the end of their chat and was enjoying the look of shock on the big detective's face.

"You can be sure I'll be there tomorrow," Aidan assured her.

It was imperative to find out if this James Black was connected to the case. He was already dying to find out if he was James White's double. Was it possible that the names meant something as well?

"That's enough for one day. No time to drink, old man," Carol suggested, imitating Lance's voice. "You've got to take me home. An innocent little girl like me can't walk along these dangerous streets at this hour. Isn't that right?"

"What else can we do?"

"Not very gentlemanly. Lance would have offered to drive me home. You should learn from him."

"He is comfortable at home now and I'm the one that has to drive you home. You're right. I have to learn from him."

"Stop complaining and wait for me here. I'll go to the bathroom first."

Aidan stayed where he was as Carol walked away. When he lost sight of her he turned to notice the bar had filled up since they'd walked in.

CHAPTER 6

Ethan Gord couldn't be sure how many days the rubbish had been scattered across the floor but, judging by the smell, it had to be more than a week. He weaved his way through a sea of the unwanted, screwing up his face in disgust, as he went down the narrow passageway, keeping as close as he could to the middle of the corridor, avoiding the grime on the windows, highlighted by the tenuous light of the street lamps outside. His eyes saw something move on the floor, and he prayed that it was nothing more than a draught stirring the filth.

Since leaving his son Wilfred's mansion he'd gone from one extreme to the other. Back there, he could have eaten off the floor, only to come to this giant latrine, where it seemed impossible that any human being could survive.

He turned a corner and stopped in front of a rotting door. A crack ran from high on the door and zigzagged through the ceiling. He covered his hand with his sweater sleeve before turning the door handle. The door was locked. He called a couple of times but no one answered. He kicked the door and it opened with a creak and came off its hinges. The wood was so rotten that even a child could have knocked it down.

He entered a flat that unfortunately mirrored the corridor outside. He continued through new dirt and rubbish, past a window half-covered by ripped and faded curtains. He walked as lightly as he could across the filthy carpet that covered the floor at the entrance and past several chairs that he would swear no one would ever sit in.

He wanted to go back to the mansion and abandon this horrible place. It turned his stomach just being here. But that was not a problem that concerned him too much, if it wasn't like this, he wouldn't be fifty years younger than his son.

He finally arrived in the living room, kicked the door open to avoid touching it, and found what he had come in search of.

"Ethan, it's you," a man in a wheelchair in the centre of the room exclaimed. The chair was made of dark wood and metal, its back higher than normal. Otis Cade was thin, of medium height with sparse brown hair. He had a permanently sad look in his eyes that Ethan had seen get worse in recent months. "If I'd known it was you, I would've come to the door. You've caught me by surprise. I was just about to go."

"What's all this shit here, Otis? I know you're short of time, but this is too much."

"You said it. Time," Otis agreed. "I've got very little, and my affairs are of the maximum importance, as you know only too well."

"I know," Ethan said. "I've seen Big Ben. The end's near."

"Then you'll understand that I have more important things to think about," Otis said with a hint of sadness in his voice. "You're the great champion. If you've seen Big Ben, tell me, what's your opinion?"

"I can't get involved and you know it," Ethan confessed. Despite only knowing each other for around four years, Otis and he were great friends. They were the type of people who could sum the other's situation up immediately. "If it was up to me–"

"I'm losing," Otis stopped Ethan. "It's not necessary to talk, it's obvious and there's no point denying the truth."

"I'm sorry," was all Ethan could say. The surroundings didn't exactly encourage enthusiasm.

Otis lifted himself out of the wheelchair and covered the distance between him and Ethan. He rested his hands on his shoulders and looked at him understandingly.

"It's all right, friend. I'll take care of this. I still haven't lost. You never know, maybe I can finish the Whites off and win," he said, forcing a smile. "I'm sorry about your son. Cancer is a terrible thing. At least he's had a long life. Seventy years is a fair innings. How did you get him to accept the truth? I wouldn't be able to believe a man who's younger than me telling me he's my father."

"It wasn't easy. And even now I'm not sure he's accepted everything. But I don't blame him. It's something that I should never have revealed. Really, if he hadn't been sick I would never have done it. I was only trying to help him."

"How are you going to do it? Cancer is impossible…" Otis froze for an instant, his mouth open and his eyes narrowing slightly on understanding what his friend was thinking. "No. Don't do it. It's madness!"

"I can't let him die without doing anything. He's my son."

"I can't believe that you're even considering this. Not for a moment. Have you already done it? Have you told him everything?"

"No, you know I can't, but I've given him a clue. He'll get it."

"It's not one of your best ideas. He's your son, Ethan. It's not a problem for you. But I don't understand you putting him on the line."

"It'll be his decision if he does it. I'm just giving him the option."

"You're talking like Tedd and Todd," Otis advised him.

"They want to stop you. Don't pay any attention to them, Otis. Tedd and Todd are only trying to influence you."

"There's no choice. There's more than my life on the line. And I'm losing. If Tedd and Todd throw me a line, why wouldn't I take it?"

"Because they're putting something together. They don't do anything without a reason. Think it through, Otis."

"I've already done that and their idea is correct. It suits me. The final decision is mine and nobody else's. They're the rules. Besides, I still haven't used Earl Black. It's time to put that giant into the ring. I'm not going to let the Whites finish me off." Otis sounded scared. "You should understand that better than anyone else."

"I understand, but there are different ways of doing things. Maybe you shouldn't use Earl Black this time."

"It's easy for you to say," Otis said, his shoulders slumping, his voice now little more than a whisper. "There are those like you, or my rival, who got into this for a reasonably noble cause. That's not true in my case. I'm the same selfish bastard I've always been. And now I have to accept what they've given me because of that. Because, even though I know I deserve to lose, and face everything that comes my way afterwards, a pig like me always finds a way out. They know that as well as I do. Goodbye, my friend. I hope to see you again, even if it's only to say a final goodbye."

And with that Otis turned and stumbled away. When he got to the wheelchair he leaned an arm on the chair and looked back. "It's the same one you used. Isn't that right?" he asked, running his hand over one of the wheels.

"No, I used your opponent, Ashley's. You've still got time to find another way."