DEATHLOOP (31 page)

“Well here’s something else to adjust to…”

Oh hell, here we go, this is it, she’s moving to Italy at tea time and she’s come to say goodbye
.

“I’m in love with you, Zack Fortune, and no matter how difficult this is…” she suddenly looked across at him rather helplessly, “you can’t choose the person you fall in love with, so you see, I find myself rather stuck.”

“And if you could, would you choose someone else?”

“Dead right I would.”

“Who? The Italian?”

“Yes, the Italian, handsome, talented, uncomplicated, self-obsessed and unspeakably tedious.”

Zack wanted to laugh out loud to hear the Italian so soundly rubbished, but he resisted.

“You know… sometimes it’s good to let go, you should try it sometime.”

He smiled at her, and she smiled back. “I’ll take your word for it,” he said, then keen to move attention elsewhere, “the deaths didn’t happen by the way, I saw the boyfriend of the suicide last night, but it wasn’t her boyfriend, he didn’t know anything about it, so I went to the club and there had been no heart attack, and no boy had been stabbed to death behind the cab office either.”

“So… that’s good isn’t it?” said Veronica, cautiously.

“It lets Clarissa off the hook and debunks the regression theory, but of course the downside is my mental health.”

“But the deaths have stopped,” said Veronica, “so let’s move on shall we?”

“Good thinking,” said Zack with a smile. But Veronica saw the fear in his eyes as though unspeakable horror lay in wait for him somewhere, poised, and ready to strike.

Outside in the street they kissed and went their separate ways. Zack strode back to work, relieved, re-energised, and playing Veronica’s voice in his head over and over again, “I’m in love with you, I’m in love with you, I’m in love with you.” He had a girlfriend again, and the Italian bastard had sunk back under his stone.

Back at Nyman’s, Zack went in search of Rose.

“Rose, have you got a minute? Are you busy tonight? I’d like to take you out to dinner if that’s all right with you.”

“I’m not leaving,” said Rose, straight away, “I’m not even thinking of leaving.”

“Pleased to hear it,” said Zack, “but my offer still stands.”

Rose said she would get back to him if she could find a babysitter. An hour later she did get back to him and their date was arranged.

Zack picked Rose up from her neat little council house in Shepherds Bush at 7.30. She looked sensational in a clingy white dress and black peep toed shoes and Zack told her so, but he could see she was uncomfortable with compliments so he dropped the superlatives.

Ages ago Rose had once mentioned that although she’d hated Caribbean food as a child, she’d grown to love it, so he decided to take her to a Jamaican joint just off Ladbroke Grove. Zack had been there once before with Sid who had ordered just about everything on the menu, leaving Zack to pick up the not insubstantial bill, but the food was decent enough.

‘Trench Town’ was done out like a beach hut, with large maps of Jamaica on the walls and Rastafarian colours everywhere. “Endearingly naff,” had been the way Zack had described it, and Rose found herself agreeing with the description as they took their seats at a table up by the window.

“The service here is… eccentric… to put it politely,” said Zack.

“Try dining out in Kingston,” said Rose, “you could get through War and Peace before the food turns up.”

They smiled at each other and gazed out into the street. Opposite, a group of teenage girls, like chattering jackdaws, swarmed round a bus stop vying for acceptance. To their left, an elderly white man was passing the time of day with the Sikh shop keeper standing on the step of his newsagents like a sentinel, arms crossed. A wild eyed black man plunging into traffic started dancing his way round cars, singing Times Tough, the old Toots and the Maytals number at the top of his voice: a typical West London scene.

“Sorry about everything, Rose. I’d have been sunk without you, and if I can I’m going to get you a rise.”

“Zack, as strange as this might seem… I actually
like
working for you,” she said, “well… most of the time.”

“But not lately I suspect.”

“Better the devil you know,” she said, with a little smile.

“The thing that struck me when we first met was how eminently sensible you were, did I ever tell you?”

“No you didn’t,” said Rose, dismissively, “imagine that on my gravestone, ‘Rose Crawford, eminently sensible’. If that’s meant to be a compliment I don’t think much of it.”

“But useful with someone like me.”

“Look, I don’t know what’s been going on, of course I don’t, but whatever it is, it’s left its mark.”

“In what way?”

“I don’t know if I should say.”

“I’m giving you permission to say.”

“Okay, well… there’s only one word that comes anywhere near… and that’s paranoia.”

“
Still
… I mean I know I
was
, but lately?”

“Even more so, and the look on your face when you were fighting with Sam Stein…”

“Yes, that was unfortunate…”

“For
him
it was, certainly.”

“By the way, I think I can redeem myself with the Wahlbergs,” said Zack, rather embarrassed by Rose’s searching look, “I know the whole office is waiting for me to mess up again, well, I know Sam is, the swot… doing extra homework for the fun of it while I’m on detention struggling with a hundred lines.”

Rose obliged by offering a distant smile but he could tell she was worried and he also knew that anything he shared with Rose would not be repeated, so he made the decision to speak up.

“Can I burden you with all this?” he said suddenly, “with everything that’s been going on.”

“If it helps, of course you can…”

“It’s weird stuff, Rose.”

“Try me.”

All the time Zack was filling Rose in he was questioning his motives for doing so. Whatever the reasoning, Rose listened attentively as he told her everything, from the regression and the suicide to Russell’s death, Susan’s allegation included and it was clear from her reaction that she had not imagined anything quite as complex or as bizarre.

“So there you have it, the life and times of Zack Fortune.”

Right on cue their starters turned up for which they were grateful as it gave them a little bit of breathing space. They ate in silence for a while, Zack hoping that he hadn’t shot himself in the foot, prompting Rose to think about going off and being magnificent elsewhere.

“I think you need to see someone,” said Rose, casually.

“You think I’m mad?”

“No I don’t think that, but clearly something is wrong. The deaths might be symbolic, like waking dreams for instance. It’s not my area of expertise, obviously, but I’m sure it’s someone’s.”

“But the deaths have stopped,” said Zack.

“And what if they’re on hold?” she said, surprising Zack by voicing his deepest fear. “And as for the other stuff, well… for my money I think you should speak with Geoff straight away.”

“He’ll sack me, Rose.”

“Why should he? You haven’t been convicted of anything but you do need to tell him what’s been going on.”

Zack knew Rose was right, she always was, and if he didn’t intend taking her advice why ask for it? But with each new day that dawned Zack was still hoping that Tracy would work her magic and say that the CPS had come to the conclusion that with both Susan and Russell there was no case to answer. If he had waited this long without owning up to Geoff, surely he could wait a little longer?

Veronica had intended spending the evening with friends but it didn’t turn out that way. It was nine o’clock as Veronica’s Saab turned into a dull suburban cul-de-sac in Cricklewood and parked up. Veronica found number 29 easily enough and knocked. A light switched on in the hall and a blurred figure approached on the other side of the tacky glass door. When the door swung open she recognized the woman straight away.

“It’s you,” she said, “I thought it might be.”

“Come on in,” said Barbara Quinn and stood back.

“You don’t live down here do you?” said Veronica, stepping into the hall.

“No, this is my sister’s house, but she’s away at the moment so I get roped in to look after the cats. I have to bring my own two down with me so it’s a bit of a nuisance to be honest, but a change of scene now and then is no bad thing.” They were in the front room now, Barbara indicating a chair. “Do sit down Veronica can I get you a drink or something?”

“No thanks, I’m fine.”

The room was a throwback to the sixties, brown and orange décor, a frayed Parker Knoll suite on which the cats had been sharpening their claws, and a bulbous ugly sideboard, its top cluttered with cheap silver plated trays, Babysham glasses and soda siphons.

The room had a strange atmosphere Veronica decided, as though it had been waiting a long time for real people to come and live in it. Barbara sat opposite Veronica and smiled, she was wearing exactly the same tartan kilt and the same blue hand knitted cardigan that Veronica remembered her wearing at the Baptist chapel in Renfield. Her white hair was swept away from her face and tied up in a neat bun, her clear blue eyes twinkled behind bifocals.

“I knew Russell quite well,” said Barbara suddenly, “in fact we were sweethearts years ago.”

“I was so sorry about what happened,” said Veronica, picking up on the prompt.

“Yes, it was all quite a shock and there are moments when I don’t quite know what I shall do without him.”

Was that why this woman had asked her here thought Veronica? Did she want an apology for Russell’s death?

“Why did you come to the meeting in Renfield, may I ask?”

“A friend of mine died last year in tragic circumstances, I wanted to make contact I suppose.”

“You’re a believer?”

“I wouldn’t go that far. Opened minded, that’s all…”

“And your friend, Mr Fortune?”

“Oh no, not his scene at all.”

“Isn’t fate strange,” said Barbara, after a hesitation.

“Yes isn’t it,” said Veronica, knowing exactly what she meant.

“Look, I’ll come straight to the point, Russell was very gifted you know, he made so many predictions and every one of them came true…” Although not his own death Veronica wanted to say, but out of politeness, refrained. “Russell said something to me that night which I feel compelled to tell you.”

“And that is?”

“You must have nothing more to do with Zack Fortune, it’s not safe.”

Veronica was staring across at Barbara, reflection from the ceiling light shone in her glasses now making her look as though she had no eyes at all.

“Russell said there was no point in telling you this because he believed no one can cheat death as death is preordained, but I’ve never been convinced by the theory.”

“What are you talking about?”

“If you don’t heed this warning your death will be very soon my dear, I’m so sorry.”

“This is your idea of revenge, I suppose,” said Veronica, sounding rather ratty.

“No, not a bit of it, I could have kept all this to myself but I decided you needed to know, what you do with this information now is up to you.”

“Russell was scared of Zack, why was that?”

“He’d broken the rules.”

“What rules?”

“The rules of living and dying, there’s a protocol you see.”

“So what happens if you remember a past life, or an aspect of it?”

“Nothing at all, it’s harmless, but remembering a death is something else.”

“Is that what happened? Is that what this is all about?”

“That’s why Russell didn’t want him anywhere near, he’d brought something back.”

“You get off on this do you… churning out this garbage, putting the fear of God into people?
What
had he brought back?”

“He wouldn’t say.”

“No, because he
had
nothing to say, he was just on some idiotic power trip.”

“Veronica, there is one way out of this…”

“I could no more leave the man than swim the English Channel. He’s everything to me, he’s my future.”

“No he is not, Veronica,” said Barbara, patiently, “he is actually anything but, because if you remain together neither of you will
have
a future.”

“We’re both going to die is that it?” she said, stunned to hear herself asking this stupid question.

“Unfortunately, yes you are.”

“What else did he say?” snapped Veronica, still curious, despite everything.

“Nothing else, he just professed great sadness that someone as lovely as you should die so young.”

“I want to leave now, please don’t make contact with me again.”

Veronica stood up, dived out of the room and struggling to open the front door which had sweated in its frame, she burst out of the house and hurried along the path.

“I’m sorry,” Barbara shouted after her from the step, “I’m so sorry.”

Veronica did not turn back she just threw herself into the Saab, rammed her key into the ignition, switched on the engine and floored it, the car skidding into a squealing swerve in response. An hour later she realised she was in Hertfordshire of all places, somewhere she had never been before in her life.

Zack and Rose enjoyed their time together in Trench Town, the main course when they eventually got it was good, and the atmosphere convivial and laid back. Zack dropped Rose home promising to consider all her very worthwhile advice. He wanted to see Veronica but for some reason she wasn’t picking up. Getting her own back he thought as he kicked his heels back at his flat. He decided he was very lucky to have such a bevy of great women in his life, Veronica, Rose, Tracy and Clarissa. The only one he could do without was Susan.

Zack was beginning to wonder if a serious conversation would get her to drop the allegations. Zack felt it was probably as much a millstone to Susan herself now having to keep up the pretence, and maybe she too would like to be shot of it. He rummaged under his bed and pulled out The Collected Works of John Keats, a book that Susan had insisted on reading to him every time he had gone round there, particularly after sex. It had driven him mad in the end and so one day he’d taken it without her noticing, maybe he could return it now as a peace offering.