The Game Changer (9 page)

He flicked on the television, a modern flat-screen with high resolution. There was a cup with stale coffee in it to the side. Picking it up, he poured the contents down the plughole of the enamel white kitchen sink. WABC-TV Eyewitness News was talking about a doctor who had removed a huge tumour from a three-day-old infant girl. It didn’t matter what was on, because Lee was only half paying attention.

His eyes felt gritty, his body tired. The breakthrough on the Tom
Mason investigation would take some time to unravel, although there was no denying the link with the suicide in Ireland. The Irish detective had been helpful, and right now, it was over to him to search for other connections. The DNA found at the scene allied the dead men as closely as if they’d been married. The big question was what it all meant, and who else was swimming in this murky pond. Mason had lived in Manhattan for a couple of decades, long enough for Lee to grasp that, if the same killer linked the two men, ancient history could be playing a part.

He took a cold beer out of the fridge, then fired his scuffed leather jacket onto the far end of the sofa. History, he thought, usually meant old grudges, scores to be settled that had been simmering for some time, and simmering was never a good thing, at least not as far as murder was concerned.

LYING IN HIS BEDROOM, ADDY IGNORED THE CALLS from Carl and Adam. All he could think about was Aoife. He hadn’t put any music on, despite his mother constantly knocking on the door asking him if he was okay. He was far from okay, but he wasn’t going to share that with anyone.

Carl rang again. He let it ring out. Carl had been the first in his class to lose his virginity. It had happened one night after the local disco. The event sort of turned him into something of a celebrity within the group, and somehow his raised status still existed. The only girl Addy had ever been with was Aoife. They had been going out together for more than a year before it had happened, and he hadn’t told anyone about it. It was none of their damn business.

When his mother knocked on the door again, asking him if he wanted any supper, his answer was one word: ‘No.’ He waited until he heard her walk down the stairs before he relaxed a little. The first time he had met Aoife, she had been wearing dark skinny jeans and a baggy green jumper. It was only afterwards that he discovered the jumper was to cover up her body shape. Her vulnerability, if anything, made her more attractive to him. He didn’t have all the answers, but he wanted to protect her, to make her well.

Damn her and her 20 Step Programme, he thought, but at the same moment he wondered if he should go with her. It couldn’t be any worse than being trapped inside his bedroom. College wouldn’t start for another six weeks. He could still follow her.

She had given him a small booklet. The words on the opening page said: ‘If you WANT something, you can HAVE it.’ Inside, the
contents were full of suggestions for bettering your life. What was the harm in swapping one crap situation for another?

Everything felt messed up. Aoife hadn’t said she was finishing with him, but if she cared that much, she wouldn’t leave. Would she?

He thought again of how they had been together since the end of fifth year. At the end of the school term, they had celebrated in town, a whole gang of them, but she had been the one person in the crowd who had stood out. It wasn’t just her laughing at his jokes or how attractive she was to him: it was the way she could turn serious all of a sudden, becoming so enthusiastic about stuff.

Even if this whole self-improvement lark wasn’t his kind of thing, at least she’d had the courage to go for it. What was he like? What was he trying to prove? Lying on a comfortable bed in a warm house, his mother hovering, making sure he didn’t do anything stupid … It wasn’t exactly living life on the edge.

He thought about Carl and his other friends. None of them had done any real living. Most were still at home, their parents doing everything for them. What was the harm in going to the island? Aoife had said he could help out around the place. He would be fed, have a place to stay … The prospect seemed more appealing when his mum knocked on the door again.

‘Addy, are you sure you’re okay?’

‘I’m fine, honest.’ This time his tone sounded less hostile. It wasn’t her fault. Unlike Adam, she had always been there for him. It had been a long time since he’d thought about the summer he’d spent with Carl’s parents at their house in Cork. He couldn’t have been any more than nine years old at the time. Carl’s father was putting up a wooden fence around the site. Addy had watched him as he worked, Carl’s mother, every now and then, bringing her husband cold drinks. Addy remembered staring at Carl’s father’s Adam’s apple, as he swallowed the liquid fast. There had been a kind of primitive power about the man, the kind he wished he had in his life. He didn’t dwell on not having a father, but when
he and Carl were given the job of carrying the wooden stakes over one by one, and Carl’s father patted Carl on the head, he wished he’d had a dad.

Now, with Aoife going away, he felt left behind. He’d have to start taking risks, and if that meant going to the island, then that was what he was going to do.

IT WAS LATE BY THE TIME KATE PUT CHARLIE TO BED. She regretted having to cancel her dinner with Malcolm, especially as it had been less than an hour before they were due to meet, but with Adam working, getting in a babysitter at such short notice felt like too much hassle. And the note wasn’t far from her mind. It seemed sinister, imposing on her, calling out to her from behind the locked study door, pulling her thoughts like a magnet. Adam had promised he would have it checked for prints and DNA, but part of her already knew he wouldn’t find anything.

Malcolm, it turned out, had already heard about Mason’s death. Such a dreadful tragedy, he had said. They weren’t close, and she wasn’t sure, but something about the way he had described Mason’s relationship with her father as professional, rather than social, irked her. Was he alluding to something? Her father had been a lecturer: what could he possibly have had professionally in common with a politician? And, for some reason, she felt Malcolm wanted her to ask more, which was partly why she hadn’t. She was being childish, she knew, but she couldn’t help herself.

‘Mum.’ Charlie rubbed his eyes as she closed
The Chamber of Secrets
, his second Harry Potter book.

‘Yes, honey.’

‘Why don’t Adam and Addy like each other?’

‘It’s not that, Charlie. It’s just that sometimes when people care about each other deep down, they need to work stuff out.’

‘I like Addy.’

‘I know you do, and he likes you.’ She pulled the duvet up before leaning down to kiss him on the forehead.

‘Mum, what’s your favourite insect?’

‘I don’t know. I’ve never thought about it.’

‘Think, then.’

‘Okay, let’s see … It would have to be a butterfly.’

‘Why?’

‘Because they’re beautiful, and they have lots of different colours and patterns, and they’re gentle, and they remind me of summer.’

‘That’s a lot of reasons. Do you have any more?’

She knew he was buying time. ‘Just one.’

‘Tell me.’

‘Because they start life one way, and then they become beautiful.’

‘A caterpillar, you mean?’

‘Yes.’

‘Mum, they have to eat themselves first. They make this cocoon, and then they eat all the bits. At first it turns into soup, but the protein in the soup makes them grow fast, and that’s when they get eyes and legs and wings.’

‘And how do you know all this?’

‘I learned it in school, but a butterfly isn’t my favourite. Everyone picks a butterfly.’

‘So what’s your favourite?’ She checked the time on the Mickey Mouse clock. It was nearly nine thirty, and Adam still hadn’t called.

‘A firefly.’

‘Why?’

‘Because a firefly reminds me of Addy,’ he said triumphantly.

‘Addy?’

‘They shine from the inside. Teacher says, not everyone can see their light, but I do when Addy plays with me, which is why I like him even though Adam doesn’t see the good bits.’

‘He does, sweetheart.’

‘No, he doesn’t, but that’s not his fault.’

‘Oh?’

‘Addy doesn’t show them to him, so it’s hard.’

‘I see. At least, I think I do.’

‘It’s all right, Mum, don’t look so worried. Some day Addy will let him see them, and they won’t argue any more.’

She rubbed his cheek. ‘I hope you’re right, clever clogs. Now, settle down or you’ll be falling asleep in school tomorrow.’

‘Night, Mum. Love you.’

‘Love you too.’ Then, changing her tone from soft to serious, she said, ‘Now go to sleep.’

He turned his back to her, pulling the duvet over his head as she closed the door. She turned on the light in the hall, knowing he liked to see the light coming under the door at night.

She checked the time again, deciding she would give Adam another half an hour before phoning him. As she walked into the study and took the note from the desk drawer, she decided to concentrate on the articles that formed parts of it, rather than the cut-out words, but the columns didn’t make any sense. Each sentence had been tapered off before the finish, and whoever had cut out the shapes had been careful not to reveal which newspaper it was either, or any other detail, including a publication date. Her training told her that everything about it, including the envelope it came in, mattered. She also knew Adam wouldn’t be impressed with her touching it without wearing protective gloves, but her reaction earlier on, when she was taken by surprise, would have eradicated any worthwhile forensic evidence. She would need to be more careful next time, if there was a next time.

When she heard the knock at the apartment door, she assumed it was Adam, having forgotten his key, but leaving the study, she hesitated before opening the door, looking through the peephole instead. She was surprised to see Malcolm on the other side. Opening the door, she stood back, staring at him.

‘Are you okay, Kate?’

‘Yes, I’m fine.’

‘I was concerned about you. Earlier on, you seemed frazzled.’

‘Did I?’ She realised he was looking beyond her, towards the study.

‘Doing extra homework?’ he asked.

‘I guess you could call it that.’ Turning, she closed the study door.

‘Can I come in?’

‘Sorry. Of course – how rude of me.’ She stood back to let him pass.

He walked towards the living area, and as she shut the front door, she asked, ‘How did you get into the communal hallway?’

‘Someone was leaving so I slipped in. Why?’

‘No reason. I just wanted to make sure the key code pad was still working.’

‘You shouldn’t rely on that for security, Kate.’

‘Why not?’

They stood face to face in the living room.

‘It isn’t reliable.’ He removed his coat, placing it over the couch’s arm rest, and sat down. ‘Most people use number association or both, as part of their passwords. We have so many logins these days that it’s not unusual for a person to use the same password or a similar one for all kinds of things.’

She sat down opposite. ‘I don’t get you.’

‘I could be mistaken, Kate, but for all your expertise, I doubt you’re very different from others when it comes to creating codes. People will use the same words or numbers for their computer login, alarm code, bank cash card, or anything else that requires digits. It’s too difficult to keep a range of different ones in our heads, and writing them down can be risky.’

‘So, you’re assuming I use the same code for everything.’

‘Most people do.’

‘Well, even if I did, it would be my code.’

‘Yes, but then there’s the use of association too. You know the kind of thing, names of people, places or the year we were born. These are all important in how we remember things.’

‘Go on.’

‘Is that really necessary, Kate? I’m sorry now I brought it up.’

‘Humour me. I’m interested.’

‘Fine.’ He leaned back in the couch. ‘If you insist.’

‘I do.’

‘What people don’t realise is that our fingers, as well as our brains, remember these codes. It’s called muscle memory, and it’s not surprising, considering how many times we use the same combination over and over again. I can work out codes simply by watching how a person uses their keyboard, and you’d be surprised how many people choose their own name or the words
pass
or
login
.’

‘That’s very observant of you, Malcolm.’

‘Being observant is useful in my profession, as it is in yours.’ Kate made a mental note to change the code as soon as Adam got home. ‘Sorry, Malcolm, I don’t mean to sound critical. It’s been a tough day.’

‘I understand.’

‘Malcolm, I was thinking about what you said earlier on.’

‘About what?’

‘How creating physical references can conjure up all sorts of possibilities that may not exist.’

‘Indeed.’