It wasn’t an easy problem to solve. She would much preferred to have bounced ideas off Walter about that, but for now that wasn’t possible. Later, much later, she came to a decision. If the ID parade produced no definite result, and no clear trap plan presented itself by close of play, she would miraculously uncover the identity of the fifth man in Bel’s technology, as if for the first time, and tell Walter everything. It wasn’t perfect, but it was progress, and she would stick with it, and that certainly brought her a better night’s sleep than had seemed remotely possible.
Thirty-Three
He sat alone, late at night, in his modern apartment. The TV was off, he didn’t often watch television, but the music was on, loud. Occasionally it brought strife with the neighbours; that late night music listening thing, but this time he was in the clear, the sound was muted, headphones only.
He reached forward and slightly increased the volume. Holst’s planet suite, Mars to be exact, the bringer of war, thundered into his ears. It relaxed him, cleared his mind to the point of making thinking easier.
He had always thought that two would be enough, that he would have been sated by now, but recently he’d had reason to question that judgement. Truth was, he did not feel as fulfilled as he’d imagined he would, as he wished to be. There was still something missing. A measure of dissatisfaction was slowly growing within him. He was now sure that a third incident would finish it off. A third one would signal the final end of things, closure, as the people who know about these things, liked to say.
Yes, that all seemed to fit together so well. A third one it would have to be, but who? And where, and when, that was the greater question. Who, where, and when? He reached out again and turned the volume up high as to be unbearable, thinking that it might drown out such complicated and difficult thoughts, yet it did not, not completely, for they refused to go away. They were growing still, those dark thoughts, like dry rot, as if they were some kind of alien creature that could never be slain.
In his mind he began sorting through potential suitable candidates, and that brought a smile to his handsome face, and satisfaction to his soul. If only they knew what he was thinking, wouldn’t they be surprised, and terrified too. They damned well should be.
There were several women in the frame, and the thing was, this time the lucky one, or unfortunate one, depending on your line of thinking, would also want to kiss him, or so he imagined, or be kissed by him, which was almost the same thing.
The faces slid through his head, one to six, like slides slipping through an old fashioned projector, click bang show, click bang show, and there were pros and cons for each of them, so much so that it made it hard to choose. But a decision would have to be made, and soon. He knew that now. It had to be done.
Click bang show, was a maybe, click bang show, perhaps not, this time, click bang show, another maybe, click bang show, a definite possible, click bang show, a maybe/maybe not, click bang show, oh, right up there, for sure, in fact the favourite to date, definitely, and back to the beginning again, without any resolution in sight. Perhaps a second screening might clarify things. Click bang show, and off we go. Perhaps a good night’s sleep would bring clarity to the mind. That seemed an appropriate thought.
Mars came to an end. His favourite part. He reached forward and switched off the sound technology. In his brain he switched off the slide projector too. He wouldn’t think about number three again until the morning. He could do that, switch things on and off at the touch of a button. It was a rare talent that he didn’t know he possessed, until recently. Not many people could do that, turn things on and off in the mind at will.
He stood up and turned everything off, switched the light out and headed for the bathroom. Undressed and jumped under the shower, admired his fit and taught body, flexed his muscles, washed and gently dried himself, and went to bed, and dreamt the dreams of a God.
THE WHOLE TEAM WAS in early again for they all understood the importance of the day, the entire team that is, with the notable exception of Mrs West, who had succumbed to one of her occasional and very frightening migraines.
On hearing that news Walter and Karen shared a look as if to say, someone must be looking down kindly on us today. There would be no need to explain to Mrs W the reasoning behind an ID parade containing not one but six suspects, and by the time she returned, the whole pantomime would have been played out.
Perhaps inevitably, the morning and early afternoon dragged by, as they do when something significant, something important, something exciting, was planned for late afternoon. But it gave Karen the time to check on Corla’s history. She had indeed attempted to claim rewards before, so that looked like her bet had lost, but she had been unsuccessful, so that muddied the waters sufficiently to maybe get her off the hook. They’d have to look very carefully at the terms and wording of the bet, and that brought some temporary merriment into the office when she informed Walter of the news.
At two o’clock Karen said, ‘Shall I ring Mrs Rev to tell her everything’s on track?’
‘No, I’ll do it, and it’s “Miss”,’ and he pulled her card
