The Outcast Son Page 18

“Laura,” Mark tried to reprimand me, “it’s not easy to get a lawyer like Andrew, and he has agreed to help you.”

  “I haven’t been charged with anything, to start with. The detective is studying my case, that’s all.”

  “If I may,” the lawyer said, looking at me. I nodded to let him know he could carry on but I wouldn’t take any rubbish. “They’ve held you for more than twenty-four hours already. They can only apply to hold you longer if they suspect you have committed a serious crime, like murder.” I did know the time in custody shouldn’t be more than twenty-four hours, and I had started wondering why I was still kept there in the morning, so what this person said made perfect sense.

  “But they haven’t charged me yet.”

  “I assumed they had,” the lawyer said. “You can expect they will in the next few hours.”

  I didn’t like the man. He looked presumptuous and too self-confident. He’d probably prepare an excellent defence, but I didn’t trust him. There was something in him that made me feel uncomfortable. He tried to look me in the eyes, but he wasn’t able to hold the stare for long. Also, his continuous exchange of glimpses with Mark when he thought I wasn’t looking were driving me mad. At this point, I wasn’t even sure about my own husband’s intentions. He had shown up a day after I was taken to the police station, and he had brought a lawyer with him. There was something to it I didn’t like and I couldn’t yet see.

  “I’ve already got a lawyer,” I said in a desperate attempt to get out of this situation.

  “What?” Mark’s disguise fell off like a soft silk gown. He wasn’t happy. “You’ve got what? But who? How?”

  “You wouldn’t know him.”

  “Well, I would,” Mark’s lawyer said.

  “I’m sure you would,” I said.

  “Laura, think about it!” Mark raised his voice subtly. “Andrew’s the best! And you need the best to get out of this! It’ll be very easy! You just have to say you had mental issues before.”

  “How dare you!” I shouted. “How dare you tell this person without my consent?”

  “But Laura!” Mark insisted.

  “Get out! The two of you! Get out of my face!”

  They did as I said. Mark’s eyes had a sombre trace I wasn’t completely able to decipher, the type of dark look he usually had when things didn’t go as he wanted. I did have what I wanted. He had revealed his cards. He’d keep his version of what happened and back up the murder accusation, and he had been busy for the last couple of days planning my defence, how kind of him. My blood felt as if it were about to come out of every pore of my skin. A horrendous thought stuck in my brain. Too painful and grim to be true, but the more I considered every detail, the more I tried to put all the pieces together, the more sense it made. If Mark killed Jaime himself and tried to blame me, I’d make him pay for his crime a thousand times.

  I was alone in the interrogation room again. I became impatient, wondering why they weren’t taking me back to my cell. But five or ten minutes later, a stranger came in. He was a man in his late thirties. Not very tall. Not very fat. One of those anonymous Londoners you can find surfing the tube at rush hours.

  “Mrs Johnson?” he asked, even though he knew the answer.

  “Yes?”

  “Hello, my name is Jake. Monika sent me. She says you need help.”

  I sighed in relief. “Oh, thank you so much for coming!”

  “Well, don’t thank me yet. I need to ask you a few questions to see if I’ll be able to represent you, is that all right?”

  “Sure. Thanks for coming anyway. I really appreciate it,” I said.

  “My first question,” he said, getting quickly to the point, “what was Andrew McNeil doing here?”

  “You know him?”

  “Of course I know him. He’s one of the best lawyers in London.”

  “He’s my husband’s lawyer. My husband wanted him to represent me.”

  “I see.” He looked confused. “I’m surprised he’s involved in a case like this. He usually prefers high-profile clients.”

  “My husband is a CEO.”

  “Now it makes sense. Why would you refuse his help?”

  “I’m not sure I can trust my husband anymore.”

  “I understand.” He sat down on the chair in front of me. “I need you to tell me everything.”

  I tried to explain what happened neatly and thoroughly, giving him all the details I remembered. He wrote everything on his tablet as I spoke, raising his eyes from time to time to read my expression. It didn’t feel awkward, though. He was trustable, and he looked like he knew what he was doing and what he was talking about. He was particularly interested in my husband’s precise words when he told me what had happened when I was unconscious and in my conversation with Detective Hassan.

  “She doesn’t buy your husband’s version,” he told me. “She advised you to call a lawyer. That’s unusual, and she seems desperate to find something to exonerate you. I know how she works. I think she trusts too much in her own intuition and instincts – actually, like most detectives I know – but she’s very good.”

  “So, you think she knows something?”

  “No, she doesn’t know more than you and your husband have told her, but if she feels something doesn’t add up, she won’t rest until everything fits together. She’s very obstinate.”

  I didn’t know if I should feel relieved or anguished. I had a memory lapse. An important one. Only a few flashes of Jaime’s head repeatedly hitting the table came to my mind from time to time. If I was guilty, she’d know. Nothing would stop her from finding the evidence against me. But if I was guilty, nothing would matter to me anymore. I wouldn’t want to live at all if I had killed my son in such a horrible way, and not even the thought of Marcus being abandoned by his mum would be enough to change my mind.

  “What happens next? Will I be able to see my baby?”

  “If you’re charged with murder, as I assume you will, you’ll be moved to a prison where you’ll remain until the day of the trial. I hope it’s not the case, but time on remand could be over four months.”

  “Four months! Without a trial! It’s mental!”

  “I don’t think we’ll have to wait that long. I bet they want to close this case as soon as possible. A child has been killed and a CEO is involved, and his lawyer is none other than Andrew McNeil. I can’t promise anything, but my guess is that you’ll have your trial in less than a month. As for your baby, I’m afraid it’s very likely the judge has given the custody to your husband, and it’s entirely up to him. I’ll catch up with them and come back to you when I have more information.”

  “Will you represent me, then?”

  “Yes. I think I will. Is there anything else I need to know? Could anybody wish ill to your kid?”

  The mere thought of all the shit Jaime had to go through overwhelmed me. I started from the beginning. “Yes,” I said, “since the day he was born. He was banished by his family and his neighbours. They thought he was a sorcerer, and they abandoned him in the slum. When we went back to Peru for him to know his…” Tears soaked my eyes. Oh, poor Jaime. His life was a bad dream, too horrible to be true. “We wanted him to know his roots. When we were there, I had the feeling we were being watched. Four people pointed at us at the airport in Lima, and the person who was supposed to pick us up had an incident.”

  “What sort of incident?” Jake asked.

  “He was beaten and interrogated. They wanted to know about us. That’s all the information I’ve got, as Mark and Patrick wouldn’t tell me the whole story.”

  “Patrick?” he asked.

  “Mark’s friend in Lima.”

  “Does he come to the UK very often?”

  “Well, I don’t know. I made Mark promise I wouldn’t have to deal with him again. There was something in him I didn’t like. Besides, he struck me as a misogynist.”

  “It’d be very interesting to have a conversation with him. If he’s interrogated, he will have to t
ell what he kept from you.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t know how we could possibly contact him. Sorry.”

  “It’s all right. But if you remember anything else about him, anything, you need to let me know. What else happened in Peru?” he asked. I didn’t want to talk about the golden sphere. I didn’t want him to think I was crazy.

  “I thought I saw these four people again in Cusco, but it was probably my imagination. I was so scared. I’d look everywhere at all times to check among the people’s faces if they were following us. I was paranoid. So it could be possible it was just my mind playing tricks on me.”

  “What about the airport? How do you know it was real then?”

  “Mark saw them, too. And Jaime, poor thing, hid behind me because they were scaring him.”

  “I see,” he said, then he kept quiet for a moment. “And your husband, did he get along well with Jaime?”

  The question made my voice quiver. “No,” I said. “He thought Jaime was a jinx.”

  “Did he? How so?”

  “Jaime had behaviour problems. It was a nightmare to find a suitable school for him. Mark fainted in front of him once, and I guess he blamed the kid. Well, I know he blamed him, and he blamed him for my miscarriage too, and for everything that went wrong in our lives, basically.”

  “Interesting,” he said with a mindful look in his eyes.

  “And then Jaime messed it up by killing our dog, and it kind of accentuated Mark’s fears and suspicions about him.”

  “Wait, what? He killed your dog?” he asked.

  “Yes. He slashed his throat.”

  “Oh, my! That’s awful! So you both were scared of the kid?”

  “No!” I said, noticing I raised my voice only after having done it. “Mark was, and he was surprised I wasn’t.”

  “And he wanted your support to prevent Jaime from being near Marcus.”

  “Well, sort of. Yes,” I answered. “How do you know that?”

  “It’s pretty obvious,” he said. “He was scared of Jaime himself, so I can imagine how he felt about the baby being hurt by his older brother.” After that, he closed his lips and wrinkled his forehead in silence.

  “So, what are my chances?” I asked.

  “If you’re innocent, we have to find out what happened in the first place. If you’re guilty, I’m afraid our only option is to plead temporary insanity and aim for a shorter sentence.”

  “No, we can’t do that!” I said. “They’ll lock me up in an asylum!”

  “They won’t. We’ll allege that it was temporary, that you suffered an insurmountable fear and just acted instinctively, which is exactly what happened.”

  “It won’t work,” I said. “I…well, my past won’t help me. They’ll lock me up forever if they think I’m crazy.”

  “I’m going to need to know everything.”

  “Well, you better make yourself comfortable, then.”

  Chapter 24

  First dates

  We arrived in Lima at 7:15 pm. I had spent the whole flight giving short and shy glances to Mark. He’d just work on his computer and ignore me as if I were the least important thing on his to-do list. It didn’t upset me. It was actually a relief not to have to engage in a conversation with him on the plane. He was my boss, after all, and his confidence when speaking had made me feel both small and insignificant at the interview. I needed to get accustomed to his presence, and there wasn’t any need to speak for that. So I just stayed there, seated at his right, and looked at him when I thought he wouldn’t realise.

  It was my first time in America. Everything was new for me. But following me like a shadow, the still fresh memory of a distraught relationship and its tragic end kept my mind uneasy. It was the very reason why I had fled my country and looked for a new start, a new life, and the more different the better.

  South America was far enough. Their eyes couldn’t reach me there. I was safe, protected by almost one thousand miles of salty oceanic water. On the horizon, the projects we would work on promised exciting and fulfilling experiences. They were both a chance to help others and an opportunity for adventures and discovery in a new and exotic land.

  I wasn’t a builder. The closest thing to building something I had ever done in my life was putting Lego pieces together when I was a little girl, and only until I grew tired of the toy a couple of weeks after they gave it to me for my birthday. However, the prospect of erecting a school was thrilling and fascinating.

  “Be ready by ten,” Mark told me when we got to the hotel.

  “Sorry?” I asked, confused.

  “We’re having dinner. Aren’t you hungry?”

  “Oh, yes. Of course.” I smiled at him, but he remained serious.

  “Good. I’ll see you in the lobby.”

  I could notice how my cheeks flushed. He was so direct. And he hadn’t given me any option. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to go and have dinner with him; it just felt confusing. I was so vulnerable in his presence, as if I were naked and he could judge every inch of skin, and this scared me and excited me in equal shares, to the point that I didn’t know whether to run away or give in to his rude appeal.

  I put my suitcase on my bed and opened it. When I packed up my stuff, I wasn’t considering the possibility of having a work meeting/date dinner in Peru. But I wasn’t the kind of person who panics before these situations. We were going to build a school in a village and teach English on the outskirts of a city. They didn’t expect me to carry a nice dress or a more formal or professional outfit, and if they did they didn’t tell me. So screw it, it’d be jeans, a white T-shirt and a black blazer. Pretty casual, but almost elegant.

  I took my shirt off, and the smell coming from my armpits made me feel dizzy. The flight had been long, and I needed a good, thorough shower if I didn’t want to be fired. It felt amazing to wash all the sweat away and refresh my body with mild water. I couldn’t stop thinking about Mark: his sharp jaws, his wide chest, the melancholic look in his eyes. I imagined him behind me as I felt the touch of my hands on my skin. My breasts were sensitive. My fingers were acting following their own will, sliding down my body and finding the narrow space between my thighs. I groaned in desire, Mark’s eyes staring at me with indifference in my mind as I touched myself and rubbed myself and arced myself amongst the sweet spasms that follow the climax. I felt marvellously embarrassed. He was my boss. It was so inappropriate. But it couldn’t be helped. His eyes were haunting me, and my true self was seeking his approval like an unconfident teenager.

  At 10:00 pm, I was in the lobby as promised – my little secret safely locked inside my knickers. He wasn’t there. I found an armchair, sat on it and took my mobile phone out of my pocket. It was as good a moment as any other to read the news or a magazine or a book. But I was nervous, and nothing interesting seemed to be going on. I found my eyes wandering around the room every twenty seconds. Only the receptionist’s voice disturbed the monotonous boredom of the lobby. Before long, the lift opened and Mark’s presence filled the place. I looked at my watch. He was only five minutes late, although it felt much longer. It was a relief when I saw him in his black jeans, wearing the same shirt he had at the interview not long ago. I stood up before my boss, following some kind of servile impulse. He smiled at last.

  “Sorry I’m late,” he said. “I had to make a couple of phone calls.”

  “It’s all right,” I answered.

  “Are you ready?”

  “Yeah, I’m ready,” I repeated his sentence. It sounded less stupid in my mind, but it was too late to rectify.

  “Then I think we should go, it’s getting late already.”

  He seemed less apathetic than during the journey, but I couldn’t picture myself engaging in a decent conversation with him yet. He didn’t look interested in hearing whatever I had to say, but he had hired me, or at least he had taken part in the selection process, so there had to be something in me he liked or felt curious about.

  A taxi took us to the
restaurant. It wasn’t the best place I had ever been to, but it was well above average. The façade was perfect white, with colonial touches of more daring architecture here and there. It had a big entrance with classic columns at both sides of the doors. A couple of too large windows seemed to break with the traditional look of the building, and they allowed the upper half of El Alma de Lima to be seen from the outside, although very strategically placed curtains prevented the customers from being stared at by passer-by lurkers. It was a cosy, familiar place at the heart of the city, and it was still crowded at 10:30 pm on a Thursday evening, so I was right to guess this was a pretty popular restaurant.

  When we crossed the threshold, the noise of kids and adults laughing and chatting felt like a warm symphony. I had been rather isolated, sharing my time and space with Mark, and he hadn’t been very kind for the moment, so all these people and the cheerful atmosphere made me smile, and Mark, of course, noticed it.

  “I’m glad you like the place,” he said, making me flush again. I couldn’t help feeling embarrassed by his side. What was happening to me?

  “Yes. It’s nice,” I said.

  “I like it too. This was the first restaurant where I tried the Ají de Gallina, and I fell in love with it.” He looked excited for the first time on the trip.

  “Ají de Gallina?” I asked, irremediably sounding more and more stupid.

  “Yes!” he said. “It’s a traditional Peruvian recipe, a sort of spicy chicken cooked with Peruvian yellow peppers – among other things – and served with rice and eggs. If you like spicy food, you should definitely order one of those.”

  We weren’t sitting yet, and he was already drooling. A waiter came to meet us at the door. He was a very polite young man who spoke decent English. A rag was hanging from his rear pocket, and it moved like a tail as he walked in front of us to take us to a table. We didn’t have a reservation, but luckily there were a few free spaces – none of them next to the window, though.

  The air smelled so good. It was a scent of greasy, unhealthy food, the most delicious type of food there is when you’re trying to keep your body at a manageable size, but it had a very different touch from what I was used to in a regular fast food restaurant. I glanced at every table on our way to check what everybody was eating and what looked best. It was definitely the Ají de Gallina, so I didn’t have to make a huge effort not to disappoint Mark’s strong opinions about the dish.