CHAPTER SIX - ARE YOU BEGGING FOR MERCY YET?

Yet another chapter for you, effendis.  Remember, this is all 'off-the-cuff' (though I have the overall plot in mind) and is an unpolished draft.  It'll all be tidied up in the final stages.

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Chapter Six:


Captain Joseph Jaconelli sat in his office and studied the report in front of him.  Nothing - nada - nil - zilch, is exactly what it told him, aside from the fact that a bomb had exploded.  It had been a longshot anyway, given the state of Stevens' car, but the forensic boys could sometimes produce miracles.  They'd have had more chance of walking on water and feeding five thousand people with a packet of potato chips than finding a fingerprint in that burned out husk of a car though.  Where did that leave him?  Could it have been the brother and the wife maybe?  Or just one of them perhaps?  Unlikely, he thought.  This was planned, and murdering spouses - or siblings - don't usually do it on their own doorstep unless it's a spur-of-the-moment madness that drives them to it - and bombs aren't easy-to-hand in such circumstances.  No, it was most likely as the brother had said - someone whose corrupt shenanigans had been exposed by Stevens and sought revenge.  That was a long list however, he'd be just as likely to come up with a suspect by throwing a dart into the Yellow Pages.  "Bronski," he snapped into his intercom, "get me the names of everyone who works on Ted Stevens' show - and see if anyone's been fired recently."  Best to cover all the angles, he thought.  Maybe someone in Stevens' team had resentments - or ambitions.

Jaconelli, was in his early fifties, overworked, overweight, and over the hill.  He'd never make it past captain, that was for sure.  Rubbed up too many superiors the wrong way in his career.  In fact, it was a wonder he'd ever made captain, but he was a good cop and sometimes that gets recognised and rewarded even by those you've occasionally pissed off.  He was thinking of taking early retirement in a few years and spending the rest of his life fishing and drinking beer - not necessarily in that order.  He liked a drink did Joe, but he never let it get in the way of doing his job properly - and sometimes even brilliantly.  He was a professional through-and-through.  It was that professionalism, his dedication to the job, that had cost him his marriage.  He was "married to the job" his wife had said, as she left with her suitcases (and most of his bank balance) one morning seven years ago.  "Tch, broads - ten a penny," he'd often say afterwards, but there'd never been another woman in his life since.

Bronski popped his head through the door - "That list will be on your desk before the end of the day, Captain.  The station are getting it together now - names, ages, and addresses of everyone who's currently working on the show, as well as those going back two years.  Anything else, they say just to let them know."

"Thanks," said Joe.  It was a start.  "Let's see how this ball of wool is going to unravel," he thought.

******

The funeral of Ted Stevens, like most funerals, was a sad, sombre affair, punctuated with occasional bursts of muted laughter as the mourners reminisced about what a "great guy, loving husband, upright member of the community, hard-working colleague who got on with everybody" the deceased had been.  "Doesn't anyone who's a bastard that nobody liked ever die?" Ted wondered, though he was actually quite pleased with his fulsome eulogy.  He'd stood between Mary and Karen all the way through the service and at the graveside, but they'd been on their best behaviour.  Never spoken a word to each other in fact, nor swapped contemptuous glances.  As a television celebrity, there had been a media frenzy in the aftermath of 'his' death, which added further to his uneasiness about his deception.  How the hell could he come back from this?  When they learned the truth, would the public turn on him for allowing them to grieve over his death, when all the while he was as alive as they were?  Would they accept his actions as a necessary subterfuge in order to bring his attackers to justice?  Maybe that was the way to play it, but it would require careful 'spinning' in case it all blew up in his face.  The way the car was meant to, he thought, all too aware of the irony.

Suddenly he was aware of Mary speaking to him.  He looked round for Karen, but she was talking to some mourners a few feet away.  Mary kept her voice low.  "Remember, darling, I'm not going to wait forever.  Take her home, screw her if you have to, but I'll expect to see you at my house at eight.  If you're not there I'll come to your door - you wouldn't like that, would you - darling?"  Ted managed to contain himself, but just barely.  "Shit, Mary, let's not go through this now.  I'll be over when I can, but it won't be until after she's asleep.  You'll just have to wait."

"Just be there," she said, and turned on her heel.

It had been tough on Ted that first night, pretending to be Ben as he made love to Karen in her marital bed.  He'd tried to resist, said he wasn't up to it, but she wouldn't take no for an answer.  He hadn't lied.  His brother had just been killed, so sex was understandably the last thing on his mind, but he managed to "rise to the occasion" as he later quipped, assuming Ben's jocular persona.  He was juggling two women, having to 'service' Ben's wife and his own, with both women unaware that he wasn't the twin they thought he was.  Was he even the twin he thought he was?  It was tough remembering just who he was meant to be at any given moment, he couldn't relax for a second in case he gave himself away.  Ben had enjoyed a drink, but Ted was a smoker who needed a cigarette in times of stress.  That was another of the differences between them, but he couldn't take the chance of lighting up now - it'd be a dead giveaway.  One trait both twins shared was an aversion to the smell of mint, so that wasn't an option to disguise the telltale smell of stale tobacco.  He tried to allay his guilt over Karen with the thought that as Ben had been screwing his wife, it was only fair for him to screw Ben's, but he knew his rationalisation was a poor excuse for his behaviour.

He also knew that though he'd started on this path with no malicious intent, his continued deception meant that there was now little to separate him from some of the people he'd put "On The Spot" over the years.  "Maybe this is how men are corrupted," he pondered.  "They don't jump into the pit willingly; they're pushed or pulled in by circumstances beyond their control - by having to do a bad thing in order to prevent other bad things - worse things - from happening."  Now it was beginning to dawn on him that it might not be the ideal way of achieving one's goal.  It certainly wasn't the easiest.

As he lay next to Karen, he gradually became aware of her soft, slow breathing and knew that she was asleep.  He slid gently from between the sheets and dressed quietly.  Depending on traffic, it would take him around forty-five minutes to get over to Mary's house - his house - and see to her needs.

He sighed.  The masquerade was about to begin all over again.

******

Still got your attention, amigos?  Some words of encouragement wouldn't go amiss.

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