Special Circumstances - 11. A Murder Is Announced

The music was loud. Very loud and rhythmic. Nam was putting on a show in the small London club he was hired to work as DJ. Having done this as a hobby since he was a teenager, Nam was quite good at it.

I’d dragged Mike to the place after he’d finished work. It had taken some persuasion to get him to accompany me, but in the end, we’d passed the queue of people to be let in, because I was on the DJ’s VIP list.

The bass was pounding, and Nam was playing the song I’d asked him to play at this time. I’d managed to get Mike here on time and into the right mood. We were on the dance floor and when the right part of the lyrics came up, I cupped Mike’s face and sang the lyrics to him.

Not that he could actually discern my voice, but Mike was smiling when I was singing about how much I loved him. Our bodies moved in the rhythm, and I felt one with him. There was nobody else around, my world revolved around my man.

I felt so hot. I took my T-shirt off. I knew I had to drink water, but I didn’t care. I was thinking about my man and how much I loved him. The rhythm was in my blood. The song had the right lyrics to express precisely how I felt, and Nam’s remix had added the necessary beats to keep me moving. I was so happy. I danced and sunk into Mike’s eyes.

Suddenly Mike’s face changed, and he asked shouting over the music, “What did you take?”

I smiled at him.

It was his turn to cup my face, and he shouted again, “Jamie, what did you take?”

Why was he so negative? “Just some E,” I replied happily and continued dancing at him. “Nothing to worry about.”

“Jamie!”

Mike took me in a hug. I loved it, but why didn’t he let me move? I needed to move. Mike walked me off the dance floor to the bar where he got a glass of water he made me drink. I felt better, but I needed to hug him. I felt so bad not hugging my man!

Mike spoke to the barkeeper and got me into a backstage room where he forced me to drink more water. I embraced him when I got the opportunity.

“I love you so much!” I wanted to scream what I felt.

Mike sat me down and talked with me. I enjoyed that very much.

Nam entered the room and took a look at me. “What happened to him?”

“Nam! Finally,” Mike said. “He’s taken Ecstasy. Help me.”

“Jamie?”

“Yes?” I asked. He was talking to me, wasn’t he?

Nam looked into my eyes. “Man, he’s completely wasted.”

I wanted to take him into my arms. “Nam, you’re my best friend!”

“Ouch.” That was all Nam was able to utter when I enveloped him.

Mike, and Nam whenever he could, stayed with me in the backstage room, entertaining me until the end of the evening. I wasn’t sure how Mike got me into his car, but at some time on the way home, I fell asleep.

I stirred. Mike came to my side of the bed, sat down, stroked me over the forehead and asked, “How’s my lovely boyfriend?”

“Properly coming down.” I was drained, but I’d expected that.

“Well, that’s self-inflicted.”

“Guilty as charged.”

Mike leaned closer to give me a kiss on my cheek. “You’re stupid, boyfriend.”

“Hm.”

“What were you thinking?” He whispered into my ear.

“Not much, apparently.” Bad question! All came back with a vengeance. “As usual.”

“Jamie, I’m concerned.”

“Hm?”

“Since you’ve started that protection job, you aren’t yourself anymore. Three consecutive weekends in Devon, and when you come back, you need to sleep, and then you want to party hard, Jamie. Why? What happens during these weekends in Devon?”

Shit! I didn’t want to have this discussion now. “Nothing happens during the weekends in Devon. What do you think?”

“Is he making advances at you?”

“What?”

“Morris-Walker. Is he hitting on you?”

What a thought. “No! Brr, that’s disgusting, Mike.”

“Well, you have a thing for older men. I’m five years older, young one. Morris-Walker isn’t ugly. You might find him attractive.”

“Mike, I like older men, because those of my age who don’t have the experiences I have, seem childish to me. Believe me, Morris-Walker is a big child.” I paused. “When I’m in that Tudor mansion of his, I can’t even have a wank. Every time I move, all those medieval floorboards scream their annoyance out into the world.”

“So, what is it? You know you can talk to me, don’t you?”

I sat up to hug him. “Of course, I know. I love you.”

I released the embrace, and he looked at me expectantly. I had to explain something, yet, Morris-Walker’s words rang in my mind. ‘Nobody must ever know!’

How could I explain to him that the plan had worked? That I’d killed, lied, and falsified evidence? What was worse, that Morris-Walker had organised an SAS sergeant as a knife-fighting trainer who had drilled me for the last two weekends to do it again? That I’d seen how the system of favours and connections worked?

The minister had had a conversation with his cousin, a colonel in the Royal Marines, who had called upon his brother-in-law, the commander of the army, who in turn had called a favour from a colonel in the SAS with whom he’d been together in Sandhurst Military Academy. The result of this were an unofficial knife fighting trainer and ammunition for me.

I decided to tell half of it. “It’s the exposure to the falsehoods. The exposure to the intrigues. All this undeserved wealth and influence. I’m afraid I’ll lose myself, Mike. That I’ll lose you.” That wasn’t a lie at all. “You remember when I told you about the night of the snow storm?”

“My boyfriend making the national news? How could I forget? What were the headlines? ‘Minister with armed escort rescued from snow storm.’ ‘State pays guard and helicopter for party event.’ My favourite was, ‘The Frozen Affairs of State.’”

I’d told Mike about the attack. He’d gotten the same version of events as had my superiors, including Chief Inspector Mwangi, but as such, the incident was kept secret from the public.

“You remember the grilling I got for letting that prisoner escape?” Again, no lie there. I’d gotten a grilling. It had felt even worse, because it wasn’t true. “But how can I be in two places at the same time? Guarding him and the minister? I just try doing my best, and it never seems to be enough. Morris-Walker is constantly insulting me with little snide remarks making sure I know my place and that he was better than me.” No lie there, either. “To be honest, I’ve never felt so insecure.” Again, no lie.

“Well, I’ve made some breakfast. Although you don’t deserve it, I’m willing to serve it to you in bed.”

“You’re fantastic, boyfriend.”

“Well, you’ve told me so often and so intensely yesterday I don’t have much other choice than to believe you.” He changed to a stern tone. “But partying, little blue pills, and alcohol are off the menu for a while, understood?”

I just nodded.

================================================

Two days later, I was on duty in the Home Office building, reporting to Melanie to await the arrival of the minister as was the usual pattern. Instead of her asking me to wait and have a chat, she sent me through right away. “Please go in, Jamie. He’s waiting for you.”

I knocked on the minister’s door and was asked to enter.

“Good afternoon, Jamie. You are only slightly late.”

Sarcasm at his best. Inwardly sighing, I ignored the comment, although he was right. “Minister, you’re ready to go home?”

“There are some things which need to be taken care of first.”

He was interrupted by Melanie on the intercom. “Commander Dalgliesh is here for his appointment, Minister.”

“Please show him in.” He indicated I was to stay and got up from his desk to greet a commander of the Metropolitan Police. “Commander, it is a pleasure to see you again.”

“Good afternoon, Minister,” Commander Dalgliesh said and shook the minister’s hand.

“Please have a seat, Commander.” The minister sat down again.

The commander still stood. “I would prefer your Protection Officer left, Minister. The information you wanted me to gather is politically sensitive.”

“Oh, Commander, there is nothing to worry about Jamie. His political acumen is distinctly anti-proportional to his muscle mass.”

I was seething. Fucking asshole! I thanked my DNA or personality defect or whomever for my naturally stoic demeanor as the commander scrutinized me. We locked our gaze for a couple of seconds.

“Very well.” Commander Dalgliesh sat down.

He wasn’t at ease with my presence, but focused on Morris-Walker. Searching his bag, he withdrew a folder and handed it to the minister.

“This is the report on crimes against the disabled community over England as you requested, Minister.”

“Thank you, Commander. I appreciate your efforts.”

“Let me express the exclusion of Wales is unusual to say the least. Nevertheless, I have listed all homicides over the last twelve months as requested which, again, is rather unusual.”

Morris-Walker stayed silent and focused on the Commander to continue. If Commander Dalgliesh had thought he could extract information from the minister, he was mistaken.

After a moment of silence, Dalgliesh continued, “I can find a significant increase in violent crime against disabled people, as it has been observed for other minorities. This is in line with general findings in the current climate.”

“That is worrying indeed, Commander.”

“Will we then need to prepare for a new anti-crime initiative, Minister?”

“The report needs review and analysis, before any actions might be recommended. I thank you, Commander.”

“Well, if there’s nothing else, Minister, I’ll take my leave.”

“Have a good day, Commander,” the minister said, got up and shook the commander’s hand.

Commander Dalgliesh threw me another glance and left the office. The minister had accompanied the commander to the door to see him out. Smiling, he came back to sit at his desk.

“Excellent. Something to work with.”

I moved in front of his desk. “Minister, may I have a word?”

“Of, course, Jamie. What can I do for you?”

“Minister, why do you constantly have to insult me?”

“But Jamie, how might I have insulted you?”

“Sir, in that meeting, you told one of my police superiors I was dumb.”

“What on earth gave you that idea?” He asked, stunned.

I imitated him. “’His political acumen is distinctly anti-proportional to his muscle mass.’”

“But Jamie,” he said astonished, “These were two distinct compliments.”

I was speechless. “Compliments?”

He got up, walked over to me and put his hand on my shoulder. “First, I trust you to not be a danger to myself or my position, and second, you are quite, well“, he squeezed my biceps, “brawny, you know?”

“Minister, are you hitting on me?”

“What?” I should’ve taken a picture of his expression. It was priceless.

“Minister, the last time a guy squeezed my biceps, we went somewhere private.”

He let go of me instantly and returned to his chair behind the desk.

“I think you need some exposure to the real world.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Minister. I said that aloud.”

He ignored my remark and went to pack his briefcase with the report Commander Dalgliesh had just handed in well at the top. Within fifteen minutes, we were on the road. Morris-Walker was engaged in his paperwork. That he could read while driving was plain unfair. I usually got motion sick when I tried that.

The drive was uneventful until he broke the silence, “Damnation!”

“Minister?”

“You might have gathered this report was created upon my special request.”

“Yes, Minister.” Really? I was there when it was handed over.

“It is the last bit of evidence I need to corroborate what I read from the entity.”

“You’ve never told me about that.” I’d never asked.

“With intent, Jamie, with intent. I did not want to burden you with incomplete information. I want your mind free of stray influences.”

“Minister, might I say something?”

“Yes, Jamie?”

“That’s another insulting statement. How can you think you know what I can handle or not?”

“Jamie, no offense, but you have not shown yourself to be an intellectual heavyweight.”

Asshole. “And you have, Minister?”

“No,” he admitted to my surprise, “Not in the form I would need to be in order to be able to solve this.”

“Might I then make a novel suggestion, Minister?” Had I started sounding like him?

“Hm?”

“Maybe two half-wits can sort it out together.” I caught his gaze through the rearview mirror. “Shoot.”

He thought about that for a moment. “Oh, well. It cannot get any worse, can it?”

Sometimes, the urge to hit him became so powerful. I turned away to grin out of his view.

“That there are forces beyond common understanding, we have already established,” he said, and I rolled my eyes but bit my tongue. “At its root, all special abilities stem from the power of the mind. Using special techniques, these powers can be harnessed and redirected. That is easier with mental abilities rather than physical abilities like yours, but the principle is identical.”

He paused.

“Clear. Please continue, Minister.”

“These techniques can seem to the uninitiated as ‘magical’ i.e. not of this world, but I assure you, these are perfectly natural processes. You might remember when I explained your abilities to you before. These are activated by exposure to something ‘supernatural’ which, again, is perfectly natural.”

Arrogant asshole. “Yes, Minister.”

“There are two situations which let the power of the mind flow. The first is the awakening, like in your case. The other is death or better the seconds before death, especially a violent and painful death.”

“I’m not sure I like where this is going, Minister. You’re telling me somebody knowing the right techniques can cause the violent death of people to harness their mental power?”

“Yes, Jamie! However, let us park this thought for a moment. Do you remember when I described to you what you labeled as ‘ghost’?”

“The ‘manifested spiritual entity’?”

“Yes, Jamie, those. They are intelligent. Now, let me tell you intelligence cannot be created, it is inherent to living beings.”

I suddenly had acid in my mouth. “So, I did kill an intelligent being?”

“Oh, no, Jamie!” He must have picked up on the tone of my voice. “It was intelligent, but you did not kill it. You disrupted its manifestation. It returned to where it had come from. Maybe unhappy, but very much alive.”

“And where’s that, Minister?”

“Well, that is the question, is it not? Nobody really knows. People with the right techniques can draw them, or bind them one could say, to obey their commands, but they can also be bargained with to perform services in exchange for mental power.”

I shuddered involuntarily. “Please don’t tell me that for every entity you encountered, a person had to die a horrible death.”

“Oh no, Jamie, no! Those were bound normally i.e. by the power of the one drawing them. These beings usually exist in another sphere of reality. There are several different spheres of reality.”

“You mean like Einstein's dimensions, Minister?”

“Jamie, I am impressed. Yes and no. I doubt Einstein knew the deeper meaning of his dimensions, but yes, something like that.”

“Okay, there are several dimensions, including one in which the spiritual entities we’ve encountered exist. I can live with that.”

“How nice, young man. What I am talking about is that there are other spheres of reality, and those can also be reached. If humans can bind entities from one sphere of reality to bid them to do their will, why not beings from other realities, too?”

“I see the point, Minister. What I don’t see is what the horrible deaths have to do with it. If you just said binding the entities doesn’t require such a thing.”

“That is exactly the point, Jamie. Whatever is going on requires more energy, more power if you so wish. The more distant a reality is from our own, the more energy is needed to interact with it. I fear somebody wants to open a portal to one of these distant realities.”

“And?”

“Oh, Jamie, please use your brain! If you open a door, it does not only mean you can go through the door, but also anything on the other side can go through the door as well. To put it in your terms, Jamie, it is as if somebody was opening a door to a place like hell.”

“Oh!” Was I really that dumb?

“Indeed, Jamie, oh. Therefore, I am looking for violent, possibly painful deaths listed in this report.”

“Does that mean every opening of the door requires a violent death?” This was evil stuff.

“Not necessarily. It can also mean a door to a far away reality is in the process of being opened using several violent deaths. The more distant the reality is, the more energy is necessary, but also the more alien thus horrible said reality is compared to ours.”

“That sounds bad, Minister.”

“Indeed it is, Jamie. Hence me comparing this to opening a door to hell. I have found three deaths which fit a particular date pattern i.e. deaths which occurred during around full moon.”

“Full moon? I thought that was folklore, Minister.”

“Absolutely not, Jamie. Planetary constellations may strengthen or weaken the barriers between the realities. As I said, all these are natural processes. This universe is bound to the same laws as any other. There are three deaths which fit the dates. What does not make any sense to me is that they are all over the country.”

“Have you tried marking the spots on a map, sir?” That’s one of the basic techniques when dealing with a serial killer.

He looked at his notes and then exclaimed, “Jamie, you do have your uses! I had not thought of that.”

“Not so dumb after all,” I murmured.

He had heard me nonetheless. “We shall see about that, young man. I have an inclination about the next victim. The first victim had a missing right arm. The second had a missing left arm. The third had a missing right leg.”

“So, the next victim might have a missing left leg?” Did he really think I was that dumb?

“Indeed, Jamie, indeed.”

“How long till the next full moon, Minister?”

“Next Saturday.”

I rolled my eyes, one couldn’t make it up. “Of course. It had to be.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I’m sorry, Minister, but I feel like I’m in a bad film.”

“Unfortunately not, Jamie. Unfortunately not.”

There wasn’t much more to say at the moment. We continued our journey to his estate in Devon in silence. I tried making sense of this conversation. Maybe he was correct, and I was dumb. In essence, there was a deranged mind causing a violent, painful death of fellow human beings for the sake of harnessing power. Sounded familiar. There was one question I had to ask.

“Minister?”

“Hm?”

“Why disabled people?”

“I do not know. I read it from the entity. Please allow me not to elaborate.”

“Minister, from what you say, I think there’s a whole parallel world out there. For me, you’re holding the key to that world, and you’re keeping the door firmly shut.”

“I wonder whether that was a witty pun or coincidence, Jamie, but I do concede you have a point. As I said before, there is no training or education. All I tell you I have learned by myself. To be honest, I cannot guarantee its correctness. That is why I seem not to tell you much. I am sorry, Jamie, I cannot be your mentor. I apologise.”

No sense asking more questions. So I stayed quiet for the rest of the journey.

We arrived at the estate and followed the established ritual. I drove the car into the garage after checking it. I left the garage before the minister, and we arrived at the main house where we were received by Mr Turner, the butler.

While Morris-Walker retired to his rooms, I had dinner with the Turners. Mike’s suggestion of bringing some flowers for Mrs Turner and me bringing back the loan clothes freshly washed, had curried some favour which had made the subsequent weekends much nicer. However, I was clearly the intruder into their small, perfect world.

The presence of the SAS Sergeant didn’t help their mood either. Like I as Protection Officer don’t wear a name badge, he didn’t wear one either. He never introduced himself, so the Turners and I just addressed him ‘Sergeant’, a situation which the Turners resented.

He’d arrived earlier, like the last two weekends, and was awaiting me for a training session. I sighed when I saw the old soldier’s weather beaten face and red hair with gray streaks.

“Sergeant, will you ruin this perfect evening by chasing me around?”

The old Scotsman just nodded. Off we went to a room in the cellar. When we walked into the room, I was the first one to enter, and he jumped me from behind. I tried throwing him over my shoulder, but he avoided me and instead came up right in my fighting arc. We exchanged blows when suddenly his knife was in his hand.

I was at a serious disadvantage. The machine pistol hanging from its strap was constantly in my way, and my fighting knife, courtesy of my trainer, was hidden in my right boot because it wasn’t standard police issue. On the contrary, its carrying was plainly illegal, also for me.

I dipped into my abilities to at least pull up my knife. Only then was I able to counter. While three weekends of training put me in a different league than a street thug, he was a combat veteran. The old soldier had me cornered quickly.

He held the knife against my throat. “Ye hae nae protection, son. One wee move, an’ yer a dead man.”

He was very close to me. I looked at the old soldier searching for his eyes. “How does it feel?”

He was surprised, released me, and said, “Yer haudin’ firearms, polis-boy. Ye should ken what they do.”

“Yes, half of the course was about when not to shoot and what would happen if one did. I’ll only ever shoot to protect themselves or others. If I shoot, there will be immediate psychological services available. But you might’ve realised our bouts somehow aren’t official police training.”

“Aye, na kiddin’, son.”

“I challenge you. You tell me, if I prevent you from putting your knife against my throat.”

I put the machine pistol against a wall.

“Bring it oan, son.” He smirked and then started an attack sequence.

While I was pressured, I was able to dip into my abilities and turn the corner slowly. I’d realised early that being quick wasn’t all that counted here. We were both sweating heavily when I’d escaped the elaborate trap he’d set.

He was surprised. “How did ye dae that, polis-boy?”

I was panting heavily. “First, you’re a good teacher. Second, I’m a good student. Third, I was plain lucky when you stepped to the left as I’d bet on. I had a fifty-fifty chance. My question, Sergeant.”

He didn’t look at me when he checked his knife for damage. “Ye need tae be a psycho tae murder a body an’ nae care. Killin’ fram far awa’ is a piece o’ piss.” He approached, pointing his knife at my face. “But in nice an’ close, it’ll come back tae bite ye.” He let the knife sink and withdrew from me. “Most soldier laddies wha hae got in close an’ killed hae that hauntin’ shit o’ post traumatic stress disorder.”

I thought I understood what he’d said. “That doesn’t answer my question.”

“Na polis-boy, it disnae. The upshot of the killin’, son, depend on the ballgame yer in. If a body is oot tae get ye, then it’s basic, son, ye will dae anythin’ tae survive, and ah really mean anythin’.” He glared at me, and I held his gaze. “In other cases, it turns oan yer judgement. Is what yer daein' right or wrong, or dis it breach yer humanity? Enough, polis-boy! Just hope ye’ll ne’er hae tae fin’ oot.”

He set up a wooden target. “This weekend, ah will teach ye tae throw a blade.”

We trained throwing the knife till well after midnight. Fortunately, I was able to exchange some words with Mike before he went to bed. After a shower, I settled into my room.

The next morning, Sergeant and I went for a run and did exercises together. We never really spoke, but it was good to have company. I gathered he didn’t really feel welcome at the Tudor mansion either.

I then accompanied the minister to his party offices. The afternoon held more knife training and the evening another sponsor dinner, a compensation event for the one which had gone under in the snow storm a month ago. Although I’d half expected it, this time, there was no trouble around.

Unexpectedly and to the surprise of some other guests, Lady and Lord Paisly came over to greet me and asked how I was doing. We had a more than casual exchange of words when they told about they had fared since that night and asked about any progress finding the escaped assailant.

The Sunday was devoted to more knife training. I was now able to throw a knife and actually hit more or less over half of the time. Sergeant was actually encouraging while I was a bit dismayed at the low success rate. In the afternoon, Sergeant left when I packed the car for the minister’s drive back to London. My phone notified me about a message from the minister, summoning me to his office.

I knocked at the door and was asked to enter. The old room was impressive. Despite the decent modern equipment, the whole setup of the room radiated subtle power. The minister stood by a small conference table with a map of Great Britain on it.

“You wanted to see me, Minister.”

“Oh, yes. How is the training coming along?”

“Very well, Minister. I’m learning a lot. Next time I face one of the ghosts, I should deal with it quickly.”

“Wonderful, Jamie. It might be your services in that regard will be tested rather sooner than later.”

“What do you mean?”

“I assume the next victim will be found around here.”

He pointed at the map. He’d drawn a circle with a pentagram on the map. The locations of the three known victims forming three tips of the five.

“A pentagram. Really, Minister? Isn’t that New Age occultism?”

“I admit the use of the symbol has been tainted by that fallacy. The symbol itself has been found in ancient China as well as ancient Babylonia. A pentagram with a circle is correctly referred to as a pentacle, Jamie.”

Know-it-all. “So why there and not here?” It was my turn to point at the map.

“See the pentagram symbolising a body, the head facing in a not quite northerly direction. Right arm, left arm, right leg, so left leg is here.”

“Is that tip then not the head? How can a headless person be killed?”

Morris-Walker sighed. “Oh, Jamie, sometimes, I despair. Of course, a headless person cannot be killed. However, a mentally ill person can. It is all symbolic. You take it too literally.”

“Sorry, Minister.” He was right, I was dumb. A moment of silence. “Please allow me to ask, Minster, why not quite north?”

He stroked his chin in thought. “I do not know, Jamie, and I am very concerned about it.”

This time, I had an idea. “One of my exes had a sailing yacht. The magnetic north is not the mapped north.”

“A sailing yacht? Jamie, I find hidden depths in you! That must have been the investment banker, right? What model did he have?”

Was yachting all he could think about right now? “Can’t we discuss my failed relationships later, Minister?”

“I admit you have indeed proven to be useful. I think you are correct. An alignment to earth’s magnetic field makes sense. That means we know this Saturday, a person without a left leg will die a painful death …“ He indicated on the map. “So, about here.”

I read the name of the village nearest to where his finger pointed. “Windermere.”

“I will organise an invitation by the local party so we stay there this Friday and Saturday.”

“Ah, Minister, this is beyond dabbling. We must call the police.”

“Jamie, I appreciate the sentiment, but Commander Dalgliesh’es report indicates clearly these murders share no credible pattern of time, method, or location.” He glared at me. “Unless one goes into the occult and draws in the victims’ disabilities and a pentacle. So, what do you want to tell the police? This?” He pointed at the map. “Without telling them what I have told you, I somehow think this would stretch even my credibility somewhat.”

I clasped my face and sighed. “This is no fucking joke. We’re talking murder here!”

He turned to face me. “Yes, and we will try to prevent it.”

“How?”

“Well, Jamie, you are the muscle, and I am the brains. Together, we will think of something.”

“I’m your Protection Officer, Minister, not your private enforcer corps. I’m an officer of the law. My first duty is to protect people. We must report this.”

He closed the distance between us quickly and pushed his index finger right into my face. “Now, listen carefully, officer of the law. If you talk about ghosts and rituals and power, what do you think is going to happen? Even if you run around them twice in half a second to prove it is true, what will happen then?”

I did not reply. What did he want?

“What will happen, Jamie?” he shouted.

“I don’t know!” I shouted back. “What do you want me to say?”

“Imagine the general public getting to know about people like you and me! Can you picture the tabloid headlines, Jamie? ‘Mutants forming secret society!’ ‘Freaks among us!’ ‘Can mankind be saved from the Mutants?’”

I stared at him. He’d seen too many X-Men films.

“Believe me, my boy, the panic which erupts after such a reveal is as inevitable as the subsequent manhunt! Do you want to turn the world into ashes, Jamie?”

I continued to stare at him.

“Do you, Jamie?” He shouted at me.

“No, of course not,” I said. I averted my gaze.

He sighed, his outburst over. He patted my shoulder. “You are a good man, Jamie. It has to be stopped, but apart from my drawing we have no evidence whatsoever to go and ask for assistance. I cannot do it alone. I need you.”

In the face of his arguments, I could only agree. I sighed and nodded at him.