The Family Man Read online

  "Suddenly we're getting quite a cast of characters," I reply, quickly making some notes. "So Manuel was looking after you," I continue, "and Albert was in charge of Manuel, and..." I pause for a moment as I try to put the pieces together. "John was working with Albert, or maybe in charge of Albert..." Looking down at my notes, I realize that whatever was going on with these people, it must have been pretty complex and well-organized. "But it was Manuel who set you free," I add, trying to make sense of the sequence of events.

  "Manuel had kind eyes," she replies.

  "But you don't know where he is now?"

  She shakes her head, and after a moment I realize that she's on the verge of tears

  "If I can find Manuel," I continue, "I'll bring him to you. Would you like that?"

  "Please..." she whimpers.

  "But in order to find him, I need some more information. I need a surname, or a license plate, or anything I can use to track him down."

  "I don't know," she replies, her voice cracked with tears. "I want Manuel. Why can't you get Manuel?"

  "Manuel doesn't seem to be available right now," I tell her. "But I'm here. I mean, I'm on your side, Angela, but I really need you to try to think of something that might help me work out where Manuel is. Can you tell me what he said the very last time you saw him?"

  "He came in and started unlocking us all," she replies. "He seemed worried, and he kept looking back over at the door as if he thought someone might come and stop us."

  "I know the feeling," I mutter, glancing at the door and seeing that we're still not being interrupted. To be fair, I assumed the hospital's security team would be all over me by now, but they seem to be having a particularly slow day. It's good to know that these women are in such safe hands.

  "He was scared," she continues. "Eventually he left the key and told us to get ourselves out, and then to crawl away. He told us he couldn't help us anymore, but that we'd be okay if we could just..." She pauses, and suddenly she seems shocked by something. "It was like he was saying goodbye," she adds eventually. "It was like... He was telling us to go away, because he wasn't going to be able to come to us anymore. Is that what happened? Is Manuel gone for good?"

  "If I can find him," I reply, hoping to keep her calm, "I can bring him to you."

  With tears flowing down her cheeks, she looks over at the window, and it's clear that the thought of never seeing this Manuel guy again is causing her a huge amount of distress. After all that time in captivity, she must have formed a pretty strong bond with him.

  "Listen," I start to say, "if we -"

  Before I can finish, there's a knock at the door and three doctors enter the room, eying me with great suspicion.

  "Ms. Shaw," the first doctor says, "do you mind if I see your badge again?"

  "I'm done here anyway," I reply, getting to my feet. "I'll show myself out."

  "I really need to see your badge again," he says, while his colleagues conspicuously block the door.

  "I showed it already," I point out, starting to worry that my sneaky attempt to gain access has been rumbled. "The nurse saw it."

  "I'd like to see it."

  Sighing, I reach into my pocket and pull my badge out; I hold it up quickly, but before I can put it away, the doctor grabs it from my hand and takes a closer look.

  "The thing is -" I start to say.

  "This badge is expired," he says firmly. "I just had a phone call from Jordan Carver. I believe he's a colleague of yours?"

  "I haven't had the pleasure yet," I reply through gritted teeth.

  "He told me I should expect a visit from you. He said that if and when you attempted to gain access to one of the women we're currently treating, I should politely turn you away and tell you to go and speak to him personally."

  "Where's Manuel?" Angela asks plaintively from the other corner of the room. "Do you know if Manuel's coming back? I thought maybe he might come to visit me today."

  "Do you have any idea how much damage you could have caused?" the doctor hisses at me, as one of his colleagues goes over to console Angela. "These women need to be treated with caution. By blundering in here, you might have set Angela's recovery back by months!"

  "Save the lecture," I reply, pushing past him before turning and trying to grab my badge. "I need that," I tell him.

  "So you can bluff your way through more doors?" he asks. "Sorry, but Jordan Carver told me not to let you have it."

  "Jordan Carver can kiss my -" I pause as I realize that this whole situation is getting way out of hand. "You're too slow," I say eventually. "By the time Jordan Carver has finished teasing information out of Angela and the rest of the victims, it'll be too late to stop other people from suffering. These women are already fucked up, so is it really wrong to fuck them up a little more if it means we get some answers?"

  "Yes," the doctor replies. "I believe that's a gross violation of our duty of care, and I also happen to believe that it's an indefensible moral position." He pauses. "Do you really think your investigation is more important than the well-being of these victims?"

  "If my investigation helps more people," I reply, "then... sure. I do."

  "That sentiment horrifies me," he says firmly.

  "Good for you," I tell him. "Enjoy the safety of your little moral kiosk. I'm sure Manuel would be very pleased to know that these women are in such good hands and that no-one's asking them any difficult questions."

  "Who's Manuel?" he asks.

  "Exactly," I reply, before turning and heading toward the exit.

  "Who's Manuel?" he asks again.

  "Find out for yourself," I mutter darkly.

  "You're not welcome back here, Ms. Shaw," the doctor calls after me. "Don't think for one second that you can pull this stunt again! I will have you arrested if you try to pull a stunt like this again!"

  Ignoring him, I head out into the reception area and then over to the elevators. I was making progress with Angela, and I'm convinced that I could have got some more information out of her if only I'd been given the time. Unfortunately, it seems that someone's decided to start meddling in my working methods, and while I'd usually prefer to spend a little more time gathering information, this time I'm mad as hell. Whoever the hell this Jordan Carver guy is, I think it's time I made him realize that he's picking the wrong fight.

  John

  "Your share," I say to Leonard as I slide a bundle of notes over to him. "I gave you a little extra this time since you had to perform that rather public execution. Sorry, I just wanted to give the customer a bit of a shock."

  "All the same to me," he replies, stuffing the cash into his jacket pocket. "What I really want though is a day or two off so I can actually spend some of it. I'm saving and saving, but at the same time I'm getting older and older. I want to fuck some nice Vegas whore while my hips are still up to it. I don't suppose there's any chance -"

  "You knew the deal when you signed up," I reply firmly. "You'll get all the time off that you need once we've finished with this set-up."

  "And when's that gonna be?"

  "We just need a few more sales," I tell him. "I don't know about you, but I'd like to be a millionaire many times over after all the hard work we've put in."

  "And then we liquidate the remaining assets?"

  I nod.

  "How're we gonna do that?"

  "Gasoline?" I suggest. "I'm sure you'll think of something. Don't worry about it yet, though. We've still got a couple of years left at this rate." Pausing for a moment, I can't help but think back to the moment when I shot Sharon; I've had to do similar things in the past, of course, but this time I feel as if it's getting harder and harder to ignore those hints of emotion in the back of my mind. I always thought I was more or less emotionless, but now I'm not so sure. Some kind of humanity is starting to break through at the worst possible moment.

  "Jesus," Leonard says with a sigh. "I'm getting too old for this shit. Don't forget, I'm the best part of a decade older than you. If we finish in t
wo years, I'll be in my goddamn sixties by the time I get my salon opened. It doesn't matter how much cash I've got once I'm a doddering old fool. How the hell am I gonna be able to spend it?"

  "I'm sure you'll think of something," I reply calmly.

  "I think I'll head down to Florida when we're done," he continues. "I know that's kind of a cliche, but I don't care. Cliches are cliches for a reason, and all I want is some sunshine and some women. Not old women, either. I figure I can afford to get a nice little girlfriend, maybe in her early twenties. I don't care if I have to pay her for the privilege of getting between her sweet cheeks. I mean, fuck, at my age it's just a matter of getting it when you can, while you can. Certain mechanical aspects of the body won't keep working forever, if you know what I mean. I just want that soft, smooth flesh and a great pair of tits hanging in my mouth every night while she -"

  "I get it," I say firmly, closing the bag and getting to my feet. "I appreciate that it must be hard for you spending all your time out here at the facility, Leonard, but I refuse to make any changes to the routine. After the mess that happened with Albert and Manuel at the other site, I think a little caution would be in order. Let's just carry on as before. The situation with the other site was caused by deviation from the routine, not by any kind of flaw in the routine itself."

  "You're the boss," Leonard mutters.

  "That's right. So let's do things my way." Heading to the door, I pause for a moment and turn back to him. "I'll be in touch early next week, unless a new customer comes along. I figure we should lay low for a few days, just to be sure that there's no interference."

  "Gonna spend some quality family time, huh?" he asks.

  "Something like that," I reply, before making my way out into the sun-bleached yard and heading over to my car. I feel as if I need to get home as fast as possible. After all, given everything that happened with Sharon and my first family, I rather like the idea of consolidating my current set-up. Sooner or later, I'm going to have to pick one family and commit to them, and I want to have all the information at my disposal first. There's also the matter of my daughter, Claire. She seemed a little suspicious this morning, and I need to smooth things over with her.

  After all, to lose one family is bad luck, but to lose two in as many days would be downright careless.

  Katherine Shaw

  "Where is he?" I ask, pushing the door open and making my way into the office.

  "Dawson?" Mezki replies, looking over from his computer. "He's out somewhere. I think he's -"

  "Not Dawson," I say firmly, feeling as if I'm about to explode in a fit of rage. "This Carver guy. I want to speak to Jordan Carver and I want to fucking tear him a new asshole. That's if he's got an asshole to begin with, though; so far he sounds so perfect, I'm starting to wonder if the guy even shits."

  "Interesting choice of words."

  "You know what I mean!"

  "He's -"

  "I just had to talk my way into the building," I continue, interrupting Mezki as I pace over to the window, stare out for a moment, and then pace back toward my old desk. "Do you realize how ridiculous that is? This Jordan Carver idiot, whoever the hell he is, had my badge confiscated back at the hospital, and then the guy on the security desk downstairs just now was some new jerk who didn't recognize me, so I had to act all nice and plead with him to let me through. He only agreed after he'd spoken to someone else and made sure I was really who I claimed to be. I mean, what the hell is that all about?"

  "Well..." Mezki pauses for a moment. "I mean, technically, you're on sick leave -"

  "Not anymore," I tell him. "Soon, anyway. I'm going to see Schumacher and tell him to bring me back, and then I'm gonna get a new badge, and then I'm gonna shove it up Jordan Carver's ass." Taking a deep breath, I try to calm down, but it's no use. Whoever this Carver guy is, he clearly doesn't understand who I am or why I'm so goddamn good at my job. I'm sure he's heard a few other things about me, though, and he's probably on some pathetic little crusade to bring me down just so he can show the others that he's in charge. If that's the case, he's picked the wrong target.

  "Are you okay?" Mezki asks. "You look a little red in the face."

  "What the hell was Schumacher thinking?" I continue. "Why did he bring some new asshole in to mess things up? This office worked perfectly well before, and now it's just..." I pause, trying to find the right word. "It's all changed," I add eventually, my frustration starting to boil over. "Even Dawson's changed! Dawson never changes!"

  "Actually, Jordan Carver's made some improvements around the place," Mezki replies. "He's streamlined the forensic requests routine, and he's brought in someone to improve the IT system, and the old coffee machine's been replaced by a new model that actually makes coffee instead of that sludge that used to come out."

  I turn and glare at him.

  "I'm just saying," he continues, "that sometimes change can be good."

  "You don't know what you're talking about," I reply after a moment.

  "Katherine, he's not the enemy. Jordan Carver -"

  "Stop saying that name!" I continue. "I feel like everywhere I go at the moment, it's Jordan Carver this and Jordan Carver that! Hell, I've only been off sick for a few months, it's not like I went and spent a year traveling around the world. And now I come back and everything's completely different! Even Dawson's acting all weird! It's like Jordan Carver got into his head and made him..." I pause again as I realize that maybe I'm starting to sound paranoid. "Everything just seems different," I add after a moment, suddenly overcome by a wave of sadness. "Things were okay as they were."

  "Not everything's different," Mezki replies. "Just a few little things." He pauses. "I think you might have to change too."

  "Me?"

  "The way Carver's got things set up now... I think we're all going to have to be a little more..."

  I wait for him to answer.

  "More what?" I ask eventually.

  "Professional?"

  "You think I'm not professional?"

  "You cut corners," he replies. "I know it works for you sometimes, but the overall department seems to be heading in a direction that requires greater oversight and a stricter application of good practice in pursuit of a more efficient service delivery model." He pauses. "That's actually a direct quote from a seminar Jordan Carver led the other day covering -"

  "I don't need to hear this," I say, interrupting him again. "I think I get it now. This Jordan Carver guy is some kind of middle-management, by-the-books asshole who thinks he can come in with some fucking theory about police work, and he wants to squeeze all the fun out of what we do here."

  "It's not supposed to be fun," Mezki replies. "At least, I don't think that's -"

  "We all work better when we're having fun," I snap back at him, before realizing that I've been argued into a corner and now I'm starting to say ludicrous things. "You know what I mean," I add, finally managing to calm down. "If we follow all the stupid rules, people die. If we sit in an office and go in a boring line from point A to point B and then point C, bad things happen out there in the real world and, hey, guess what? People die! At least -"

  "Shit," Mezki mutters, glancing over at the door.

  I turn just in time to an unfamiliar figure heading this way, with his eyes fixed directly on me. I'm momentarily taken aback by the calm, calculated expression on his face, as if he's practiced this approach hundreds of times and thinks he knows exactly what he's going to say to me and how I'm going to respond. If this is the famous Jordan Carver, then it's kind of not hard to see how he could have had such a strong effect on the department in such a short period of time: he looks to be young, maybe in his late twenties, and with dark skin and a perfectly-fitted suit he certainly stands out in a building that has tended to be a little behind the times when it comes to diversity and good tailoring. For perhaps the first time in my entire life, I feel genuinely lost for words.

  "I've got the files you wanted," Mezki says, springing up from his seat a
nd hurrying over to the door as Carver enters. It's amusing, but also pitiful, to see how keen Mezki is to please this guy.

  "That's great," Carver says slightly dismissively, dropping them straight back onto Mezki's desk, "but can you get them to me digitally? I want to check them over while I'm on the move. That way, I can give you my feedback this afternoon and we can get on with implementing those changes we discussed yesterday in our one-on-one session."

  "Sure," Mezki replies, hurrying back to his desk. "Anything to help."

  "So," Carver says, stopping directly in front of me and fixed me with a determined stare, "you must be the famous Katherine Shaw."

  "And you must be the guy who got me thrown out of a hospital room when I was making progress with one of the victims," I reply.

  "I believe your credentials have expired," he says firmly.

  Biting my tongue, I smile politely. I know this guy and I are going to end up arguing, but I want him to be the one who throws the first verbal punch.

  "I think we need to discuss some things," Carver continues. "Would you happen to have time to join me in my office, Detective Shaw? I always think it's better to identify conversations that need to take place in private, and zone them off from the public space."

  "I'm kinda busy," I reply, "but... Sure, I can spare you a few minutes to... zone stuff off from the public space."

  "Please," he replies, "come and join me when you're ready."

  As he heads through into his office, I find myself feeling uncharacteristically unsure of myself. Something about this Carver guy is sending shivers through my body, almost as if I've come up against someone whose way of working is the complete opposite to my own. In fact, I'm starting to think that maybe Jordan Carver is the antithesis to my working methods in every possible way. What's more, he seems to be a very confident individual, which means it's going to be harder to knock him off his perch.

  "See?" Mezki whispers. "The guy's on a mission."

  "Sure," I mutter, unable to think of anything more incisive or cutting.