Unnatural Justice

Sixteen.

When we got back from Mother well, just after five, I saw that Jay's car was parked outside his cottage. I wanted to speak to him, urgently, but it had to wait, for Janet was demanding quality time with her parents, and Ethel was showing signs, for once, of being run off her feet.

So the three of us changed into swim gear and jumped into the pool.

Susie and I are both strong swimmers, and we had made a point of teaching Janet, even before she could walk. She was a natural, with no fear of water, and although we still made her wear flotation armbands, she didn't really need them. She and her mother splashed about, while I did a few lengths, then climbed out and pressed some serious weights on the exercise machine in the corner of the pool-house.

When I was finished, so were they, wrapped in to welling robes and looking so cute, the pair of them, that I'd have swelled to bursting point with pride if I hadn't had some very serious matters on my mind.

I took a quick cold shower then went upstairs to change.

When I was ready I called Jay from the bedside phone. "I'm going to hit a few golf balls," I told him. "Fancy?"

Susie was in our bedroom by that time, sorting out her clothes for the evening, while Janet trotted about, still in her robe and flip-flops, chattering happily to herself. I waved to them both on my way out, but they barely noticed me.

I picked Jay up in the buggy and headed over to my mini course. Neither of us said a word on the way there. I stopped in the middle of the first fairway we reached, dumped a bucket of practice balls on the ground and started hitting nine irons to the nearest green. Jay took a seven iron and began whacking away… he has one of the clumsiest golf swings I've ever seen.

After a dozen or so shots, I looked across at him. "Well?" I asked.

"The problem has been resolved," he said.

"Effectively?"

"It doesn't get any more effective." He was looking at the green, but I could tell he was seeing something much further away. I felt a chill sweep over me, far, far colder than the pool had been.

"What are you saying, Jay?"

"Nothing."

"Are you telling me those people are dead?" I gasped. "I know I said something along those lines at the office on Monday, but there is such a thing as a figure of speech. Come on, man. What really happened?"

He glanced at me. "We agreed there would be no questions."

"I know, but

"You gave me no specific orders."

"I know that too."

"That's how it was and that's how it has to stay. We must not discuss this."

"But Jay This time he looked me in the eye, dead in the eye. "You don't want to know, boss. Believe me. Just take it from me that your family will have no more trouble."

I turned away from him and took out my four iron, aimed at a green further away, and let fly. The ball started on the flag, but soon developed an extravagant slice. "Fuck," I cursed, quietly, and not only at my shot.

"There's been another development," I said. I told him about the missing laptop.

"Probably the coppers, boss," he murmured, when I was finished.

"I don't believe that. You might divert a case of whisky from a recovered hijacking, but you don't take a computer from an accident victim's home, knowing that the whole fucking place is going to be inventoried for his estate."

"You might if you were stupid enough."

"I don't buy into that." I hit another four iron: this time it stayed straight and landed on the green about ten feet from the flag.

"Nice shot," Jay conceded. "So you're getting round to telling me you think Joe's death wasn't an accident, and that whoever did it stole the computer?"

"That's about it."

"And you're going to suggest that the letter-bomb might have been sent by that person, and not by the Neiportes?"

"Possibly."

"That'll come as a great comfort to them, but it won't change anything."

"What do you think?"

For the first time, Jay gave me something resembling a smile; it was a pretty grim one, though. "You really want me to tell you?"

I nodded. "Go on, I can take it."

"Then I think you're letting the movie business fuck up your head.

You're treating life like a script. Joe's death was accidental. His laptop was either lost or stolen from his house, or his car… the fucking things are portable after all… before his death. The Neiportes sent Susie that letter-bomb. End of story."

I frowned at him, then I made myself laugh, wondering if it sounded as hollow as it felt. "Maybe. Okay, probably. Sod it, yes. You're right."

All at once, his shoulders seemed a little less tense. He actually hit his next shot more or less towards the green. But as I looked at him, I could not help but wonder whether Jay really believed his version of events, or whether he was making himself believe it, because he needed to.