Roxi grew accustomed to Adrian’s presence, like she would an elusive mouse scurrying about her loft. She revealed just enough tiny increments of herself and her thoughts to convince Adrian she was taking the process seriously.
‘Have you heard of the kurinji plant?’ Adrian had asked her out of the blue.
Do I look like bloody Wikipedia?she had wanted to say. She’d shaken her head instead.
‘They’re found in the blue mountains in South India; beautiful little plants that only blossom once every twelve years. You’re like one of those. You can’t be hurried but, once you’re ready to bloom, it’s worth the wait.’
He had laughed and Owen had joined in and she had wanted to take the spade leaning against the shed in the garden and batter them both to death with it.
She was a better actress than she gave herself credit for, though, as, within a few short weeks, he announced their work was complete, and well ahead of schedule.
‘How do you think your communication has changed since you joined Level Two?’ asked Adrian.
‘I used to find myself resenting Roxi when she asked me to do something when she could’ve done it herself but she was too engrossed in social media,’ said Owen. ‘But now I know when she asks for something it’s because she needs my help as her partner and not as an employee.’
Inwardly, Roxi rolled her eyes.
‘Excellent,’ said Adrian. ‘And how does it make you feel to hear that, Roxi?’
‘Like I’m contributing to my husband’s emotional needs,’ she replied. She fought the urge to finish with something dripping in sarcasm.
‘That’s great,’ said Adrian and tap-tap-tapped something else into his tablet. ‘Always remember that a request for help is a way of reminding you how capable and worthy you are of completing that task.’
Roxi and Owen nodded their acceptance of yet another one of Adrian’s pearls of wisdom. There had been enough of them to string together to make a necklace that stretched to hell and back.
‘Okay, folks, well, that pretty much wraps things up for us all. I’m going to head back to the office and leave you to enjoy one another.’ Adrian closed his tablet’s case and let out a final nostril whistle. He explained that, later in the day, he would file his report and a myriad of algorithms would decide if Roxi and Owen’s marriage should continue or if it should go before Family Court magistrates to rule upon. But he assured them that was unlikely.
‘I’ll leave this thought with you,’ he added. ‘So much of our lives are spent trying to solve problems, that we forget marriage is a relationship and not one handicap after another. Keep this in mind and you won’t be seeing the likes of me again.’
All three laughed – again, Roxi’s was contrived – as Adrian rose slowly from his seat, slipped on his cheesy loafers and Owen closed the door behind him.
‘Has he gone?’ came a voice from upstairs on the landing. Darcy was peering out from her bedroom door.
‘Yes,’ Owen replied.
‘Are you still married?’
‘I think so.’ Owen grinned and looked to his wife.
‘Very much so,’ Roxi replied and entwined her fingers around his.
Her well-rehearsed smile had got them through the last few weeks. Now it had to get her through the rest of their lives together.
77
Anthony
Anthony placed the electronic device inside the palm ofhis hand and worked his way around his office, swiping and waving it in front of each section of wall until it began to emit a low beep. He had found it.
He’d installed security cameras both inside and outside the house, but not like this one. He took a closer look at the near-translucent circle, no bigger than a centimetre, positioned just below the coving. It was an optical fibre camera used to record every word and every movement in his office. It was how Hyde knew that he kept the weapon used to kill Jem Jones in his bottom drawer. He had likely been monitored around the clock long before his attempted resignation. He ripped the circle from the wall and stamped on it.
Back in the office, Anthony unlocked the bottom drawer of his desk and removed the gun. For a moment he thought he saw traces of Jem’s blood on the barrel. It was impossible; his mind was playing tricks on him. Next, he opened a carton of bullets, then the gun’s chamber and placed each one inside until it was full. He stretched out his arms and aimed the weapon at the screens on the wall in front of him. Then he pretended to fire the weapon, one imaginary shot after another.
Finally, Anthony turned himself towards the translucent lens, staring directly at it. He placed the barrel to the right side of his head – the exact same place as Jem Jones’ entry wound – and, ever so gently, began to squeeze the trigger. Only when all six screens in his office turned on remotely did he release the pressure.
They contained the same image. Hyde was glaring at him from inside the rear of a moving vehicle. It was the first time Anthony had ever witnessed an uneasiness in his employer.
‘Don’t,’ Hyde said sharply.
