Wrong Place, Wrong Time (15)

She rounds her shoulders against the cold, a woman in a too-thin coat on a rainy street, looking at the trees covered in their burnt-orange jackets, just thinking. About Todd and about her father and about today, tomorrow and yesterday.

She paces down the street. Todd’s inside number 32. She googles the address while she waits, her fingers so cold she can’t type easily. It’s listed as the registered office of Cutting & Sewing Ltd, which is owned by Ezra Michaels and Joseph Jones. It was set up recently and has never submitted any accounts.

As Todd is swallowed up into the house, someone else leaves.

She’s right in the way.

The figure comes through the garden gate just as she passes and, suddenly, she is face to face with a dead man. No, that’s not right. A man who dies in two days’ time. The victim.





Day Minus Two, 19:20





Jen would recognize him anywhere, even though he – currently – has light in his eyes, colour in his cheeks. This very much alive man, with mere days to live, looks like somebody who was perhaps once attractive. He is mid-forties, maybe older. He has a full dark beard and elfin ears that point out at their tips.

‘Hi there,’ Jen says spontaneously to him.

‘All right,’ he says warily. His body goes completely still except his black eyes, which run over her face. She tries to think. She needs as much information as possible. Isn’t honesty by far the best policy? With clients, with opponents at work, and with your son’s enemies, too.

‘Todd is my son,’ she says simply. ‘I’m Jen.’

‘Oh. You’re Jen, Jen Brotherhood,’ he replies. He seems to know her. ‘I’m Joseph.’ His voice is gravelly, but he talks in an authoritative kind of way, like a politician.

Joseph Jones. It must be. The man whose company is registered here.

‘Nice kid, Todd. Dating Ezra’s niece, isn’t he?’

‘Ezra is …’

‘My friend. And business partner.’

Jen swallows, trying to digest this information. ‘Look. I just wondered. I’m a bit worried about him. Todd. Sorry to just – drop by,’ she says lamely.

‘You’re worried?’ He cocks his head.

‘Yeah – you know. Worried he’s got in with a bad –’

‘Todd’s in safe hands. All right now,’ he says. An instant dismissal by a pro. He motions to her, a kind of Which way are you going? gesture. No mistake about it, it means: Choose, because you are going, whether you like it or not.

She does nothing, so he brushes past, leaving her there, alone, in the mist, wondering what’s happening. Whether the future has continued on without her. If there’s another Jen somewhere. Asleep, or too shocked to function? In the world where Todd is probably currently remanded, arrested, charged, convicted. Alone.

She decides to ring the doorbell. The depressing lack of tomorrow has made her fatalistic. And thinking of Todd in police custody has made her desperate.

‘I just wanted to know that he’s okay,’ Jen says to the stranger at the door. He must be Ezra. Slightly younger than Joseph. A thickset man with a bent nose.

‘Mum?’ Todd says from somewhere deep in the house. He emerges into the gloom of the hallway. He looks pale and harassed.

Jen thinks the house was once nice but is now the shabby side of shabby-chic. Worn Victorian quarry tiles. A few offcuts of carpet overlap in the hallway like old papers. ‘What …?’ Todd says to her, making his way past all this. He communicates his bewilderment to her with a tense smile.

A beautiful young woman emerges out of the living room at the end of the hallway, opening the door with her hip. It must be Clio. Jen can tell by the way she moves towards Todd that they are a couple.

She has a Roman nose. A very short, cool fringe. Faded jeans, rips across the knees, tanned skin. No socks. A pink T-shirt with cut-outs. Even her shoulders are attractive, two peaches. She’s tall, almost Todd’s height. Jen feels a hundred-year-old fool.

‘What’s wrong?’ Todd says. ‘What’s happened?’ His voice is so assertive, so irritated. He talks down to her. How had she not noticed?

‘Nothing,’ she says lamely. ‘I just – er … I had a text from you. You sent – your location?’ she lies. She looks beyond him again, to the rest of the house. Clio and Todd’s tanned skin and white smiles look out of place against the walls – bare plaster – and the living-room door: grubby, with a loose handle. Jen frowns.

Todd gets his phone out of his pocket. ‘Nope?’

‘Oh – sorry. I assumed you wanted me to come.’

Todd squints at her, waving his phone. ‘I didn’t. I didn’t send anything. Why didn’t you call?’ As he moves his arm in that way, she is reminded of the precise stabbing motion he made. Forceful, clean, intentional. She shudders.

‘You’re Jen,’ Ezra says. Jen blinks. Recognition: the same way Joseph said her name. Todd must talk about her.

‘That’s right,’ she tells him. ‘Sorry – I won’t make a habit of dropping by …’

Jen is trying to gather as much information as possible before she is imminently expelled by Todd. She casts her gaze about, looking for evidence. She doesn’t know what she’s looking for; she won’t know until she finds it, she guesses.