9- Jack

The place seemed to be trying to pass itself off as some kind of fancy spa. It was a beautiful chalet in a rather remote part of Switzerland, and if Jack didn’t know it was actually a cosmetic surgery clinic and recovery hostel, he might have even considered sending his mother here on vacation. After riding for hours over the snow-covered Swiss countryside, the traditional alpine architecture of the front lobby was cozy and inviting. A waiting area with plush furniture and a huge wood-burning fireplace beckoned from one side, and on the other side was a rustic-looking wood and stone reception desk, where a man was arguing loudly in German with the flustered middle-aged woman on the other side.

Jack studied the two. Not knowing a word of the German language, he could only guess at what the man’s problem was. He was very well-dressed. Expensive-looking beige jumper over a crisp cream-colored oxford shirt and a pair of perfectly-tailored brown pants and matching shoes. He had a nice-looking wool coat over one arm too. Obviously either one of the well-to-do patients or, more likely, a relative of one. The man had a very handsome face, if a bit scruffy. Probably one of those fashionable types who kept a bit of stubble on his face and messed up his hair on purpose, trying to look like Russell Crowe. Sand-colored hair, lightly tanned, blue-grey eyes. Perfect teeth. The man was probably an actor or a model of some sort. Real people didn’t look like that.

Jack and three of his colleagues approached the desk. The man fell silent and looked suspiciously at their group. They all presented their identification and the officer from Belgium, whose name Jack hadn't bothered to remember since the man had never even spoken to him, introduced them all and explained their business. They were tracking a dangerous criminal and had reason to believe she had recently visited a patient here. After studying their badges and making a quick phone call, the receptionist grudgingly handed over the guest book.

She hadn’t even bothered to use a different name. "Nadina Jones" was printed neatly and clearly. She’d been there just three days ago, and she’d had the boy with her. Jack smirked. They were catching up with her. "We’ll need to speak with the person she came to see," he told the receptionist. Then he remembered that the conversation had been all in German so far. The other officers all shot him annoyed looks.

But the woman smiled and said, "Of course. Let me just inform Ms. Stille that she has guests, and I shall have someone show you up."

Jack smiled at her. God bless the Swiss for being so well-educated. Her English was flawless.

The man who had been arguing with her flushed red when he saw what room she was calling. "Why do you need to speak with her?" he asked Jack in English. "Your criminal has already left. Go after her!"

The Belgian stepped forward. "We need more information about our suspect," he explained brusquely. "If you know this person, we may need to speak with you as well."

The man glared at them, staring at each officer in turn, finally resting his eyes on Jack. "Fine," he said. "One of you may come and speak with her. And that same one may interview me too. The rest of you can wait here. If you will agree to this, I will cooperate with you, and I will convince Hespah to cooperate with you as well. Otherwise neither of us will be able to remember anything."

Jack’s companions all looked at each other, then the Belgian nodded his head. "Very well," he said, "I’ll go."

The man seemed to be sizing him up as he looked him over, then said, "No. I want the Indian."

Jack looked around. There was only one person here of Indian descent. "I assume you mean me."

The man smiled for the first time and held out his hand. "Karl Waiblingen," he said.

"Detective Chief Inspector Jack Bannerjee, British Police," Jack replied as he took Mr. Waiblingen’s hand in a firm shake.

One of Jack’s colleagues, an Eastern European fellow that the others simply called Kostya, placed a hand on Jack’s shoulder. "Take this," were the first words this man had ever directed at him as he handed Jack a small recording device. Jack had come prepared with his own tape recorder, but he took Kostya’s too, pleasantly surprised at the comradely go-get-em look in Kostya’s eyes. It still felt somewhat condescending, but at least it was a friendly sort of condescending. Jack placed the extra recorder in his pocket and turned both of them on.

"Come, I’ll show you to her room," Mr. Waiblingen offered politely, waving a hand toward the lift in the corner.

Once they were inside and heading for the fourth level, Jack decided to start the conversation. Jack prided himself on his interviewing method. Instead of a cold, uncomfortable interrogation, he preferred to gently bring his subjects into a friendly conversation, to make them feel at ease. He found that most people were more eager to give information that way, and he had often gotten crucial details out of witnesses during cross-questioning that other officers had failed to get simply because their methods made people nervous. He smiled warmly at the man in front of him. "So, Mr. Waiblingen, are you a close relative of Ms. Stille?"

"Call me Karl," he said, returning the smile, "Everyone calls me Karl. My surname is only for official documents, and means nothing to me. You’ll find Hespah’s the same way. If you call her Ms. Stille, she’s likely not to even answer to it. Just call her Hespah."

"Thank you, Karl. I’ll keep that in mind."

"Of course. As for my relationship to Hespah . . . well, you could say I manage her estate and take care of various business and legal issues for her."

"You’re her lawyer?"

"Yes, that would be accurate." He cast a sidelong glance at Jack and continued, "I’ve been with her for a very long time. She’s like an older sister to me. So I apologize if I seem a bit over-protective."

"It’s understandable," Jack assured him as they stepped out of the lift and began walking down the corridor.

"She recently had a visit from a very dangerous person, as you know. That is why I am here today. That person should never have been allowed in."

Jack perked up. "What do you know about the woman who goes by Nadina Jones?"

Karl smirked slightly. "Nadina is her real name. The Jones, like my Waiblingen, is irrelevant."

Jack nodded thoughtfully. He got the feeling that these were strange people he was dealing with.

"Well, here we are. I shall go in first, to prepare her. I’ll call you in when she’s ready." Karl entered the room, leaving the door open. Jack obediently waited in the doorway. He heard some low murmuring, but couldn’t make out what was being said, or even if they were speaking a language he could understand. Then he heard Karl call out to him. "Please come in, inspector. We are ready for you."

Jack stepped into the room and looked around. Two small armchairs had been arranged beside the bed. Karl sat in one, and gestured for Jack to take the other seat. In the bed was a very heavily-bandaged woman. Her entire face was wrapped in gauze bandages, and at the very top of her head he could see a short, uneven growth of bright red hair sticking out in all directions. It was such a brilliant red color that it couldn’t possibly be natural, but he had trouble imagining the nurses here unwrapping her bandages so that they could dye it. Her eyes, though uncovered, were so swollen and bruised from her recent surgery that they could barely open, but through the slits he could just barely catch a glimpse of green. Her mouth, too, had been uncovered, but it also looked rather badly bruised, so that he almost felt guilty for having to question her. Obviously it would be painful to speak with that mouth.

Jack introduced himself to the woman, remembering Karl’s tip and addressing her as "Hespah" instead of "Ms. Stille," and briefly explained the reason behind his visit before he began the interview.

She didn’t seem to have much to say about Nadina Jones. Several questions were answered with a mere grunt or a shrug. What answers she did give were short, and not at all helpful.

"Please, Hespah," Jack insisted, leaning forward in his chair. "If you know anything– anything at all– it could help us save that little boy’s life."

To Jack’s complete shock, the woman in the bandages laughed. Bewildered by this reaction, he looked to Karl, but he also seemed to be suppressing a snicker.

Hespah recovered herself and somehow managed to flash Jack a pitying look through her swollen eyelids. "That boy is in the safest place he could possibly be," she declared. "As long as he’s with Nadina, no one can touch him."

Karl nodded. "It’s true," he said. "As much as I dislike that woman, and as dangerous as she is . . . I know she would do anything to protect that child."

Jack wasn’t sure how to counter that statement. "Well . . ." He blinked, thinking fast. "Well, I’m very glad to hear that. We are all very worried about him. His father especially. Surely you agree that, no matter how safe he is with, ah, Nadina . . . It would be best to return him to his family." Jack took note of the quiet, mysterious smirks on both of their faces before he continued, "Please, if you know anything about this woman, we need your cooperation."

Hespah grunted.  "I don't know where she's going."

"Do you know why she took him?"

Karl shrugged.  "Because she loves him, and he was not in a safe place."  He said it as if it were the obvious answer to a stupid question.

Jack was getting frustrated.  Most of his questions had gone unanswered, and those few answers he got only bred more questions.  "If she loves him so much, then why would she murder his mother?"

Hespah answered.  "For neglecting him, for putting him in danger."

"And his mother's boyfriend?"

Karl's eyes narrowed.  "The man was beating him," he explained, his voice suddenly cold and hard.  "I probably would have killed him too, if it were my . . . loved one."  He and Hespah exchanged a look, and Karl dropped his gaze to the floor.

Jack thought of the boy's mother, of the bruises and scars that had covered her body.  And the way the boyfriend had been killed, so much more painful and cruel than the mother's death.  It was vengeance . . .  But again, that bred another question.

"None of the family's acquaintance seemed to know anyone meeting Nadina's description.  But you say she loves the boy.  How does she know him?"

Again, Karl and Hespah looked at each other, but this time neither of them said anything.  Hespah grunted and shook her head.  Karl shrugged.  Both looked somewhat uncomfortable.

Very well.  He obviously wouldn't get that answer today.  "Do you know why she came here?  What did she need from you?"

Hespah sighed. "She asked me for help," she said. "Don’t know why. We’re not friends."

"She must have been very desperate," Karl added, "She and Hespah have always avoided each other, and she knows Hespah has hated her for . . . a long time."

Hespah shrugged. "I couldn’t help her. Just wished her luck. That’s all. I have no clue where she is now, or what she'll do next."

Jack frowned. "If you’ve always hated her, why would you wish her luck?"

Karl answered for her. "You don’t have to like someone to sympathize with their situation," he explained. "I think we’ve told you everything we can. I’ll walk you back to the lobby."

Jack didn’t argue. It was obvious these two were hiding something, but it was also very clear that he wouldn’t get any more information out of either of them today.

When they were back in the lift, Karl turned to him. "Inspector," he said quietly, "You seem like a good man. I want to give you some advice."

Jack looked at him warily.

"Some mysteries are best left unsolved. You’d do well to get yourself off of this case. Go home before you end up too deeply involved in things you won’t understand."

Jack opened his mouth to speak, but he didn’t know what to say to that. The man’s words sounded almost threatening, but the tone he used was genuine. He seemed to be sincerely warning him out of kindness, or pity.

But it didn’t work. As they parted ways outside the lift, Jack felt a new resolve building up inside him. There was a lot more going on here than this one murder and kidnapping incident. He was determined to figure out just how all these people were connected, and exactly what it was that they were hiding.

8- Karl

Karl had the house to himself. He’d given the servants a small vacation. They would need the rest. Things were going to be livening up around here soon. Hespah would be coming home in about a month. Jacob had left for Malta a week ago to watch over Fortitude, who would be awakening soon. When he returned with her, there would be a lot of activity in this place. And Grushilde would be awakening sometime within the next few years, too.

At least Shepetheleh hadn’t returned to this world yet.

Karl froze at that thought and glanced around nervously, as if Shepetheleh were there and could hear his thoughts. He laughed at himself. Honestly, it wasn’t as if he didn’t like the guy. Hespah and Shepetheleh had always been good friends to him, and reliable allies. Here he was, living in Shepetheleh’s mansion while the man himself was between lives. He and Jacob were lucky to have such a generous friend. But it was also true that, once he returned, their lives were going to get very busy.

He stepped out of the shower and quickly began rubbing himself dry with the first towel he could reach. He stopped and smiled to himself when he saw the fancy blue "J" embroidered on the corner. He’d meant to grab one off of the stack of "K" towels. Oh, well, what Jacob didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. He let out an evil-sounding laugh as he finished drying himself with it, and then used it to mop up the water he had dripped on the floor. He started to reach for his shaving kit, then decided against it, running a hand over the rough sprinkling of blonde stubble that had appeared on his chin over the last two days. He chuckled again and deliberately mussed up his short sandy-blonde hair before striding naked into the bedroom.

Where had he hidden them? If he remembered right, he’d stashed them in a box in the back of his closet. Karl rummaged through the clothes and shoes until he found it. He grinned and shook his head. He’d had the house to himself for almost two days, and he was only just now digging these out? Glancing around as if afraid someone might catch him, he opened the box and lifted out its contents. Jammed in there, in a crumpled heap, were a pair of old, worn out, hideous orange sweat-pants and an oversized, thread-bare t-shirt in a radioactive shade of yellow that hadn’t been produced since the 1980's. He pulled these on without bothering with underwear, pulling the drawstring on the pants since the elastic had died years ago. Reveling in the soft, loose cotton, he did a few clumsy pirouettes and flopped onto the rumpled, unmade bed.

Ah, yes. It had been a long time since he’d had the house to himself. If Jacob could see him now, he’d probably die right then and there. Karl laughed again. For someone who had been raised Puritan, Jacob cared an awful lot about clothes.

He must have fallen asleep, because when his cell phone went off, he had no idea how long he’d been lying there. Karl fumbled for his phone on the night-stand and peered at the caller ID.

Hespah’s room at the clinic. Now he was awake. He answered it immediately. "This is Karl."

"Karl, I need you to do something."

This was rare. Hespah hated asking for favors. "What is it?"

"Nadina’s got M’boku and she has Interpol on her ass."

"M’boku’s awakened already?" Shit.

"Not yet. She took him early. Long story."

Well, that was a relief. If they’d had to deal with that guy’s antics, now of all times . . . . "So what do you want me to do?"

"Help her."

. . . Huh? Karl wasn’t sure he’d heard right. "You want to help . . . M’boku?"

"Hell no. I wouldn’t lift a fucking finger for that bastard. I want to help Nadina."

This was confusing. Wasn’t it the same thing? But then, if M’boku hadn’t awakened yet . . . He supposed Nadina couldn’t help whom she’d gotten stuck with. She wasn’t all that bad by herself. Karl sighed. "I’ll see if I can locate Fanzou. Last I heard, he’s become quite the hacker in his spare time."

"Good. Pay him if you have to. And don’t go overboard. A couple months head-start or something. Not like I owe her anything."

"I understand. You get some rest. I’ll take care of everything."

"Right. Rest. That’s all I can do in this fucking hell-hole." She hung up.

Karl sighed and slumped back down on the bed. So much for his stress-free vacation. He rubbed at his temples. Since when were Hespah and Nadina such good friends, anyway?

Wait. How had Hespah found out about Nadina’s problem in the first place?

That damned clinic! He’d chosen the place because it was supposed to be all high-security, complete anonymity. No visitors without prior permission. They didn’t give out their patient list. It was a place where celebrities and politicians and the social elite could go to have a little work done without anyone knowing about it. He and Jacob were the only two people in the world who were allowed to have contact with her there. But obviously their security was far more relaxed than they claimed.

Karl bolted out of bed and stormed out of the room. He was going to go down there right now and have a few choice words with their director! This was outrageous! What if Nadina hadn’t needed Hespah’s help? What if she’d been there to eliminate a future threat? Or what if it had been someone else? What if it had been Aterat instead? Hespah could have been killed! Shepetheleh would be gone! And then what would the rest of them do? People like him and Jacob who had been under Shepetheleh’s protection all this time?

He stormed back into the bedroom and pulled off the ridiculous-looking yellow t-shirt. He would change clothes first. The people at the clinic would take him more seriously if he were wearing one of the outfits Jacob had bought for him. He pulled out a hanger that Jacob had labeled "Winter Casual" and started putting on the brown and beige ensemble that looked like it had been stripped right off of a male runway model.

He glared defiantly at the mirror. "I’m still not shaving!" he declared, daring his scruffy reflection to argue. He mussed up his hair again and, grabbing his coat, slammed the door behind him.

7- Xerondar

San Antonio, Texas. Xerondar had finally found the carrier in a supermarket, buying groceries for her family. He casually followed her through the store as she shopped, studying her curiously.

She herself didn’t even seem to be aware yet that she was pregnant. She had two children already: a boy, about nine, and a six-year-old girl. The two seemed healthy enough, if a little spoiled and poorly behaved. The woman herself was average height, with a healthy figure, dark brown hair, and grey eyes. The carrier had a slightly orange-looking tan which had probably come from a bottle and not from the actual sun, but from the look of her youngest child, he could guess that under the tan she probably had very fair skin– the type to freckle easily.

Xerondar watched how she interacted with her children.

The boy had a Gameboy with him, and played it as he walked, often getting in the way of the other people in the store. The carrier occasionally grabbed her son by the back of his neck and steered him out of the way of particularly annoyed-looking customers, apologizing for him, but she didn’t hurt him, and neither did she scold him or tell him to watch where he was going. In fact, the child barely looked up at all when she pulled him about like that. He seemed only remotely aware of where he was, just instinctively following his mother down the aisles of the store.  It was as if he were walking in a parallel universe, and the only part of him that was in this plane of existence was the image of a boy and the sound of the Zelda theme playing from the device in his hands.

The girl, unlike her brother, seemed to be a very social child. She had an opinion about every item that went into the shopping cart. The carrier had opened a box of Goldfish crackers and her daughter was snacking on them as they moved through the store. Whenever she made eye-contact with anyone, the girl would cheerfully announce, "I’m Samantha and I’m six!" She wanted cookies with no nuts in them. She wanted breakfast cereal with colorful marshmallows in it. She did not approve of the canned beets that the carrier insisted on putting in the cart "for daddy", nor did she think Flintstones vitamins were a necessary purchase, but she cheered when six boxes of macaroni and cheese were tossed into the cart.

To avoid suspicion, Xerondar picked up a few things for himself as he went along, selecting items that he would be able to keep and prepare in a motel room for the next few days, until he could arrange a more permanent residence. He made his purchases at the same time that the carrier made hers, and by the time she had loaded her groceries into the back of her minivan and corralled her two children into the backseat, he was in his car and ready to follow her.

The house was pleasant enough. It was one of hundreds that looked almost exactly like it in a sprawling suburban neighborhood. Two stories, beige brick with white wood trim. The double garage door dominated the facade, but that seemed to be a trend these days. There was a swing-set in the back yard. Three bedrooms, a small dog, flowerbeds. An elementary school within walking distance, and lots of young families living nearby.  Xerondar parked around the corner and went for a walk through the neighborhood, making sure to pass by the carrier’s house once every half-hour, hoping to catch a glimpse of her husband when he got home.

Finally a beige SUV pulled up beside the carrier’s grey minivan and a man in a suit got out. He had a bald spot in the middle of his short, light-brown hair, and he wore rectangular wire-framed glasses. He appeared healthy, but for a bit of a round belly, and his face seemed pleasant and friendly, even though he was obviously worn out from a long day at work.

Xerondar would get background checks on the entire extended family later. For now, he drove around the neighborhood and took note of all of the houses for sale in the area, writing down the names and phone numbers of the real estate agents. The next day he would start calling, and hopefully by the end of the month he would be living within two blocks of her.

Of course it would be several months before she would be born. Sometime around August or September was most likely. And it would be years before he could safely approach her. Still, he felt comforted by the knowledge that she was finally back in this world, and that she was nearby. After all this time apart, just that was enough to satisfy him.

6- Jack

Interpol was decidedly a much less friendly institution than the Metropolitan Police. It had been four days since Jack had obtained special permission to continue working on the John Andrews kidnapping investigation after the case had gone international. Once he had managed to be placed on the team, he had immediately introduced himself to his new colleagues and begun sharing his thoughts on the investigation, but his opinions had been dismissed, along with his whole existence. It was very clear that they considered him to be nothing more than a diplomatic concession, added to the team as the token British detective, there for no other reason than that the crime had originally taken place on British soil. His input was not needed, and his presence seemed to be tolerable to some, quaintly amusing to a few, and irritating to others.

Well, damn them all. He didn’t go to all the trouble of getting himself on this team just to sit in the corner and watch. While they were busy tracing passports and bank accounts, he was taking notes. Making charts. Putting the information together in his own head. They had photographs of the crime scene and transcripts of the interviews he had done with the neighbors, but Jack had actually been there. He had seen it, touched it. He’d heard the inflections in the neighbors’ voices, the expressions on their faces.

He’d seen the boy’s bedroom. The pile of junk on the bed: picture books, coloring pages, loose crayons, small toys, a plastic bag half-full of stale crackers, a diaper, a few colorful rocks, and a spill-proof child’s cup that held the remains of what must once have been fruit juice of some sort. All of this was lumped together in a neat little pile on the bed, as if it had been tightly packed into a container and then dumped out all at once. It was also obvious that someone had hurriedly gone through the boy’s belongings. Toys, clothing, toiletries.

After they’d had the bodies removed and the master bedroom cleaned out, Jack had brought in the babysitter, a 16-year-old girl who lived in the same building, to see if she could tell him what had been taken. After searching about, she’d said the only things that were missing were a few of the child’s favorite toys, his favorite blanket, a pair of shoes, and the car-seat that had always sat, unused, in the bottom of his closet. She had also identified the pile on the bed as the usual contents of the boy’s knapsack, which was also missing.

This would normally indicate that the person who took John Andrews was someone who knew him. Someone who knew about his favorite toys and the blanket he never left without. Someone who cared enough about his safety to take the car-seat along. This person had gone through his things and packed all of his favorite items into his bag. They had made sure he had his shoes. They had strapped him carefully into a car. Jack had trouble reconciling this person with the psychopath who had brutally murdered the boy’s mother and her boyfriend.

But according to the neighbors, there had been only one person to go in or out of that flat on the day of the murders. Three of the women who lived in the building had been outside gossiping that morning when a shiny silver car had pulled up. A tall, thin, pretty black woman in a nice-looking grey suit had gotten out of the car, carrying a large briefcase. The woman had smiled and greeted them politely, then marched straight up to the third flat on the second floor. They said she seemed all business. She’d tapped on the door, and after a few words, Carrie had let her in. A little over an hour later the woman had come back out, carrying little John, who appeared to be asleep and strapped securely into a car-seat, with his little red bag slung over one arm and her briefcase hanging from a shoulder-strap on the other arm. One of the witnesses remembered offering to help her carry something, but the woman had politely declined, flashing a pretty smile. They had watched her curiously as she carefully strapped his child-seat into the middle of the backseat of her car. They distinctly remembered her waving and telling them to "Have a nice day" in a slightly foreign-sounding accent before she herself got into the car and drove away. They had gossiped about it afterward, thinking that she must have been a social worker. Everyone knew Avery was abusive, and he was always screaming and throwing things about at all hours. And it was fairly well-known that Carrie was a drugs addict. The whole neighborhood had been expecting the child to be taken away by the LSCB sooner or later.

It hadn’t been until late that evening– when an acquaintance of Avery Spencer’s had dropped by and, having gotten no response at the door, had looked in the window and seen Carrie Andrews’s body on the kitchen floor and called the police– that anyone knew that the couple had been murdered.

Jack shook his head and rubbed at the tired skin under his eyes. He had spoken with the victims’ friends and relations, but no one knew anything about a child welfare investigation, and none of their acquaintance could think of any woman who matched the description provided by the neighbors.

The case would have gone cold had it not been for the cameras. A tall woman in a suit, with a complexion the color of black coffee, had been caught on video at a local shop, carrying a small boy who could easily be identified as John Andrews, buying children’s clothing, food, diapers, and first aid supplies. From there they had managed to track her using traffic cameras, following the silver sedan to a hotel, where she paid cash, and then the next morning to the airport.

The airport was where they had finally gotten some identification. Nadina Jones and her son M’boku Jones were the names listed in the two British passports she had supplied when she booked the flight to Switzerland. However, upon further investigation, it had been discovered that both identities were false. Unfortunately, by the time this had been verified, Ms. Jones and little John had both arrived safely in Switzerland.

Who was this woman, and what was her connection to Carrie Andrews and her son? What was her motive in killing Ms. Andrews and Mr. Spencer? Where was she taking John, and for what purpose? Obviously she was no ordinary kidnapper. The exotic murder methods aside, she would have to be quite well-off and well-connected to have false identities of such sophisticated quality that they were even listed in the national database. There were birth and medical records, education and employment verification, bank accounts . . . It was like something out of a film or a spy novel.

Of course, once she left British soil, they needed help to pursue her internationally. Which was why Jack was stuck with these condescending snots on a plane bound for Switzerland. Well, he’d show them. This was his case, dammit. He would make himself useful in this investigation, whether they wanted him there or not.