Page 13

Chapter Four

Josiah

Josiah turned on the radio as a distraction during the journey.

Unfortunately, his listening preference was a trashy radio talk show, and there was only one item they were discussing this morning.

“This is Amanda Lewis for News-Spec, your show for discussing all the latest news and views,” the presenter said excitedly.

“Where the big revelation today is that Investigator Raine, the legendary indiehunter, has been granted temporary custody of the country’s most infamous indentured servant, Alexander Lytton. What are we to make of this, Alan?”

Her co-host seemed equally excited by the news. “Well, Amanda, this is an extraordinary development in the search for Elliot Dacre’s killer! It indicates that rather than being the prime suspect, as we all thought, Lytton appears to be helping Inquisitus with the murder investigation.”

“Is there a precedent for this – transferring an indentured servant into the ownership of an individual investigator for the duration of an investigation?”

“Not that I know of, but if Elliot Dacre had no living relatives, and Lytton is central to the enquiry, it may well be that Investigator Raine made this decision to prevent the IS going into the probate system.”

“In which case, I’m sure we can expect more exciting developments soon,” Amanda exclaimed. “Now, over to our listeners for their comments… First up, we have Bill in Coulsdon.”

A man with an authoritative, “voice of the people” tone began speaking. “Well, it’s a bloody disgrace if you ask me.”

“In what way, Bill?”

“They should lock Lytton up and throw away the key. We all know he’s guilty. There isn’t a decent bone in his body – he’s bad, through and through. I’d put money on him being the killer.”

Josiah glanced at Alexander, who glanced back with a resigned shrug.

“I can’t believe he hasn’t been charged already.” Bill’s rant continued. “He must have Raine wrapped around his little finger. We all know what a con artist Lytton is.”

Alexander raised an amused eyebrow.

“It’s dangerous out there for all houders right now. Nobody is safe in their own home. If you employ an IS, you should hide a knife under your pillow at night.”

“Thank you, Bill. Feelings are clearly running high on this topic,” Alan said urbanely. “Next up, we have Sarah in East Grinstead.”

“I have total faith in the indiehunter,” Sarah said stoutly.

“He’ll defend us against ungrateful indies who should be pleased they have a roof over their heads, instead of plotting to kill people who’ve been kind to them.

Investigator Raine is one of us. He’ll make sure Lytton is brought to justice. ”

“How our reputations precede us, Investigator Raine,” Alexander murmured.

“I don’t give a shit what they say about me,” Josiah said firmly.

“Let’s hear now from Marnie, in Sevenoaks,” Alan chirped.

“I feel sorry for Investigator Raine, but I have to wonder if he’s really thinking straight,” Marnie offered coyly. “I mean, that Lytton boy is very good-looking. I can see why Raine wanted to take him home?—”

Josiah barked out an order to the duck to cut off the audio.

“What were you saying? Something about not giving a shit what people say about you?” Alexander said silkily.

“Shut up,” Josiah growled .

As they drew closer to Lewes, Alexander fell silent.

Josiah glanced at him, wondering if he was asleep.

He wasn’t. He was reciting something soundlessly to himself.

His eyes were closed, and he was breathing deeply; this was clearly some kind of ritual – a repetitive chant designed to calm him down and keep him focused.

Josiah tried to work out what the mantra was, and then he realised: Alexander was reciting the lyrics of the song that meant so much to him – the one he played every morning during his yoga practice.

Josiah couldn’t remember exactly how it went, but he could make out some of the words.

He skimmed the duck through the silvery strip of water leading to George Tyler’s private island, then drove up an imposing tree-lined driveway to a stunning house. “We’re here,” he announced as he parked.

Alexander opened his eyes, and Josiah was startled by the change in him. His gaze had become as inscrutable as the day he’d been arrested, and his features were perfectly blank. All traces of the teasing man from earlier had vanished.

Josiah had wondered whether Alexander’s mask was a device for hiding his guilt, but now he realised he’d got that completely wrong.

The facade wasn’t about hiding, but surviving; it enabled Alexander to cope with distressing situations.

What the hell awaited them in this house if Alexander needed to armour up for it like this?

“Are you sure there’s nothing you want to tell me about George Tyler before we walk in there?” he asked.

Alexander gave a bland smile. “Nothing at all, sir.”

Josiah suppressed a sigh. However annoying Alexander could be when he was nosing around in his life and challenging him with unwelcome questions, at least that Alexander was real. Now, it was like talking to a brick wall.

He climbed out of the duck and strode towards the house, aware that Alexander was following silently at his heel with his head down, looking every inch the obedient servant. They were met at the door by an IS dressed in Tyler’s black livery.

“Senior Investigator Raine from Inquisitus,” he informed the man.

“ My colleague, Investigator Reed, called ahead and informed Mr Tyler I was on my way.” Tyler wasn’t a suspect in Dacre’s murder, so he’d decided not to drop in on the man unannounced as he had with Charles Lytton.

Besides, he had a suspicion that Tyler was a very different kind of personality to the genial but ineffectual Charles.

It wouldn’t be wise to get off on the wrong foot with a man this powerful.

“I’ll inform Mr Tyler that you’ve arrived,” the IS said snootily.

They were ushered into a vast, airy hallway, with white walls and black-and-white-diamond tiling on the floor.

“Nice house. Did you spend a lot of time here when Tyler owned your contract?” Josiah asked, glancing around.

Alexander didn’t answer. He was gazing serenely into the distance, his eyes glazed, his breathing shallow and fast. His hands were balled into such tight fists that his knuckles were white.

“Hey.” Josiah put a hand on his shoulder, and the indie jumped. “Just take a few slow, deep breaths.” He moved his fingers to Alexander’s solar plexus. “Deep into here… I said slow … or you’ll pass out.”

Alexander took a few shaky but deeper breaths, until gradually his fists started to uncurl.

“I’ve never seen you this way – not even when you were arrested on suspicion of murder, which would upset most normal people. Why does being here have this effect on you? What did this man do to you?”

“It doesn’t matter. That’s not why we’re here,” Alexander said evasively.

Josiah knew he wouldn’t get the true answer.

He could sense Alexander taking reassurance from his touch, so he kept his arm wrapped around the indie’s body and his hand resting on his hard, flat stomach.

Slowly, Alexander relaxed against him, until Josiah thought it was safe to release him and move away.

His holopad buzzed, and he glanced at it – Elsie.

He didn’t want to talk to her right now, so he turned it off.

After that radio show this morning, and with the press camped outside his house, he doubted she’d be the only one of his friends calling him today.

“Does being here bring back memories?” he asked, still searching for the clues his IS refused to give .

Alexander glanced around the hallway. “I didn’t spend much time here. Tyler has other residences.”

“But you visited this place?”

“Yes.” Alexander gave a thin smile. “I remember the last time I was here very well.”

Before Josiah could press him for more information, Tyler’s IS returned.

“This way,” he instructed, leading them down the hallway.

They were ushered into a massive living room, decorated starkly with plain black and white furnishings, occasionally relieved by a splash of red.

Every surface was highly polished, making the entire room gleam.

There was a vast white leather sofa and three shiny red armchairs.

Josiah found the décor overstated, but it was clearly designed to be bold and imposing.

Next to the sofa was the man himself. He strode towards them, greeting Josiah with a welcoming smile, his hand held out.

Josiah had read plenty about George Tyler over the years, but nothing prepared him for meeting the man in person.

Tyler’s charisma was so strong it oozed out of him, and he emitted a powerful sexual presence.

This was someone serious, imposing, and fiercely intelligent.

He was as different from the weak, dim Charles Lytton as it was possible to be.

Tyler was wearing a pair of black chinos and a tight-fitting black roll-neck sweater; Josiah appreciated the sharp-edged elegance of his clothing.

Everything about him, from his tanned bald head and curious, dark-eyed gaze, to the way his tailored clothes accentuated the hard lines of his body, proclaimed that he viewed himself as an alpha male.

He was in his late fifties, but he had the energy and appearance of a man ten years younger.

So, this was the monster Alexander dreaded so much. Only Tyler didn’t act much like a monster; his handshake was firm but not crippling, and his manner warm and genial. “Good morning, Investigator Raine. I’m pleased to meet you.”

“Likewise, Mr Tyler.”