More concerning were my links to Hari Harsent, and this was because effective investigation by the homicide team could discover them. There was a direct causal link between the murders of my two sons, and the death of Hari Harsent. However, both the police cases of Lew and Dever had been closed, Lew’s because his death had been declared a suicide, and Dever’s because no suspect had ever been identified or arrested. As the weeks went by, none of those links to me were discovered. I knew of course who had killed Dever, and so did Frejah Harsent. For different, or in fact similar, reasons we maintained our silence.

The strongest link, in theory one that could be revealed by good police work, was the nature of the financial investment that Hari and I had shared. An opening of that matter would incriminate me beyond any reasonable doubt, because it would establish not only the connection between us, but the motivation for the killing. I was helpless before that.

But the money was in an anonymous fund, it was spread between document banks and unnamed investment houses, it was long-established and had been set up years in the past – even the bank officials who drew up the agreement would not only not remember any details, most of them by now would be retired or even deceased.

The worst moment during the investigation came about seven days after I returned. I was working at my desk when two uniformed officers from another force approached me (I later learned they were from Salay Ewwel), ordered me to stand up, then demanded I hand over my firearm. Of course I did, fearing the finger of suspicion had finally landed upon me. Only later that day did I discover that every semi-automatic weapon issued in our station had been taken away for forensic and ballistic examination. Mine was returned to me ten days later. So was everyone else’s.

The Concatenated Man

24

The Concatenated Man

I went to my office. I took the photocopies of Jeksid’s story with me. I laid them out next to my desktop computer, and spread them so that the right-hand edges of most of the pages were visible. I lifted one page after another, scanning quickly over what I had read, deliberately skimming the description of the brawl that led to Harsent’s death. I never enjoy reading about violence, even in fiction. If Jeksid’s story was true, or even partly true, then it was so much the more unpleasant.