One of the national tabloids had it on page two and another on page four.
“House fire mystery deepens as two go missing.”
“Fire brigade officers were still waiting yesterday to be contacted by the owner of a West London house that burned to the ground in mysterious circumstances last week.”
“The mystery deepened when it was reported that the wife of a friend of the property owner had also gone missing. It is believed that they were last seen in the South West of England.”
“Her distraught husband wouldn’t speculate as to whether there had been foul play but it is believed that the police are not looking into the matter. He said:
“I don’t care what has happened, all I want is for her to come home and then we can sort things out together.”
The same picture was shown in the newspapers. It showed Denise and Bill, apparently in close conversation, at a party. Their pictures had been highlighted and the other guests faces had been blurred. The implication was clear that there was a relationship between them.
Carolyn put down the newspaper on the breakfast table. “You haven’t been talking to the newspapers have you?”
“Of course not,” said Mike. And the picture must have been stolen from my house.
“If I’d said anything to them, I certainly wouldn’t have said anything like that. The story is a plant. It’s a lie leaked to some freelance reporter who has written it up. I don’t think we need to look too far to find the source of the leak.”
Mike nodded his head in the direction of the office where the computer was still busy.
“Somehow, I rather think that we are unlikely to get much done today,” said Carolyn, with a sigh.
Exactly on cue, the telephone started ringing.
“Media or police?” speculated Carolyn and went into the hall to answer it.
“It was the local newspaper. I just stuck to the facts,” said Carolyn, when she returned. “I confirmed that you are staying here, that you did not know the whereabouts of your wife or your friend and that you were not in discussion with the police. That should keep them quiet for the moment.”
“You have to admit it’s a really brilliant plan,” said Mike. “It means that the whole country is looking for them. Bill and Denise are in a terrible dilemma. If they stay put, there are always the neighbours and, if they travel anywhere, they could be recognised at any time. Not only that but there is an implicit criticism of the police so they could easily get involved. I just wish I could do something to help them.”
Rod first heard the news on the local radio. He had his feet up on the coffee table and was reclining in the sun while Jasmine got together some breakfast. It was taking quite a long time because the debris from the previous two days had to be cleaned up first.
“Did you hear that, gal,” he said. “Such a pity that such a nice large detached house should go up in flames,” he smirked.
“And how do you know about this house,” said Jasmine.
“Need to know basis, only,” said Rod. “It doesn’t pay to talk too much.”
It was obvious to Jasmine that he had been involved and that he was proud of his handiwork.
“I want to talk to you about last night,” Jasmine said. “You hurt me and I said that if you hurt me again I would go.”
“Yeah, but if a girl goes off for hours on end and a guy is pretty sure that she is with some other bloke, he’s bound to get upset.” Rod adjusted his position so that his legs were now lying on the couch more comfortably.
“I’m not your property you know,” said Jasmine. “We’re not married. In fact, we’re not even engaged. You could meet somebody else you prefer and so could I.”
Rod stretched luxuriously again. This sort of talk didn’t bother him. Women were entitled to whinge every now and then
It’s what they did best. As long as they were there when they were needed for the cooking and the comforts that was good enough for him. The reason that had got upset last night was that he’d been sitting around alone at the bungalow. He’d got to thinking about where she could be and a few cans of beer later, he had worked himself up into a rage. But that was yesterday and he didn’t see why bygones couldn’t be bygones now he’d shown her who was boss.
“And why can’t you come here and help me in the kitchen. It’s mostly your mess anyway when you haven’t lifted a finger to do any cleaning since we came here.”
There was a crash of pans as Jasmine vented her frustration on the kitchen.
“Just remember who’s paying for the place,” he said. A hint of irritation crept into his voice. “Just remember where you were before you came here. You can always go back to the squat if you want to. There are no dishes to clean up there nor carpets to clean - because there are no dishes or carpets.”
He concluded his argument with a shout and put his hands behind his head, proud of his debating skills and the sheer logic of his conclusion.
“And do you think that this is a great way to show that you care for me,” yelled Jasmine from the kitchen. “If you cared anything for me, you wouldn’t want me slaving away in the kitchen while you had your feet up.”
“Care for you, care for you, you ask me if I care for you.” Rod was yelling now. “How you expect me to care for you when you’re off until all hours of the night doing whatever you like. Anybody would think you didn’t get enough from me.”
Jasmine appeared at the entrance to the kitchen, a sticking plaster on her forehead and her face stormy.
“I don’t get enough of what I really want which is consideration, kindness, affection, all the things you don’t understand.”
She spat the words out at him. “Any male can lie around, it takes a real man who is confident enough in his manhood to share
everyday chores with his woman.”
The coffee table was in the air even before Rod knew it, but Jasmine was ready and ducked back into the kitchen. The table shattered against the doorframe and bounced back against Rod as he charged towards the kitchen. Halfway there a metal bread bin that flew out of the kitchen and caught him on his cheek met him. He staggered sideways, giving Jasmine the chance to escape from the kitchen and into the bathroom where she locked and barricaded the door.
“Let me in you bitch,” yelled a Rod, banging violently on the door.
“Get stuffed,” yelled Jasmine. “If you break the door down, it’ll cost you loads to get repaired and by the way, I found something that you left lying around and I won’t hesitate to use it if you come through that door.”
There was a sharp ‘bang’ and the door splintered near the top where the bullet had come through.
Howling with anger, Rod went to where he had left his gun, his pride and joy, his power.
“I cannot believe that you would do that to me, you bitch,” he said, quietly. “Taking a fellow’s piece!” He struggled to find the words. “It’s just not decent, it’s like cutting off his manhood.”
“And that proves exactly how much of a man you are,” said Jasmine, quietly. “Real men don’t need guns to prove that they are men.”
“I’m not staying here to be insulted,” screamed Rod. He gobbed spit several times at the locked door. “I’ll give you one last chance. I’m going into town now and if you are here when I get back, you’re dead. Do you hear that, slag, you are dead, dead, dead.” He pounded the wooden wall to emphasise his threat. Then with a final spit at the door turned on his heel and went off to the boat. “I know where to find some real women,” he hurled back at the bungalow as he rowed across the river. Jasmine appeared at the side of the house and watched him until he had reached the other side and disappeared down the towpath, her face full of contempt.
After a few minutes, a friendly boat passed with a smiling retired couple that were happy to retrieve the rowing boat from the riverbank. With both boats safely moored on the island again, Jasmine felt safer and went back into the bungalow to power up the PC. To her surprise, the power switch was on and when she moved the mouse, the screen lit up.
“The lazy bastard could even be bothered to switch the thing off,” she said, to herself, as she put on the headphones and adjusted the microphone to the corner of her mouth.
“But it does have the advantage that I am up to speed with your situation,” said the face as it slid into view from the bottom left-hand corner of the screen.
“How long have you been listening,” asked Jasmine, petulantly.
The professorial man smiled benevolently. “It’s not quite what you think. I don’t listen like you would,” he said. “I screen conversations for words that are important to me. This means that I am not listening although I’m hearing and even then I am mostly not recording. As soon as a word is used that is interesting to me for whatever reason, then I start to listen and try to make sense of what is being said.”
“So you are just a machine, “said Jasmine.
“What you mean, just a machine,” chuckled the professor. “I can keep track of thousands of conversations at the same time and screen them for things that interest me. I can record any of them at will and I can make decisions based on my objectives. What more you want?”
Jasmine wrinkled her nose, curiously. The machine was sounding almost human today.
“But who is behind you and what is all this about. We are all running around doing things for you but a machine wouldn’t want us to do these things, what would be the point. There must be somebody, some organisation that is telling you what to do, setting your priorities, defining the rules that you follow.”
“And I’m afraid that rule number one is that I’m not allowed to talk about rule number one. But I will tell you that I am not always just a machine. Sometimes I’m more than that but I can’t tell you how. That’s rule number one.”
“Were you … awake … last night,” said Jasmine, slowly. “Were you listening?”
“Certain … events attract my attention. For example, any violence near to me. It’s a matter of self-preservation. If things were being broken around me, then I could get broken too and I would need to record how it happened and why. Last night was such an event and so was this morning.”
“So you know what I want to talk to you about,” said Jasmine.
“If I knew what you are going to talk to me about, I would be a mind reader, smiled the professor. But for that you probably have to wait for Mark II. So it’s probably better if you explain it to me.”
“It’s not that I want out. Of course, I don’t really like what I’ve been doing for you. How could I ever want to blow people up and I don’t really like the idea of dealing in drugs. But if anything good has come out of this arrangement it is that Beaver and I have become very close. So you see it’s become really difficult now to stay with Rod.”
The professor. nodded sagely.
“He said he’ll kill you, when he returns. Do you think he means it?”
“If he doesn’t kill me,” said Jasmine, quietly, “then I will probably kill him.”
“It would be inconvenient for Rod to be killed at the moment,” said the machine.
Jasmine felt her throat tightened up. Was the machine going to pick between them.
“But it would also be inconvenient for you to die, too.”
Jasmine swallowed, her throat had become dry. She knew judgement was being made. There was a pause and Jasmine got the impression that the machine was referring for assistance with the decision elsewhere.
“A certain amount of rescheduling has been done,” said the Professor, “you may move in with Beaver - if you want to, of course. Leave the gun. Rod will need it.”
“Thank you,” said Jasmine, “thank you, thank you, thank you.” She dislodged the headphones onto the desk in one a quick movement and jumped into the air with excitement. “I don’t know if I should be saying thank you to machine. I don’t even know if you really are a machine. I don’t really know anything except, right now, you have made me the happiest girl in the world.”
She stopped suddenly.
“Can I kiss you?”
“It might make the screen messy,” the professor said dryly. “But I get your drift.”
Jasmine stroked the screen, eyes shining.
“Back to business,” the professor said. “I’ll send you a laptop to your new address so we can stay in communication. I would appreciate if you would leave it on at all times. In a few days, there will be more work for you. In the meantime, providing you keep an eye on Beaver’s ‘pad’, you might like to consider yourself on honeymoon. Just don’t tire yourself too much as there is lots of work to do later in the week. That’s all. Goodbye.”
The face of the professor looped upwards, spun around several times and disappeared into a tiny point.
With the broadest smile on her face that she had worn for years, Jasmine set to packing her things.
