‘I’ll give you more money – just let me go.’ He’s sweating and I can see his hands shaking. ‘You can have the plane, you can take the pilots.’
‘I don’t want your plane or your pilots. I want to truly disappear.’
He frowns, not understanding this concept. James Kandee’s identity is so wrapped up in his foundations and his charities and the hospital wings named after his ancestors. He is his Instagram account.
We never did find out what we were delivering. Some of the girls suspected they were collectibles: stolen gemstones or lost artefacts that are impossible to trade on the open market. One girl from Yale had a theory about a new experimental drug: a non-traceable, safe-to-use psychotropic substance used only by the super-rich.
I don’t care what it was. I just care that it’s over now.
‘I want a normal life,’ I say, ‘for however long I can have it. Statistically speaking, identical twins die within two years of each other. I want at least two normal years.’
‘You think that’s possible? After what you’ve done?’
‘What have I done? I defended myself against a maniac. And then I righted some wrongs is all. Wrongs inflicted upon me. Betrayals and lies. If people do wrong they must be punished. The punishment must fit the crime, I appreciate that, and I made every effort to make them fit. In my eyes, I’m leaving New York City a better place than I found it.’
Molly was born three minutes after I was, and I often think about those precious moments. What we must have looked like together, Mum, Dad and me. The three of us. Complete.
The jet starts its descent and the pilot announces fifteen minutes to landing and I grip the arms of the seat. Because I worry too, you see – about safety, about threats in the world. I follow YouTube accounts and I know how to make improvised weapons. Molly made a drama out of her anxiety levels – always the most scared, the most timid, the most in need. She took all the attention, and all our parents’ time and care. So I was forced to go the other way, to be confident, outgoing. Self-reliant. I had no choice.
And it wasn’t enough for her: she wanted all of my attention too. She forced me to move to New York. I needed space to breathe. And, in a way, I found that space. And a new family of sorts, people who focused on me and never even met my demanding little sister. They only knew me. My side. My ways. Scottie was sweet – until he started to stray. He was focused on me for a while. Unwavering attention. I never wanted to hurt him like that. But the way he flirted at the restaurant, mere days after what he thought was my death. How he acted around Vi. How he was so keen to meet me at the Sofitel. There was no other option in the end. The cut to his throat was necessary, to differentiate his death from my sister’s murder. It was important to me that the police would suspect two different people. Scott broke my heart over and over. So I broke him.
James squirms in his seat.
Groot should not teach after this. He should go work in consulting or maybe a museum. Well away from young students. He’s just one more man who can’t tell the truth. I have to turn to elaborate disguises and subterfuge but men seem to have a natural aptitude for deception. It’s like they don’t even need to try. I considered ending him. But he has a wife and children and ultimately I was too fond of the man. I hated him and I loved him. On balance I’d say he got off too lightly. Further action may be required.
‘Molly lived a miserable life,’ I say, calmly. ‘All I did was put her out of her misery. It would have been different if she’d been enjoying herself, but she wasn’t. If anything this was an act of mercy.’
James starts to say something and I show him the gun again.
‘Don’t kill me,’ he says.
‘Take off your clothes.’
‘What?’
‘I said take off your fucking clothes, James.’
He stands up.
‘One wrong move and I will shoot you – you know I’ll do it.’
He takes off his jacket and then he pulls down his jeans.
The plane shakes as the landing gear emerges from the undercarriage.
‘Shoes,’ I say.
He slips off his sneakers and then starts to take off his socks.
‘Keep your socks and underwear,’ I say. ‘Get in the bedroom.’
He doesn’t resist as I duct-tape his mouth and his wrists and his ankles. He doesn’t protest as I bundle him into the Hermès leather dog crate. He looks relieved if anything.
I was nervous about entering the US with my sister’s unused passport. Worried the fingerprints might set off an alarm. But Immigration let me straight through.