the Disappearance of Jonathan Bloom Page 4

  No, there was nothing left for him at the bank and when he returned to England to resume life as Julian Bowen it would be time to start looking something new. He wasn´t sure what that would be, but the cash at home meant that there’d be no immediate urgency. More importantly, for the first time in a long while he was free of debt and the worry that went with it. Perhaps some proper travelling in decent hotels would be a good way to recuperate for a month or two, once this ordeal was finished.

  Julian could make himself at home in most environments when need arose. He supposed it was a legacy of boarding school. He didn´t consider the safari to be much of a hardship; although what could have attracted an intelligent man like Jonathan Bloom to subject himself to it voluntarily and pay good money for the privilege would remain a mystery to him.

  Really he knew very little about Bloom; although how much did you need to know about someone to impersonate them? Julian had spent his entire life pretending to be someone else. You didn´t need to prepare or research, you just took your lead from the people around you and met their expectations for as long as it suited you. The only time Bloom had really shared anything personal with him was when Julian got him talking about Africa and his plans to return there as soon as he could. He was suffering from some kind of enthusiasm that broke through his normal reticence. It wasn’t much, but the information had been enough to turn Julian’s half-formulated plan into a design. Afterwards he’d only needed to get into Bloom´s apartment; which was easy enough; because that was where you went to borrow more money or make the occasional repayment.

  For a man with a lot of cash about the house, Bloom had been relaxed about security, but then he knew his customers. They were all young men with big incomes and bigger expenditures who worked in the city. Physically stealing money would have been demeaning and old fashioned for them: there were so many easier ways to get cash. Besides, everybody knew that if you crossed Bloom you would have someone much more threatening than him to deal with.

  That was why it was not enough to kill Bloom. He had to disappear and never be found, taking the cash with him. And there must be nothing about his disappearance that would be linked to the seventy thousand pounds showing in his books as due from Arthur Bliss.

  The actual killing had been easy and straightforward: in fact it was something of an anti-climax. Julian merely waited for the right moment to strike Bloom on the head with the nearest heavy object that was to hand. Bloom went down with just a little sigh that it was hardly worth the trouble of expressing. Afterwards Julian confirmed to his satisfaction that there was no breathing; and then the deed was done. He paused for a moment to consider his own state of mind, wondering whether he might be experiencing any of the guilt and horror that was popularly supposed to accompany homicide. As expected he discovered very little anguish inside: a little concern that he might be caught, perhaps, but overall he was filled with the sense of a great weight being lifted off him and something more, as if he’d been granted powers beyond the ordinary. It is surprisingly easy to kill, he’d concluded. Not at all like people try and make out.

  Getting rid of the body was harder though. Julian couldn´t use his own transport because after all this was London and where would you park? Jonathan´s own BMW was the same model and colour as Julian’s lease car, though the specification was better; and his apartment had a space in the shared basement garage that opened onto the street behind the fashionable block. Clearly that had to be his transport.

  He waited for hours until the early morning, when he judged it would be safe to haul the body into the tiny elevator. He was glad that he’d thought to arrange the limbs in a posture that would be easy to carry. By the time he left the flat the corpse was stiff and seemed to have become much heavier as the heat went from it. He found a large laundry bag that he managed to squeeze most of the body into: it didn’t offer much in the way of concealment even when he’d swung it over his shoulder with some full length coats over the top, but he didn’t see anyone between the downstairs hallway and the boot of the car.

  A killer less sure of himself than Julian might have been amazed at his good fortune in reaching the vehicle undetected. Julian had expected no less. He shut the boot quietly and went calmly back upstairs to collect the soiled rug and the ruined lamp. He parked the car in the street outside his own flat. There wasn’t a legal parking place, but one more ticket would hardly matter and anyone seeing it would assume that it was his own BMW that he’d left parked at his private gym. Then he went on to an all night party that he had the address for. He was careful to slip in unnoticed. If any of the guests were asked later, they’d have the impression that he’d been there all the time.

  When it came to disposing of the body, Julian had decided in advance that nothing elaborate would be needed. He wasn´t going to waste time trying to hack off identifying features. The body went in a weighted sack and the sack went in the sea at a place where he had checked that the currents would carry it away from the shore. By the time the sack rotted he supposed that the body would have done the same.

  Returning to London, Julian seriously considered swapping the number plates on the two BMW´s, now that he’d appreciated the superiority of the higher specification, but in the end he told himself that this was the sort of greedy and foolish mistake that had trapped lesser minds than his and so he left Jonathan´s car parked in its proper place, feeling virtuous at having resisted temptation for once in his life.

  Next, he had to carry out the second part of the plan, which had brought him here, to Africa. Julian had not yet decided the details of how everything should be done. He’d always found it best to plan carefully but not too minutely. Always be prepared to react to the situation around you, he believed; and anyway life became boring otherwise. In truth, making the plan work was as important for him as the thought of getting away with the money. He´d always been able to get hold of money somehow, but this situation was something new. And as with so many other things in life, the important thing was going to be to get the timing right.

  ***

  Julian had done some research on Africa for his own specific purposes, but the reality was different to what he had read; and even hotter and dustier than he´d imagined. He didn´t mind heat so much, though it was difficult to imagine how someone carrying as much meat as Kriegman could tolerate it. The dust was a bore, but it gave him the excuse to cover his face with a bandana as they were travelling. It seemed that these people photographed anything that moved and plenty that didn’t. Julian needed to be careful to ensure that his face didn’t appear in any of their pictures.

  Strangely, whenever they stopped for a toilet break or to satisfy official requirements, it seemed like the Johnsons were the ones least affected by the conditions. They moved so slowly anyway, in their longs sleeved tops and slacks; only their dry wrinkled faces and hands showing and always at one another´s side, like two affectionate tortoises welcoming the sun that moved the cold blood in their veins.

  Andrew Parker, on the other hand looked a sodden mess. Whenever he climbed down from the vehicle, his cotton shirt was completely soaked up his back and under his arms. The back of his shorts were wet through where he had been sitting. Observing how his glowing red face now complimented his red facial hair, Julian thought that the heat made Parker look more repulsive than usual. It didn´t seem to distress him though: in fact everyone took the conditions in good part and even Emma made a joke about the dust ruining her complexion.

  Just now, Parker was busy showing her some gadget he´d brought with him; bragging as usual. It was a kind of navigation device that used GPS satellite technology. He claimed it would work anywhere. He offered it to Michael, who gave a quick appraising glance and handed it back.

  Do many people get lost out here? Julian asked the driver.

  It happens.

  Parker chipped in to say that if you were trying to survive in the bush or desert the most important thing after water was fire. Then he went into an expl
anation of how you could start a fire by finding soft wood that you made a little hole in. You had to surround the hole with kindling, then you took a hard stick and spun it around in the hole to make friction and eventually a spark. Julian commented that all this sounded fine in theory, but he doubted it would work in practice.

  You can do it, Michael confirmed.

  But would you ever try to start a fire that way? Julian asked him.

  Michael didn´t say anything in reply. He reached into his shirt pocket and drew out a cigarette from the pack there, then he produced a lighter from his trouser pocket and lit the cigarette. He took a long drag and exhaled, holding the lighter up for their examination before replacing it in his pocket.

  After they passed Kisane there was no more of what Julian would recognize as a road. They were headed in the direction of Savuti but that was a long way off and they would need to camp on the way. Kriegman told them that they would mostly avoid public camping areas on this trip. He preferred to stick to the private concessions where he had understandings with the agents. If the facilities there were limited that was all part of the experience they had signed on for.

  They made a halt in the late afternoon in a little wooded space not far off the track and close to running water. The ground was level but there was little else to indicate a camping area. Michael was out of the vehicle immediately, hauling the tent bags off the top of the trailer: one for each pair of campers.

  Where are the toilets? Julian asked Kriegman.

  The guide unbuckled a shovel from the back of the trailer and handed it to Julian.

  There, he pointed to a space in the trees. Not too far from the camp. Don´t want the hyenas to catch you with your pants down in the night. And make sure it´s deep enough, at least a metre. We don´t want any overflow and the ladies always shovel too much dirt on top of their doings.

  Isn´t that Michael´s job?

  Everybody has a job, right?

  Julian didn´t argue. For now he was everyone´s friend. There would be payback later. Afterwards they set up tents as directed and Kriegman lectured them on the rules of camp once more while Michael got busy with preparing food.

  Chapter Four - Day Three

  Julian´s tent mate was Simon. Finally, he made himself remember that this was the teacher’s name. Simon had the modest virtue of being the only member of the party apart from Julian himself who didn´t seem to be obsessed with photography. He was quiet and shy which suited Julian. He would be easy to manage.

  In spite of Kriegman´s dire warnings, none of them had been eaten by wild animals that night. They were awakened before it was light and used their head torches to dress before taking the breakfast that Michael had already set out for them.

  Most of this day was spent at the Chobe reserve where the big herds were to be found. Normally Kriegman saved this place for the end of the trip, since everything else could be an anti-climax for animal lovers, but these clients were supposed to have seen all this before. For them, Chobe was a stopover en route to more remote places.

  Julian knew next to nothing about photography and cared less, so he´d decided to drop that part of Jonathan Bloom´s character rather than risk making a fool of himself. He knew he wouldn´t be able to fake a conversation about lenses or shutter speeds in this company. He´d only brought his own digital camera that was next to useless for wild life, although he had made sure to add the expensive, high-powered binoculars that he found in Bloom’s flat to the other luggage that had already been packed.

  Julian kept the bandana wrapped round his face and smiled indulgently at all the camera enthusiasm, but within an hour he was first fatigued and then infuriated by the constant halts, the irritating clicking and the excited whispering that accompanied each new photo opportunity. Didn´t these people already have enough photographs of elephants and giraffes? Wasn´t one elephant pretty much the same as another really?

  The girl, Emma, was clicking away with the rest of them, although it gave Julian a smug feeling to note that when she thought he wasn’t looking, she spent as much time looking at him as at the animals.

  You´re not taking pictures? She asked him.

  Not so much on this trip, he replied. I have so many already from my other visits. And I think looking at the country through a lens can get in the way of experiencing it fully. Don´t you agree?

  Oh yes, Emma replied, putting her own camera down for a moment. I´ve always thought that seeing and touching something is the only way to really know it.

  They exchanged discreet smiles; as if they had shared a secret that the rest of the party would not understand. Complicity is so important in bonding, Julian reflected. He noticed that Simon was making notes in a little jotter that he carried everywhere; and that Jill took fewer photos than the rest although she seemed to take more time over each one of hers than the others did.

  You have a good eye, Julian told her, having no idea if it was true. I couldn´t help noticing. Are you professional?

  Oh no, I just enjoy making pictures, but you know, composition is important; and all that.

  Julian nodded as if he understood perfectly what all that was. This camera frenzy was idiotic; he knew that much, but least he could be pleased that they were all in such a state of excitement about the animals. Arousal of one kind could so easily be nudged into the other sort; and both girls were full of enthusiasm at the moment. He hadn´t ruled Jill out of his plans entirely, although Emma was still his favourite. Shared tents and the strict instructions that Kriegman had issued not to stray out of camp would create complications, but complications made Julian’s style of hunting all the more interesting.

  By early evening, his companions were a few steps closer toward their seeming ambition to record every individual African animal bigger than a stimbok on camera. Julian was looking forward to the next day when they would be putting in a high mileage and heading into the wilderness proper. His final image of the day was looking out of the tent flap before he zipped it closed for the night. Kriegman was slouched heavily on one of the camp chairs that ringed the remains of their fire, hunched over and staring out into the blackness, with a cigarette burning in one hand and a tin mug likely charged with whisky in the other. The starlight and the red glow of the embers made him seem like a pensive devil.

  And I suppose that the truth is that each of us is damned, Julian thought.

  It was black inside the tent. Simon was already asleep or pretending to be. Julian lay awake for a long time listening to the sounds of the night and thinking his private thoughts.

  ***

  Don Kriegman had grown up on a farm. His family and friends were farmers. The world he’d lived in was full of comforting certainties.

  For instance, he couldn’t remember, when he was young, there being any kind of issue about the position of the blacks. They weren’t quite human and that was just an accepted fact of life. It didn’t mean that you needed to be harsh with them all the time. You could even look out for them; especially the good ones who knew how to put in a decent days work.

  But then he remembered his father warning him that every now and then you had to let them feel who was in charge. There didn’t have to be a good reason for it; in fact it was more effective if there was no reason at all. Made it all the more clear that your small act of brutality was about who they were, not what they might have done.

  And yet, Kriegman didn’t remember his father as an unkind man. The old chap had explained that the occasional arbitrary punishment; though it might seem cruel and unjust to a young boy like him, was actually a necessary kindness to the blacks, because it preserved the order of things, for everyone’s benefit. Without the white man’s presence, he told Don, this great country would decline to the state of savagery that had existed before their coming.

  It was all bound up with religion of course. Both his parents were churchgoers, but maybe even more important than going to church was the sincere belief in a god given divine mission of the Kri
egman’s and their people to deliver their country from the twin evils of a black ascendancy and the wicked communists who would be the harbingers of that apocalypse. Young Donald didn’t know what a communist was; but he didn’t know what a harbinger was either and he didn’t need to. If you heard a word often enough the sense of it was obvious.

  With the passage of years, it was hard now for Kriegman to put himself in the mental space of that young man who had sincerely if quietly believed in the Afrikaaner god, without ever questioning why such things should be. Thinking about it now, it seemed to him that his mother had been the literal believer in their family, while for his father maybe belief was accepted as part of the glue that stopped everything from falling apart. There was no way to know the truth of such things now and since Kriegman himself no longer believed in any god, it was possible that his recollections of the old man were becoming obscured by his own prejudices.

  And perhaps the Kriegman that he’d become had really turned out to be the hard, unreflective individual that the men of his father’s generation had believed they all needed to be. The paradox was that the rough life he lived gave such a lot of quiet time, when other thoughts came unbidden. The fact was that Don Kriegman knew himself well, in spite of his own best intentions.

  He’d grown up with a bible around at all times; and he knew now looking back that he’d done those things he ought not to have done and left undone those things which he ought to have done. In fact he’d been especially good at leaving things undone. And the same god whose nature it was always to have mercy didn’t exist, so he was screwed. Who else but god was he going to talk to these long nights, after the tourists had crawled off into their tents? Michael, who was up on the roof of the truck laying on his back and looking up at the stars? Not likely. The black would have been embarrassed beyond words to hear him start off about his useless thoughts; and rightly so. Bad enough that your boss can’t set off on safari without a few bottles of whisky stashed quietly away without having to listen to him spouting nonsense.