King

About the book

 

Elijah Rolene is a lost man. Following the death of his wife, he quits his job as a police pilot and turns to prescription painkillers for comfort. Not content to watch him destroy his life, his veterinarian sister convinces him to help out at her animal shelter.

 

Soon, they rescue a rare white lion cub from the heart of Detroit's gangland. The lion is brought to live with them and instantly connects with Elijah's autistic niece, Harper. As Harper is brought out of her shell, so Elijah begins to heal as well. But something happens that puts their family at risk and threatens to tear their world apart.

 

Elijah is faced with a question that will define the rest of his life: How far will you go if you have nothing left to lose?

 

Prologue

 

Sitting behind the wheel of an asthmatic white Ford Transit, a van shedding

rust and smoke in almost equal measure, Elijah Rolene stared down at the

mound of painkillers in his hand. Of the seven tablets, he noticed, four

were shaped like miniature coffins; their embossed logos resembling flower

arrangements perched on their lids.

‘Whatever,’ he whispered to himself, hauling them to his mouth.

Months ago he would have needed a drink to get them down – bourbon,

preferably. But things were different now. As an accomplished prescription

painkiller addict, a real ‘pill pro’, he had taken to chewing the tablets. Not

only did this get the drugs into his bloodstream faster and heighten their

effect, but it was more convenient as well. He’d grown tired of having to be

on the lookout for a bar or a drink of water. Tuning out the now-familiar

bitter taste, Elijah closed his eyes and listened to the sound of the rain and

sleet peppering the windscreen. When he looked again, a shrouded figure

was waving to him from beneath a porch light. Despite having resigned

from the Detroit PD months ago, here he was again, parked outside yet

another violent crime scene in the middle of the night. He marvelled at how

the universe had a way of twisting the knife long after the blade had been

withdrawn.

Reluctantly, he reached for the door. As he averted his eyes from the

storm, he noticed that the sticker on the side of the van was cracked and

beginning to peel away. What should have read Detroit Animal Rescue Team

framed by a D.A.R.T. acronym, was now one letter short. It read A.R.T.

Rescue Team. Which, at a different time in his life, might have been worth

a smile.

As he trudged towards the porch the tall, dark figure hurried out to meet

him. Although Elijah could see almost nothing of the man’s face, he didn’t

need to. Only one person in the department walked with such a distinctive

stoop, the consequence of a high-speed pursuit that had ended with three

dead carjackers and had left him with a severely compacted spine. It was

Andrew Matthews, one of his few remaining friends. They were a dying

breed; their numbers thinning by the day.

Sacrificing his right shoulder to the storm, Andrew reached out with an

umbrella. ‘Hey, Pilot, thanks for coming,’ he said, the wind snatching at his

words. ‘I wasn’t sure you’d show. It’s good to see you. How’ve you been?’

Elijah nodded, searched his locker for a smile, but found none. ‘Been

doing all right, Andy. It’s good to see you too.’

‘Did you get my messages?’

‘Yeah. Sorry I haven’t called,’ he replied, not bothering with an excuse.

‘I’m full of shit, I know.’

‘It’s all right, I understand. But if it’s all the same to you, I’m going to

keep leaving messages. Okay?’

‘Yeah. Okay.’

Grateful to be let off the hook, Elijah stepped up onto the porch. He

kept his head bowed but could feel the stares of the officers around him. A

detective, who Elijah had once flown to hospital after the man had taken

a shot to the chest, stuck out a hand. ‘It’s been too long, Eli. You doing all

right?’

There was a note of real sincerity in his voice, but there was also pity.

‘Yeah thanks, Rus. How about you?’

‘Knee-deep in dead assholes … living the dream.’

Elijah nodded and turned to the next stare.

A gawking patrol officer quickly turned away and reached for his phone

as if suddenly remembering an urgent call that he needed to make at two in

the morning. Another familiar face, a grizzled investigator standing at the

edge of the porch, glanced up at him. As their eyes met, the man withdrew

a notepad from his top pocket, nodded briefly, and disappeared into the

house.

‘Hey, Andy,’ Elijah whispered. ‘How about we move this along?’

‘Yeah, of course. Sorry about the sideshow treatment,’ he said, zipping

up his jacket. ‘Luckily we don’t have to go into the house. And I do mean

luckily. The animals are in a room out back.’

As Andrew led the way through what technically was a garden but, in

reality, was no such thing, he explained the scene in typical broad strokes.

‘Five pushers. Four executed in the back of the head. One wore it in the

face. Rawlings reckons trigger time was days ago. Can you believe that? It’s

beyond nasty in there,’ he said, pulling a face. ‘A real meat and worm fest.’

‘Yeah, I figured as much. I could smell it from the van. Even with the

windows closed. That’s why I chose choppers over patrol cars. At least I

could breathe up there,’ he replied. ‘So, tell me about the animals.’

‘Well, our dealers were pushing more than just blow and her friends.

They have a store room full of cages. Half a dozen fighting dogs. All sorts of

exotic animals. Snakes, fish, birds, a fucking jaguar if you can believe it and,

if that isn’t enough, four white lions.’

Elijah frowned, thought he had misheard. ‘White lions?’

‘Well, I’m no Richard Attenborough, but they’re lions … and they’re

white, so –’

‘You mean David. Richard’s the actor,’ Elijah corrected him. ‘How the

hell did they get their hands on white lions?’

‘No idea yet. There’s big money in exotic animals. Maybe some hip hop

asshole wanted them to match the carpets in his lounge. I don’t know. We

think they might’ve been lifted from a circus.’

‘Any of the animals still alive?’

‘Not that I could make out, but who knows? They’ve been without food

and water for a long time. No heat either.’

Andrew stopped in front of a large steel door at the back of the house

and reached for the lock. ‘Look, Pilot, before we go in can I say something?’

‘Is it about Georgia?’

‘Yeah, it’s about Georgia.’

‘Then I’d rather you wouldn’t. If that’s all right. Maybe some other time.’

Andrew stared at his friend, the rain and sleet trailing down the rim of

his umbrella. ‘Okay, Pilot. Whatever you say.’ He offered a thin, almost

pained smile before turning around and pushing through the door.

The smell of death, a thick and putrid soup, made Elijah’s eyes water.

‘Jesus. This took how many days to get called in?’

‘You know how it is. Most people around here would rather put up with

the smell than phone us. Sorry, I should’ve warned you. There’s not much

in the way of ventilation in here,’ he said, fishing out a clean handkerchief

from his jacket. ‘Take this.’

Elijah held the cloth to his mouth and waded inside.

As he did, Andrew flicked a switch and a single globe cast a dim light

over the room.

More than two dozen cages were stacked on top of each other.

Decaying mounds of fur and flesh lay slumped in different poses. A variety

of fighting dogs, bred to tear each other apart, had, in their final hours,

huddled together for warmth. Their bodies pressed against one another

through the mesh of their cages. A bloated snake, covered in flies, lay

curled up in a wooden box, the neck of a broken desk lamp hanging over

it. Dead fish bobbed in small tanks coated black with algae. A pair of large

parrots lay side by side, their bright feathers writhing with ants. Elijah’s

eyes moved into the shadows of the room, towards a cage that appeared to

contain nothing more than a rumpled black blanket. A blanket that, with

the aid of Andrew’s flashlight, revealed itself to be a young jaguar.

Elijah shook his head.

‘Yeah, I know,’ Andrew nodded.

Elijah studied the jaguar for a while longer before looking away.

‘Where are the lions?’

Andrew pointed his torch to what looked like a slight alcove, where a

fireplace might have been. Elijah’s eyes followed as the light washed over

the back of an enormous white figure. It was twice the size of the jaguar

and, in the low light, resembled a stone statue lying on its side.

Together, they moved in towards the cage.

The lioness’s giant, silken head was leaning against the bars, as though

she were asleep. Unlike the rest of the animals, there seemed to be more

life left in her, as if she had managed to hold on longer than the others.

Apart from the sunken hollows of her eyes, there were few overt signs of

decomposition.

‘And here’s the really shitty part,’ Andrew said, his words low and

heavy. He pointed the flashlight at her abdomen, the beam lighting up

three small bodies pressed to her stomach. The cubs were spooned against

one another, instinctively searching for heat that had long since departed.

Elijah lowered onto his haunches. Without thinking, he pushed a

finger through the cage and touched the cub closest to him.

The last thing he expected was for the dead little lion to raise its head.

‘Shit!’ Andrew called out, his torchlight pouncing on the cub.

A white face, its crystalline blue eyes blinking in the harsh torch light,

turned and looked at Elijah.

‘What the hell – How’s this one still alive?’ Andrew asked, his voice

lifting.

Elijah pointed at the dead mother. ‘Must’ve survived on her milk.’

Andrew reached through a hatch at the back of the cage, felt the

stiffened bodies of the other two cubs, and quickly shook his head.

The room’s sole survivor leaned towards Elijah and then pressed his

nose against the cold steel of the cage. Twisting his head, he stuck a paw

through the mesh and touched Elijah’s hand.

Most people would have felt a spark of electricity – a flicker of emotion

– at the lion’s touch. A miraculous white lion cub left to fend for itself

in the first weeks of an already savage Detroit winter, no less, but Elijah

hadn’t felt much of anything in months. He was too numb; too far gone

to be reached. A living dead man in whose veins a stream of fresh drugs

now flowed.

Oblivious to Elijah’s indifference, the lion cub continued to stare at

him, his fire-blue eyes never wavering.

 

Part 1

 

The Girl in the Mask

 

Two weeks later

 

Elijah held open the door and watched as Harper once again ignored the

box of black-and-white kittens at her feet and, instead, ran straight for the

bird cages at the back of the shop. Hearing the door open, the owner of the

pet store looked up and rose from her chair beside the cash register. She

recognised the handsome man and his niece from the previous afternoon.

He was tall and blue-eyed and had short brown hair. Good looking, striking

even, but with a face that seemed to have travelled further than the rest of

him. Thick stubble ran down his cheeks and disappeared down the neck of

his shirt. The bags under his eyes looked almost painted on. Once again, the

child was wearing a paper mask over her face. This time she was a crocodile.

‘You’re back,’ the store owner called out, ‘and I see your niece still has her

heart set on those doves.’

‘Morning,’ Eli said softly. ‘She’s not big on changing her mind.’

The woman smiled, more than was polite, and slipped her fingertips into

the front of her tight denims. ‘It’s so strange.’

Not wanting a conversation, but knowing that one was inevitable, Eli

took the bait. ‘What is?’

‘Well, most children her age are only interested in the really cute animals,’

she explained, cocking an elbow at the kittens. ‘You know … cats, puppies,

rabbits. All the usual suspects from the world of cartoons. The kids who are

interested in birds always want the colourful ones. And I mean always. The

finches, parrots … the lovebirds. And yet your niece only has eyes for those

grey doves.’

‘She’s not like other girls her age. She sees the world a little differently

to most.’

‘I’m surprised she can see anything through those masks.’

Eli nodded, but felt no need to explain his niece’s autism to a complete

stranger.

‘I’m curious. Has she told you why she wants the doves?’

He watched as Harper pushed two fingers between the bars and gently

stroked one of the birds. ‘I think she worries that all the popular animals will

get homes and the others will be left behind.’

‘You’re joking. She told you that?’

‘In her own way.’

The truth was that Harper seldom spoke at all. On those rare occasions

when she did, it was only a few words at a time. Eli had seen the answer in

her drawings. She had sketched a picture of the pet store depicting a line

of people buying all the popular animals while the doves at the back of the

shop were left alone in the dark. While autism may have robbed her of

many things, it had given her just as many in return. Included in this was

an unfailingly kind heart and the ability to conjure up the most remarkable

pictures. Her talent, coupled with a clear and vivid memory, bordered

on the extraordinary. More than anything, she loved to create and paint

paper masks which she would wear for hours at a time, sometimes even

days. Handmade into hundreds of different designs and shapes, the masks

comforted her and formed a protective barrier which she used to keep the

world at arm’s length. She would often exhibit the characteristics of whatever

mask she was wearing at the time. From animals to people, the ocean to the

moon, each mask carried with it its own personality. For the most part, all

the world ever got to see of the real Harper were two enormous green eyes

and long tendrils of curly black hair. Unfortunately, the mask-wearing had

intensified since Georgia’s death. Eli could barely remember when last he

had seen her precious face. Regardless, he understood how important the

masks were in allowing her to deal with the world. Sometimes he wished he

had a few masks of his own.

‘All right, angel,’ he called out. ‘Are you sure you want those doves?’

The crocodile nodded.

‘How many are we talking? Two? Three?’

A shake of the head.

‘How many then?’

She looked back at the three cages. There were nine doves in total. She

turned around and held up nine fingers.

‘C’mon … Your mother’s going to murder me. Why so many, angel?’

The crocodile’s face turned to the floor and whispered something. It was

her first and possibly only word for the day.

‘What was that, baby?’ Eli asked, lowering onto his haunches.

‘Family,’ she whispered.

Eli nodded and, as had become his habit, he repeated the word. ‘I hear

you, crocodile … family.’ He kissed the top of her head and turned to the

store owner. ‘We’ll take them all.’

The woman looked down at Harper and raised her hands to her mouth

in an exaggerated gesture. ‘Wow. Those birds are so lucky. I never thought

anyone would buy them. You’re such a special girl for choosing them.’

Unmoving, the crocodile stared at her, but said nothing. For some

absurd and inexplicable reason, Harper’s lack of a reaction pleased Eli. There

was something forced and oddly predatory about the woman’s manner that

didn’t sit well with him. As they headed for the cash register, cages dangling

from fingers and packets of birdseed tucked under arms, the store owner

adopted an overly casual tone and, either consciously or not, pushed out her

already considerable chest. ‘So … no children of your own?’

If Eli was taken aback by the question, he didn’t show it. ‘No.’

‘May I ask why not?’

He looked at her briefly and then slowly shook his head. ‘It’s complicated.’

He could have told her that his wife was dead, but that really wasn’t the

reason why he had no children. The truth was that both his and Georgia’s

family had been completely devastated by cancer. Most people knew

someone – a friend or a loved one perhaps – who had battled the black crab

at some point. But, for Eli’s family, cancer was not a disease that merely

lurked on the periphery of their lives; it was a constant life companion, a

spectre that followed them everywhere. An almost guaranteed inheritance

or, as one oncologist put it, a family shadow. Both sets of grandparents as

well as their own parents had all been claimed by the disease. Even Georgia’s

estranged brother was now battling stomach cancer. Whether by corrupted

genetics or the whims of the gods, not a single member of their family had

lived past fifty-five. So what possible chance could a child bearing their

combined DNA have in the world? Fatefully, Eli had met Georgia during

chemotherapy and they had courted all the way through their poisoned

drips, beyond radium treatment and right through to their semi-annual

blood tests. They had both recovered, even made it into what the world

knew as remission, but for them it was more like an intermission than

anything resembling a cure. A family, in the true sense, was never really an

option.

‘I–I’m sorry,’ the woman stuttered. She suddenly sounded shy and

embarrassed. ‘It’s really none of my business. I didn’t mean to pry.’

‘It’s fine, really,’ he replied, waving his free hand. ‘How much do I owe

you?’

The woman’s eyes turned to the sanctuary of the register and quickly

rang up the sale. Eli handed over his credit card and, before he was able to

stop himself, his mouth opened. ‘My wife died earlier this year.’

The store owner looked up at him, wide-eyed. ‘I’m so sorry.’

He paused and then nodded. ‘Thank you for the doves. They’ll have a

wonderful home. Harper will make sure of it.’

‘I have no doubt,’ she replied, trying to regain her composure. ‘When is

Harper’s birthday?’

‘Monday, but the party is this afternoon.’

The woman reached across the table and lifted a small plastic mirror off

a display stand. She leaned over and handed it to Harper. ‘Happy birthday,

darling. Your birds can use this to make sure that their feathers are always

neat.’

Harper reached out and accepted the mirror. She stared at her own

reflection and then turned to Eli. ‘Crocodile.’ Her mouth opened and

closed. Click. Click.

It was her second word of the day and it gave Eli an immediate lift.

‘Crocodile,’ he repeated, and then felt her delicate fingers wrap around

his thumb.