Duplicity Read online

  Duplicity

  Who Am I?

  Book 1

  By Charles Anikpe & Barry Ries

  Preface

  As an avid reader, I would often find myself frustrated with books.

  I would flick through the pages, and want the story to end differently, I would form bonds with the characters and felt like I knew them and want to re-write their destiny so justice was served or so that they got the happy ending they deserved.

  It was this that made me realize, that perhaps I was more than a reader, I was a writer, and taking inspiration from my father, I set about on writing a novel that would change me forever.

  And it is to my father I would like to dedicate this book, for without him, I would not have had the courage to venture out into the world of writing and also to my mother, who has brought me up alone since he passed away nine years ago. I would not be who I am today without her tremendous effort and support.

  I cannot begin to describe the things I have learnt on this amazing journey and the characters that have been projected from my mind onto the pages. I feel so blessed to have brought Connor to life for people to enjoy.

  When I first met Connor in my mind, I instantly fell in love with his charm, his charisma, his boyish wit and the fact that he was able to hold everything together no matter what was facing him. That is a commendable skill that takes great courage and bravery.

  He became my reason for living in the weeks it took me to write this book, because I wanted to tell you his story and do it justice.

  I now want you sit back, relax and let me take you deep into the mind of Connor Donovan, come share in his triumphs and misfortunes as he battles with demons in a very real struggle between good and evil…

  “Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that.”

  –Martin Luther King Jr.

   Copyright 2014 by Charles Anikpe

  All rights reserved.

  - From a Declaration of Principles which was accepted and approved equally by a Committee of the American Bar Association and a Committee of Publishers and Associations.

  In no way is it legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document in either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission from the publisher. All rights reserved.

  Respective authors own all copyrights not held by the publisher.

  The information herein is offered for informational purposes solely, and is universal as so. Any names or other such content are entirely fictitious.

  Any trademarks that are used are without any consent, and the publication of the trademark is without permission or backing by the trademark owner. All trademarks and brands that may be mentioned this book are for clarifying purposes only and are the owned by the owners themselves, not affiliated with this document.

  Chapter 1

  The shrill shriek of the alarm awoke me with a startle. I squinted, trying to readjust my eyes to the morning glow that was streaming through the gap in my curtains as I frantically reached for the off button. Morning and I had never gotten along too well, but of late this had become increasingly apparent.

  In the past few months, mornings had become a caffeine fuelled affair. My career as one of New York’s top lawyer’s demands that I am in top form at all times. Something I pride myself in adhering to, but I fear without the caffeine I would lose my fierce streak at the moment, as lately I just never feel like I am getting a restful night’s sleep.

  My law career had taken me far and wide and I was highly regarded in all of the right circles. I sometimes wondered if my charm had something to do with it, but in my fifteen years in the industry I had never lost a case. I was the only black lawyer in my firm, and thus attracted a lot of black clientele. I never understood why this was the case, but my other main clientele was my favourite kind… women.

  I make no secret of the fact that I love women, all women, in all shapes and sizes. Some of my peers would think my behaviour to be inappropriate, but I don’t know a man who would not play the cards the good Lord had dealt him. These women crave attention, and I am happy to oblige. Regularly. I guess I was considered a bit of a player.

  I lay for a moment in the bed, running over my schedule for the day in my head. Interviews, hearings, prep. I never really switched off from work. After a few minutes I finally mustered enough energy to get up. I sat up, and swung my legs over the edge of the bed. As I did I noticed a sharp pain in my lower calf, like a burning sensation. I glanced down to see a deep cut, around 3 inches in length, covered in crusty brown blood.

  My confusion began to worry me; I could not understand how this cut had got there. I began frantically searching the rest of my body, I was unscathed otherwise. I began to try and rationalize my wound, examining my toenails and fingernails. I knew deep down that that cut was way too deep to have been created by myself in my sleep, but I had to be in court in 45 minutes, so I disregarded the incident for the time being.

  I quickly cleaned the cut and put on my black Armani suit and matching black silk tie. I never drove to court. Quite often a drink would be in the cards to celebrate a success afterwards, so I would always order a cab in preparation for this. Today was no different; I was fully expecting a string of successes from today’s work load. Client’s paid me hundreds of thousands to represent them, and if I do say so myself, I was worth every penny.

  Within a few moments, my cab was ready and waiting for me outside. I slid my coat over my arms as I headed for the door. I hadn’t even had time for a coffee this morning. I would have to call for one on the way in or else I would be grumpy the rest of the day.

  “Morning Mr Donovan,” said the cab driver as I threw my briefcase into the backseat of the car.

  “Morning Sam, how are you today?” Sam was the cab driver who had pulled up outside my house on my first ever day at court, and I have personally requested him ever since. He knew me inside and out after fifteen years of ferrying me from one appointment to the next.

  “Good my Friend.” He answered in his Italian American accent. Sam was quirky and always cheery.

  “Got your coffee.” He continued, handing me a paper cup with my morning fix inside.

  “Sam you’re a godsend.” I beamed.

  “When you called at this time of morning, I knew you must be running late again.” He chuckled. “Same as usual?” he requested looking at me in the mirror. I gave Sam the nod and opened my briefcase and began to sift through some of the case notes for my first hearing of the day.

  My first case of the day was an easy win. I was acting on behalf of a woman who had been drugged by a stranger in a bar. It was all captured over CCTV. It was an open and shut case. I enjoyed starting my day with an easy one; the buzz from the win really set me up for the rest of the day.

  We pulled up at the court promptly and I paid Sam his fare along with my usual, very generous tip. When I got inside I was advised we were ready to begin. This was unusual. Normally there were meetings to be had and things to discuss. I guessed the reason for this was the transparency in the case. Everybody took their places and I made my way to my position, giving my client a little wink for reassurance. She smiled like a teenage girl. I knew she had the hots for me, but I would never jeopardise a case by having a liaison with a client. However, after today, she wouldn’t be my client anymore. I smiled inside at my knowing that I could have her at the snap of a finger if I so chose. It made me feel powerful.

  “Your honour.” I said dominantly, “I believe in this case the evidence speaks for itself. We have conclusive proof that on the evening of May 12th, the defendant was in the bar, and was seen dropp
ing a pill into the drink of Miss Thomas. On this occasion I feel no further examination is needed on my part.”

  The judge nodded at me, allowing me to sit down. Up until this point in I had not looked up to the perpetrator in the stand in front of me. So while the defence began to try and find a way to get their client out of this mess, I took a moment to take in his face.

  He was a tall, lean man in his late twenties or early thirties and he had his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, but the remainder of his skin was covered in tattoos. A scar that stretched from his forehead to his chin made him quite a menacing looking character. But those eyes…

  He reminded me of someone. I struggled to try and recollect the familiarity of that face, and then I realized. Suddenly my mind was dragged back to a place I never wanted to see again. I found myself in the graveyard, near the boarding school where I had grown up. He was there. Johnny Maxwell. There I was laying on my back, looking up at the stars in the dark night sky, with him standing over me. I remember feeling pressure on my chest and coughing and struggling to breath. I remember the sounds of kids, some shouting and some laughing. I remember how I couldn’t feel my feet, or move my legs…

  “Mr Donovan?” the judge’s echoing voice awoke me from something between a dream and a nightmare.

  “Er… Yes.” I said, trying to gather my thoughts and compose myself quickly.

  “Welcome back to the room.” He said sarcastically. Judge Prince took no crap in his court room. People called him the ‘Prince of Darkness’ and with good reason. He completely lived up to his nickname. He did not frighten me, but many a good lawyer had been intimidated by him.

  “Sorry your honour.” I sincerely meant it, standing up.

  “Do you have anything further to add, Mr Donovan?” He asked as if repeating himself.

  “No your honour.” I have said all I need to say. I replied clearly as I graciously sat back down.

  “Ok, with that then let’s get this wrapped up.” He said. The jury were sent out to deliberate. I spent this time trying to comfort a very nervous client, however, in truth I could only concentrate on the event’s I had witnessed in my own mind.

  It was like some distant nightmare I had packaged up and shipped off somewhere to never be found again. How was it that until now, had I completely forgotten about this event? I did not have long to ponder my past experience, when the jury announced that they had reached a verdict. It was fast, and I prayed that he would receive the harshest possible sentence, and I did not even believe in God. I wanted him punished for what he had done to her and for what he had done to me.

  The jury had not taken long to deliberate. Of course he was found guilty and sentenced to 2 years imprisonment. He would likely serve less, and was not ordered to be included on the sex offender’s registry as he denied premeditation in raping her. My client cried with relief as he was handcuffed and removed from the courtroom to begin his sentence. I would have preferred a longer sentence, but a win was a win.

  For most people, court is a harrowing experience, whether you’re on the side of the prosecution or the defence, but I thrived on it, the adrenaline, the power, the feeling of putting what’s wrong with the world right. I loved it all, and felt very blessed to have a career that was not only my lifeline but my life.

  I still, despite the win, could not get the vision out of my mind. Johnny had not acknowledged me in any way, so he obviously had not recognized me. My head was buzzing with questions, but I knew I needed to be focussed on work, my reputation was at risk after all, and it was the only thing that truly mattered to me. I hurried out of the court building, down to the coffee shop down the road. Maybe a double expresso would calm my mind…

  Chapter 2

  I arrived home at around 7pm that evening after turning down after court drinks. It had been a long day and I was not able to focus myself on being sociable after the events of the morning, and when I had reached my office in the afternoon, I had experienced some kind of blackout. I think exhaustion may be setting in. I was creating a mental note to make an appointment to see my doctor. I never wrote my appointments down, I always knew where I was expected and when, that way I was never relying on a diary that could easily be lost and mess up my schedule.

  I pulled myself lethargically up the steps to my apartment. Our building was a house poorly converted into an upstairs and downstairs apartment. I did not mind that I could hear Mrs Jones’ every move downstairs, because she was such a lovely woman, often bringing me cakes she had baked or lasagne’s, and she didn’t mind, because she was too deaf to hear me! The apartment itself other than the poor conversion was incredible. The views were worth the semi privacy that comes with a thin floor! I loved to wake up on a morning overlooking the park, and my favourite coffee shop was literally a two minute walk away. On top of that, although I did not have any money worries, I was still very sensible with my funds, apart from the Porsche, and the staggering cost of rent that was a must in a place like New York City.

  I got to the top of the stairs, and noticed my door was slightly ajar. ‘Odd’ I thought to myself, Mrs Jones had a key for emergencies, but she would never leave my door unlocked. Quietly; I peered around the edge of the door. I could not see anyone, just a box on my kitchen table. I hesitantly walked into the room, becoming very aware of my surroundings.

  I edged my way to the box cautiously, slowly removing the lid. And recoiled in horror to the image that would be burned in my mind forever. In the box was a human foot, cut off at the ankle. I was almost sick, but contained myself long enough to read the note that was pinned to it. It read.

  Ok, Mr Big Shot Lawyer, Let’s see if you can piece together this puzzle before it’s too late for her…

  I recoiled quickly at this point, choking on my own vomit which was beginning to rise from my throat. Who would do this? Why me? My only thought was that I had helped to send someone down and this was their way of repaying me. I had pissed off my share of high up crime families in my time.

  I wasn’t sure if I should call the police or not. I examined the box from a distance. ‘Bell View Dairy Farm.” ‘Cheapskate could have used a new box’ I thought to myself. That place is only a few miles out. I opted to avoid calling the police for now, and pay this dairy farm a visit. Whoever left this for me, wanted me to see it. Not the police. So for now I would just play along with this sick little charade.

  The police and I had never really seen eye to eye. This was not uncommon for lawyers and officers, as often we were labelled by law enforcement as unscrupulous beings that would pervert the course of justice in any way we could to make a quick buck. Which I suppose could be true in some cases. But my hatred of them was buried much deeper than that in the dark recesses of my mind.

  Around eight months ago I received a knock on the door, it was 7am, and before I even had chance to greet the mysterious early morning caller, I was pushed aside by no less than 6 police officers in their full regalia. A woman had been murdered more than nine miles from my home, and someone had called the feds and tipped them off that they would find evidence relating to the case in my apartment. Desperate for leads on the case, the police took the caller seriously and acted upon it. Sure enough, the woman’s DNA was found in my apartment in the form of her hair.

  Believe me, that situation took some effort in getting out of. I was extremely intoxicated the evening of her murder, and so was not in my fully functioning state of mind; however, I think I would remember taking someone’s life! I told the investigating officer I believed this would be an act of malice from a disgruntled family member of someone who had been sent down as a result of my handy work as an attorney. That was very plausible, as the general social behaviours of the people I was often prosecuting were less than desirable.

  As for the DNA, most people involved with law or law enforcement of any kind knew of my reputation with women. She was probably one of the women I had seduced in the weeks prior to her departure from this world. The officer looked at me in di
sgust as I told him this, but it was the only explanation I could think of and I was being completely honest.

  I also managed to conjure up a slightly unreliable witness, Julia Stone. Unreliable because as I say I was intoxicated, and I can’t personally remember her from that night, but she seems to remember me, so at least I know I made a good impression on her! I never failed to impress a one night stand, at least to my knowledge anyway.

  The officer, Lieutenant Daniel Johnson, had no choice but to drop the case against me, but you could say that he has been keeping a close eye on myself and my work ethic ever since. Which was more than a little annoying. There were days I would go into work and find him sitting outside my office in his car watching me. He was not even trying to be discreet about it; he wanted me to know I was being watched. If I now report a severed foot found in a box on my kitchen table, albeit arriving while I had been at work, it would arouse suspicion with him all over again. I was not interested in being hauled over the coals a second time, for yet another crime I had not committed. Although I did find it somewhat unusual that I continued to find myself in these predicaments.