Sleep was a stranger that night as I searched for a solution to the problem. Maybe, with Alan’s help, I could persuade Vittoria to report the rape to the police. Maybe we’d find a sympathetic officer who would overlook the fact that Vittoria was a Vanzetti, daughter of public enemy number one. Then what? Maybe the police would arrest Osborne. Then a trial, which could go either way, because I felt sure that Osborne was well connected. Vittoria would have to endure that ordeal with no guarantee of justice at the end.
Vanzetti could confront Osborne and shoot him; that would solve one problem, but create another. Claiming a life in revenge for a barbaric act, did that equate to justice? The thought of Osborne walking free cut me to the quick, and I knew that whatever happened, I couldn’t stand by and allow that. My thoughts went round in circles and provided no answer. At dawn, I climbed out of bed exhausted, but determined to tackle my task.
After breakfast and a quick trip to my office to catch up on messages and mundane business, I drove to Osborne’s farmhouse, on the outskirts of Llancarfan. I found Osborne and his wife in a field, admiring their horse.
“What are you doing here?” Osborne asked as I leaned on the five bar gate.
“I’d like a word,” I said.
“I’m busy.” Osborne offered his back to me. He prepared to mount the horse.
“About Vittoria Vanzetti.”
Slowly, he turned. He took a step towards me, offered a lumbering gait. His boots sank into the soft mud, squelched in obscene fashion. The bear of a man glowered at me then said to his wife, “I think you should look after Folio.”
Osborne handed the reins to Maya. She eyed me with suspicion, brushed a silky strand of hair from her cheek, then took control of the horse. She led him towards the stables, her gaze fixed on me the whole time.
To Osborne, I said, “I think your wife should stay and listen.”
“I’m hungry,” he called out to Maya, yelling over his shoulder. “Prepare my dinner.”
“Dinner?” I frowned. “It’s not even lunch time.”
Osborne grinned at me. He wore a riding hat, which he adjusted; he pulled the peak over his brow. “Maybe I could have you instead,” he said.
I let that pass, though I did frown. “I found Vittoria,” I said.
“What do you want,” he scoffed, “a coconut.”
“I talked with Vittoria. I know why she ran.”
Osborne shrugged. He picked up a long stick and proceeded to scrape the mud from his boots. “What has this to do with me?” he asked, his tone gruff, discourteous.
“You raped her,” I said bluntly. “It has everything to do with you.”
“Who says?” he laughed.
“She says.”
He laughed again. “And you believe her?”
“An expert was present, a psychologist. Vittoria was telling the truth, there’s no doubt about that.”
Osborne examined his stick, now caked in mud. He flicked the stick at me, soiling my trench coat. “Okay,” he leered, narrowing his cold blue eyes, offering a politician’s smile, fake and insincere, “so maybe we had sex, maybe she found me irresistible; what’re you going to do about it?”
“You raped her,” I said.
“She couldn’t get enough of me,” he laughed, flicking his stick again, though by now the stick was devoid of mud.
I scowled. My hand went to my shoulder bag and my gun. I was on the point of losing it, but somehow I kept control. “You’re a sick man,” I said, “to talk like that.”
Osborne removed his riding hat, exposed a mop of blond hair. He ran a hand through his hair and laughed aloud.
“Rape is about power, exerting power,” I said. “It’s about anger and hatred, humiliation and punishment, violence and control. For all your wealth,” I nodded towards his grand house, “I’d say that you were an angry person, a person easily moved to hatred and violence; someone who needs to humiliate and punish, someone who craves control.”
“Fuck off,” Osborne snarled.
“Money isn’t enough for you, is it? Ripping people off with exorbitant loans isn’t enough for you. Exploiting people who have next to nothing isn’t enough for you.”
He cracked his stick against the five bar gate and the twig splinted into a hundred pieces. Aware that he’d betrayed his true emotions, he examined the remains of his stick, then tossed it on to the ground. He was angry with me, furious, and the feeling was mutual. The gate served as a barrier, an obstacle to further violence. Should the gate swing open, I knew that we would clash and that our fight would be relentless, unceasing, until one of us lay in the ground.
Osborne held himself in check. He gathered his emotions. As a smirk returned to his face, he said, “You sound upset.”
“Damn right I’m upset.”
“And there’s nothing you can do about it.”
“We could go to the police.”
A jet zoomed overhead, its roar smothering Osborne’s obscene laugh. “She’s a Vanzetti,” he said. “You think they’d listen, take pity on her?”
“I could release Vanzetti from his cage.”
A second jet zoomed overhead, another military plane, possibly on manoeuvres. As its roar rumbled over the countryside, Osborne said, “Vanzetti’s over the hill. He’s past it. He’s lost his touch. I’m not afraid of him.”
“You won’t get away with this,” I said, leaning my slender frame against the five bar gate, itching to tear it down.
“Who’s gonna stop me?” Osborne grinned. Before I could reply, a third jet screeched overhead, completing the show of military might. “You? What you gonna do, tie me up with your hair?” He reached across and pulled my hair. His tug hurt, and I felt like screaming, but I didn’t yowl. “You’re a joke, girly. You make trouble for me and I’ll make trouble for you, just like I made trouble for Vittoria.”
“Why did you pick on her?” I asked, hooking my hair over my ears, dragging it out of harm’s way.
“That’s none of your business.”
“What threat does she pose to you?”
Osborne glared at me through his cold blue eyes. His lips moved, but he did not answer.
“What point were you trying to make?”
He glanced into a field, to a bull eyeing a herd of cows. He licked his lips, moistened a spiteful smile then said, “Maybe I did it for the sex.”
“No, I don’t believe that. You raped Vittoria to make a point. You raped her for a reason. What reason?”
Osborne leaned towards me. He frowned. As we talked, he swayed gently from side to side, like an oversized marionette, dangling from strings. In general, his actions were slow and lumbering, though his forearms were huge, revealing his great strength. If Osborne grabbed hold of you, he could snap you like a twig; he knew it, I knew it; and, I suspected, so did many other women besides Vittoria Vanzetti.
“Maybe you should shut up and get out of here while you can still walk,” Osborne suggested, his gaze wandering to my Mini, which I’d parked in a country lane.
“Are you still on drugs?” I asked, ignoring his comment, holding my ground.
“Huh?” he frowned.
“I’m willing to bet that you took drugs in your youth. After all, drugs are as accessible as sweets, when you have affluence and power.”
“You talk too much. Button it.”
“Wealth and power, they’re drugs, aren’t they. They destroy society; they’re the most poisonous drugs of all. Of course, the irony is, they also destroy the rich and the powerful, but people like you don’t realise that, even when it’s too late. You leave a trail of sadness and destruction in your wake, all to satisfy your eternal greed. But greed is an insatiable monster – no matter how much you feed that monster, it can never have enough. And soon that monster devours you and you turn into the beast.”
Osborne had had enough. He dragged open the gate. While striding towards me, he said, “And what if the beast wants you for dinner?”
“Try it,” I said, producing my gun. I carried a .32 Smith and Wesson, for defensive purposes, though right now, in my anger, I was prepared to move on to the attack. “Try it,” I repeated. “Go on, try it; I’d love to put a bullet in you and blow a hole between your legs.”
Osborne retreated behind the gate, as though a five bar gate offered an effective barrier to a bullet. “You’re next on my list,” he said, waving an unsteady arm, pointing in my general direction, “you mark my words.”
“So, you have a list, do you?”
“Get off my land,” he yelled.
“We could argue the point of ownership,” I said. “After all, God, or nature, depending on your beliefs or opinion, created this land. You had no hand in its conception. You acquired the land at some point during your life, but you’re a mere custodian not an owner; this land will move on to someone else, when you’re dead and gone.”
“You’d love to kill me, wouldn’t you?” Osborne scowled, reading my mood. “But you haven’t got the balls.”
“I don’t know about killing you,” I said, my gun still resting snugly in the palm of my hand, its walnut stock smooth to the touch, “but I’m keen to plot your downfall. And make no mistake, when scum like you does fall, it doesn’t get back up.”
I dropped my Smith and Wesson into my shoulder bag and returned to my Mini. As I walked down the lane, I peered over my shoulder, to the stables. There, I spied Maya, who’d been eavesdropping, listening to our conversation. I glanced over to Maya and, for a second, our eyes met. Her expression was difficult to read; was it sympathetic, or merely curious. Before I could find out, Osborne grabbed hold of Maya’s shoulder. He pushed her into the house and closed the door.
Maya Osborne: could I recruit her as an ally, or should I see her as an enemy? Maybe I could talk with her, when she was alone. I remained in two minds about Maya, but had clear thoughts about Osborne. After today’s encounter, we were at war.