November by Gabrielle Lord

effort of talking.
    ‘Sixteen years ago, now,’ he said. ‘And it’s been something I’ve found almost impossible to live with. Now that I’m coming to the end of my life, I realise it’s not something I can die with, either.’
    A noise at the door startled Durham. ‘What was that?’ he asked.
    ‘Nothing to worry about,’ I said, wondering why he was so edgy.
    ‘As long as it’s not my son. He thinks I’m crazy wanting to tell you about this. I can’t let him catch me with you.’
    About this ? What was he talking about? Had he lost his mind?
    ‘He’d kill me,’ he said. ‘It wouldn’t take much!’He started to laugh, making a choking, rusty sound like it was something he hadn’t done in a while.
    ‘He’d probably kill you too. So we’d better make this quick, while he’s out of the place.’
    ‘Let’s do that,’ I agreed.
    Again came the rusty, choking sound of his laugh. He reached for his water once more. I helped it to his lips.
    Durham had said this terrible event occurred sixteen years ago. Things started coming together in my mind. I pictured the newspaper clipping about the abduction of twin babies that Great-uncle Bartholomew had snatched out of my hands. I pictured Ryan and his mum. I pictured my mum and the sadness in her eyes.
    ‘I think I know what you’re talking about, Mr Durham,’ I said slowly.
    ‘Is that right?’ he asked, dubiously.
    ‘Are you talking about a kidnapping?’
    His eyebrows rose, slowly. ‘Smart kid, eh? I’m not surprised you have some idea about it; you’ve been able to avoid the cops and the crims for nearly a year. So tell me, what do you think you have to do with it?’
    I wasn’t too sure what to say. Murray Durham was probably the sort of guy who would lash out in rage if someone made a mistake about him.
    ‘Don’t be scared of me. This old dog is dying, can’t you see? No teeth. No bite.’ He knocked his fingers against the glass of water containing his false teeth. ‘Anyway, I’m done for, son. I don’t have any action left in me, good or bad, except to make a long-overdue confession. So come on. Spit it out.’
    ‘My guess is you were involved in the abduction of twin boys,’ I said. ‘Sixteen years ago.’
    I waited, holding my breath. There was a long silence.
    Durham cleared his throat and shifted on his satin pillows.
    ‘You’re right on the money,’ he admitted. ‘I was part of that notorious kidnapping.’
    My heart was racing. I tried to focus and listen carefully to his every word.
    ‘I was a well-known hitman by that stage of my life, and I was approached by someone with an unusual assignment. My job was to kidnap twin babies from a suburban house, and dispose of them. I was offered a fair amount of money in return, but that’s when I discovered something about myself—the infamous, heartless Murray Durham didn’t have it in him to be a baby killer. Yeah, I could cut the toes off dirty crooks and homicidal jailbirds, but I couldn’t harm a baby. I suppose that’s a good thing.’
    He glared at me, as if daring me to contradict him.
    ‘I should never have agreed to it,’ he continued . ‘My heart was never in it and maybe that’s why the whole thing was a disaster. The job never felt right, but I’d grown accustomed to luxury and got greedy. Plus I had an old debt that I wanted cleared, and I saw this as my opportunity to finally knock it out. It’s sad what people will do for money. How much of themselves they’re willing to sacrifice to get the things they want. I didn’t see a cent in the end. It was all for nothing. I was working with a partner—he’s dead now—and we broke into the Kenthurst house—’
    ‘Kenthurst?’ I blurted out. I thought I understood what he was talking about, but my family was from Richmond.
    ‘Kenthurst,’ he repeated. ‘We picked up the two sleeping babies without any trouble, then drove off to an old building that I knew was waiting for demolition. We’d just made it