A Gift for Dying

by M. J. Arlidge

  A pair of shoes. A school textbook. A worn, black hoodie. In they went, tumbled together in his haste to be rid of them. But, as he tossed the hoodie into the sack, something fell to ground, tinkling gently as it hit the polished wooden boards. Angry, frustrated, Adam bent down to scoop up the offending item, but, as he did so, he paused.

  It took him a while to bring it into focus, but … it was a key. Kassie’s house key, attached to a faded Betty Boop figurine. It caught the light, glinting up at him, urging him to pick it up. He stared at it, transfixed, taking in its golden sheen. For one absurd moment, he wondered if the key had fallen from her pocket for a reason, if he was meant to find it. He reached out a hand, even now hesitating to pick it up, wondering what would happen if he did so. But the pull was too great, the key seemed to be calling to him, so, snatching it up, he hurried from the room, leaving the trash bag where he’d dropped it.

  134

  Kassie stood outside CPD headquarters, a lone figure on the busy street. In the past, she had had the odd friend to run with, plus her mother, and latterly Adam and Faith. But they were gone now and she couldn’t even rely on the shadowy presence of the undercover cops for company. She was not a suspect any more, nor even a person of interest. She was a witness, who had grappled with the real killer, accidentally harvesting crucial DNA which exonerated both herself and Redmond, but that was all. She had played a valuable role in the investigation, but was no longer useful.

  Turning away from the police station, Kassie hurried off down the street. She had never looked cool or smart, but she knew that tonight she looked particularly ridiculous. Her own clothes were still being analysed, so on her release she’d been provided with garments donated by a local charity. The CPD’s headquarters was not really set up for juveniles – their Detention Center being across town – so she had had to wear the smallest adult clothes available. They still swamped her and she felt like a kid at a dressing-up party, as she stumbled clumsily down the busy street.

  She was gripped by embarrassment and misery. She knew that she had made an important contribution. The police now had a suspect – Joseph White – a name they wouldn’t have had without her intervention. Yet oddly Kassie felt no joy, no relief at this development. She just felt empty and rudderless, as if she had been allowed to play her part in this story, without ever getting to see the end.

  Instinctively she turned her feet in the direction of home. What else could she do? But it meant nothing. The house was cold and empty and, unless her mother returned, the utilities would soon be cut off. Was that Natalia’s plan? To force Kassie to follow her north? Whatever, it was all academic now.

  ‘Hey, watch it …’

  Kassie thumped into the irritated passer-by and stumbled away, apologizing. He continued to abuse her, but she didn’t engage, moving away fast, her gaze glued to the ground. She just wanted to get home now, to find sanctuary for a few hours. For years, she had kept herself apart, reasoning that it was best for everyone, but then, idiotically, she had tried to engage with life, to prove a point. And the results had been catastrophic. Now there was nothing left to do but prepare herself.

  She had played this scenario out many times in her head. What to do in her final hours? Sometimes she imagined herself praying, finding God, or something like him, at the very last. Sometimes she imagined defending herself fiercely, miraculously snatching victory from the jaws of defeat. But now she saw only desolation and oblivion. Altering your fate, making a difference – neither of these things seemed possible any more. The best thing she could hope for was to make her peace with the world, smoke a bit of skunk and prepare for the end.

  This then was the legacy of her gift. The price of her knowledge.

  This was her birthright.

  135

  ‘I want everybody looking at me.’

  Gabrielle Grey stood outside Joseph White’s house, surrounded by an assortment of detectives, policemen and volunteer officers. A few passers-by were loitering, but there was no sign of any journalists, so she could afford to raise her voice. Speed was of the essence and those in front of her needed to know what was required of them.

  ‘According to the other tenants, White left the house roughly twenty minutes ago. His closet is empty, his room unlocked, so we can assume he’s gone for good. Our priority now is to find him as quickly as possible. We are going to fan out across this neighbourhood, canvassing local people, looking for evidence of break-ins, automobile theft and so on. We’ve no idea where he’s heading, but let’s cut him off before he gets there.’

  There were murmurs of agreement from the assembled faces.

  ‘I’ve spoken to the CTA, who’ll be keeping an eye on the transport networks, but it’s our job to bring this guy in. Officer Montgomery will organize you into groups. Each of you will be covering four blocks. First sign of a sighting, you call it in. We want White surrounded before we make our move. Now, let’s go.’

  They swarmed towards Montgomery, who handed them marked-up maps of the area. Gabrielle stepped aside, looking appreciatively at the youthful officer, who was organizing the search parties efficiently and professionally. This case had been so complex, so frustrating, but the fevered activity outside White’s former residence gave her real hope that their ordeal would soon be at an end.

  136

  They were looking at him. He was sure of it.

  A man and a woman, no more than twenty-five years old, were sitting together at a sidewalk café, blatantly staring at him. Any minute now, he expected them to point at him, to pull out their phones and raise the alarm. Pulling the peak of his cap down further, he pressed on and, to his surprise, the couple now turned to each other and exchanged a few words, laughing as they did so. Soon, they were engrossed in conversation, with eyes only for each other.

  Muttering, he carried on. He was becoming so jumpy, so paranoid, that he risked giving himself away. It was important to remain calm, collected … though this was hard to do when you were the subject of a city-wide manhunt. Even so, the authorities hadn’t caught up with him yet, and if he was careful, he might still elude them.

  If he did, it would be no thanks to her. She was the reason they had come to his door. She had haunted his life these past few days, interrupting him before he’d really got going on Varga – he’d had to slit the guy’s throat and flee – almost catching him as he tried to escape. Were it not for her bizarre, dogged pursuit of him, culminating in her tearing a chunk of skin off his leg, the police would never have identified him. He had been right to worry about her – she seemed destined to be his undoing.

  It was ironic that this slight girl had proved more adept than the professionals in tracking him. The police had cobbled together a rough image of him after the Baines killing – her work again, no doubt – but they seemed clueless in making the connection to someone who had been arrested on several occasions for breaking and entering. That was the thing about the police – they had no imagination. Twice he had dodged charges of trespass and burglary because there was no evidence of a break-in and nothing had been taken – like many others, the police had dismissed him as a confused halfwit, a bumbling idiot who’d stumbled into the wrong house. The reality of course was that he was there to see the owners’ reaction when they came face to face with an intruder in their living room and, boy, had it been worth it – the second woman screaming the house down. The police must have seen through his lies, but still it never occurred to them to ask why someone might do this. It was principally thanks to their incompetence that he was still a free man.

  He had reached the intersection and waited for the Walk sign. As he cast around, he saw that the large screen which blasted out adverts at the passing motorists was now displaying his face alongside the banner headline: ‘Quadruple murder suspect at large’. He got a frisson of excitement at seeing himself described like that, but this was swiftly replaced by unease as he lowered his gaze once more. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see an elderly lady, who was wai
ting nearby, coolly appraising him, before seeming to cast her eyes up to the big screen.

  Without waiting for the Walk sign, he stepped down into the road, letting one car pass, before hurrying away. He was hoping the woman was just idly curious or a Cubs fan or perhaps just senile, but as he fled he was convinced he heard her strike up a conversation with the businessman who’d been standing next to her. Were they talking about him? Debating whether to call the cops or not? Or was she just passing the time of day?

  He didn’t know and it made him rage. He had no idea how close he was to capture, if he would be frustrated at the last. Though trying to remain relaxed and focused, he was fizzing with anxiety and he saw danger in every face he passed.

  He was the one being hunted now.

  137

  She had been crying, tear stains tarnishing her cheeks. Adam felt torn – guilty at causing this anguish, but furious at Christine for her weakness.

  ‘I just want to understand what’s going on. You’ve been acting so strangely …’

  They were standing in her spotless front room. She had retreated home following their unpleasant confrontation at his house earlier. She was mad with grief anyway, but had been left badly shaken by Adam’s angry refusal to engage with her. Her red, puffy eyes revealed the extent of her distress.

  ‘One minute, you’re slamming the door in my face, telling me to mind my own business. The next you’re turning up on my doorstep, drunk, asking to come in.’

  ‘I know and I’m sorry,’ Adam replied quickly, ignoring the flush of shame at his drunkenness and his clumsy, callous behaviour. ‘It’s just that things didn’t go the way I’d hoped with the Board this morning …’

  A flash of something in Christine’s ravaged eyes – as if she’d known all along what the outcome would be.

  ‘So I had a couple of drinks, more than a couple actually … It was stupid of me and I should never have taken my disappointment out on you …’

  He could taste the stale whiskey in his mouth. He had drunk most of a bottle this afternoon, but still wanted more.

  ‘Which is why I wanted to come around to apologize. I truly am sorry …’

  Her face immediately softened, further exacerbating Adam’s guilt at lying to her. He thought she was about to start crying again, but to his immense relief she managed to retain her composure.

  ‘Apology accepted, Adam. I know things are tough, but we need to stick together …’

  Adam nodded, shame robbing him of the ability to respond.

  ‘Now how about I fix us some coffee? I’m sure we could both use a cup.’

  She bustled off to the kitchen even before the sentence was finished. Adam watched her disappear through the swing doors, then hurried into the hallway. He paused briefly to see if his movement had been detected, but Christine was busy filling the kettle, so he hurried on down the hallway and into the master bedroom.

  It was immaculate, like every other room in the house. Crossing the floor, Adam climbed up on to the neatly made bed. The sudden step up made his head spin and for a moment he swayed unsteadily back and forth. But then, placing his hand on the wall for support, he managed to regain his balance, and refocus on the job in hand. First, he removed the portrait that hung above the headboard. Placing it carefully on the bed beside him, he then turned his attention to the wall. A small wall-mounted safe stared back at him. Another quick check over his shoulder, then he began to spin the dial. He had helped Christine install it, knew her pass code was always her date of birth, so the dial clicked easily into place and soon the safe was open. There were numerous documents and keepsakes at the bottom, but perched on top of them was a Beretta M9.

  Faith had never liked guns, but had eventually sanctioned her mother getting one, as she lived alone in an increasingly violent city. Christine had never used it of course – but it made her sleep easier at night, which was the point. Eagerly, Adam snatched it up, shoving it into his jacket.

  Closing the safe, he replaced the portrait on the wall. It was of Faith as a young woman, painted by a family friend, and the sight made him pause. She looked so youthful, so innocent, so happy. Her eyes sought his out, wanting to make a connection, but he couldn’t go there, not now. Instead, he kissed his fingers and placed them on her lips, before stepping down off the bed and hurrying out of the room.

  Back in the hallway, Adam could hear Christine humming to herself in the kitchen, the gentle clink of crockery. There was no time to waste, so, easing open the front door, he slipped out into the night, the hard steel of the gun pressing against his chest.

  138

  The house was cold and empty. Kassie had turned on the heating, but the system was aged, slowly clanking into life, and still she felt frozen to the core. She didn’t normally feel the cold, so was she coming down with something? Or was it just her loneliness that was making her shiver?

  There was no doubt about it – the house felt wrong. This was her mother’s domain, always had been, her constant presence both irritating and oddly reassuring. Kassie now realized that she had seldom been in the house without her mother – she was always the one who was going out, seeking distraction, getting into trouble. Whenever she was here her mother was, fussing around her, spying on her. Even when she did leave her alone, she was never still – always dusting the furniture, cleaning the curtains, rustling up some Polish delicacies in the kitchen.

  Kassie opened the fridge, which was empty except for a carton of milk and a mouldy tomato. Closing it, she turned to take in the spotless kitchen. This was the room that felt most odd to her – whatever warmth there had been in this house had been found here. Her mom was happiest when she was cooking, pans boiling, stove humming, the smells of the old country filling the room. When she was young, Kassie would often be given tidbits and treats, which she would devour at the kitchen table, marvelling at her mother’s efficiency and expertise. Those were some of her happiest memories, in a childhood which had often been difficult and distressing.

  Kassie felt a hollow pit in her stomach. She missed her mother. There was no dressing it up: in spite of everything, she missed her presence. The house felt so lifeless now, a shrine to loneliness, to emptiness.

  She felt tears pricking her eyes and, sitting down at the table, tugged her cell phone from her pocket. She started to key in the numbers, her fingers flitting across the screen, until all the digits had been entered. Her thumb moved towards the call button, but now she hesitated. It was such a small thing, but such a big thing too.

  What would she say to her? What could she say to sum up their fifteen difficult years together? Should she thank her? Berate her for abandoning her? Tell her she loved her in spite of everything? All of these were true, but none of them quite did the job. She knew she had to do – to say – something, but what was the right way to say goodbye?

  What, in the end, had it all been for?

  139

  ‘Sure, I saw him. He’s a big fella, with a Cubs hat on …’

  The elderly lady said it decisively, even a little triumphantly, as if she was about to win a prize. Gabrielle didn’t think this was appropriate, but was not going to censure her. The teams had been doing house-to-house for thirty minutes without success. The testimony of this senior citizen, huddled under her umbrella by the intersection, was their first proper lead.

  ‘And which direction was he heading in, ma’am?’ Gabrielle replied, still a little breathless.

  ‘That way,’ she answered, pointing. ‘Heading south.’

  ‘Can I ask you to look again at the photo. Are you sure it was him?’

  ‘Absolutely,’ she answered reprovingly. ‘I’m not senile, dear. Well, not yet, anyway …’

  ‘That’s not what I meant, ma’am.’

  ‘He looked nervous, shifty. Marched across the road on a Stop sign, had to dodge the cars.’

  ‘And can you describe what he was wearing?’

  The woman – who had identified herself as Esme Perkins – thought for a moment.


  ‘White sneakers, I think. Blue jeans for sure … with a khaki jacket and a Cubs cap.’

  ‘Was he carrying anything?’

  ‘A duffelbag perhaps … I can’t be sure …’

  ‘And was he with anyone?’

  ‘No, he was alone and he seemed in a hurry to be somewhere. I wouldn’t walk across this intersection on a Stop sign if my life depended on it.’

  Nodding to a junior officer to continue taking her statement, Gabrielle thanked Esme and pulled out her radio. Holding her ID aloft for all to see, she plunged across the road, her radio clamped to her mouth.

  ‘The suspect has been spotted in the last ten minutes, heading south on South Damen Avenue. Repeat, suspect heading south on South Damen.’

  With that, she lowered her radio and started to run. They were close now, she could smell it. And she was determined to be in at the kill.

  140

  Kassie walked along the dingy hallway, tears filling her eyes. Having plucked up the courage to make the call to her mother, she had pressed the button, bracing herself for a frosty reception. But the call had gone straight to voicemail and Kassie had hesitated, then panicked, before hanging up without saying a word.

  Hesitation proved fatal and Kassie had tossed her phone on to the table in disgust, knowing full well she lacked the resolve to try again. She desperately wanted to be reconciled with her mother, but Fate was working against her. Her mother had cut the cord and maybe that was the way it was meant to end. Abandoning her plan to say her last goodbye, Kassie instead hurried to the back room. There was a small stash of skunk there, hidden in an old tin of silver polish, and it was calling to her now.

  There was no denying it – she was scared. Scared and upset. It could only be a matter of hours until Adam ended her short life, and there was no one around to comfort her. She had known this moment was coming, but now it was here she wanted to run from it, to hide from her destiny. There was no way she could do this – she had been heading inexorably towards this sudden, brutal end since the day she was born – but still she longed to. She could see Adam, see his anguished face, his finger squeezing the trigger …