A Killer Among Us

by Rhys Stalba-Smith

  Charlie could only stutter, his mind working furiously. No, he said. No I told—

  I know what you said in your report, Davidson said. I read it. But I also know Carl, and I knew a few people that were at that party. You smacked Gary Linister in the mouth for kissing your wife. Which I understand, Davidson smiled. But how did you come to be there?

  I was on my way home.

  Really? Not what you said.

  Well no—

  You don’t live that way.

  I was headed to the city first, Charlie said. Maybe get—

  Get what? Like I said, you live the opposite way. In fact a taxi driver confirmed that you put your wife in his car. Told him to take her to twenty six Oakridge road. Silversgrove. House has cream awnings and an earth coloured roof. I checked it out this morning. Where were you heading?

  Charlie couldn’t find the words. His throat closing. His chest compressing. It was like he was in the prison again all those years ago. Trying to explain…

  Look, Charlie said. I was headed to the city—

  We’ve established that, Davidson said.

  I was gonna get drunk. I’d just been at a party I didn’t want to be at, where everyone there knew who I was and my past—I also had an argument with my wife who didn’t even push away from the man kissing her. The reason I was headed to town was to get blind drunk.

  Davidson nodded, made a face that he felt sympathetic. And you didn’t think wandering around drunk with a serial killer on the loose was a good idea? Considering you have two children and—

  Oh he only kills women, Charlie snapped.

  Does he now? Davidson said.

  Well I mean it’s a theory, Charlie said. The insides of his body dropping a few feet. Ice in his intestines.

  A theory? Please, do fill me in on this theory that is so important we’ve missed it.

  Well, you know, Charlie losing his footing here. Look at the photos. All women.

  But it’s a broad statement to say that the killer is only after women. Or that the killer is a he, Davidson said. He hadn’t stopped staring at Charlie.

  Charlie shut his trap. Felt the sweat at the base of his neck.

  But I suppose given your psych history you’d spot these things. Sexual repression, humiliation, joy, all that shit you can read in a book? He gets off on it, I suppose? Or is it more a game to him?

  Charlie nodding along, thinking. Sure, he said. Why was he defending the killer? How did he even know it was true? He’d decided he was crazy. Remember? But what if it really was Ethan Burke? He choked on his cigarette, dropped it and kicked it when he went to pick it up. Began coughing like crazy from his nerves.

  You alright, Gardner? A few taps on the back from Davidson.

  Charlie’s breathing calmed, his heart rate levelling out slightly. He realised something. If it was revenge, that meant the killer knew who had taken Sarah all those years ago. Was that the something the caller had been so sure of? If it was Ethan, he not only knew who took his sister, but who killed his parents.

  It’s not a game, Charlie said, recovering. He had to lead away. Give crumbs, misdirect. This was his chance to get some answers. It’s not a game, he went on. But it may appear like that to us. It would be important for them. It always is, even if it’s the most trivial reason why they’re doing it. Most cases like this, the killer sees it as a vengeance, a righting of past wrongs. This doesn’t necessarily give you anything, but it might give you everything too. The killer feels wronged.

  Davidson was no longer watching Gardner with accusation, but listening with curiosity. Arms crossed now. That’s all criminals though Gardner. You should at least know that.

  But the killer takes care with the bodies. You see it in the pictures. Charlie saw the wrapped up girl again. Saw the rose pedals and lillies that had been included in the wrap. The revenge isn’t the women, the revenge is against someone else, he said. The women just, I dunno, represent their revenge.

  Now Davidson smiled. And what evidence do you have to prove that? How do I know that it’s not you killing these women? Seem to know a lot. Seem to have a good idea on it.

  Charlie frowned. Look, he said. Nothing has changed from what I told the officers on Saturday night. I was headed to town, I took some time to sit by the water. I’d been arguing with my wife. Which she has agreed to. You came here asking me questions anyway.

  Charlie, it’s alright, Davidson said. The smile back. I know you didn’t dump the body, you’re accounted for at the party. We’ve already spoken with the council workers that clean that area of the park anyway. In fact the pond was cleaned during the week. You would’ve been working, plus you had dinners. He smiled. Plus, the body is too old for you to have known anything recently.

  What do you mean?

  You didn’t see the skin stretched taut, or overly glassy? Davidson asked. This body was embalmed. It’s almost five years old.

  Charlie began coughing again.

  Charlie spent the rest of the day biting his nails, watching the clock. He wanted to get out of the building and into a phone booth. Hopefully get a call. But even as he stood in the phone booth after work, watching his second bus leave, he knew he wouldn’t receive one. When the third bus for his round came he boarded and spent the entire ride consumed in his thoughts.

  Five years old Davidson had said. If this was revenge, as he guessed, how long had the killer been planning this? If it was Ethan. If it was revenge. But for what?

  Charlie remembered dealing with a few patients that were high strung paranoiacs. A constant feeling of persecution dogging them. Elaborate schemes in which the world was against them. Wild theories that connected their toast burning to the feeling in their gut and how that meant their phone was being monitored. Narrative psychology had interested him, but never more than he needed to work with his patients. He was dealing in psychiatry as it were. If all else failed he drugged them to the eyeballs. Of course no one ever said that. But it had been interesting theory to learn, in that if there was anything that the brain could use to tie something all together, it was their sense of identity in the story. That the paranoia was most definitely happening to them.

  He remembered asking Jesse Mullins about her paranoia. Why was she paranoid? What had she done? She sat there for a time, biting her nails, staring at the steam rising out of the cup of tea he’d brought her. It doesn’t matter, she said. It’s just there. Following me. The shadows are there. Course he should’ve seen how complex her case was, not just a compulsive liar, but also a paranoid bipolar schizophrenic. She was the lottery winner of neurosis. Abusive parents that had sent her in circles, then she escaped to an orphanage. Unfortunately she just jumped from the cooking pot into the flames. He’d known and seen that happen many times.

  He sighed, feeling more tired than he’d ever been. They passed the sign for Silversgrove. What had been fields and crops was now suburbia housing. Silversgrove had grown from it’s Adelaide Hills base and spread down the foot of the range. On it stretched, blending into the neighbouring suburbs and cities. Adelaide was one long gash down the coast, a cutting of life in the dry harsh land. The farming had since moved to the backsides of the range or north and south of the city. The crops stretched further and wider than the city itself now. The building where his sister had been found had been destroyed. Now it was a wheat crop. An old power utility shed was there now, if he remembered correctly? He still remembered taking his parents out there fifteen years after Sarah’s death, his mother screaming all the same.

  His stop came and he descended, feeling depressed that he hadn’t received a call. In a way let down. He even stood in the phone booth at his stop for another twenty minutes. Hand hovering over the receiver. His nerves on edge. Waiting.

  But nothing came and he resigned himself to his walk. He was home ten minutes later. The smell of food wafting through their screen door and into the street. It had been a warm day despite the recent rains. It was humid and uncomfortable. Autumn slow in it’s coming.
He was sweating when he took his coat off.

  He came into the kitchen and saw the girls sitting around the table. Eve serving. The girls said their hellos and Rachel came from her chair to hug him. He hugged her back. Ever since his secret had been said by the caller, he couldn’t stop picturing it. He couldn’t help but see his sister in his daughter. The same features, the way even her hair shaped her face. He’d been tying it up into a knot ever since, but Eve hated it. It stretches her features, she said. Can’t have both girls with short hair. Charlie kissed Eve on the cheek and they sat for dinner.

  The girls told him about their days, Rachel at school, learning addition and multiplication. Would he help her read tonight too? Harper smiling fiercely. She’d painted with Mummy today. They had to seriously consider the offer from the specialist school in the city, Eve had reminded him last. The invitation was getting on, and it had been a month or two since Rachel’s school said they couldn’t help anymore. They didn’t have the facilities, but they could refer them. Eve hated it. Found it embarrassing, like they couldn’t organise it themselves, but Charlie said that wasn’t how it went. Everything was referrals nowadays. Even he’d known that. But they couldn’t keep her out of school forever, Eve couldn’t look after her forever. She too wanted to get a job outside of their home.

  Daddy, Rachel began. A boy at school today sayed you found a body.

  Charlie and Eve’s eyes met, both swallowing silence and hoping for words. They’d agreed to not discuss the murders with the children, they were too young, wouldn’t understand, but here it was staring them in the face.

  Who said it? Eve asked.

  Billy Cummings, Rachel said. But he sayed Daddy found a body in water. In this city. There’s a lot of bodies around he also said.

  Death is a part of life, honey, Charlie said. Remember Reggie our guinea pig? Rachel nodded. Well in the same as it was his time, sometimes it’s peoples time to go too. But I don’t know anything about what Billy said.

  But he sayed there’s a lot of bodies! That there’s killer on the loose.

  Eve’s jaw set, pulsing. He knew she’d be on the phone to the school first thing, speaking with the Principal when she dropped Rachel off.

  I wouldn’t necessarily listen to Billy, honey, Charlie said. He’s probably heard things and misunderstood them. Children often add to stories too.

  But he says he’s not lying, Rachel protested. She was getting frustrated, Charlie could see it. They weren’t understanding her. But it was not an option to understand her. Billy sayed, that his dad sayed, that it was you, she said. He said to Billy, don’t you go to school with that Gardner girl? Why, I am the Gardner girl I thought—

  I think we should change subject, Eve said. I’m not enjoying this.

  But Billy says Dad is not only finding bodies, that he’s—

  Drop it, Rachel, Eve said. That’s enough. You haven’t eaten your greens anyway.

  But—

  No buts! Eve snapped. Eat.

  Rachel’s bottom lip was quivering, tears gathering at her eyes. Charlie knew she wouldn’t run from the table, but she would sit there and cry and eat. Charlie stared at Eve, she’d gone too far. But her eyes fired back, she didn’t care, and he’d not handled it. Charlie put a hand on Rachel’s shoulder. Harper’s arm flailing back and forth, she not liking loud arguments. Then both arms waving. She needed to go to the toilet now. Eve excused herself, taking their daughter away. Charlie sat with Rachel.

  It’s alright.

  I was just asking a question, she said.

  I know you were. Mum’s just had a stressful day.

  But I had a stressful day too.

  Charlie smiled at his daughter, hugged her. Life can sometimes be stressful, and even more confusing, he said. Sometimes people just say and do things to people around them. We can only control ourselves, not other people. But some people try to control others. Rachel was nodding, but he knew she couldn’t follow him. Is Billy your friend? Do you both get on? Rachel shook her head. Maybe he was just saying things to hurt your feelings? Did you tell the teacher?

  Rachel shook her head. No, but I, she paused. I don’t understand though. Did you find a body?

  I work at the newspaper honey, I unfortunately hear about these things because of the paper. Maybe that’s what he meant? Rachel shrugged, he guessed she had figured out she wouldn’t get a real answer.

  Eve and Harper returned. All good? he asked.

  All good, Eve answered. Harper echoed her mother’s response. Eve parked her back at the table, this time Charlie shuffled his chair over to her and began feeding. Small spoonfuls. Her arm waving in happiness. Head jittering about as she fed. Eve watched the whole time. Watched him. Watched his movements. He couldn’t help but remember the conversation from Sunday morning. Him rocking up home again soaked through. With water this time, but nevertheless another body. He knew that an obsession with the past was a sign of neurosis beginning, that it could lead to depression, but her movements and actions made him realise he’d never really been forgiven. All these years. He’d been so focused on getting his life back on track, that he’d missed the course of all their lives. He was searching for redemption in the eyes of the world for himself, but he’d never thought it would have to be from Eve as well. He couldn’t help but watch his memories and past, knowing how much they changed, but also knowing that he had to. That’s also what brought the paranoids together, they had to do what they did. They had to be paranoid. If they didn’t, then they’d get caught.

  Eve had slept the night on the couch. A bottle of wine opened and finished on the coffee table. The tv still running. He put a quilt over her and then sat down himself. Fell asleep. She woke him up a few hours later, asking him why the chair was drenched. He told her what had happened.

  Bloody hell Charlie, she said. But it wasn’t sympathy in her voice, something else. You’re certainly at the centre of things since you got this job. Is it part of the skillset?

  Charlie rubbed sleep from his eyes, but still felt the heavy lids weighing on him. No, he smirked. I was headed to the city, after everything. I saw her in the light. Eve nodded, but that was when he’d noticed it. The doubt in her eyes. The passing of certain thoughts over her face.

  She licked her lips, becoming nervous. You’re, you’re not having episodes again are you? You’re not hallucinating?

  You’re kidding me? Charlie asked. You’re not really asking this, are you?

  Charlie. I just can’t—

  Is this cause of the party? Cause of you walking around on the arm of that bloody dickhead and listening to all his friends? Your struggle?

  No, Charlie it’s not like that. It’s just you remember last time, don’t you? There wasn’t just the Jesse Mullins thing. There were those other, small instances too.

  Charlie said nothing. He turned away from her, trying to suppress the rage and watch the tv. But he knew below the rage, below the bellowing anger that was contained in his chest, was cold fear. What if it was true? What if he was having episodes again? He’d spent the night arguing otherwise, but—

  No, he said. No. Definitely not. It’s just all a coincidence. I saved a woman’s life, for fuck’s sake Eve. You think I hallucinated that? I found a body by accident, people do that all the time. Well you know what I mean. But, he lost his words. No, he said again. It couldn’t be happening, he thought. Not again. But the doubt of his own wife had sowed a fear within him. A fear that would grip him and make him paranoid. He knew it. He knew himself and how he was. Better than anyone knew him. It was why he’d become a psychiatrist. The drugs.

  Eve nodded finally, stood up and came over to him, offered her hand. Peace. Come on, she said. Let’s get you out of those clothes and clean ourselves up. My parents will be bringing the girls in a couple of hours. She lead him from the living room and to the bathroom. They undressed and shared a shower. She coming to him, showing that she was not afraid to touch or be with him. But he couldn’t shake the thought from his mind, was s
he trembling because of his touch? Or because of him? It plagued him.

  . . .

  Charlie finished shaving and placed the razor down on the sink edge. Wiped his face with the towel and stared at himself in the mirror. He wasn’t crazy. He wasn’t. He was having crazy things happen to him, but he wasn’t crazy. He’d prescribed an extra dose of Clozapine to Jesse Mullins and taken it for himself. He knew what to look for, the signs of distress or delusions. He’d already been having them. But they’d settled with the drug. His dopamine was back up and he was happy. More importantly, the hallucinations had stopped. Well, stopped at the important times. He didn’t mind the car rides with Sarah.

  Harper charged past on her crutches. Eve screaming. He ducked out and caught her, she began giggling. He tickled her and she screamed. They laughed and he turned to see Eve puffing in the doorway.

  She’s not eating her breakfast again, she said. Can you?

  Sure, he said. I’ll just finish up in the bathroom then I’ll be out. Come on little one, he said to Harper. You can help me. Her smile was beautiful, just like her mother’s. Full and bright. Then she ran off. Eve after her.

  Charlie went back, continued shaving. Ignored the fact that his sister was sitting on the edge of the bathtub watching him shave.

  You know what day it is? she asked.

  Yeah I know, he replied.