Deep Water

by Mark Ayre

  In Alice's face, as she spoke, Abbie, at last, saw a woman she believed could perform acts worthy of a twelve-year prison sentence and who had murdered her first husband. Abbie said nothing. More often than not responding to accusations, even to deny, only made a person sound guilty, even if they were not. Abbie waited for a direct question. Got it after almost a minute.

  "Did Louis send you?"

  "No."

  Alice watched her, and Abbie didn't look away. Let the woman search for signs of dishonesty. Her son had done the same.

  "Good," said Alice. "But no point sticking around anyway. I'm not worth it. Find some pretty young damsel and leave the old crone to her fate."

  "You're not old," said Abbie.

  "You said OAP."

  "That sounded good. I didn't mean it."

  "I should hope not."

  After a while, Abbie said, "Why do you expect to die tonight?" She wasn't sure if Alice would answer. After all, Abbie had implied prophetic dreams led her to the coast. If Alice believed this a joke, why would she open up?

  But after only a few seconds, Alice said, "I expect Louis to kill me."

  "Why?"

  "Because that's all that's left."

  Hands still restless, Alice looked to the bar. She wanted a drink. Abbie wouldn't have judged, though it was not long gone sunrise. But the nearly-birthday girl refrained.

  "My third husband and I were arms dealers. Ship the guns in, ship the guns out. We were good at it—the perfect team. Until the muppet got pissed and drowned a hundred feet from our home. Suddenly, I had two daughters, five and thirteen, who'd lost their father. The younger wouldn't stop crying; the older went off the rails. I had a broken heart and a police investigation to contend with. I lost the plot, started taking stupid risks. I was acquitted of my husband's murder but, a year after my youngest two kids lost their father, their idiot mother got herself—and their oldest half-brother—arrested for arms dealing. Because of a sexist system, Adam, my son, remains locked up while I walk free, but that's another gripe. We're talking about Louis."

  It seemed like they were taking a roundabout way to find how this linked to Louis, but Abbie was happy to let the story play out. She said nothing. Waited for Alice to go on.

  "You know how some crooks go into prison," Alice said, "and find God, and it changes them?”

  "Yeah," said Abbie. She tried to keep any scepticism from her voice. Alice didn't notice.

  "Well, something like that happened to me. Except, instead of God, I found education."

  This was an eyebrow-raiser.

  "I know how it sounds," said Alice. "But you have to understand, from when I was thirteen years old, the man who would become my first husband deprived me of an education. At seventeen, he got me pregnant. On my eighteenth birthday, he forced me to marry him. By the time I escaped him and the murder trial that followed, I was nineteen with a one-year-old and a newborn to take care of. By the time I married Tony's father and was granted the time for an education, I no longer saw the point. I could read and write. I had a natural intelligence and wit that served me well. Why did I need school?"

  This was a rhetorical question, so Abbie didn't answer. A new sound in the sky caught her attention as Alice paused. The seagulls had awoken. Above the talking women's heads, the birds circled, squawked and searched for breakfast.

  "When I went to prison," Alice continued. "Studying was one of the few activities available to me. I picked up a book, just wanting something to pass the time. Within minutes, I was hooked. In the pursuit of knowledge, of learning for learning's sake, I found a passion that eclipsed anything I had before experienced. I raced through the syllabuses, starting at the school level I'd left all those years ago when my first husband tore into my life. By the time they paroled me, I had a first-class degree in politics and economics and another in philosophy. On top of that, I added a masters degree, and I'm hoping to start my doctorate in the next few months."

  She paused—a wistful smile playing across her lips.

  “Was hoping, that is. Before Aurora."

  Alice looked to the sea. Again, Abbie could not prevent her hand from dropping to her drawstring bag, from feeling The Stand. What might Violet have achieved if her life hadn't cruelly been ripped from her? What would Abbie's life be like? It didn't bear thinking about. It hurt too much.

  "Why is this relevant?" said Alice, voicing what should have been Abbie's question. "Because my thirst for knowledge fundamentally changed me. By the time Morris died, we’d accrued enough money that neither my children nor I would ever need to work again. I had no need to continue gun-running. I did it because it was all I had to distract me from the grief and boredom that had become my constant companions. All that changed during my years in prison. Studying is my passion now, and not only that. Once I opened my mind to learning, I couldn't close it again. When the books weren't in my hands, when I wasn't researching on the internet, I was thinking about the result of my illegal activities. What were the guns I sold being used for? I know that sounds stupid. I had always known, but I never dwelled. Now I was dwelling—all those lives lost—and I couldn't stand another day of it."

  "You closed the business?" said Abbie.

  Alice nodded. "The second I got home. Cancelled all contracts, told our clients and our suppliers we were no longer operational. It was as simple as that."

  "Nothing's ever as simple as the proverbial that," said Abbie.

  Alice smiled. Looked over the sea.

  "Ain't that the truth? My eldest daughter disagreed vehemently with my decision. Luckily, in this family, my word is law. My problem was my stock holding—numerous weapon caches across the city. Hundreds of thousands of pounds worth of guns all told, and me with no need of the money and a sudden moral inability to sell them on as planned. It was a puzzle, alright."

  A puzzle. An excellent term that summed up Abbie's situation, too. She was used to saving people who turned out not to be as kind and honest as they had portrayed themselves. After all, everyone lies; we all have skeletons in our closets. A reformed criminal, indirectly responsible for the deaths of an unknown number of innocents, Alice was unique. The question was, was it right to save the life of a woman who had caused such pain and damage through her business, even if that woman now regretted her past decisions?

  Already knowing which side she was coming down on and not entirely comfortable with it, Abbie forestalled further contemplation of the issue with another question.

  "I guess this is where Louis comes in?"

  "That's right. Louis is a crook, but small time. Drug dealing, protection rackets, armed robbery, all within a few miles of this seaside town. But, like many business people who have tapped out the local market, he dreams of expansion."

  Upstairs someone moved. Abbie wondered briefly if Tony was in his room, pacing, waiting to be recalled to the party, then refocused on Alice.

  "When he found out I was shutting up shop, Louis approached me with an offer to buy my remaining inventory. He believed my guns were his route to elevating his operation to the next level. When I turned him down, he wasn't happy, but he put on a smile and said he respected my decision and would leave me alone. A few days later, he returned with a larger offer."

  Alice shook her head at the memory.

  “Desire can make men so dense, can't it? It took five offers before I managed to get it through Louis' thick skull that money was not the issue. That he would never get the guns. After that conversation, he came closer than ever to losing his temper but, in the end, he once more forced a smile. I've no doubt when he left this house, he had already decided to rob me. How do you think that went?"

  "For him?" said Abbie. "I'm guessing not well."

  "I don't know if you're trying to flatter me or you believe it. Either way, you're right."

  "What happened?"

  "Louis only knew the location of two of my lockups. It was a simple matter of relocating those guns. My plan was that Louis’ men would find the locku
ps empty, and the boss would have to give up.” Alice sighed. “Have you heard what they say happens when man plans?"

  "God laughs," said Abbie.

  “Yeah, well, it turns out that’s also true for women. God must have been chuckling when Louis picked his idiot brother, Niall, to lead the team that would rob me and rolling on the floor in hysterics when the police showed up, announcing via loudspeaker they had the crew surrounded."

  By now, bitter disgust was written into Alice’s features. Abbie examined the situation. Came to a conclusion.

  "Niall died?"

  "Why do you suggest that, rather than arrested?"

  "We know where this is leading," said Abbie. She didn't have to mention Aurora. "If the cops had arrested Niall, they would have found him breaking into an empty lockup. Even if he was armed, which I'm guessing he was, a good lawyer would have got him off, or at worst seen him do a few months inside. Not enough to prod Louis into retaliation. More likely, Niall hadn't yet got into the lockup. Afraid to be caught with a huge quantity of illegal weapons, he might have panicked. If he panicked, he might have tried to shoot his way out of there, and if he tried to shoot his way out of there and found himself surrounded by armed police, they would have shot right back."

  Impressed, Alice nodded.

  "That's exactly what happened. Niall tried to shoot his way out, and the cops killed him. No other lives were lost. Niall’s team gave themselves up quick sharp when they saw their leader go down with a bullet in his heart.”

  “Did Louis love his brother?” asked Abbie.

  “They were forever arguing,” said Alice. “But they were joined at the hip. Louis treated him like a third son. Loved him to bits.”

  "And blamed you for his demise,” said Abbie.

  “Thinks I called the cops,” said Alice. “Which I didn't. Conveniently, he forgot his brother would be alive if he hadn’t tried to rob me. Grief is stronger than logic, don't you find?"

  "Time and again."

  The bitter look had only grown stronger. Alice was staring at the ocean; the waves must have thought they disgusted her.

  “I called to give my condolences,” she said, “and he told me I’d suffer as he had suffered; feel the pain he felt. A week later, someone bashed my daughter's skull, slit her throat, and left her dead in a playground. Louis’ threat proves motive; his wealth and connections give him means. Aurora was walking home from seeing friends, alone, at night. Talk about opportunity knocks. Whether it was Louis or not, I'm certainly feeling the pain he felt. And then some."

  With a deep, pained sigh, Alice stood and walked to the window. Pressing her forehead to the glass, she closed her eyes, and a tear rolled down her cheek.

  "My children demanded swift and decisive action. As far as they were concerned, every second Louis lived was an insult to Aurora's memory. So they pushed, and I told them, again and again, I would not act at the height of my grief, nor without confirmation of Louis’ guilt."

  Standing, Abbie moved to Alice's side at the window. At last, they had reached the answer to the question that sparked this story.

  "You're no longer at the height of your grief," said Abbie. "You plan to meet Louis tonight, demand a confession. I assume you’ve agreed to meet alone, but you doubt he’ll keep his word."

  "Correct," said Alice. "You're a clever girl. Did I mention you and my second son would make the perfect couple?"

  "You did. Where are you planning to meet Louis?"

  Alice shook her head. “You’re right, I don’t expect him to keep his word about meeting alone, but I intend to keep mine."

  "To what end?"

  "To the end that I'm tired and miserable. The loss of my miracle child eats at my soul, and every day renders me weaker and weaker. Soon, I’ll no longer have the strength to carry on. Before that day, I want Louis to confess to his crimes, to my face, and to put a bullet in his head or a knife in his throat. That can only happen if we meet."

  "And once you've shot him, his hidden colleagues will reveal themselves," said Abbie, "and kill you?”

  "Yes, and that's okay. That's fine. Didn't I tell you trying to save me was a waste of time?"

  “You did,” said Abbie, “but I’m rubbish at heeding sound advice.

  Alice smiled but didn’t respond. Staring through the window, out to sea, Abbie sought the words that might convince Alice to let her help. Funny that, as Alice claimed she wanted to die, Abbie had decided the matriarch was worth saving. Regardless of all the older woman had done, Abbie couldn't face seeing Alice’s final moments in her dreams night after night. The punishment for failing those her dreams showed her.

  "Alice," she said at last, at the same time as someone entered the room.

  Turning away from Abbie, Alice clocked the entrant and gasped.

  "Darling, what happened?"

  At the gasp, Abbie had turned. As Alice spoke, Abbie met the newcomer's eye.

  Alice's second youngest daughter raised her hand. Pointed at Abbie.

  "What the fuck is she doing here?"

  Standing in the doorway, red marks around her throat and fury in her eyes, was Ana.

  Ten

  For years, Abbie had been gate-crashing the lives of strangers, knowing she had less than two days to save them from a demise they would almost certainly not believe was so close at hand. The primary objective was also the most difficult to achieve: winning the stranger's trust in hours, if not minutes. Beyond this were myriad roadblocks and challenges presenting varying degrees of difficulty. A recurring theme in Abbie's mission was a person or event arriving like a spanner in the works of any trust built with the potential victim she had come to save, as though time did not appreciate Abbie foreseeing and trying to circumvent what it had planned to bring to pass.

  Today's spanner was Ana.

  With such roadblocks, when trust hard built was on the line, Abbie had learned quick decision making was vital. Indecision fatal.

  From the moment Ana said, "What the fuck is she doing here?" Abbie knew she had seconds to decide how to deal with this new problem.

  Alice looked from her daughter to Abbie and back. Lifting a hand, she touched Ana's shoulder, squeezed. Ana never took her eyes off Abbie.

  If Abbie was going to lie, she had to decide what that lie would be and now. In two or three seconds, she had to cover all angles and ensure she could be utterly convincing when the inevitable questions came her way.

  "Do you know this woman?" Alice asked Ana. She was staring at her daughter, who would still not look away from Abbie.

  Abbie was a proficient liar. Practise makes perfect, after all. Another of her skills involved knowing when any lie, no matter how well crafted and told, would do more damage than the truth. Ana's voice rasped; the marks on her neck indicated someone had throttled her. Abbie could not see the back of the vile woman's head but anticipated a gash where Abbie had smashed her against the wall.

  Alice pressed. "Ana—"

  Lying was not the answer.

  "—how do you know this woman?”

  When Abbie had mentioned to Tony her meeting with Ana, he was surprised only that she had not tried to rape the younger of Louis' two sons. He knew she was cruel, twisted. Was so disgusted by her, he could not bring himself to confess to Abbie that she was his sister. Had been content to let Abbie believe Ana was an acquaintance.

  At last, Ana looked at her mother.

  Just because Tony knew what Ana was like, didn't mean her mother would.

  "This bitch—"

  But Alice was switched on. Had spoken to Abbie about how the older of Morris' daughters, Ana, had gone off the rails after his death.

  "—standing in our house—"

  Nine years in prison meant Alice had missed much of Ana's development. Abbie still believed, since her release, Alice would have noticed what her daughter had become.

  "—tried to kill me."

  Honesty was worth the risk.

  "Took me by the throat and held a knife to my face. Woul
d have killed me but my friends arrived. She smashed me against the wall and ran when they tried to stop her. Look."

  Ana turned. Even from across the room, Abbie could see the gash along the back of her head. Dried blood matted what had been perfect hair.

  Alice examined the scar. Took a deep breath. When she turned to Abbie, her face was as serious as stone. Everything hinged on what the matriarch said next.

  "I think you have some explaining to do."

  Ana's eyes narrowed. It took a lot for Abbie to resist breathing a sigh of relief. She was far from out of the woods, but Alice's words, even couched in potential anger, indicated Abbie would get the chance to say her piece. This further supported Abbie's belief that honesty was, in this case, the best policy.

  "Forget explaining," said Ana. "This bitch tried to kill me. Mum, deal with her."

  Alice turned to her daughter. Ana had less experience than Abbie dealing with such fraught situations. She believed her comments would play on her mother's maternal instincts, convince Alice to stop asking questions and get on with avenging this attack against her youngest living child. Ana failed to see her words invited suspicion and simplified Abbie's job.

  Abbie said nothing. She had remained by the window as Alice went to her daughter and didn't move now, nor would she speak unless invited to by Alice. It was a risk, and she was betting a lot on it.

  "Darling daughter," Alice said. "You know I love my children more than life itself. If Abbie has wronged you, there will be retribution. But how can I know what level of retribution is required until I know what happened?"

  "You know what happened," said Ana. "She tried to kill me. The end."

  Without realising it, Ana continued to dig. So long as she held the spade, Abbie was content to hold her tongue. The more effort Ana expended trying to conceal Abbie's story, the more likely Alice believed the truth when it came. By the window, watching, Abbie allowed her face to betray no feeling, no opinion.

  From Ana, Alice turned to Abbie. Their eyes locked. Alice's steel glare was designed to unnerve. Many strong men and women would have broken their vow of silence and begun to babble under that glare—a fatal error. Babbles are revealing not because of their content but because they are babbles. More often than not, they are indicative of a guilty conscience.