by Colin Davy
“Looks?”
“If she was killed by fentanyl citrate, then who gave it to her?” she asked. “That’s the question. It would have to be someone very close, someone completely in her confidence.”
“Not necessarily,” he said. “But it would be someone Debbie trusted.” He paused for a second. “It could have been you.”
“I loved Deborah,” she said. “Wholly and truly. Her sister, by comparison, merely put up with her until her patience broke.”
“You seem to know a lot about how Maria thinks. Where did you get this information?”
“I now the type, I’ve seen it before.” She frowned at his expression. “You fool,” she said. “Your Goldilocks girl isn’t as pure as you think. She and her sister were never the perfect partnership she liked to pretend.”
”So you say.” She was not only making bricks without straw, she was trying to build an entire edifice with them. But he had to admit she was well-informed. “How did you know about the drug?” he asked.
She looked confused.
“The drug found in Debbie.”
“The police,” she said. “I’m her partner, they told me as much as they told Maria, and I’ve as much right to know as you do.”
Probably so, he thought.
“Deborah would be easy to fool,” she continued. “She would know little of the dangers of fentanyl citrate. To her, it would just be another recreational drug to play games with.”
“And you know all about it?” he asked.
“I’ve seen the damage it can do …”
He waited for her to go on, but she changed the subject. “It’s the grinding poverty,” she said. “You trust no one but yourself and your closest, and if your own family betrays your trust, the response is exaggerated. It’s fear that drives Maria, Gary. Pure, gut-wrenching fear.”
“On that basis, you assume she’s a drug czar too.”
“Maria knows more than she admits about drugs,” she said. “It’s her guilty secret, and who knows how many more guilty secrets she harbours behind that façade of innocence.”
“Gail,” he said softly. “You don’t realise how hysterical you sound. I understand you’re upset about Debbie’s death, but you have to face facts. We’re waiting for facts and they’re in short supply so far. If the evidence points to accidental death, you’ll look even sillier than you do now.”
She cut off her angry response but her jaw clenched. “If the police go with accidental death,” she said angrily. “They won’t concentrate on who gave her the drug. And neither will you. This might be guesswork, but I see it in your eyes. You’ve become Maria’s puppet and you don’t even know it. Men are such fools.”
“So you’ve already said.” This conversation was going nowhere, he decided. “I think I’d better go,” he said softly. “We’ll agree to differ.” Why had he bothered arguing with a woman who verged on demented?
Her eyes narrowed. “I should have known better than to trust a man,” she said. “But you’ll suffer for this.”
Ignoring the silly threat, he rose to his feet and headed for the door.
“Go on,” she called. “Follow your puppet master’s instructions, you’ve a shock coming.”
Turning his head, he saw her glowering at him. Not a very successful morning, nought out of two so far. If this was detective work, he needed to stick to the day job.
Sitting in his car, he went over the conversation with Gail again, searching for any plus points. He could see few. She’d brought him home to her flat only to rant and to poison his mind against Maria. He was convinced her emotions were genuine, and she’d surprised him with the accuracy of her forecasts about Maria. A puppet acting on her behalf? That hurt a little.
At least, he’d been consistent, he’d aroused real hatred in both the people he’d interrogated today, with little information forthcoming. Yet a nagging question remained. Why was Gail so insistent on convincing him? Could she, despite her protestations, fear Maria’s ability to predict the future. If so, Gai’s determination to head him off had some twisted logic.
Returning to his flat a chastened man, he found to his surprise that Maria took his summary of the morning calmly. Instead of the anger he expected - despite moderating Gail’s more fiery outbursts - she seemed apologetic.
“She must be suffering too,” she said. “I should have understood her pain, not condemned it. I’m a sinner too.” She shook her head. “I’ve been selfish, only thinking of myself.” When she looked up, he saw a dampness in her eyes. “Why did you go to see her?” she asked suddenly.
“She was there when I came out of Raif’s place. She admitted to following me.”
“She followed you?”
“Yes,” he said. “Then she virtually me ordered back to her flat for a monologue of misery.”
“The poor thing,”
“She hates you.”
She flinched but moved away to stare out the French windows. “Perhaps I deserved some of it,” she said softly.
“Not all of it.”
She gave a tight smile. “But some of it?”
“Sorry,” he said. “I phrased that badly. She’s a very angry lady.”
She nodded. “I can understand her being a little upset.”
“A little?” He shook his head. “You weren’t there.”
“Was anyone else?”
“No.”
“Then perhaps it was unwise for you to be there.”
He frowned. “Why?”
“She’s hurting,” she said. “And your indifference will make things worse. She can be a determined woman.”
“And?”
Her sigh was heartfelt. “I don’t know. We don’t know what she’ll do.”
He experimented with a smile and it seemed to succeed. “I’ll be alright,” he said. “It’s you she’s after.”
“Why?” she asked and gave a brief frown. “Why would she be?”
“She thinks you’re a puppet-master,” he said, and although he smiled to soften the words, her eyes hardened.
“Do you think that too?” she asked.
“Well …”
“Come on, Gary,” she said. “Explain yourself.”
He hesitated.
“Spit it out,” she said.
“I sometimes feel I’m losing control of my life,” he said. “I feel I’m a puppet with several puppet-masters.”
“No,” she said. “There’s only one puppet-master pulling the strings.”
“You?”
She laughed lightly. “No,” she said. “I’m letting God do that.”
He sighed inwardly. “That’s very good of you,” he said. “But does God know about this?”
“I’m sure he does. We all move to his dictates, if we’re lucky enough to see them. Being ignored means death, Gary, real death.”
“You’re such a comfort.”
Her lips tightened. “You’ll see in time, Gary, and it’s easier to submit than to fight. You should be grateful.”
“Hmm …”
“You should,” she said. “You’re made a good start, and you took a brave decision last night, I’m proud of you.”
Said like an indulgent mother to a young child, and he wondered if that attitude explained some of the friction between the sisters. With only minutes between their births, Maria’s assumption of seniority must have grated on Debbie. Maria didn’t realise what she doing. Her sister’s unconventional life-style would have increased Maria’s agitation. Easy for both Debbie and Gail to interpret it as control-freakery.
Talking of control freakery, Maria had got her own way last night, and he still couldn’t understand how. What began as a generous sacrifice on his part had become a step too far for him. But it would be tricky now to row back. Saying ‘I’ve changed my mind, Maria, I fancy a fuck more than I fancy pandering to you’ wasn’t going to be a successful strategy
He’d woken this morning with an artificial sense of self-sacrifice allied to a real sense of frust
ration and discomfort. The erotic dream had come again, more intense than ever. When the dream-Maria had presented her pubes, he’d seen a definite mocking expression on her face. He shivered now at the memory.
Although that settee wasn’t ideal for a peaceful night’s sleep, he’d slept soundly after his dream. Waking to face facts, he realised what he’d done. He did fancy her, despite all the baggage she brought with her. She probably knew the answer before she’d offered him the choice. Another triumph for her predictive powers, and sadly, more lonely nights on the settee beckoned.
“You’ll see it was worth it,” she whispered. “A pleasure rushed into is a pleasure foregone.”
No, he thought, a pleasure foregone is a pleasure lost.
“I’ve good news for you,” she said.
“Oh?”
“I’ve seen the will.”
Bugger, he thought, Gail had been right again, and that worried him. “What does it say?”
“The money comes to us,” she said.
“To you, I think you mean.”
“That’s the same thing,” she said. “Debs wasn’t serious about her new friend. It’s a pity the girl didn’t realise that. Then, she wouldn’t have become carried away. There’s a small bequest to the Church which I think they need, but basically the bulk is ours. That’s wonderful, isn’t it?”
“I suppose so.”
She frowned at his lack of enthusiasm. “Oh, I nearly forgot. We have a meeting with the police on Monday to formally update us on any progress.”
“We have? Are there any developments?”
She shook her head. “I don’t think so.” She didn’t seem that interested anymore.
He nodded, but his mind was elsewhere. Gail had been too accurate for his peace of mind, and that worried him more than Maria’s sudden enthusiasm for the will contents.
Chapter Seventeen
“I can’t leave your flat,” she said. “Even if I wanted to.”
He looked at Maria in surprise. They were on route to Southport for the Sunday communion and her comment came out of the blue. A brief conversation about picking up more clothing from her flat after the church meeting had suddenly veered off-course. “I don’t want to anyway,” she added.
The morning had dawned hot and humid again, but with his car’s air-conditioning kicking in, he felt insulated and relaxed. “That’s good,” he said instinctively, and he realised he‘d not considered she might leave. Arriving with the force of a typhoon, she’d disrupted and turned his life upside-down. Although it had been a shock, he’d adjusted to the changes and was on the verge of accepting them. Once used to it, he generally coped very well with the ensuing inertia. “Why can’t you leave?” he asked.
“I need to protect you,” she said quickly.
“You’re protecting me?”
“I have to,” she said. “I failed to protect Debs and look what happened?”
He smiled. “I’ve no intention of taking opiates, or weed. But alcohol … now that’s a different matter.”
“Take this seriously, please, Gary. I see dark shadows haunting the docks.”
“We could do with some rain,” he said. “Might break the humidity.”
“Gary!”
He sighed. “What do you see in the future, Maria?” He very nearly called her Maz, the familiarity seeming natural, but he remembered it was Debbie’s special name for her sister. Although he and Maria might be living like brother and sister, there were limits. Still, she’d allowed some degree of physical intimacy recently and he was hoping to build on that, even if he still kicked himself for his light-headed declaration the other night. The erotic dream hadn’t come last night, but he’d dreamt of something else that hovered on the edge of recall, and he’d woken with an intense feeling of regret about his chivalry. He couldn’t believe he’d been so barmy.
“Today is crucial,” she said. “I see turmoil and violence.”
“No bright spots?”
She leaned back in the seat. “Things are coming to a head,” she said. “Perhaps the worst will soon be over?” He felt her hand caress his bicep and move up to his shoulder.
“Is that why you hung the crucifix on my rear-view mirror?” he asked. It dangled just above his eyeline, but the novelty of it drew his eyes constantly. When the sunlight caught it at a certain angle, it almost blinded him.
“It can’t do any harm,” she said.
“I suppose not.” That eliminated any chance of removing it, he decided, she’d be mortally offended.
“Did you sleep well?” he asked. She looked paler than usual, and her eyes had lost some of their usual shine.
“I had a dream,” she said. “A strange one.”
“Did it involve underwater groping?”
She frowned and looked puzzled. “No, why do you ask?”
“No reason.”
Looking away, she seemed engrossed in her own thoughts, twisting a lock of hair around her finger.
“Are you going to tell me about it?” he asked. Gradually, bit by bit, he was beginning to understand her. When she mentioned a subject and dropped it, she was waiting for him to continue.
“I dreamt we slept together,” she said. “When I woke, the bed felt so empty.”
About bloody time, he thought, but he had to proceed cautiously. “Perhaps your subconscious is revealing your true wishes?” He hoped his tone was light enough.
She gave a quick smile. “Don’t get ahead of yourself,” she said, and her smile rapidly faded. “I know this solo bed arrangement can’t last much longer.” Reaching out, she fluttered her fingers over the back of his hand. “Please bear with me.” When her eyes caught his, he hoped he understood the unspoken promise.
He felt last night’s forgotten dream slowly return to his memory. He was part of a scientific experiment - an elaborate psychological experiment. An enigmatic girl appears with a fascinating back-story. They are thrust together by bizarre circumstances, and the scientists sit back to observe the results.
He must have woken then, because the dream disappeared, but it was spookily close to real life. The girl beside him believed all was ordained, even if he thought their initial bond was a product of sympathy and curiosity on his part. One cemented by the horrific death of her sister.
But by playing the part of a chivalrous knight from the middle ages, he’d ensured the celibate relationship continued. A relationship he found difficult to move on from, remaining trapped by the allure of her sensuality. Pure lust in other words.
Had he had any real choice? The girl was grieving for her lost sister and would be for some time. Pressing her for sex would have made him as twattish as her former fiancé. Being totally cynical, at the back of his mind lurked a suspicion this was always an offer he couldn’t accept. Not in these circumstances. Maybe her predictive powers were common sense, rather than miraculous.
The good-luck crucifix caught his eye again and the Christ figure seemed to stare at him in bafflement. You and me both, he thought.
Perhaps a more realistic scenario for their relationship would be that of an angler casting a baited hook near a passing fish, where he was the fish, and Maria the bait. Although the fish is well-fed, suspicious and inclined to pass by, curiosity made him pause. Yes, he thought, that was a better description.
At first sight, she’d looked an averagely pretty girl with a peculiar back-story that made him hesitate to pass by. An angler often increases the lure’s attractiveness by tweaking it a little to encourage the fish to pursue. If the fish is daft enough and greedy enough, it will virtually hook itself. Well done, Gary Maddison, he thought, you were daft enough, and to be fair, sex is a powerful lure. But even worse, he wasn’t fighting the hook any longer.
Hmm … he’d constructed an elaborate analogy, but it felt true to life. Who was the angler then? Glancing back at the crucifix, a shiver ran down his spine. He could guess what Maria would say.
“Are you alright?” she asked.
He roused from t
he daydream. “I’m fine,” he said. “But I’ll turn off the air-conditioning.”
They said nothing further until they reached the outskirts of Southport. “Will Gail be there?” he asked.
“I don’t see why not,” she said. “Keith has promised to give a eulogy and make today a memorial mass for Debbie. Gail’s grieving for her too and I hope she finds the peace I’m gradually feeling.”
“An early funeral, so to speak?”
She nodded.
That explained her clothing today, he supposed. her black shirt and dark skirt over-emphasised her pale skin, and the silver crucifix she wore almost disappeared under the high neck.
Arriving at the barn, they left the car and found Keith waiting outside. “You’re very welcome, Maria,” he said, pulling her into an embrace. Over her shoulder, he stared intently at Gary and frowned. “Is your friend still living with you?” he whispered, just loud enough for him to hear.
“We’re a couple,” she said loudly.
Keith’s lips tightened, but he said nothing else, leaving them to make their own way in. Entering the barn from the bright sunshine, Gary peered through the gloom and saw Gail immediately. Today, she wore suitably dark and dowdy clothing, but she looked away quickly. Probably for the best, he didn’t want an argument, not in public. Raif however, gave a wide smile of recognition, making a circle with his index finger and thumb; they were back to being best buddies, it seemed.
After taking their seats in a reserved section, Gary noticed one or two looks of disapproval. “Are we supposed to be here,” he asked Maria.
“Of course,” she said. “The communion’s being held in honour of Debbie.”
“Why are we getting dirty looks?”
“I’ve no idea.”
Glancing round again, most people looked away, but the atmosphere was strange. Was he imagining it? They were a tight-knit community and might naturally close ranks against outsiders. Perhaps it’s a natural embarrassment, with the congregation finding themselves unsure how to sympathise after a drug-related death? Did they disapprove of co-habitation, even if he wasn’t reaping any sexual benefits? When he suggested this to Maria, she gave a tight smile. “They’re not that prim,” she said. “But you’re right, they are acting oddly.”