The Devil's Reflection

by Colin Davy

  “I don’t know what to think anymore,” she said softly. Today, a breeze had appeared and he felt the immediate benefit. She’d dressed in a thin top of a cream material and dark skirt that reached almost to her knees, and as the cooling draught fluttered the light curtains, she lifted her face to let it play around her throat.

  Turning to look back at him, she sighed and played with the silver crucifix. “I had a strange dream last night,” she said.

  “Oh?”

  “I dreamt you came into my bedroom and leaned over me.”

  “I’m pretty sure I didn’t,” he said. “Instead, I spent an uncomfortable night on the settee.” Her face softened. “I know,” she said. “But in my dream, you touched my face and when I turned to see who it was, you began putting lipstick on me.”

  “Was that it?” he asked. “Nothing more?”

  She shook her head so vigorously that the crucifix moved in time with her movements. “It frightened me. I wanted you to stop.”

  He frowned. “It seems harmless and a bit silly, but that’s all.”

  She stared for a moment. “Why did you do it?”

  He smiled. “Do what?”

  This time, the shake of her head was one of impatience. “I was terrified,” she said. “It means you think I’m unattractive. You were trying to make me prettier.”

  He sighed. “No, I wasn’t,” he said, and when he got up and moved nearer, she came over to put her arms around him, giving a hug that nearly took his breath away. “I think you’re very beautiful,” he said, but she didn’t relax, hugging him even tighter. She wore a dash of perfume today, something he couldn’t identify, and he realised it was the first time she’d worn any. For a moment he was tempted to move his hand over her body to reassure her, but he knew she’d resist. She was too jumpy and upset to know what she wanted, and he was too unused to her moods to read this one. “We’ll sort this out,” he whispered. “I’ve a feeling today’s going to be a day of breakthroughs.”

  She tensed and released him before stepping back. “You think so?”

  “Don’t you feel it too?” he asked, but she looked puzzled. “Don’t you believe we’ll discover the reason behind Debbie’s death today?”

  “No, I don’t,” she said. “Scott’s hiding enough already, you can’t conveniently slot him in for everything going.”

  Blunt, he thought, and probably true. Her normally lively eyes looked listless and he kissed her gently on the forehead, but when he moved his finger down her nose and felt the slight irregularity, she jerked back. “Don’t,” she said. “Please don’t, not now.” For a second, her face softened. “Perhaps when this is over.”

  “I think it will be soon over,” he said.

  “I hope so.”

  “Trust me,” he said.

  She nodded softly. “I do,” she said. “But I need to apologise to you.”

  “Oh?”

  “I was wrong about the Southport disappearances,” she said. “They are coincidental and not connected to Deb’s death. The dark shadows I sensed were here all the time, the dock is the location of this evil.”

  In the silence that followed, he felt her unease. “No need to apologise,” he said lightly. “Your premonitions are allowed to have error-bars.”

  She didn’t get the reference, but she understood the sentiment. “Please be careful with Scott,” she said. “Handle him gently.”

  He gave a tentative smile. “You sound like Sophie now.”

  The smile failed to lighten her mood. “Do you think she suspects her husband has a hidden life?” she asked.

  “Doubtful,” he said. “She’d go mental, but she might suspect something is wrong, at least.”

  “We don’t know for sure he’s deceiving her,” she said. “You have to convince him we do know. Are you sure you don’t want me to stay?”

  When she looked up expectantly, he was tempted agree with her suggestion, but something niggled at the back of his mind. “I think he’ll speak more freely with just me here,” he said.

  She nagged at her lower lip. “He might say anything,” she said.

  “I know.”

  “Make things up, even.”

  “It’s possible, but don’t worry, I’ll tell you everything.”

  She gave a reluctant nod. “I’ll get ready to go,” she said before turning away and heading for the bedroom.

  He felt guilty, it was clear she wanted to stay and listen, and after all, it was her sister who was dead. But her presence might inhibit any confession. For the first time, his own presence was vital. Yet apart from knowing Scott, why did she need him? She was bright enough to do a better job on her own, and her expertise at interrogating was definitely superior.

  It could only be confidence in her premonitions that maintained her trust in him. Despite his total incompetence, he was destined to succeed.

  He should have solved the matter by conceding defeat and admitting the task was beyond him from the start. Why hadn’t he? Pride to some extent, but he had wanted to help. Even if he’d refused, he suspected she wouldn’t take no for an answer. And she’d become part of the furniture, and he had to admit, a welcome part. Why did she still live here? For the first day or so after Debbie’s death, it made sense, but after the initial shock had worn off, returning to Southport wouldn’t be a real inconvenience. Her closest friends were there, and the Church was there.

  He might as well be honest. In the best of all possible worlds, she’d have mourned for a few days before moving into Debbie’s flat. They’d be having casual sex whenever he felt like it. A nice position for him, but there was no chance of that happening. Would he even accept her being such a doormat? Not now, but he had grown used to her being awkward, and he liked her that way.

  Or had she sensed a weakness in him, a weakness she could exploit?

  Yet, no one forced him to do this, he’d made his own bed, so he may as well lie in it. Even if it was an uncomfortable settee instead?

  When the bedroom door opened, she hurried towards him, her eyes bright, but something looked different. Make-up? Only a touch, but a hint of green around the eyes. “Maria,” he said softly. “You looked beautiful anyway …” When her face fell, he hesitated to say more. “I mean you looked beautiful before and you still do, you don’t need …”

  Shit! This was all wrong, but to his surprise, she smiled and reached up to caress his face. “I thought I’d experiment,” she said. “Don’t worry, it won’t be permanent.” If she wanted to make him feel guilty, she’d succeeded. “Enjoy yourself with Scott,” she whispered. “And tell me all about it when I come back.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “Not far, a little shopping.” She turned and headed out, pausing at the door. “If I stay out for a couple of hours, will that be long enough?”

  He suspected it might be ninety minutes too long; it certainly would be if Scott denied all knowledge of William and stormed out. “More than enough,” he said, but doubts began when there was no sign of Scott at the appointed time.

  When he finally arrived fifteen minutes late, he made no apology, bustling in when Gary opened the door and standing defiantly in the middle of the room with his hands on his hips. He wore a white shirt, unbuttoned at the neck and a pair of dark trousers - his normal school wear except for his tie. As if he was proclaiming he intended to leave as soon as possible to resume normal activities.

  “What’s this about, Gaz?” he demanded, and he began to pace.

  “Hi,” Gary said. “Sit down, Scott, and I’ll tell you.”

  He stopped immediately, but only with obvious reluctance did he sit opposite. “This had better be good,” he said.

  “It may not be good,” Gary said, “But it’s certainly interesting.” When Scott frowned and leaned forward, Gary smelled whisky on his breath. That would explain his lack of punctuality and his uncharacteristic swagger. For the first time, he felt sympathy for his friend; this was going to be a difficult conversation.

&
nbsp; “Who thumped you?“ Scott asked suddenly.

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  Scott nodded. “I expect you asked for it,” he said. “But what’s this meeting about?”

  After taking a long breath, Gary began. “I had a meeting with William yesterday,” he said. “He told me all about you.”

  “William who?” His manner had changed now, and he no longer spoke with the same confidence or bravado.

  “William,” he repeated. “The gay man who lives upstairs. He claims you were his boyfriend up to a week ago.” He paused briefly when Scott gave a loud sigh. “Is there any reason he would lie?”

  “No,” he said softly. “It’s true.” Although he sounded confident, Gay sensed his front was wafer-thin.

  “OK,” Gary said. “Thanks for confirming that, but the important issue is whether you came to his party on the night Debbie died?”

  “No,” Scott said, more firmly this time. “That’s not the important issue, Gary, the important issue is my sexuality, isn’t it?”

  “Indirectly only.”

  “Don’t give me that bollocks.” Jumping to his feet, he began pacing again. “It’s always about my sexuality.” Stopping quickly, he turned to face Gary. “I’ve lived with this since puberty, and probably before then, the curse of … the curse of bisexuality,” he said finally. “It strikes when you least expect it.” He looked expectantly at Gary, as if expecting sympathy.

  “Forgive my ignorance,” he said. “But apart from casting the net wider, how is it more of a curse than simply being gay?”

  Scott tensed. “Because it’s easier to hide,” he said. “You conform easier, and then it gets harder to come out. You keep your secret longer.”

  “Even if coming out might rid you of the demons?”

  “Don’t trivialise it, Gary?” he said. “Life’s not like that. We’re not in Kansas now, Dorothy, and I never was. Once you decide to hide your sexuality, you’re forced to carry on.”

  “Until you eventually come out?”

  “Spoken like an ignoramus,” Scott said curtly. “Yes, it would have been nice to stand up at school and say to your friends … I find men attractive.” He shook his head. “Are you so cunt-struck you can’t see that?”

  There was no point butting in, Gary decided, Scott was no longer listening.

  Glancing over, Scott shook his head in despair. “It’s only some men, Gary, you don’t need to worry.” He looked out over the calm waters of the dock. “I’m married now,” he continued. “Happily married and with my wife expecting a baby, our baby, how can I come out? I’m trapped by inclinations and I’m trapped even more by what I’ve already done with my life.” He moved nearer to stare into Gary’s face. “What will you do?” he asked, and this time, he waited for an answer.

  Gary found himself tapping his finger on the small coffee table, something he only did when he was nervous. “Your sexuality can remain your secret, Scott,” he said. “I won’t say anything. All I’m interested in is what you saw that Sunday night.”

  Scott’s face showed no emotion. “You’ll expose my secret, Gaz, you may not mean to, but you will. You’ll get pissed one night and tell Maria every detail, then she won’t rest until it all comes out. She’ll want justice for her sister, and if that means exposing me, so be it.” He began pacing again. “I’ve not slept properly for days and I can’t relax. My work’s suffering, the lessons are going to pot and the other teachers are noticing.”

  “I understand.”

  “Don’t pretend you understand what I’m going through, you can’t.” He was almost shouting now.

  “I’ve no intention of pretending I do,” Gary said. “But why not come out? You could talk to the police in private, they’ll understand your original reticence.”

  “No! Gary, you don’t understand. Don’t give me nobility I don’t deserve, I don’t care who killed Deborah. It could have been Professor Plum with the lead-piping in the bathroom for all I care. She’s dead, and I don’t give a fuck who did it.”

  A touch unfeeling, he thought, but he’d made his point, and fortunately, he hadn’t guessed Maria knew all about him.

  Stepping back, Scott rose to his full height. “There’s only one way to ensure you won’t blab.”

  Gary tensed.

  “Don’t look so worried,” Scott said. “I’m not going to chuck you out the windows, even though you tempt me.” His face broke in the glimpse of a smile. “It would be a hell of a struggle anyway, but I don’t need to, I’ve another card to play.”

  “You have?”

  “I’ll tell you what I saw that night,” he said. “But I won’t tell you who I saw?” He saw Gary’s confusion. “This is my only bargaining chip, Gaz.”

  “What did you see that night. Scott?”

  In response, he continued his pacing. “I admit I was keeping an eye on Deborah’s room that night, and she did have a visitor.”

  “Who?”

  He shook his head. “I’ve been thinking about this. Once I knew you’d shacked up with Debbie’s sister, I suspected this moment would come.”

  “And?”

  I saw them go into Deborah’s room where she welcomed them.”

  “Them? You mean there were more than one?”

  “No clues yet, Gary,” he said. “By ‘them’ I mean one or more.”

  What silly game was he playing?

  “I went back to the party,” he said. “But I didn’t go far from the door. When I saw them leave, I went over later and knocked several times but heard nothing, and when I tried the door, it was locked. Whatever happened to Deborah happened while her visitor … or visitors were there.”

  Scott’s expression looked suspiciously like a smirk, as if he were enjoying his little game. “Deborah never came to our party, Gary, I swear that, and I never went into her flat that night.”

  He was insistent and Gary believed him, but whether Maria would do was another matter. How much of this would he tell her? All of it, he decided.

  “Do you agree to this deal?” Scott asked suddenly.

  “What exactly is it?”

  Scott’s face lightened immediately. “If nothing untoward happens,” he said. “I’ll let you know who I saw on that Sunday soon enough.”

  “When?”

  He swallowed quickly. “When Sophie gives birth and we’re safely somewhere else.”

  “And by untoward, you mean what?”

  “I mean if you’ve spilled our little secret, you can go fuck yourself.” He made a move for the door.

  “We’ll do our best not to.”

  “We?” Scott turned back and his eyes filled with suspicion.

  “I’ll do my best,” he said. “Two can play at that game.”

  Scott’s face slowly relaxed. “I’ll tell you as soon as I can.” He tried a smile, but it looked artificial. “Anyway, you wouldn’t believe me if I told you now, Gaz.”

  “Try me.”

  “No way,” he said, “It’s the only hold I have over you. Don’t you see, the promise of telling you later is the only way to keep your lips sealed.”

  “You don’t have much faith in me.”

  “It’s not that,” he said. “But sometimes, the best thing about secrets is spilling them.”

  “That applies to the name of the person you saw.”

  “No, Gaz, don’t go there, not yet.”

  He hesitated at the door just as Maria had done. “I’ll see you tonight at the Old Oak,” he said softly. “Don’t drink too much, and make sure you keep your mouth shut.”

  “I will.” When Scott closed the door behind him, it felt as if another door had opened in Gary’s mind. There was a visitor that night, and one he recognised. There was only a short list of possibilities.

  Or was Scott lying? Definitely not about his sexuality, his words were too heartfelt not to be true. And why would he invent it?

  Was he lying about seeing someone in Debbie’s room? If, as he claimed, he was indifferent to Debbie’s
fate, he might invent a visitor to secure a bargaining chip. He might, but was it likely?

  Could he really be withholding the name to ensure Gary’s continuing silence? Yes, it fitted, and it would have worked nicely if he hadn’t already told Maria everything. Scott had only heard second-hand about his attachment to the girl, so it was reasonable to assume she wasn’t in his confidence.

  Who could have Scott seen with Debbie, and who had any sort of motive or means to hurt Debbie? No one had come forward to admit they were there, and that suggested whoever it was had been complicit in her death – deliberately or accidentally. The only logical answers were Scott or Gail, and Gail remained favourite, even if her motives were hazy.

  Could Gail have financial motives? Could Debbie have told her they were parting? A combination of love and anger might prompt a murderous rage, but encouraging Debbie to take a powerful drug suggested a degree of pre-planning on Gail’s part, and they seemed the best of friends then. Gail had been keen for the police to investigate Debbie’s demise, and Gail had claimed to have dropped Debbie off at the docks before driving home. Had the police checked on this? He’d assumed they had. Was it worth checking? And if so, how?

  The motive and pre-planning applied to Scott too. Why would he murder Debbie? To keep his secret? Pointless when there were so many other witnesses. Unless, he’d suddenly panicked when he realised his old friend’s connection to Maria.

  It didn’t seem likely. If there were a culprit, Gail would be odds-on.

  Why not take a leap of imagination? What if Maria had killed Debbie? After all, wasn’t that what Scott was hinting at? What had he said? ‘You wouldn’t believe me if I told you now’. Could Gail have been right all along?

  Could Maria have broken the sister-killing taboo? Incensed by Debbie’s spending on a lesbian relationship and feeling she was losing her sister? Losing her mother and her fiancé must have shaken her self-confidence, and it could explain her possessiveness. She’d been unsure of her attractiveness, and that uncertainty would never be changed by mere words. Did Maria see Debbie as a rival? A superior rival? Or was her motive purely monetary?

  No, he decided, not Maria. That was all shite. If she feared losing Debbie, it would make more sense to kill Gail.