Killers

by Laurence Gough

  Barney began to purr, and to eat. Willows had never seen a cat purr and eat at the same time. Sean continued to feed him as he fished his cigarettes from his shirt pocket, lit up. He turned and winked at Willows, leaned forward and exhaled carefully into the fireplace.

  Sheila said, “I’m booked on a return flight leaving tomorrow afternoon. Maybe it would be better if I spent the night in a hotel.”

  “The kids know you’re leaving?”

  She nodded.

  “Want me to call a cab?”

  “I’ll do it.” Sheila stood up, gave him an icy look and went into the hall to use the phone.

  Sean used his index finger to scrape the last of the cat food from the tin. He said, “What’s his name?”

  “Barney,” said Claire.

  Five minutes later, Sheila told Willows she could manage her own luggage and that she’d be in touch, said goodbye to Parker and walked out the door.

  Ten minutes after that, Parker said it was getting late. She thought Willows and Sean probably had a lot of catching up to do…

  Willows walked her out to her car. He kissed her goodnight and stood there at the side of the road until she turned a corner and disappeared from view. He went back into the house. Sean was stretched out on the sofa with Barney on his lap and a pair of Walkman headphones in his ears. Fire danced in the cat’s eyes as he watched Willows walk towards him. Willows tapped Sean lightly on the shoulder. Sean opened an eye, pointed at his ears and put a finger to his lips.

  Willows said, “You want to talk?”

  “Maybe tomorrow.”

  “Good night, Sean.”

  Sean blew him a kiss.

  Willows looked in on Annie. She’d fallen asleep with the Hemingway in her hand and the light still on. He marked the page, turned off the light and left the room. As was his custom, he checked the locks on the back and front doors, made sure the security lights were on.

  It had been a long and eventful day, and he wasn’t quite ready to put it to bed. There was a bar fridge and a bottle of Cutty Sark in the den. He slowly made his way up the stairs, the tinny wailing of Sean’s Walkman following him all the way. He’d take a long, hot shower and then have a drink and watch the news — even though it was bound to be anticlimactic.

  Chapter 24

  Scattered lights glimmered along the Eagle Island shoreline and across the water at the yacht club moorage. Even so, it was very dark beneath the drab, windswept sky. Late afternoon was slipping into early evening and depth perception in the rapidly fading winter light was difficult. Susan had good reason to go slowly as she made her way down the pier towards the water. A skin of crusted snow lay on the narrow railing. The wooden planks beneath her feet were slick with frost. Not for the first time, she wished she’d brought a flashlight.

  She reached the end of the pier and began to make her way down the treacherous, steeply sloping gangway. An unseen bird screamed shrilly as she stepped upon the tiny dock that serviced Eagle Island, and a moment later she heard the dry rattle of wings overhead. The air shivered, and was still.

  The small floating dock moved slightly under her weight. A chain rattled softly. Light gleamed on black, rippling water.

  A hooded light hung from a tall pole at the end of the pier, but the bulb had burnt out, or been shattered by vandals. Susan tried to read the dial of her watch, but the light was too dim. Cold seeped through the thin soles of her shoes. She had left Gerard’s apartment in a rush, and hadn’t thought to wear her boots. She rubbed her hands briskly together. A gust of wind tore through her heavy coat and chilled her flesh. The black surface of the ocean was flecked with white. Where was Iris?

  The temperature was dropping rapidly. She began to pace back and forth to keep warm. A fragment of glass crunched underfoot. The dock shifted beneath her weight, and the disturbed water splashed faintly. Alarmed, she moved well away from the edge. The dock had no railing. How long could she survive if she lost her footing and slipped into the water? Not very long. The weight of her sodden clothes would pull her down. Hypothermia would quickly steal away her strength. In a few minutes she would lose consciousness, and drown.

  She walked back up the ramp to the end of the pier, where she felt she was most visible, and safest.

  There was a payphone at the bottom of the road, near the yacht club’s parking lot, but she had been told not to call. She bent her head and peered at her watch again. She was sure she’d arrived on time but it might have taken her longer than she’d expected to walk down the road from the parking lot…

  Susan stamped her feet but that only made it worse; the frozen planks were hard as concrete and jolts of pain stabbed up through her legs.

  She heard the creak of wood on metal, and looked out across the water, towards the island. As she strained to penetrate the gathering darkness, a pale shape materialized out of the gloom, gradually assumed the shape of a small dinghy.

  Iris Roth glanced over her shoulder, towards the dock. Susan was making her way down the gangway. The boat lost way as Iris released her grip on the starboard oar and waved hello. Cursing like a sailor, she bent to the oars. The dinghy’s stern dipped and the little boat once again moved smartly through the water. A few moments later Iris skilfully worked the oars to make the boat swerve sharply, altering course so it was drifting parallel to the dock. A moment later the port gunwale bumped gently against the dock. Iris reached out to hold the boat steady. It was of a lapstrake design, constructed of fiberglass with built-in flotation tanks. Even so, Susan was very careful not to let the boat slip out from under her as she eased on to the stern seat. It was unsinkable, but because of the certainty of hypothermia the end result, were they to swamp, would be no different than if the boat sank like a stone.

  Susan crouched low, on the damp, narrow seat. The dinghy had only a few inches of freeboard, and there was very little room. She was so close to Iris that despite the dim light she could see that the older woman’s face was set and grim.

  The stern dipped as Iris pulled strongly away from the dock and turned the bow into the wind.

  Susan said, “Why didn’t you use the ferry?”

  “There’s something wrong with the engine. Gerard kept promising to fix it, and I kept believing him. So typical! Anyway, I can use the exercise.”

  Susan had expected Iris to row straight across the narrow strip of water towards the Eagle Island dock, but to her alarm she saw that they were heading for the open water of the harbour.

  “Why don’t we go straight across?”

  “Because I’ve no way of locking up the dinghy and it cost eight hundred dollars and I don’t want it stolen.” Susan flinched as the bow crashed into a wave and a spray of icy water flew high into the air and was swept away by the wind.

  Already, the water was noticeably choppier. Iris adjusted her stroke.

  Susan said, “Shouldn’t we be closer to the island?”

  “No, because the bottom swells up rapidly, and that causes rougher water. We’re much safer staying this far out, believe me.”

  Susan gripped the plastic gunwales on either side of the boat. She decided to start screaming immediately they began to take on water.

  As if reading her mind, Iris gave her a reassuring smile and told her not to worry; that she had been out in heavier weather than this and they were perfectly safe.

  A few minutes later the lights of Iris’s house came into view. The dinghy turned in, towards the island. Now they had a following sea, and Iris was forced to row hard to avoid taking water over the stern. A curving strip of pebbly beach gleamed in the faint light from the house. Iris began to stroke more powerfully, and they picked up speed.

  They were a boat’s length from shore when Iris shipped her oars, turned completely around on the seat and moved with surprising grace towards the bow. The sudden shift in weight made the dinghy’s stern rise higher out of the water. The boat began to drift sideways to the surf, and then the keel grated harshly on the beach. Iris stepped out of the boat. Sh
e hauled on the painter in concert with the impetus of a timely wave and the dinghy rode well up the beach. Smiling at Susan, she said, “You can abandon ship now, if you like.”

  Susan was impressed with the effortless way in which the potentially dangerous landfall had been accomplished, and said so, as she stepped out of the boat. As the two women hurried across the snowy lawn towards the warmth and safety of the house, Iris took Susan’s hand and held it tight.

  “You’re still frightened, aren’t you?”

  Susan laughed nervously. “A little.”

  “Of course you are. Who wouldn’t be? But there’s no need. Everything’s going to be just fine — just you wait and see.”

  “Someone broke the light on the dock. I stepped on a piece of glass.”

  “It’s the local kids. Little buggers. I saw them at it this afternoon, throwing snowballs and laughing their stupid little heads off.”

  Susan followed Iris up the porch steps and into the kitchen. The brightly lit house felt wonderfully cosy after the chill air and very real threat of a dunking. She glanced around the kitchen. Three empty bowls stood in a row on the freshly polished linoleum floor. Susan wondered where the dogs were. In this weather, it was inconceivable that the animals were outside.

  Smiling, Iris said, “Let me take your coat, Susan, and then we’ll go into the living room. I’ve had a fire burning all day long. I’ll say one thing about Gerard; he always kept a good supply of firewood. I don’t know if he ever told you, but he absolutely loved to use his chainsaw — if he spotted a decent-sized log drifting by he’d be on it like a shot.”

  On the driftwood table in the living room there was a bottle of red wine and a plate with a variety of cheeses and biscuits. A colourful throw rug of Navajo design covered the sofa. Its soft earth colours and the warmth and flickering orange light from the fire combined to give the room a casual yet intimate cheerfulness.

  Iris sat down on the sofa, so close to Susan that she could feel the heat of the older woman’s body. Iris poured them both a large glass of wine. She handed a glass to Susan and then tipped her own glass so the rims touched with a clear, ringing chime. She smiled. “Here’s to… What shall we drink to, Susan?”

  Susan’s mind was a blank. All she could think of was her glass, which was so full of red liquid that she had to hold it steady with both hands.

  “Here’s to the triumph of justice over adversity,” said Iris. “If that sounds a little pompous, well, what the hell! Cheers!”

  She touched glasses again, and drank deeply.

  Susan sipped delicately.

  Iris said, “Try the Stilton — it’s delicious. Is something wrong with the wine, dear?”

  “No, it’s fine. Perfect.” Susan forced herself to swallow a mouthful. She obediently took a little cheese. The food caught in her throat. She drank a little more wine. She could feel the warmth of the fire on her legs, and the erratic hiss and pop of the burning wood provided a lovely counterpoint to the soft murmur of the sea.

  Iris said, “The tide’s still coming in, but it’ll turn in another half-hour.” She leaned forward to poke at the fire with a blackened iron rod. “You have to pay attention to that sort of thing if you live on an island — even a little one like this.”

  “It must be a wonderful life.”

  Iris patted Susan on the knee. “Are you ready to tell me about the phone call?”

  Susan nodded. She drank some more wine.

  “You said the man was young?” Iris prompted.

  “Yes.”

  “And you haven’t changed your mind — you’re still quite sure you didn’t recognize his voice?”

  Susan shook her head, no.

  “It couldn’t have been someone from the aquarium?”

  “No, I don’t think so.”

  “But you aren’t sure? This is vitally important, Susan, as you must be aware.”

  “No one from work or anywhere else knew where I was. And besides, if it had been someone I knew, I’d have recognized his voice.”

  “But who else could it be? Gerard had an unlisted number. He didn’t hand it out to just anyone, especially men. You must have told someone where you were.”

  “No, I didn’t. No one knew!” The wine danced in Susan’s glass. She drank deeply.

  Iris waited until Susan had calmed down a little and then said, “What about the police? How did they find you?”

  “They went to my apartment, but couldn’t get in. Then they phoned, and I talked to them and had to explain about the call forwarding, and where I was.” Susan’s face looked as if it was being pinched from within. She said, “Well what was I supposed to do?”

  “There, there, dear. Don’t be upset.” Iris stroked Susan’s back, moved the flat of her hand in small circles up and down her spine. She picked up the wine bottle and replenished Susan’s glass. “The homicide detective, could it have been him?”

  “No, the voice was younger. Much younger.”

  “And what did our anonymous caller say, exactly?”

  “I already told you!”

  “Tell me again,” said Iris patiently.

  “That he knew what I’d done. And if I didn’t pay him twenty-five thousand dollars, he’d tell the police!”

  “That’s it?”

  “He was going to say something else, but I hung up on him.”

  Iris’s hand hovered above the cheese plate. After a moment she chose a small triangular cracker. She brought the cracker to her mouth, turned it slowly in her hand as she nibbled industriously. The cracker rapidly dwindled in size, but continued to retain its original shape.

  Against her fading better judgement, Susan drank a bit more wine.

  Iris said, “We agreed that you’d stay away from Gerard’s little love nest, didn’t we, dear?”

  Susan nodded.

  “Well then, would you please tell me what you were doing there?”

  “Picking up some things that belonged to me.”

  “Oh, I see. What sort of things?”

  “Personal things,” said Susan. The look she shot the older woman was defiant, triumphant, nakedly sexual.

  Iris snatched up another cracker. This one went down quickly, in a frustrated snap of teeth and crunch of jaws.

  Susan raised her glass and saw that it was empty. Iris sighed wearily. She filled Susan’s glass and topped up her own.

  “The homicide detectives,” said Iris.

  Susan brushed a strand of naturally blonde hair from a naturally blue eye.

  Iris said, “Did they mention my name?” Her face was all eyes and teeth.

  Susan shook her head. She looked away.

  “Did you mention my name, dear?”

  “No, of course not!”

  Iris sighed. She said, “I wish you’d tell me what you were doing at his apartment, I really do.”

  Susan hesitated and then said, “I was upset about some things that happened between us.”

  “What sort of things?” Iris smiled warmly, as she raged inside.

  “Photographs. He took some photographs. I’d been drinking, and I was upset.” She shrugged. “It was a lucky thing, really. The police thought I was grieving for Gerard.”

  Iris nodded, smiled encouragingly. “This threatening young man — whoever he is — how could he have known where to call you?”

  Susan said, “I don’t know.”

  “But you must have talked to someone…”

  Susan said, “Whoever it was, couldn’t he have been a friend of Gerard’s?”

  “I doubt that, dear. Gerard liked young women, not men. As we both know all too well.”

  Susan said, “When I found out he was… That I wasn’t the only… God, but I hated him.”

  “Of course you did. We both did. We hated him. But it made things so much easier, don’t you agree?”

  Susan wondered what had happened to Fireball and the other two Boston bulls. Gerard had been so proud of his dogs, the way he’d trained them. She turned to ask Iris
where they were.

  Iris said, “He was addictive, wouldn’t you say? So good in bed, and he had a special knack for making you think everything you did together was unique; the first time for both of you.”

  Susan felt herself blushing. She turned her face towards the heat of the fire.

  Iris said, “If you think you hated him, imagine how I must have felt.”

  Susan felt Iris’s hand on the nape of her neck, the older woman’s thick blunt fingers twist in her hair.

  Iris said, “Look at me, Susan.”

  Susan stared down at the cheese plate.

  Iris tightened her grip on Susan’s hair. “I want you to know that I don’t blame you one little bit for what happened. You didn’t have a chance, once Gerard had made up his mind to go after you. He was so experienced. And I know how you must have suffered; the emotional turmoil. You may not believe it, but I was about your age when I first met him.”

  Iris smiled. Her eyes and teeth seemed to rise up out of her face. “Stay right where you are, dear. I’ll just be a minute.” Susan lay back against the sofa. The wine had made her sleepy. Or perhaps it was the lullaby of the ocean, which was a little louder now. She remembered that Iris had told her the tide was coming in… The Navajo rug smelled faintly of wood-smoke. She ran her fingers across the material. A few moments later she became aware of a faint gurgling sound. Iris stood over her, filling her glass with wine from another bottle. She handed her the glass and sat down next to her on the sofa. “Tell me about the photographs, dear. Did Gerard use them to threaten you in some way?”

  “No, I just… I was embarrassed. I was afraid that someone would find them. I wanted them back.”

  Iris refilled Susan’s glass. She stroked her head as if she were a cat. “Such lovely hair… Did you find them, dear?”

  Susan bit her lip.

  Iris said, “What did you do with them?”

  Susan told Iris how she’d tried to tear Gerard’s collection of Polaroids to bits with her hands, explained that they were made of a special kind of paper and were very tough. She’d used a pair of scissors to cut the pictures into tiny little pieces. She’d cut them and cut them and cut them until they were so small she couldn’t cut them any smaller. Then she’d scooped them up and carried them into the bathroom.