by Cross, Amy
“Hey Dad,” Ben said after a moment, “did I wake you with my raucous laughter?”
“It's barely nine in the morning,” Harry replied, clearly unhappy to receive a visit so early. “What the hell are you doing sitting on my goddamn porch at such an ungodly hour, talking to yourself and laughing like a lunatic?”
“I wasn't talking to myself,” Ben muttered, getting to his feet and thrusting the paper into his father's hands before slipping past and entering the house, “I was reading out loud. There's a difference.” He stopped and sniffed the air. “This place smells foul, old man. You do realize, don't you, that everyone knows about your prodigious internet use? The proof is practically encrusted everywhere. Don't think I haven't seen how yellow the carpet is next to the computer.”
“I don't want you here,” Harry replied firmly. “Get out!”
“Haven't you seen this morning's front page?” Ben asked, turning to him with a smile. “Jack has run with a very interesting story that seems to indicate the police are going to arrest someone. The only problem is, shortly after he went to print, the truth became apparent. I assume you heard that Joe Baldwin was picked up last night?”
“I heard something about it.”
“And here's the best part,” Ben continued, snatching the paper back and taking a moment to find the relevant paragraph. “Listen to this. The suspect is known to be a highly disturbed individual with a history of violence and questionable behavior. I mean, Dad, can you believe that?” He paused, as the smile faded from his eyes. Once the smile was completely gone, only a calm stare was left, although his eyes hinted at anger bubbling beneath the surface. “My own brother,” he continued, “hanging me out to dry like I'm some kind of common psychopath. He really, truly believes that I'm a monster, doesn't he? He even used that exact word in his report. Then again, he had some help believing that, didn't he? Someone whispering in his ear.”
“I want you to leave.”
“So you can get back to your computer?”
“I was asleep.”
“Are you coming to Beth's tomorrow? It'll be good to get the whole family together in one room, won't it? You, Mom, me, Jack and Jane, Beth and that idiot husband of hers, the kids...”
“I hope you have fun,” Harry snapped. “I won't be there.”
“Not even for Beth's sake?”
“You can all have a very nice Christmas without me,” Harry replied, shuffling past him and then stopping to block his way further into the house. “I'm too old to deal with your crap, Ben, and I'm too tired to play games. You think you're so smart, and you try to prove it by wrapping the rest of us up in pointless little dances. The last thing I want on Christmas Day is to have to referee yet another fight between you and your brother.”
“But I probably won't even be there,” Ben pointed out, holding up the newspaper. “I'll probably be neatly out of the way by then, rotting in a jail cell. Hey, do you think I have time to dye my hair blonde again before the cops show up? It'd seem somehow appropriate, wouldn't it?”
“Get out of my house.”
“It was my home once. How many times have you thrown me out of this place now, anyway? Ten? Twenty?”
“It was the family home,” Harry sneered, “but it's mine now. My house, my rules, and there's nobody who can come in without my permission.”
“Sure,” Ben replied, “but...” He paused, before suddenly pushing past Harry and making his way along the corridor. “While I'm here,” he said with a smile, fully aware that the old man couldn't catch him in time, “I might as well give you your Christmas gift early.” Pushing open the door to the spare room, he headed over to the computer desk. “You can thank me later,” he added, grabbing the computer tower and pulling it free, before dropping it to the floor. “You can thank me when you realize that this is a good deed.”
“Stop!” Harry shouted.
“Too late.”
Kicking the side of the computer, Ben quickly managed to dislodge the plastic casing. Before his father could even reach him, a few more stomps uncovered the motherboard, which he quickly smashed out of place with the heel of his boot, sending several pieces of plastic and metal flying across the floor.
“Stop!” Harry spluttered, getting down onto his knees and pulling the remains of the device away from his son.
“Whoops,” Ben said firmly, “looks like you're going to have to use your imagination on Christmas Day. Or, you know, you could tear yourself away from those dodgy websites for long enough to actually come to Beth's house and spend some time with your family.” He stepped over the pieces of broken computer, kicking a few of them across the room in the process, and headed to the door. “You're welcome, by the way. Hopefully one day you'll realize that I just did you a massive goddamn favor.”
“You were always a piece of garbage,” his father sneered as he tried to gather up the broken pieces from the computer's casing. “Nothing's changed, has it?”
“I thought I was a troubled individual who resisted his family's attempts to help?” Ben replied, glancing back at him. “That's the quote Jack ran in this morning's paper, anyway. He attributed it to the suspect's shocked and horrified father, although obviously he didn't include your name. Even Jack isn't so dumb that he'd jump the gun quite so keenly. I mean, hell, I could maybe even claim damages if he turns out to be wrong.”
“Oh, for God's sake...”
“You don't think I have a case? Everyone knows he's writing about me.”
“Get out of here.”
“Or do you think he's right?” He waited for an answer. “At first I assumed he'd asked you for your thoughts so he could include them in his story, but then I realized he didn't even need to do that. You and he are so completely on the same wavelength, he knew what you'd say.”
“This is vandalism,” Harry replied, “and home invasion. You're lucky I don't call the police on you!”
“Why don't you? You've done it before.”
Muttering a few expletives under his breath, Harry continued to clear up his broken computer. “You owe me a new computer,” he said finally. “These things cost money!”
“Say,” Ben continued, “Dad, do you happen to remember a man named Garland Packer?”
Harry turned to him.
“Yeah,” Ben added, “clearly the name rings a bell. We've talked about him before, but not often. The crazy thing is, you and Jack always spent so much time thinking that I'm some kind of monster, you never noticed the real monster here in Bowley.”
“Garland Packer was a good man.”
Ben smiled.
“He was a pillar of the community!” Harry spluttered. “He did more for this town than anyone else!”
“Well, that's certainly true. One might even say that old Garland defined Bowley in his own sick way.”
“I want you out of my house!”
“I murdered Garland Packer,” Ben added.
Harry opened his mouth to reply, before pausing.
“It was in cold blood,” Ben continued. “The guilt you saw in my eyes, the pain and fear, the remorse, the doubt, and then the little pinprick of defiance... It was all real, but you and Jack were just wrong about who I'd killed. I smashed Garland Packer's head in with a brick from his old fireplace. You remember how he was found at the farmhouse, don't you? Well, that was me. I waited for the police to catch me, for them to link me to his murder with their fancy DNA tests and so on, but nothing happened. I guess they dropped the ball.”
Harry paused. “Liar,” he said finally.
“You don't believe me?” Ben asked with a faint smile.
“Garland Packer was killed by some vagrant who passed through town one night -”
“No, Dad. Really, he wasn't.”
“Alex proved it!”
“Have you ever noticed how Alex always blames passing vagrants? It's his go-to excuse for everything that happens around here. Convenient, really, 'cause it means he never actually has to get off his ass!”
�
��Alex Gordon knows what he's talking about.”
“Alex Gordon is a moron,” Ben replied. “I killed Garland Packer because of the Border, and because of everything he stood for, and because I thought, mistakenly as it turned out, that by killing him I could make a difference and end the suffering that goes on beneath the streets of his miserable, bony little town” He paused. “But hey, look, I was wrong. Spectacularly, horrifically wrong. After Garland was out of the way, the Border became even bigger, even darker. Do you want to know why I stayed away from town for so long? I was scared for my life.”
“The Border?” Harry spluttered. “What the hell are you talking about? I've never heard of the Border, you're talking nonsense.”
“You've really never heard of it? I honestly don't know whether to believe you.”
“And you didn't kill Garland Packer. This is just another of your games!” Getting to his feet, he set the broken pieces of his computer on the desk, his trembling hands picking through them one by one as if he truly believed something could be salvaged. “Maybe I can get it fixed,” he continued. “All the bits are here, they just need sticking back together. One of these metal sections must be the hard-drive, I just have to figure out which.”
Hearing a siren in the distance, Ben watched for a moment as his father tried to arrange the remains of the machine. “You know what?” he asked finally. “Screw this. Dad, go to Beth's tomorrow, you'll be fine because I won't be there. I thought I could come back to Bowley for one last chance, but it's too late for that, isn't it? I should just get my things and leave, and let this town sink. Why should I care if the Border continues to fester? If I'm out of here.”
“I've wanted nothing more for the past twenty years!” Harry hissed. “Just try to stay away this time. Do you think you can manage that?”
“Then I guess this is goodbye.” Ben paused, as if the words wouldn't come until, finally, he forced them. “Goodbye, Dad.”
Turning, he made his way along the corridor and finally he reached the porch, stepping out into the morning air. As he stopped and took a deep breath, he felt a faint shiver pass through his body as he realized that something seemed wrong, with the air around him almost humming. A lot of people would have taken that sensation as a warning, as a sign that maybe it'd be worth checking that nothing bad had happened, but Ben simply took a deep breath and ignored his instincts. The decision to leave Bowley had just popped into his head while he was talking to his father, but now he felt as if it was his only option. Too proud to back down, he was already trying to work out where he might go. Taking his phone from his pocket, he brought up Jack's number and tried to call, only to get put straight through to voicemail.
“Hey, it's Jack. Leave a message.”
“It's me,” Ben said firmly, “I just called to say... I just called to say I'll be off, okay? I'm leaving town and I won't be stopping by the office to say some big, fancy farewell.”
He paused, watching as a couple of kids rode past on bikes.
“I read the paper this morning,” he continued, making his way down the steps and over to the sidewalk. “You really went to town, huh? I could tell you enjoyed writing that story, and I'm sure you've got the follow-up all ready to go, complete with my name. Smart move to publish it on Christmas Eve, too. That way, you've got three full days to let things develop before the next edition hits the streets of Bowley. Plenty of time for me to get taken in, plenty of time for the supposed truth to come out and -”
Hearing a click, he realized the call had been cut, most likely because he'd reached the maximum allowed length for a message.
“Huh,” he muttered, slipping his phone away and then starting to walk to the end of the street. He remembered playing in the area as a kid, and when he glanced at the old oak tree on the edge of Mr. Lauderson's lawn, he could almost see himself, Beth and Jack sitting up on one of the branches where they used to enjoy playing. Those days seemed so far away now, and he knew they could never be recovered. Reaching the end of the street, he stopped for a moment and realized that something still felt very wrong. It was almost as if his chest was hollow, as if his heart was lighter than usual. As a sense of dizziness threatened to overwhelm him, he leaned against a nearby fence and tried to get his balance back. The sensation passed quickly enough, but there was still a hint of nausea in his belly. His instincts were refusing to let go, tugging instead on the inside of his guts, trying to get his attention.
Feeling a vibration in his pocket, he took out his phone and saw that Beth was calling.
“Hey,” he said as he answered, “what's up?”
III
As soon as he opened the front door, he froze at the sound of a woman crying hysterically.
For a moment, all Ben could do was stand in the empty hallway and listen to the sound of pure, unrestrained grief. He'd run all the way to the house, convinced that there had to be some kind of mistake, but now with a sense of pure cold steel in his chest he realized it was true.
It had to be true.
The cry was Jane's, and it was almost like the primal wail of an animal. In all his life, he'd never heard such a vast amount of pain being expressed in one haunting, horrified voice. He wanted to turn back, to run until he couldn't hear her anymore, to put his hands over his ears... At the same time, he forced himself to keep listening, to expose himself to the sound of a woman who'd just been told that her husband was dead.
A moment later, Bob stepped into view, tapping at his phone before spotting Ben in the doorway. His ashen, hungover features seemed to exaggerate his stubble.
“Ben -”
“I know,” Ben replied, his voice rigid with shock and anger.
“Buddy, listen -”
“I know,” Ben said again, making his way past Bob until he reached the door and saw an empty kitchen. “Jack's dead.”
“Audrey's with Jane and Beth in the bedroom,” Bob said a couple of seconds later. “She's trying to... I don't know, really, she's just trying to do something. The kids were already at a friend's house when the news came through, I don't really know what to do about that. Should I go over and get them, or should I wait and...”
His voice trailed off.
“I mean, if I go,” he continued finally, “I guess I'd have to tell them about Jack. I don't know if I can do that. I mean, it's not that I'm shirking the responsibility, it's just that I think their mother should be the one who tells them. Plus, if I fetch Stuart and Oliver, I guess I have to fetch Lucy too, and I don't know how much she really knows about death yet. Jesus Christ, do you see the problem here? I mean, hell, what are we gonna do about the kids?”
“Where is he?” Ben whispered, his face seeming a little more gaunt now, as if some part had been drained away to leave only anger.
“Where's who?” Bob asked.
“Jack. Where's Jack?”
“Ben, Jack's dead.”
“I know that, you goddamn idiot.” He took a deep breath, forcing his anger to stay beneath the surface. “Where's his body?”
“I don't know. I guess... I guess they took him to the morgue, or to the hospital, or...” He paused. “Ben, I'm so sorry. I don't even know what happened, just that Jane got a call and -”
“I know,” Ben replied, turning and heading back to the front door. The sound of Jane's sobs was starting to drill into the center of his mind, and he felt as if he had to get away. Even if he regretted it later, even if it made him a weak person, he had to run. Somehow, he felt he'd rather be with his brother's silent corpse than hear another moment of his sister-in-law's frantic sobs.
“Ben -”
“I'm going to find him,” Ben said, hurrying away from the house. “I have to see for myself.”
“What should I do?” Bob called after him. “Should I stay here? What about the kids? Should I get the kids?” He waited for a reply, but Ben already heading along the sidewalk and finally disappeared from view. Sighing, Bob paused for a moment before heading back into the house. Lacking any better i
deas, he leans against the wall in the hallway and started tapping at his phone again.
***
“If you look here,” Doctor Tomlin said, using the tip of a scalpel to indicate the damaged flesh around the edge of Jack's chest, “you'll see that the incision was very quick and clean. This wasn't someone who hesitated. I'd hazard a guess that it was someone with experience, someone who knew what they wanted and how to get it.”
Alex tried to focus on the wound, but he couldn't help glancing at Jack's still, pale face.
“Even if we didn't know about Joe Baldwin's involvement in the Armitage and Maitland cases,” Tomlin continued, “I'd already be telling you that Jack was killed by someone else. Jack's body has none of the sloppy savagery that we saw in those poor girls. In fact, now that the contrast is right in front of me, I've gone back and looked at the files from the Caitlin Somers murder and I think...” He paused. “Well, if I had to take an educated guess, I'd say that Jack was killed by -”
“The same person who killed Caitlin,” Alex whispered, staring at Jack's face.
“That's not quite what I -”
“It's clear enough,” Alex replied, taking a deep breath in an attempt to calm the sense of nausea in his belly. “This would've been quick, though, wouldn't it? Jack wouldn't have suffered?”
He waited for a reply, but Tomlin's silence was enough of an answer.
“He'd have suffered?” Alex asked.
“It's hard to see him not being at least somewhat aware,” Tomlin replied, “in his final moments. It would have been quick, but not quick enough that Jack would have... I mean, he'd have understood what as happening to him, right at the end.”
“Jesus,” Alex whispered, as a shudder passed through his body.
“Now this might seem fanciful,” Tomlin continued finally, to break the silence, “but if you look at the wounds on the victim's belly and chest...” He indicated the couple of dozen red slits in Jack's body. “I think there's a pattern. I can't say what the pattern is yet, or whether it represents anything specific, but I certainly think it's worth looking into. I've already mapped the wounds, I'll get that file to you. I just don't think the killer was randomly knifing him. I think there was method in this insanity.”