Abra-Cadaver

by Matt Drabble

  Tommy felt Ally shudder next to him in the booth. PJ looked greener than usual and for some reason Dixon looked guilty.

  “You went to Blackwater Heights and told him every one of your theories didn’t you?” Tommy suddenly realised aloud. “What was it Gaines? A way to excuse your own conscience?”

  “Something like that,” Gaines admitted.

  “Wait a second,” Dixon almost roared. “What the hell exactly did you tell him?”

  “I told him what I thought had happened,” Gaines said in a low tone whilst looking at the floor, refusing to meet any of their glares. “I told him my theories about Todd fixing the trial. I told him about Chief Taylor taking me off of the case before I could even get started. I told him about his defense lawyer Kelsey Falcon barely raising an objection and now retiring to very expensive coastal retreat. I told him about the jury foreman Dale Midkiff paying off his mortgage days after the verdict. I told him about the prosecutor Graham Moss who somehow managed to finance his own law practice despite being a degenerate and broke gambler. And also the judge Harry Fielding who barely batted an eye as the mockery unfolded before him.”

  “And us?” Ally asked in a soft voice. “What did you tell him about us?”

  “That I knew that you had all done something, but that I didn’t know exactly what,” Gaines said honestly. “Because you did, didn’t you?”

  No-one answered and Tommy felt their complicity hang thickly in the air.

  “What did he say when you told him all of this?” PJ asked sickly.

  “He never spoke a word.” Gaines answered. “He just lay there in his bed staring up at the ceiling. The orderlies told me that he hadn’t spoken a word since he was brought in.”

  “Why are you telling us this now?” Tommy asked.

  Tommy watched as Gaines pulled out a large map and stretched it across the table in front of them. The map was of the country with large red felt tip pen circles carefully illustrating various points along an almost straight line. Tommy leaned in closer and saw that the first dot was on the Blackwater Heights private hospital. The next was a few miles from it and so on and so on all the way along to where Denver Mills was ringed.

  “What are the red dots for?” Tommy asked interested to know but at the same time fearing the answer.

  “This is the hospital,” Gaines pointed to the furthest mark on the map. “This is where a woman said a man matching Trotter’s description took her car,” he said pointing to the next. He began pointing to the red dots along the route. “This is where the woman’s car was discovered at a service station and where a man was found butchered in a combine harvester’s blades. The local police assumed that it was an accident. The place was full of cars being repaired and so no-one noticed that the woman’s car was there and that another had been taken. Then we have ex Chief Taylor. He was found sawn in half with a chainsaw after being what seemed like tortured first. Because he had left Denver Mills I didn’t hear about it until a few days after it had happened. Apparently Taylor had tastes and preferences that ran to the somewhat disturbing to say the least. The local police there assumed that he had perhaps bitten off more than he could chew or maybe pissed off the wrong people. Next we have Trotter’s defense attorney Kelsey Falcon. He retired to a small coastal town and is currently missing along with his boat the “Lucky Star” if you please.”

  Tommy looked at the map in front of them and could see the clear route that was leading back to Denver Mills. “You think that he did all of this and now he’s coming home?”

  “Well to be more accurate,” Gaines said, “he may already be here.”

  “Oh God,” Ally said through her hands pressed against her face.

  “Dale Midkiff was the jury foreman and somebody sprayed some kind of acid in his face that practically melted the skin from his bones,” Gaines added.

  “Jesus Christ Gaines, what the hell have you done,” Tommy raged.

  “How the hell was I supposed to know?” Gaines barked back. “I was only trying to make some kind of amends for what I didn’t do before.”

  “And now you’ve got blood on your hands,” Tommy sighed heavily.

  “Haven’t we all?” Gaines asked succinctly.

  “Oh Jesus!” Ally exclaimed.

  “What is it?” Tommy asked.

  “We’ve got to find McEwen, he’s out there somewhere, and he doesn’t know,” she panted.

  “Don’t worry about Lee,” PJ said confidently. “He’s safely away from this whole mess remember? He left this afternoon for his agent’s funeral and his new exhibition.”

  “I hope so,” Ally said concerned, “I pray so.”

  13.

  hunting bigger game

  McEwen sat back in the taxi and watched his home town disappearing behind him, his mind and thoughts full of trepidation. He was on his way to a big city. It didn’t matter where or what the big city was, it was overwhelmingly daunting. All he really wanted to do in life was to paint and be left alone. He had no time for people and the whole sticky stew of confusing feelings and emotions. He knew that he was awkward and clumsy around other people, especially anyone new to him. He hadn’t developed emotionally much beyond 12 years of age and he was all too well aware of that fact. His life was an empty drift of adolescent meanderings. His home was a rented apartment because mortgage agreements and financial records were simply too complicated for him to digest. Dixie had been his adult voice and brain and he had been happy to hide behind her skirt and be a contented and well hidden Peter Pan.

  The night was drawing in as they drove out towards the airport. He had to get on a plane and fly off to the real world and deal with real people. Dixie’s funeral was the following day and the day after that he had to attend his own show. He was already fighting his own churning stomach at the thought of his exhibition being turned into a memorial show for Dixie. He didn’t quite know how to stand in a room with adults and converse about a woman’s passing. He could barely manage conversations around town about the weather. The only other people that he was fully comfortable with were his fellow conspirators. The dark putrid secret that they shared bonded them together in a frozen moment in time. They would always be 12 year old children forged in friendship and horror. They had all kept their terrible actions to themselves. They had been responsible, if not for the death of a woman, then at least partly for sending a man to prison. Tommy had been right; there was no direct evidence that they had caused the accident by messing around with Trotter’s equipment. But by their silence, they had denied the man a plausible defense and thus ensured his conviction.

  ----------

  Tommy watched as Gaines left the diner first. The man suddenly seemed older than his years. Tommy could recognise the heavy burden of guilt stretched across his shoulders. It was a feeling that he knew all too well.

  The remaining four of them sat inside the booth. Ally and PJ looked ashen faced and scared whilst Dixon seemed uncomfortably nervous. The big man seemed more and more prone to angry outbursts and Tommy couldn’t help but feel that he had done something to annoy his once friend.

  “What are we going to do?” PJ fretted anxiously to no-one in particular.

  “What can we do but wait,” Ally said depressingly.

  “Shit on that idea,” Dixon snapped. “I’m not going to sit around with my thumb up my ass waiting for that nut job to show up.”

  “Real tough guy huh?” Ally sneered

  “Damn straight,” Dixon replied, glaring furiously.

  “And how long exactly do you expect to last?” Ally demanded, her anger rising to match his.

  “A hell of lot longer than any of you pussies.” Dixon scorned back.

  “Hey come on guys,” PJ whined. “We’re supposed to all be in this together remember?”

  “Yeah right little man,” Dixon scoffed. “Just keep telling yourself that.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” PJ asked unhappily.

  “It means that we haven’t been togeth
er for a long time,” Dixon snapped. “Some of us have been apart longer than that.”

  Tommy felt the remark directed at him and refused to get drawn into the childish argument. “Perhaps we should all stick together” he said to the group. “Safety in numbers and all that.”

  “Yeah good idea,” PJ said grabbing the lifeboat.

  “Yeah, I think that’s the right thing to do,” Ally agreed. “Come on Russell,” she pleaded. “You know that it makes sense.”

  Tommy felt Dixon’s will starting to wane, when he felt Ally’s hand take his under the table. Instantly he knew that it was the worst possible timing. Dixon pulled away from the group again with green envy in his eyes.

  “You can all go to hell as far as I’m concerned,” he barked as he stood up aggressively from the table. He walked towards the door and ignored their calls for him to come back.

  The door shook on its hinges as the big man slammed it hard, threatening to shatter the glass.

  “Jesus, what’s his problem?” PJ moaned.

  Tommy saw that Ally was equally mystified but he knew. He was the interloper back in the fold again after a prolonged absence. Dixon had loved Ally hard and now felt like he had only ever been her runner up prize. Despite over 20 years passing since he had been with them all, when she was in trouble it was Tommy that she called and it was Tommy’s hand that she took for comfort. In a way he couldn’t blame Dixon as he knew that it must be hard to take. But this was no longer the playground. This was no longer making plans for rainy days and Tommy pulling rank. This was now life and death and if he wanted Ally to live, then maybe they should all be turning to him. Ever since he had set foot back in town and into their lives he had railed against the sense of responsibility that he felt for them all. But now it might be the only thing that kept them alive, and when he thought “them” he really thought “her”.

  ----------

  Deputy Katy Jacket hung up her uniform at the end of the longest day that she had ever known in Denver Mills. She had trained as a police officer mainly for the stability and organisation that she had inherited from her mother. It was a pleasant enough job and she greatly enjoyed the sense of community and pride that her position brought. But there was no doubt that she was the lowest rung on the Denver Mills police department ladder. Freddie Burns and Henry Trinder were the two other deputies on staff and she had to make do with being the junior member of the team for now. But things had started to change faster than she could have imagined.

  The “boys” had sent her out to the Midkiff farm first thing this morning figuring that there was some kind of industrial accident to clean up. What she had found of course was a murder scene. Chief Gaines had always shown her respect and he had seemed pleased to find her in attendance rather than Burns or Trinder. She smiled inwardly at the thought of just what the “gruesome twosome” would have made of poor old Dale Midkiff lying in his porch with his face melted away.

  She grabbed a cold beer from the fridge and sat down heavily in her favourite recliner. Her home was an agreeable apartment near the commercial district in town. It was large enough for her and not too big enough to worry about keeping it clean. There was a lack of mirrors in the home save for one in the spare bedroom that she used only when necessary. The birthmark on her cheek often seemed monstrously large to her despite other people professing otherwise. But she knew that they were just being kind as she could often feel stares on the street.

  Her only houseguest at present was a one eared ginger tomcat that she had named Thor after the comic book character. Thor had strolled into her kitchen through the window one night with a look on his face that simply demanded to be fed. She had laid out a saucer of milk and Thor had lapped it up and then wandered off without so much as a thank you. The cat had started to meander in and out of her home at will and at some point she had simply assumed responsibility for him. It was a little different from owning him she figured, as Thor was a wandering spirit who belonged to no-one. He was no mythical God of Thunder, but he was a badass nevertheless.

  Wearily she walked back to the fridge and opened it. She stood and waited for the telltale scratch of his claws at the window. She stood confused as there was no usual noise to accompany the fridge door opening. Thor would normally have been on her windowsill like a shot. She began to fear the worst. He was such an independent and fearless animal that she wondered if for once he had bitten off more than he could chew. And then suddenly there he was. His cheeky face was peering in through the window with his usual lopsided grin. She lifted the latch and in he popped. She poured him a saucer of cold milk and watched as he lapped up the creamy liquid. She grabbed his food from the pantry and shook out a bowlful, enjoying the company.

  ----------

  Dr Sam Norton creaked his weary bones into his home. Since Lorraine had passed away two years ago he had lived alone. The house was compact and well maintained. The street was pleasant without being ostentatious and it had been a happy place. Every room was stuffed full of memories of the previous happy years and he could never leave it. He had a daughter who frequently called from her life many miles away. Debbie was always nagging him to move to a smaller apartment or even an assisted living block. But he could never leave Loraine behind; it would be like abandoning her. Their life had been here and his death would be here.

  He had seen a lot of life and death in his time as the town’s oldest doctor. Some days it felt like he had delivered half of the people currently walking around. He had delivered Dale Midkiff for one. His position as the doctor on call to the police department was mainly a ceremonial one. There wasn’t often call for his extracurricular services and when there was, it was normally to pronounce some careless farmer dead at the scene of his industrial accident. Dale Midkiff had been different. Someone had squirted some kind of extremely toxic and acidic substance into the poor man’s face and it had eaten the flesh away to the bone. He had sent samples over to Eastport for analysis in their labs and he was half hoping that they would assume the responsibility from here on. Gaines was an experienced detective, but that had been a long time ago. The man was now reaching his own retirement and he knew from his own personal experience that this age was never kind to the senses. Perhaps it would be best if the Eastport police department took over the investigation. Perhaps it would be best all round if Gaines washed his hands of this whole bloody mess. He wished that he could convince himself of that fact, but the house was still too full of Lorraine to allow him to get away with that. He knew that her face would be screwed up and crinkled with annoyance at his cowardice. He could picture her mournful shakes of the head from beyond the grave and he could feel her disapproval.

  He had been on call when Mary Todd had been killed at the Marsh boy’s twelfth birthday party. What a terrible mess that had all been. He had come upon the scene of ashen faced children and a blood stained lawn. Larry Taylor had been the Chief back then and he had never cared for the man. Taylor ran with Adrian Todd’s crowd; a whole merry bunch with the town’s business all sown up between them. It was an incestuous group that ran everything in Denver Mills. When he had seen that it was Mary Todd who lay dead on the Marsh’s back garden, he’d held out little hope for a fair trial. Adrian Todd doted on his daughter and Sam knew that woe betide the man who stood before Todd and his justice. Sam could remember Mary’s husband Arnold Trotter being dragged off to the jail cell with disbelief written all over his face. If Sam had been a betting man, he’d have wagered that Trotter had been as shocked as anyone. The trial had proved to be as one sided as he’d feared and it had turned into a mere procession to prison for Trotter. It had been common knowledge in town that Trotter had been transferred to a secure mental health unit a few years after his original incarceration. It was as though the town had almost willed itself to forget that particular slice of gruesome history. He himself had been contacted for Trotter’s medical records when the man had been transferred to Blackwater Heights. The fire that had destroyed the hospital and many of
its inmates was still being sifted through as far as he knew. Only earlier this morning he had asked Gaines if there had been any news, but Gaines had been uncharacteristically vague on the subject. Trotter had been particularly vocal on his feelings at his trial and promises had been made. If Trotter was not amongst the dead then what exactly did that mean? They’d had the first murder in town since the man’s trial and the victim had served as Trotter’s jury foreman no less.

  With his dead wife’s voice in his ear, Sam decided that perhaps it was time that he made a few calls of his own after all.

  ----------

  McEwen banged fruitlessly on the glass partition that separated him from the taxi driver. They had long since left the main road and the comforting lights of civilization and potential witnesses. The taxi doors were locked from the front seemingly to prevent people from bailing without paying their fares. The driver in front was tall enough to have to bend their head slightly to prevent it from brushing the ceiling. The head was hidden under a hood from a sweatshirt that was pulled up and over.

  McEwen sat back in his seat unsure as just how to continue. He was being kidnapped in some manner but he had no idea by whom or why. He wondered just how other people would respond in such a situation. Would PJ beg? Would Dixon rage? Would Tommy think?

  The car slowed down and he could only sit and wait. If he was an animal then he would have rolled over on his back and exposed his throat in submission. His was a life spent mainly within the confines of his own thoughts. He had little interaction with the real world around him. He was only really comfortable conversing with his old friends in their old familiar surroundings and his agent who was like a surrogate mother or wife. He sat patiently waiting to be told or shown his fate.