The Deadliest Game

by H E Joyce

  ‘Hi there, could you put me through to Detective Malloy, please.’ The busy operator connected him to the extension without acknowledgment. It was picked up almost immediately.

  ‘Homicide.’

  ‘Hi, Shaun, how ya doing buddy?’ Frank said.

  ‘Frank, Is that you?’ said the man, struggling to hear over the noise in the hectic office.

  ‘Yeah, it sure is. They keeping you busy, Malloy?’

  ‘Yeah, well, you know how it is – roll on retirement, lucky son of a bitch, you. Anyway, what can I do for you, Frank?’

  ‘I need a favour, Shaun, on the QT like.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘I need you to find out as much as you can on a case. A shooting that happened in Chicago a few years back, a domestic. The name of the shooter at the time was Laura Mitchell, and she was acquitted on the grounds of self-defence. Could you do that for me?’

  ‘I guess I could, I know a couple of the guys at Chicago PD. What’s your interest, Frank?’

  ‘I’m not sure myself yet. Let’s just say, it’s something I’m working on.’

  ‘I’ll see what I can do. Give me a number where I can reach you.’ The surly detective hastily jotted down the number of his retired colleague. ‘Okay, got it, look, I’ve gotta go, Frank, I’ll be in touch.’ Before Frank had a chance to thank him, his friend had hung up. He remembered only too well what it was like in a busy police precinct, and particularly in a homicide department.

  Two hours after their meeting, Frank was in his car and driving towards Brooksville. He figured he might as well take a look around and get a feel for the place straight away. While he was there, he could see where his client’s husband’s office was, where their house was situated, and any other scrap of useful information that might come his way. It was raining heavily as he drove there, and by the time he arrived, the rain was torrential. He pulled in close to Merryweather’s, turned off the engine and sat for a moment taking in the surroundings, occasionally flicking on the windshield wipers to see better.

  During one of the brief moments his windshield was clear, the wipers sweeping away great rivulets of rain, he could just make out the indistinct image of a woman leaving the store. A second glance confirmed it was Laura, so he turned off the wipers to allow the heavy rain to conceal him. She made a dash and got in her car, which was parked immediately next to his, and he turned his face away while she reversed out into the street a little before driving off, completely oblivious of his presence.

  He gave it a few minutes before he went into Merryweather’s store. Being a stranger in town, all eyes were on him as he stood in the doorway and shook the rain from his coat.

  ‘Good afternoon,’ he said, making his way to the long counter, which an elderly gentleman stood behind, stacking his shelves. ‘I’ll take a couple of those cigars, if I may.’

  ‘Certainly sir,’ the man said, reaching for them and placing them on the counter. ‘That’ll be four dollars fifty. Just passing through are you?’

  ‘Not exactly. I wonder, could you possibly tell me where Michael Peterson, the lawyers office is?’

  ‘Sure, you can’t miss it, it’s right at the far end of the street.’

  ‘Thank you, that’s most helpful. Say, I have a little time to waste, could I possibly have a cup of coffee?’

  ‘Sure you can, take a seat, I’ll bring it right over to you.’

  Frank Doyle took a seat at the table next to three women, and after they had given him a cursory glance, it soon became clear that two of them were discussing his client. One of them appeared to be putting the other firmly in her place about the way she had been speaking to Laura, and although Laura’s name was not mentioned, or the details of the conversation clear, it clearly related to the person who had left the store just moments before.

  It was an opportunity that could have proved to be solid gold for any private investigator, but then the shopkeeper brought his coffee over and decided to make small talk. He stood between Frank and the other table talking mainly about the weather and the storm that was coming. Frank, trying not to appear rude, nodded to him occasionally, yet was never really listening. Instead he tried to catch the odd word from the women at the next table, but it was hopeless, even with his trained ears; he could not make out what they were saying above the man’s talking.

  ‘Tell me, what’s this Mr Peterson like as a lawyer? I was recommended him by a friend, but you know how it is, friends can sometimes be wrong.’

  ‘Well, so far as I know, he’s pretty good at his job. Not that me and the wife here have much call for lawyers,’ the man said, gesturing towards the woman who had defended Laura.

  ‘Oh, this is your good lady wife? How do you do, Mrs…’

  She turned to him. ‘Merryweather, Blanche Merryweather, how do you do.’

  ‘I was just saying to your husband, I have an appointment to see Mr Peterson, the lawyer, I hope you don’t mind me sheltering from the rain, I’m a little early you see.’

  ‘No, not at all, would you like a refill?’

  ‘Oh, that would be very nice, thank you.’

  ‘George, get this gentleman another coffee, there’s a dear.’

  ‘So, Mr…’

  ‘Doyle, Frank Doyle.’

  ‘So, Mr Doyle, you’re not from around here then?’

  ‘No, I’ve come from Bangor. Not too far away really.’

  ‘Even so, I would have thought there would be plenty more lawyers there than in our little town.’

  ‘Well, as I explained to your husband, he was recommended to me.’

  ‘Oh, well, he’s very good, I’m sure you won’t be disappointed; he’s a good man. As a matter of fact, you just missed his wife, she’s a lovely girl too.’

  ‘Really? Small world isn’t it?’

  ‘Well, small town anyway. What do you do, Mr Doyle?’

  ‘Me? Oh I’m in sales. Boring stuff really. You know them well I gather, the Petersons I mean.’

  Blanche nodded. ‘Oh yes, I’ve known Michael since he was a child. Laura, that’s his wife, only a few years, but we’ve become very good friends. She moved here from Chicago.’

  ‘Must have been quite a big step. I wonder what made her move to such a small town after living in the city.’

  ‘Well, I’m sure I don’t know. It’s funny you should say that, Mr Doyle, because in all the time I’ve known her, it never occurred to me to ask her. Isn’t that strange?’

  ‘Well, maybe she just wanted a quiet life, eh?’

  ‘Yes, that’s probably it, dear. You wouldn’t catch me living in the city.’

  George Merryweather arrived with a pot of coffee and refilled his cup. ‘Looks like the rain’s slowing down a little.’

  It was still as dark as night outside, the cars driving by had their headlamps on, and on the headland in the distance, the lighthouse flashed intermittently amidst the angry, dark grey sky. The fishing boats bobbed up and down in the nearby harbour, and across to the left of the bay, and on a hillside, Frank Doyle’s eyes were drawn to a tiny light that was visible, and which through the gloom, seemed to pulsate gently from the imposing house that was Brooksville Heights.

  He finished his coffee and stood, towering over George. ‘Well, I think it’s time I made my way while the weather holds. Thank you for the coffee, it was nice meeting you. Who knows, maybe I’ll call in again some time.’

  ‘Yes, please do, Mr Doyle,’ said, Blanche. ‘Oh, and say hello to Michael from me, would you?’

  ‘Yes, I’ll do that. Goodbye.’

  It was still raining heavily enough to make the walk down the street uncomfortable, so he got in his car and drove the few hundred yards to Michael’s office. In any case, it was what he had planned to do. Standing around outside in a small town like Brooksville and in such bad weather, would have made him far too conspicuous. He parked his car on the opposite side of the street to Michael’s office, reclined his seat to a prone position so he would be virtually unseen, lit a ciga
r, and watched.

  Only a couple of people went in the office over a period of one and a half hours, they were both male, and getting on in years. Both were inside for around twenty minutes or so, and then left. At five, a woman left the office; Frank assumed it was his secretary. Half an hour after that, the lights went out in the office front and his subject came out and locked up. It had stopped raining heavily, it was no more than a light drizzle, but it was dark enough so that Michael’s features were indiscernible. Frank Doyle adjusted his car seat so that he was in the driving position again. He watched as Michael walked the few yards to his car, got in and drove away. He followed at a safe distance.

  It soon became evident that Michael was not heading for home, but out into open country and in the opposite direction to where Frank understood their home was. In fact it was the road he had travelled on earlier from Bangor. He followed for around ten miles before seeing Michael, up ahead, pulling into a densely wooded area at the side of the road. He also sighted another vehicle parked close by, and as he got closer, Michael got out of his car and ran over to the other. Frank slowed down slightly to get as good a look as possible as he passed. Fortunately, as Michael got in the vehicle, the courtesy light came on just enough for Frank to make out the driver was a woman. Given the isolated location, it was impossible to stop and observe without drawing attention, so he accelerated and drove past.

  He continued along the road for a mile or so before considering turning back for another look, but could see little advantage, as it would only mean another drive by in which he would see nothing. It seemed clear though, that the apparent clandestine meeting of his client’s husband backed up Laura’s concerns. It was certainly enough, he thought, to warrant further surveillance. He drove on, continuing along the same road, which led to Bangor and his office.

  *

  Michael arrived home at six-thirty. He hung up his coat in the hall and found Laura in the kitchen preparing dinner. He stood behind her and put his arms around her, kissing her cheek. She barely reacted. Her mood was sombre, as to some extent was his. He pulled away, poured them both a glass of wine, and then sat at the table while Laura continued silently what she was doing.

  ‘Are you okay, honey?’ he asked.

  ‘Uh huh.’

  ‘You seem a little… I don’t know, a little… Is something wrong?’

  ‘What could be wrong? I’m sorry, I’m just a little tired, that’s all.’

  ‘Well why don’t you sit down and relax and let me carry on with that.’

  ‘No! I’m fine, stop fussing.’

  ‘Okay, okay, I’m sorry, maybe you’d prefer me to go back to the office.’

  ‘Yeah, well maybe I would.’

  ‘You would? Fine! If that’s what you want, you’ve got it lady.’ He slammed down his glass of wine, got up and stormed off to the hall where he put his coat back on. Laura followed him.

  ‘Michael, I’m sorry.’

  ‘No you’re not, Laura. I’ll see you later.’ He slammed the door as he left. Laura stood there for a few moments, her eyes closed tensely, running her fingers through her hair. She was confused. Was she having a breakdown? Perhaps so, because Michael had done nothing wrong. It was as though something inside of her had simply snapped.

  Jody, having heard their raised voices, appeared in the hallway. ‘What’s the matter, Mom?’

  She wiped the wetness away from her eyes as discreetly as she could. ‘Nothing, honey, nothing.’

  ‘Were you and Michael arguing?’

  ‘Yes, a little, it’s nothing to worry about though. Grown-ups quarrel sometimes, that’s all.’

  ‘Where’s he gone? Is he coming back?’

  ‘Yes, of course he is. Now go and wash your hands, dinner will be ready soon.’

  Laura returned to the kitchen, wondering if indeed her young son’s perception had been correct. Would Michael come back, or had she driven him away – or worse, into someone else’s arms?

  Michael did not return home until past midnight. The house was in darkness except for one small table lamp in the living room, where he found Laura asleep on a sofa. An old movie flickered on the T.V, though the sound was turned down low.

  He was not usually a heavy drinker, fairly moderate in fact, but having spent the entire evening in a bar out of town, he felt drunk and extremely nauseous. Such was his state of mind; he had even driven home under the influence.

  He stood over Laura, barely able to stand, just looking at her sleeping peacefully. But as if becoming aware of a presence, she woke with a start.

  ‘How long have you been standing there?’ she asked.

  ‘Not long.’

  ‘What time is it?’

  ‘Late,’ he said, his body swaying a little as he spoke.

  ‘You’re drunk. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you drunk before.’

  ‘Yes, well,’ he slurred. ‘I usually save getting drunk for special occasions.’

  ‘And this is a special occasion?’

  He began to laugh. ‘I don’t know, because I’m drunk.’

  She turned her face away from him. ‘Maybe you should go to bed.’

  ‘You know something, I quite agree – bed!’

  ‘How did you get home? Did you drive, Michael?’

  ‘Yep!’

  ‘Are you crazy? You could have killed someone. Look at you, you can hardly stand.’

  ‘Ah, always the voice of reason eh, Laura?’

  ‘Just go to bed, Michael.’

  She watched as he stumbled up the stairs, suddenly feeling wide awake. It would be pointless joining him. Besides, the idea of sleeping next to another drunk after so long was a disagreeable one. It was only then she wondered if she was the sort of woman who always made the wrong choice when it came to men. Worse still, was it her that drove her late husband to drink, and now, Michael. But this at least was the one and only time she had seen Michael like this, there was no reason to think he would do it again, that is, if she didn’t give him cause.

  But as she poured herself a glass of milk, she rebuked herself for thinking, even for a moment, that what had happened in the past, and what might be happening now, was her fault. The guilt of denying Jody of his father was one of the contributing factors of her previous breakdown; she was wrong to think that way, the psychiatrists at the hospital had shown her that much. And now, if Michael was, as she suspected, having an affair, was it her fault? No, of course not, she thought. She was darned if she would take responsibility for his, or any other man’s actions ever again.

  A wave of sadness washed over her. She wondered if it was truly the case that Michael was being unfaithful, and if it was, did he love the other woman? Could she do something to keep him? And if so, could she ever forgive him? She hoped that the answer to those questions would be, yes. Her main concern though, above all else, was Jody. He had been through more than enough trauma in his young life and she had no intention of him having to live in an atmosphere of distrust and resentment. She thought about their life at Brooksville before she had met Michael. Yes, there had been times when she had felt great loneliness, and sometimes, even despair, but on the whole it had been a good life, a comfortable and safe life. It was true how the saying went, that you don’t know what you have until it’s gone. Of course, the same could be said of her marriage to Michael, she thought. Perhaps, even if her fears of him having an affair were found to be true, wouldn’t it be worth trying to salvage their marriage and start again? She still loved him after all.

  By around two in the morning, her eyes began to feel heavy, her mind in need of rest, and as she made her way up to the bedroom, she wondered if the weekend might bring an opportunity to get their relationship back on track.

  Nine

  ‘How are you feeling this morning?’ Laura asked.

  ‘My head feels like someone’s been stamping on it,’ said Michael, appearing at the breakfast table, still in his dressing gown.

  ‘Well, maybe this will make you feel a lit
tle better. Here, drink up,’ she said, handing him a mug of strong black coffee and a pack of painkillers. ‘I’d advise taking a couple of those as well.’

  ‘Thanks, honey. Where’s Jody?’

  ‘He’s outside playing. He had breakfast about two hours ago.’

  Michael glanced at the clock. ‘Jesus, ten thirty!’

  ‘Well, it is Saturday, I think you’re entitled to a lie in.’

  ‘I guess so. Look, I’m sorry I stormed off like that last night.’

  ‘It’s okay, I probably asked for it.’

  ‘No, no, you didn’t, I acted like a kid. But you were acting kind of strange and I never really found out why.’

  ‘It’s nothing.’

  ‘Come on, it must have be something.’

  Laura sat down opposite him at the table. She looked at him, the bloodshot eyes, the day-old stubble. He really did look rough. She opened her mouth to speak but closed it again and picked at her fingernails, trying to find the appropriate words.

  ‘What?’ he said, ‘what’s wrong?’

  ‘Michael, I’m going to ask you something, and I don’t want you to flip, I just want an honest answer, okay?’

  ‘Okay,’ he said, warily.

  She took a deep breath. ‘Okay,’ she said, then let out a huge sigh. ‘Well here goes. Are you having an affair, Michael?’

  ‘What! An affair? Are you crazy? Of course I’m not having an affair!’ He stood up quickly, shook his head, and ran his fingers through the mess of his hair. ‘What the… I…I can’t believe you just asked me that. Is that what you think?’

  ‘Well, to be honest, I don’t know what to think, but yes, that is what I’ve been thinking.’

  He paced over to the window then turned round to face her. ‘Honey, that’s crazy. What on earth made you think that? Why would I even...’

  She suddenly felt stupid. Whatever had possessed her to think such a thing? ‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry; I shouldn’t have said anything.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter? Of course it matters. I could never do that to you, Laura.’ He strolled back over to the table, sat down, and reached across for her hand. ‘You have to believe me...’