by H E Joyce
The message simply said: “He is dead and gone, lady, He is dead and gone, At his head a grass-green turf, At his heels a stone.”
Ten
‘This is so not cool,’ Janine said to herself. She looked into the blackness once again, but there was no one to be seen. She rushed indoors holding the wreath and slammed the door shut behind her. Maggie looked at Janine curiously when she saw what her friend had found. Jody, meanwhile, had returned to the movie, oblivious of and unconcerned to what was taking place.
‘What does it mean?’ said Janine.
‘I don’t know, it’s creepy. Do you think we should give it to the Peterson’s, or get rid of it?’ said Maggie. ‘I told you I heard something – I don’t like this, Jan.’
‘Well if you ask me, I think we should put it in the trash, said Janine.’
‘I’m not so sure, maybe we should tell them.’
‘What’s the point, Maggie, it’s obviously from a nut.’
‘Yes, exactly! I think they should know about it.’
‘It’s up to you, but what good would it do?’
Maggie thought for a moment. ‘Maybe you’re right. God, I hope they’re not too long, to think there was someone out there gives me the creeps.’
*
Laura had tried to loosen up and enjoy the evening, but her pasta dish remained largely untouched by the time they left the restaurant. Michael had not heard the woman’s voice, the pure evil in it; if he had, then perhaps he would not have taken such a casual attitude, and taken her concern more seriously, she thought. It wasn’t his fault, but she found it quite irritating to see him so relaxed.
It was just before ten when they left and after a mainly silent drive home, they arrived just fifteen minutes later. Laura had driven, Michael had drunk far more of the wine, whereas a single glass had lasted her the entire evening. She had hardly brought the vehicle to a stop when she jumped out and rushed to the house, inserted the key into the lock and went in. Maggie appeared from the living room with Janine, followed shortly by Jody. The television was on and all appeared normal, except that Laura sensed something in the girls faces, as if they were relieved to see her.
‘Hi, is everything okay?’ Laura asked slightly breathlessly.
‘Yes, everything’s fine, Mrs Peterson,’ said Maggie, a hint of uncertainty in her voice.
‘Are you sure? I hope Jody’s been no trouble.’
‘Everything’s fine, he’s been no trouble, he’s a great kid. We’ve been watching a movie.’
‘Great! Well, as long as… well, I guess I’d better get you girls home.’
‘Thanks, Mrs Peterson.’
Laura left Michael with Jody and drove the girls home. They lived two doors away from one another. Laura pulled up outside Maggie’s house on the far side of Brooksville. It was the residential part of the town, a long avenue lined with apple blossom trees, which in the summer looked wonderful, but in the winter months, with the trees bare and bending mournfully in the wind, it seemed all together a different place. Laura flicked the courtesy light on and took out her purse. She handed both girls some money for the child minding.
‘That’s too much, Mrs Peterson,’ the two said in unison.
‘No really, it’s fine, I appreciate you doing it for me at such short notice.’
‘Thank you – well, goodbye then.’
‘No, thank you, both of you. Goodnight, and if I don’t see you, have a great Thanksgiving.’
‘Thanks, you too,’ they said.
She waited to see them both go safely into their respective houses, opened the car window and lit a cigarette. She inhaled, then blew out a great plume of smoke that was drawn out of the car and merged with the cold night air. She watched the girls talking before they parted company for the night. It was the most relaxed she had felt all evening.
There was something in their body language that seemed odd, though she could not put her finger on what it was exactly. They were aware of her waiting and every so often they would look furtively in her direction. Eventually, the two said goodnight, called out a final goodnight to Laura and strolled up the pathways to their homes. Laura clearly saw Janine open her front door and disappear inside; Maggie on the other hand stood at her door and seemed to be hesitating. Laura took a last draw on her cigarette and started the engine.
At that moment, she saw Maggie running back to the car.
The girl put her face up to Laura’s window. Laura quickly opened it again.
‘What is it Maggie, what’s wrong?’
‘Mrs Peterson, I’m sorry; there’s something I think I should tell you. We thought we were doing the right thing, I…’
‘Okay, Maggie, calm down. Why don’t you get in the car and tell me what’s wrong.’ Maggie opened the passenger door and stepped into the vehicle again; she was clearly agitated. ‘Are you okay?’ Laura asked, ‘did something happen tonight?’ She paused and waited for a response. Maggie seemed to be searching for the right words before speaking, looking down at her lap, then straight ahead, but never making eye contact. ‘Look, whatever it is, you can tell me, I won’t be mad at you,’ Laura reassured her.
‘Well it’s…’
‘Yes?’
‘Well it all started when I thought I heard someone outside the house tonight… well, it turned out I did hear someone.’
Laura’s heart sunk on hearing the words, it was not what she had expected; a minor mishap on the girl’s part perhaps, a broken ornament, something of that nature. She wasn’t sure she wanted to hear any more, yet she needed to know. ‘What happened, did you see anyone?’
‘No, we didn’t see anyone exactly.’
‘But something happened, didn’t it? Tell me, Maggie, tell me what happened.’
‘Janine went outside to look around. You have to believe me Mrs Peterson; we did it because we didn’t want to worry you. We thought it was someone playing a prank.’
‘It’s okay, Maggie, but please, just tell me what happened, it’s very important.’
‘Janine found something out on the porch, whoever it was must have left it there. It was one of those wreaths, you know, when someone dies. There was a note on it, I can’t remember exactly what it said, but it wasn’t very nice.’
Her words stunned Laura. ‘I see. So where is it now?’
‘We put it in a bag and then into the trash. I’m really sorry.’
‘Hey, it’s okay, your intentions were good and I appreciate it, but you were right to tell me about it. It’s not your fault, honey. I’m only sorry you had a scare like that. Are you going to be okay?’
‘Yes, I’m fine, really.’
‘But neither of you saw anyone?’
‘No, whoever it was must have gone by the time Janine went outside.’
‘Okay, thanks for telling me about it, Maggie. Anyway, you had better get in; I’ll wait until you’re inside.’
‘Bye Mrs Peterson,’ she said, stepping out of the car. ‘I hope everything… well, you know.’
‘Yes, I know. Goodnight.’
A few moments later, Laura saw Maggie open the door to her house, the light from the hallway illuminating her as she waved before going inside.
Her hands were shaking as she lit another cigarette. She took a couple of draws on it before starting the car again and driving back home. The speed limit ignored, she drove recklessly, though the roads were empty at that time of night in Brooksville. She took constant, nervous draws on her cigarette until it was down to the stub, and on the winding section of road that led up to Brooksville Heights, she flicked it out of the window in a hail of sparks. She swerved and almost lost control of the car at that point, it was a sheer drop down to the sea, but she managed to regain control and soon found herself pulling into the driveway of the house.
Michael was in the kitchen, his tie loosened, looking relaxed and having a nightcap of bourbon when she arrived.
‘Where’s Jody?’ asked Laura.
‘He was tired; he’s gone up to
bed. Are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’ Laura didn’t answer, but went with purposeful strides out back to the trash. ‘What are you doing now?’ he asked curiously, following her outside.
She found the black bag immediately, grabbed it out of the trash, took it into the kitchen and removed the item from the bag. Michael followed her back into the kitchen bemused by yet another display of strange behaviour. That was, until he saw the wreath.
‘What the…’
Laura snatched the note from the wreath. She felt violated, she was angry more than scared now. She read the note and without saying a word, handed it to Michael.
‘I don’t understand, what the hell’s going on?’ he said.
‘That’s a very good question,’ Laura said, her eyes wide with outrage. ‘The girls heard someone snooping around outside tonight and then they found this on the porch. I hope you can at least take the call I had earlier more seriously now.’
‘Who the hell could be doing this – and why? Michael said earnestly.
‘I don’t know, I have no idea.’
‘I’m going to call Ron,’ Michael said, heading for the phone.
‘No, he won’t be able to do anything – not tonight anyway. We can call him in the morning. Pour me one of those would you.’
Michael poured a glass of the bourbon and handed it to her. He put his arm around her and held her tightly. ‘Look, don’t worry, we’ll get to the bottom of this nonsense.’
Laura feigned a smile. ‘Yes, of course we will.’
‘We will, I promise.’
‘I’m going to check on Jody,’ she said.
‘Okay, honey, I’ll lock up.’
‘Thanks. And could you put that damned thing back in the bag and put it outside. I don’t want it in my house.’
‘Yes, of course I will.’
‘I think I’ll go to bed after checking on Jody – you don’t mind do you?’
‘No, of course not, I’ll be up myself in a while.’
Twenty-five minutes later, Michael joined Laura in bed. She was lying on her side, her eyes closed, but she was not yet asleep. Michael put his arm around her waist, gently pulled her body close to his and slowly kissed her arm, her shoulder, and then her neck. At first she didn’t respond, it had been a while, or at least it felt that way, but after a moment she turned to him and kissed his mouth, and despite everything that had happened that day, she found herself wanting him.
*
Michael was already up and speaking on the phone when Laura entered the kitchen. She silently mouthed the words: ‘Who is it?’ Michael covered the mouthpiece momentarily to say: ‘It’s Ron Cartwright,’ and then continued the conversation.
‘Well Mike, I don’t really see what I can do,’ said Ron, ‘I mean unless we can catch someone on your land, it’s pretty hopeless. You see, the thing is, no crime has actually been committed, has it? What I mean to say is, if they had broken into your home, that’d be different. You understand what I’m saying?’
‘Yes, but surely… What about fingerprints? There must be a way of getting some prints off this thing.’
‘Michael, Michael, I can’t go requesting forensic testing for something like this, it doesn’t work that way, you should know that. Look, I’ll tell you what I’ll do, I’ll call round tomorrow, how does that sound?’
‘Well, I guess it’ll have to do. Thanks Ron, goodbye.’
‘I take it he didn’t want to know,’ said Laura.
‘I’m afraid not. No crime has been committed is what he said. Apparently, anyone can walk onto your property whenever they like. Sometimes I wonder about the law.’
‘So nothing happens until this lunatic kills someone – is that what he’s saying?’
Michael shrugged. ‘He did say that he’d call at the house tomorrow though.’
‘Oh, well, that’s a great relief,’ she said, with more than a hint of sarcasm.
‘I’m sorry, honey, I did my best.’
‘I know, I’m not blaming you, but Jesus...’
‘I know, I know.’
‘Did you tell him about the call I had yesterday as well?’
‘Yes, of course I did, at least, everything there was to tell.’
She shot him a look. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘It wasn’t supposed to mean anything. Look, don’t get prickly with me, honey, I didn’t send the damned thing.’
‘No, you’re right, I’m sorry. It’s just getting to me, that’s all.’
‘I know. It’ll be alright, I promise.’
‘Yeah, sure it will,’ she said, unable to contain the anger in her voice.
Sunday went by without incident. The three of them even went for a walk through the woods and along the cliff in the early afternoon. Yet, despite putting a brave face on for Jody’s sake, and to a degree, Michael’s, Laura never once felt truly at ease. It seemed almost inevitable that she would hear from the malevolent caller again, it was just a matter of when, and perhaps more worrying – how.
Eleven
Frank Doyle had barely been in his office thirty minutes when the phone rang.
‘Hello, Frank Doyle.’
‘Frank, it’s Malloy.’
‘Oh, Hi Shaun, good weekend?’
‘Ah, you know, the usual, a couple of homicides. Anyway, I’ve got everything I can on the Mitchell case for you.’
‘That’s great, could you fax it over to me?’
‘Doing it as we speak, Frank. Hope you find what you’re looking for.’
‘I’m not sure I will, but I appreciate it anyway.’
‘No problem, anytime. Oh, and have a happy Thanksgiving.’
‘You too, Shaun,’ he said, and hung up the phone.
The machine sprung into life and a lengthy fax began to print out. Frank poured himself a fresh cup of coffee, lit a cigar, and started to read it. It seemed it was a fairly unremarkable case, a simple matter of self-defence. Laura had sustained substantial bruising to her arms, cuts to her face and two black eyes before finally shooting her husband dead. It had gone to trial as a matter of course, the police knew that if she hadn’t shot him, she would almost certainly be dead herself. The trial didn’t last long before the court found her not guilty and she was released.
Within the fax there were other background details, including the fact that after the trial, Laura had suffered a breakdown and spent some time receiving treatment. She had eventually recovered and returned to having a normal life, and soon after that, moved to Brooksville. Her late husband was ten years Laura’s senior and had a child from a previous marriage, a daughter who at the time would have been twenty-six. He and Laura had Jody together, who was only around five years old when the incident occurred.
A police report also showed that her late husband was no stranger to violent, drunken outbursts. Some years before, during his previous marriage, the police had been called to a domestic disturbance, but his then wife pressed no charges and it went no further. However, shortly after they divorced, his wife was given sole custody of their daughter.
It made interesting reading, yet offered Frank no clues. Not that he expected any, he simply liked to have all the background information he could lay his hands on when taking on a case. There was also no dirt to be found on Michael. All Frank had on him so far was the fact he had seen him in what clearly seemed to be an illicit meeting on the Friday afternoon, though he had no photographic evidence to show Laura. Also, being dark and the weather being so awful at the time, he had been unable to see the registration plate of the car which Michael had got into. All he knew for sure was that the driver of the car was a woman.
There seemed little else he could do other than watch the guy, but that would be expensive for his client, and he wasn’t sure how much Laura would be willing, or able to pay for an on-going surveillance operation. It could take weeks, and even then there was no guarantee of gathering any concrete evidence. He leaned onto his desk, scratched his stubble and puffed on his c
igar as he considered the situation. The case interested him. Yes, on the surface it was no different to most of the other cases he had handled as a private investigator; yet somehow this one captured his imagination. Perhaps it was the colourful background of his client that made it so interesting, or maybe it was simply because he had instantly liked Laura. He wasn’t sure, but he knew that if for no other reason than for his own satisfaction, he wanted to see it through.
His time at NYPD had been a good one and he had been a good detective, respected and well liked by his colleagues. But retirement had not been kind to him, he had sunk almost all his money into setting up his own private investigation firm and the rewards were not as he had imagined. If it weren’t for his monthly police pension he would not be able to survive and the business would have gone under long ago. The only saving grace was that he only had himself to support; he had been widowed a few years before retiring.
He led a mainly solitary life; a single roomed apartment, which he rented, was his home now. But the four walls of the apartment drove him crazy after leaving his office each day, so he would spend several hours in a bar each evening. He had visited the same bar almost every evening for the past few years, yet no one would ever strike up a conversation, no one even knew his name, not even the bartender. So, the thought of sitting in his car for hours on end with only himself for company, and even if he wasn’t getting paid, didn’t seem such a bad prospect. Still, he had a few days grace in which to continue his investigation while still being paid, and without the benefit of having any leads, it seemed the only thing left to do was head back to Brooksville to carry out more surveillance.
It was around midday when his phone rang for only the second time that day.
‘Frank Doyle Private Investigations, can I help you?’ It took him by surprise when Laura spoke. ‘Mrs Peterson, hello, how are you?’
‘Hello, Mr Doyle. Look, I don’t quite know how to say this, but… well, you see I spoke to my husband about – you know, I asked him outright, and he denies having an affair. I believe him.’ There was a silence for a few moments. ‘Mr Doyle, are you still there?’