The Deadliest Game

by H E Joyce

  Michael poured two glasses of wine and handed one to her. ‘Sally will be down in a couple of days, maybe that’ll help take your mind off things a little.’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘And of course it’ll be Thanksgiving, so yeah, it’ll be great!’

  For just a moment, Laura forgot her worries and laughed as Michael cavorted around the kitchen; his body bent forward, head jerking, his hands on his hips and arms folded back in a comical impersonation of a turkey.

  ‘That reminds me,’ she said, taking a sip of wine, ‘I’d better go and pick up the bird and all the trimmings tomorrow.’

  ‘I can taste it already,’ Michael said. ‘I’m really looking forward to it, this’ll be our first Thanksgiving together.’

  ‘We were together last year,’ Laura reminded him.

  “That doesn’t count. We’d been together for three weeks and you weren’t ready to spend it with me. If I remember rightly, you snuck me into the house when Jody went to bed. Couldn’t wait to get your hands on me.’

  Laura laughed. ‘It wasn’t quite like that.’

  Michael pulled her close. ‘I love it when you’re happy. Just try and relax and forget all about this business, at least for the next few days, alright?’

  ‘I’ll try,’ she said.

  ‘That’s my girl. And if it makes you feel better, I could always call the electrician to see if he can fit some security lights as your detective friend suggested.’

  ‘Would you? That would be great, Michael. Thank you.’

  ‘I’ll give him a call tomorrow from the office.’

  ‘I must admit it’ll make me feel better, but either way, I promise I’m not going to let this ruin Thanksgiving.’

  ‘Good! There’s no reason why it should. I’m sure we won’t hear from this person again anyway.’

  Laura nodded, but inwardly felt exasperation at Michael’s casual approach and off-the-cuff remarks. It seemed to her that Frank Doyle was the only person that took the matter seriously, took her seriously; and for that at least she was grateful.

  *

  It was late by the time Frank drove back to Bangor. After leaving the Fisherman’s Tavern he had returned to Brooksville Heights where he sat in his car for a couple of hours. There was a gap in the trees that lined the driveway, a small clearing quite close to where the driveway ended and led up to the house. He had concealed his car there and waited. It was a perfect location to see anyone approaching the house without being detected. As far as he could make out, there was no other way of reaching the place. However, on this occasion nothing untoward occurred so he called it a night.

  Once he arrived back at his apartment at around eleven, he cooked bacon and eggs; he hadn’t eaten all day. He cracked open a can of beer to drink while cooking, followed by another to wash it down. It was this kind of lifestyle, eating at irregular hours, and to a large degree, his intake of alcohol, that made him prone to being overweight. It had been much the same during his years in the police, though it was only since the loss of his wife and subsequent retirement he had taken to drinking more heavily. His two children had grown up, had families of their own and were scattered across the country, a daughter in New York and a son in Florida. He rarely heard from them, let alone saw them. It seemed he had no one now.

  As he slouched on the sofa in front of the television eating, he thought about Michael and how he clearly showed signs of disapproval at his wife having hired him. To him, Michael came across as arrogant and not entirely sympathetic to his wife’s plight. Generally, he didn’t take to him too much. Their personalities seemed quite different. Laura seemed to be a genuinely caring person, someone who would do anything to help another in need, whereas Michael appeared to be someone who looked out for himself over and above anyone else. Or was that simply because he was a lawyer? He had, unfairly perhaps, over the years, grown to dislike lawyers intensely. It was a dislike borne from seeing criminals walk away from court free men because of their legal representatives finding a loophole in the law and such like. He had seen it happen all too often. But of course, Michael was not a public defender; he was a small town lawyer, so perhaps, Frank thought, his reasoning was biased and maybe it was unfair to cast him in the same mould.

  Nevertheless, that did not change the fact that he had seen Michael in what appeared to be a clandestine meeting with a woman. But who was she?

  Thirteen

  Frank Doyle set out early the next day. It was around eight-thirty when he arrived at Brooksville; he had a breakfast of coffee and pancakes in the local diner. The gusts of wind were increasing in strength even as he sat there, a precursor to the coming storm that promised to batter the coast over the next day or so. The middle-aged waitress, in her pink and white checked uniform approached and offered a top-up of his coffee, which he gladly accepted. He was her only customer.

  ‘Thank you, Ma’am, much appreciated. Nice little town you have here,’ he said.

  ‘Yes, it’s okay I guess, a little too quiet at times,’ she said, gesturing towards the empty tables. ‘You’re not from around here, are you?’

  ‘No, just passing through.’

  ‘Where are you from?’ she asked, taking the seat opposite him.

  ‘Not too far away – Bangor.’

  ‘Well, at least there’s a little more life there. I sometimes think about moving out and going somewhere where there’s life, Boston, New York, somewhere like that.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know, you’re probably better off here, believe me.’

  ‘So, where are you headed?’

  ‘I’m here to see Michael Peterson – the lawyer.’

  ‘Oh, Michael, right.’

  ‘You know him?’

  ‘Sure, I know Michael. You a client of his?’

  ‘No, we’re old friends, just paying him a surprise visit, that’s all. Do you know him well?’

  A grin spread across her face. ‘Not as well as I would have liked, and I must admit it certainly wasn’t for the want of trying.’ She laughed. ‘There’s a shortage of available men around here, you see. He’s married now of course, but then he was never interested in me anyway. You know Michael, he prefers the younger ones.’

  ‘Oh yes, I know Michael alright,’ Frank sniggered. ‘But you’re not very old and you’re very attractive too – so that’s his loss, right?’

  ‘I like you,’ she said, ‘you’re a gentleman. There aren’t many like you around here either. More coffee?’

  ‘Thank you, no, I’d better be going.’ He took ten dollars from his wallet and placed it on the table. ‘It was nice talking to you…’ he paused to look at the name badge pinned to her uniform, ‘...Sandy.’

  ‘Nice talking to you too. I’ll get your change.’

  ‘That’s okay, forget it. Maybe I’ll see you around?’ he said as he reached the door.

  ‘That’d be nice,’ she said, smiling at him.

  Frank pulled the collar of his coat up around his neck and walked down the street and into the wind that blew in from the sea. It only took a few minutes to reach Michael’s office. Frank hesitated for a moment before entering, wondering if he was doing the right thing; he assured himself he was and opened the door. The warmth of the reception area made his face tingle in contrast to the icy wind outside. Margaret greeted him with a smile.

  ‘Good morning, sir, how can I help you?

  ‘Good morning, I wondered if it would be possible to see Mr Peterson?’

  ‘You don’t have an appointment?’

  ‘No, no, I’m afraid not, but if he could spare me a few minutes I’d be very grateful.’

  ‘Well, I’ll ask him of course. What’s the name, sir?’

  ‘Doyle. Frank Doyle.’

  A few moments passed. Frank could hear the muffled sound of voices coming from Michael’s office, and eventually Michael appeared with Margaret back in the reception. He looked at Frank unsmiling, perhaps even a little perplexed by the unannounced visit.

  ‘Mr Doyle, what
an unexpected pleasure. Please, come in.’ He ushered Frank into his office. ‘Please, take a seat,’ he said, closing the door behind them.

  ‘Thank you Mr Peterson, and thanks for seeing me.’

  Michael sat down and leaned across his desk. ‘What can I do for you?’

  ‘Well, it’s like this, Mr Peterson, something’s bothering me about this business with your wife, these threats she’s been receiving. To me, something doesn’t quite add up.’

  ‘What do you mean, something doesn’t add up?’ Michael said, sneeringly.

  ‘Well, not to put too fine a point on it, so far as I can make out she never had anything like this happen to her before she married you.’

  ‘What the hell’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘Mr Peterson, I’ve been a cop for over twenty-five years. I can smell when someone’s lying or got something to hide, and I think there’s something you’re not telling me.’

  ‘Okay, that’s it; this meeting is over. I warned my wife about people like you.’

  ‘Well, pardon me sir, but I don’t hear a denial.’

  ‘I don’t have to deny anything to you; I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about. Now please leave Mr Doyle. As far as I’m concerned you’re fired. I don’t want to see you again – is that clear?’

  ‘Oh, crystal clear, though with respect, as it wasn’t you that hired me in the first place, you can’t very well fire me now, can you?’

  Michael clenched his fists. ‘Please, leave right now before I call the sheriff.’

  ‘I’m leaving.’ Frank stood up and towered over Michael still sitting at his desk. ‘Let me just say this. I don’t care if you like me or not, Mr Peterson, I’m only trying to help your wife. She’s a nice lady, I like her. Maybe you should think about her instead of yourself.’

  ‘I’ll let you see yourself out. Goodbye, Mr Doyle.’

  Frank went to open the door but turned back to Michael. ‘Just give me a name Mr Peterson.’

  ‘A name?’

  ‘Oh, come on, don’t be so coy. Your girlfriend, your mistress.’

  Michael’s expression changed to that of a child caught with his hands in the cookie jar. ‘You’d better sit down.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Frank.

  ‘How did you know?’

  ‘I make it my business to know.’

  ‘And does Laura know?’

  ‘No, not to my knowledge.’

  ‘It’s over now, Mr Doyle, I finished it for good the other day.’

  ‘Well I’m glad to hear that.’

  ‘But surely… you’re not suggesting that… that my…’

  ‘That your girlfriend has something to do with these threats? Hell yes, it’s a real possibility.’

  ‘Oh God!’

  ‘I need a name, Mr Peterson.’

  ‘I can’t do that, if it all came out…’

  ‘A name! We could be talking about Laura’s life here.’

  ‘You promise you’ll keep this discreet?’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  ‘Beth Anderson.’

  ‘And how long has this affair been going on exactly?’

  ‘A long time. Long before Laura and I even met in fact. Oh, I’ve tried to break it off plenty of times but she wouldn’t see reason.’

  ‘Uh huh, I see,’ Frank said, the disgust he felt for Michael, plain to see. ‘If she is the one behind these threats, you do realise it may take a restraining order. Anyway, I’ll try talking to her first, see if we can do this nice and quietly. I’ll need to know where I can find her, a home address and also where she works.’

  ‘She lives a few miles out of town at Ellsworth, I’ll write her address down for you. She’s recently taken up a teaching position at the local school. I begged her not to because that’s where Jody goes to school, but she just wouldn’t listen.’

  ‘No, I’m sure she wouldn’t, it’s just another way of having a hold over you. Okay, leave it with me. I’ll sort this mess out quietly – if I can.’

  ‘I’m sorry about earlier, I’ve been under a lot of strain – you understand?’

  ‘Sure I do. Well, goodbye Mr Peterson. Take care of your wife, okay?’

  ‘I will,’ he said. ’Thank you.’

  Frank gave Margaret a wry smile as he left Michael’s office. She was hovering around a filing cabinet quite close to the office door; he was under the distinct impression she had been listening.

  Before returning to his office, Frank took his cell phone and dialled out the number for the NYPD. He asked to be put through to Shaun Malloy in homicide. A detective whose voice he didn’t recognise answered.

  ‘Hi there, is Shaun Malloy there by any chance?’ asked Frank.

  ‘He’s out on a case right now, can I help?’

  ‘No, don’t worry, but could you get him to give me a call when he gets back?’

  ‘Sure, who is it please?’

  ‘Just tell him it’s Frank Doyle. Ask him to call me on my cell.’

  ‘Will do, Frank.’ The phone hung up abruptly. There was no time for pleasantries in such a busy department.

  He considered for a moment dropping by to see how Laura was, but decided instead to drive on to Ellsworth and check out Beth Anderson’s address. There was little he could do until after she returned from her teaching job, so he figured he would find a bar for a drink and wait it out there, in the hope that Shaun Malloy would get back to the office and return his call before he saw her.

  The address had turned out to be a fairly shabby apartment block. He would return there later, but for now he sat in a dingy bar in the town of Ellsworth and awaited a call from his old colleague in New York. The call came as Frank was about to order another beer.

  ‘Hi Frank, it’s Shaun. What can I do for you this time buddy?’

  ‘Thanks for calling back. Look, I know you’re flat-out over there, but I wondered if you could check someone else out for me.’

  ‘Well it’s kinda hectic here, Frank, but gimme the name and I’ll see what I can do.’

  ‘I owe you one, Shaun, thanks.’ Frank gave him the name and address. ‘Just one thing. Do you think you could you get it for me today? I’d really appreciate it if you could.’

  ‘D’ya want a cherry on that, Frank?’

  Frank laughed. ‘Just do your best, buddy,’ he said, then went ahead and ordered his beer.

  Fourteen

  Laura had been at Merryweather’s to pick up the turkey she had ordered, quite unaware of the exchange of words that was taking place between her husband and Frank, just yards along the street. She had stayed and had a cup of hot chocolate with Blanche as she almost always did, then returned home. Michael had called the local electrician before he had left for his office, but it seemed there was no chance of the security lights being fitted until after Thanksgiving.

  She busied herself for a good part of the afternoon, cleaning and making sure the house was fit for her sister’s inspection the following day. Sally had always been fussy and more house-proud than Laura; it was yet another way their personalities differed. Yet despite the apprehension she felt at their spending a couple of days together, she was hopeful they could get to know one another again and perhaps put their differences behind them once and for all, whatever those differences might be. That was the problem; there was nothing tangible, no one single thing that could be addressed. It seemed to be more a clash of personalities that had prevented them from being close.

  She had taken two calls during the day, one from a telemarketing company and one from a regular client who wanted to make an appointment for after the holiday. On both occasions, Laura’s heart had skipped a beat before answering. The machine Frank Doyle had fitted flicked on and recorded the conversations as he had promised it would.

  *

  It was around four when Detective Shaun Malloy called Frank’s cell. Frank had switched to coffee and his cell phone was at hand on the bar. He had been watching it, willing it to ring for hours.

  ‘Hi,
Frank, it’s Shaun.’

  ‘What have you got for me?’

  ‘Hang on to your hat, buddy, I think you’ll find this quite interesting. Seems your Beth Anderson got her name changed by a court order a couple years ago. You’ll never guess what her original name was.

  Frank straightened up on his stool. ‘Hit me with it.’

  ‘You’re gonna love this. It was only Mitchell...’

  ‘Mitchell?’

  ‘The daughter of one Patrick Mitchell, the guy Laura Peterson shot. Ya know, the same Laura Peterson you asked me to check out the other day.’

  ‘You’ve gotta be kidding.’

  ‘No joke, Frank, it’s her alright.’

  ‘She never mentioned she had a step-daughter.’

  ‘That’s not all, Frank. It seems that as Beth Mitchell, she spent a year or so in an institution. Wait for it...psychotic schizophrenia. I’ve faxed all the details over to you, including a photo ID. Look, Frank, I don’t know what this case is you’re working on, and I don’t want to know, but take it easy, buddy. Looks like you have yourself a real fruitcake on your hands.’

  ‘Thanks Shaun, I owe you one.’

  ‘Well get your ass over here for a beer. It’d be good to see you. And hey, I don’t mean to be funny, but as I recall from the last time I saw you… well, let’s just say you’re not in such good shape these days, so you take care. No offense buddy.’

  ‘None taken. Don’t you worry, there’s life in the ol’ dog yet.’

  The sky was dark and threatening by the time Frank had returned to the apartment block where Beth Anderson lived. There was no elevator, so he climbed the stairs to the third floor, and out of breath as he reached the landing, he recalled the concerned words of his friend just a short time before. He held onto the banister for a few moments, took deep breaths and wondered what kind of reaction his visit would provoke. He could only assume that with a history of such an illness, she was not cured but simply controlling the condition with prescribed medication.

  Locating her apartment, he pressed the doorbell. He waited a few moments before pressing it again, but still there was no response. Frank tried once more, and this time he could hear a woman’s voice muttering obscenities as she shuffled to the door. Latches were unlocked and the door opened a few inches, still secured by a couple of chains. A woman’s face appeared in the small gap, barely visible in the dismal lighting, but he could see enough to realise she was quite attractive. Her manner, however, was not so appealing.