The House that Jack Built

by Malcolm James

  “I assume there’s some reason why you’re here again.” I couldn’t stand the silence, and I hated the game that they played. Yes, I knew it was a game. Handlebar man looked straight at me and spoke.

  “We just have a few questions about your alibi on the night that Elizabeth Mackenzie was murdered.”

  I froze in mid-puff. It all came back to me. By now they’ve called Bill. And probably checked with his wife and partner too, to verify Bill’s whereabouts on the day in question. Had one of them come clean? Did their stories not jibe?

  I didn’t need to be in this situation. Perhaps I should just tell them the truth and explain why I had been untruthful. I could corroborate the story. All I had to do was give them Jack’s number. He would validate everything, right?

  I looked at them and puffed, deciding to shut up and wait for their questions. Pock-mark man cleared his throat and opened his notebook. A ceremonious gesture that told me what was coming next.

  “You told us that you saw her the day she died. That she showed up on your doorstep and you had a few words and then she left.” I nodded but remained emotionless. The less said the better. He scratched his chin and continued.

  “We conducted DNA tests on Ms. Mackenzie.” I looked at him and glowered. I supposed I knew where this was going, but it still caught me off guard.

  “And…?” I was tired of this back-and-forth. I had nothing to hide, so I just wanted them to get to the point and leave. Pock-mark man peered at me sternly.

  “…And we found several samples of male DNA on her person, including male pubic hair and evidence of intercourse.” He looked at me in a matter-of-factly way as if to say, so there.

  “So?” The implication stung me so deeply that my face flushed and I feared that I was going to lose it. I tried to think of anything else; anything that would get the image of what they were telling me far away and out of my soul.

  “So if there’s anything you want to tell us, now’s the time. Because if we have to match the DNA with yours and you haven’t been totally honest with us, then it might look very bad for you.” I shrugged.

  “I already told you. We broke up on Christmas Eve.” I wondered how long evidence like that stayed around.

  “I’m not asking you about Christmas Eve. I’m asking you about the day you saw her.”

  “Look. I told you the truth. I don’t have anything to hide.” Handlebar man perked up and leaned toward me as he peered with glassy eyes.

  “So you’d submit to a blood test?” I thought about the words for a moment and wondered if it was time to get Fred Phillips involved. But I shrugged and looked back at him.

  “Sure. If it will help clear things up, then of course I will.” He frowned and sat back, apparently nonplussed by my response. I smiled and took another puff. Pock-mark man stood up.

  “I think we have all we need right now. We’ll be in touch.” I nodded and didn’t get up when they left. I just butted out my smoke.

  We found several samples of male DNA on her person, including male pubic hair and evidence of intercourse.

  I put my face in my hands and sobbed uncontrollably.

  ***

  Several weeks went by and I didn’t hear from the Police again. I was frequently pickled as that was the easiest way to deal with the demonic world which swirled and howled around me. I took an extended leave of absence from work. My small group of friends and acquaintances (Fred and Bill) began to worry about me. The phone rang frequently but I rarely answered it. It was easier not to pick up the receiver and hear the concern in their voices. The obscene sound of ringing invaded my self-induced solitude. But unlike my mood, the sound lasted briefly and went away.

  One morning in late February, I awoke to rapping on the door. I was sprawled on the couch. I rarely slept in my bed anymore. As I stood up I tipped over an empty Scotch bottle that lay on the floor. It rattled loudly and I sighed. Rubbing my eyelids with stained fingertips, I stumbled to the window and pulled the curtain aside. There was a lone man standing at the door. He wore a trench coat and I instantly thought, cop. He looks like a cop. Maybe LaPointe got tired of jousting with me and decided to send in the cavalry.

  I shuffled to the front door and opened it. The man who stared at me was medium height, stocky and perhaps 55 years old. He had a Five O’clock shadow and gruff, sharp features with piercing brown eyes and a thin scar that ran along his right cheek from eye to mouth. He held a badge out to me. I knew it.

  “Malcolm?” I nodded at him and looked at the badge. Detective Robert Mabry, RCMP. The Royal Canadian Mounted Police. What did they want? I peered at him through the cobwebs and haze that drifted through my head. I nodded again and gestured for him to come in. I asked him if he wanted some coffee and he said yes, if I was having some. Oh, I was having some.

  I went to the kitchen and put a pot on while he made himself comfortable in the living room. What did the RCMP want? Over the weeks that had passed I fully expected to see the Montreal Police lingering about. I never heard back about the blood tests, so I assumed that they figured it was a waste of time. But I wasn’t expecting the Canadian equivalent of the F.B.I.

  I walked in to the living room and sat down. The man was poring over a notebook and didn’t look up when I sat.

  “Coffee’s brewing. Should be ready soon.” He nodded in acknowledgement.

  “Thanks.”

  “So what’s this about, Detective?” I was tired of all the mystery and eager to know why this man was here. The sooner I found out, the sooner I could go back to living in Hell. He shifted in his chair, a little uncomfortably I thought. He rubbed his chin and looked at me as if he had bad news. I thought that was odd. There was no more bad news. I had gotten it all.

  “I understand that you know someone named Jack.” I nearly jumped when he mentioned the name. I had assumed he was there to talk about Elizabeth. But hearing him speak Jack’s name made me squirm and fidget. I wondered if the coffee was ready. I nodded and clenched my teeth.

  “Yes. Jack and I were friends. Why?”

  “Were friends?”

  What did she say in the message, Jack?

  “Were. Look, what’s this about?” He shifted in his chair again and looked at me in a matter-of-fact way.

  “Sir, I’ve got some bad news, so I’m not going to dance around the issue. He’s been reported missing, and we have reason to believe that foul play is involved. I’m investigating the case.”

  I processed those words. Actually sat there for a moment wondering what the Hell he was talking about. I thought about the last time that Jack and I saw each other. If I told you, I’d have to kill you. Honestly, after that I was prepared never to talk to him again. But the detective’s words disturbed and concerned me.

  “What? Missing…When? How?” I couldn’t seem to form a full sentence, and the confusion must have been apparent on my face. He pursed his lips and shook his head.

  “We don’t know yet. Two days ago, we received a phone call from his lawyer. They were supposed to meet at his house in Nova Scotia. But when the lawyer arrived, Jack was missing, and there were suspicious circumstances. Suspicious enough for him to call the Police. As I said, he’s missing, and we can’t be certain what’s happened to him.”

  “But you said you suspected foul play. Why? What suspicious circumstances?” I was finding my ability to speak sentences again. In spite of myself I was worried about Jack. Mabry sighed and licked his lips, pursing them while he considered whether he should tell me or not.

  “Did you know someone named Alberto Alejandro?” I shook my head.

  “Never heard of anyone by that…”

  Alberto. His name’s Alberto. Agency found him. I needed someone who fit the criteria.

  “Jack’s servant? The mute?” Mabry nodded as he scratched the tip of his nose with his left forefinger.

  “We found his body in the house. He had expired.” I peered at Mabry and thought about his ludicrous choice of words. Milk expired. People didn’t expire
. They died.

  “How?” Mabry shook his head.

  “I’m sorry, I can’t divulge that yet. Suffice it to say that he met with a violent and unnatural death.”

  Violent and unnatural. That sounded like the perfect description of Jack’s life. I stood up and walked to the kitchen. Pouring two mugs of coffee, I called into the living room and asked what he took in it. When he replied double cream, double sugar I winced. Hell of a way to corrupt my fine Arabica beans. I distastefully poured cream and scoops of sugar into his and lovingly sniffed my untainted black coffee, before returning to the living room. He nodded his thanks. I sat down and cupped the mug in my hands. I shook my head in disbelief.

  “I don’t understand what you’re telling me. His servant is dead and Jack is missing. But what happened?” He sipped loudly. It sounded like he was sucking a worm into his mouth with his lips. He made a satisfied look with his mouth and nodded at me. Good coffee. Damn right it’s good, I thought, except for the crap you’ve got in it. I raised my eyebrows and quietly sipped from my mug. He placed his on the table and grimaced thoughtfully, showing white teeth and plenty of gum.

  “We’re not quite sure, but I can tell you that we found signs of some sort of struggle. With Alberto. And we also found evidence that Jack’s disappearance may be attached to some kind of foul play.”

  “How?” He grimaced at me once again, wondering I’m sure, how much he should tell me. Finally he nodded as if deciding to take a chance.

  “We found his blood throughout the house. We positively matched it to his blood type and expect the DNA samples we have will come back positive, too.”

  “DNA samples? How…” I wondered how they had Jack’s DNA. Did they take it from him when we were in university? My heart sped up. When he assaulted the two girls! I shook my head and tried to calm myself. Even though the charges were thrown out, they would have kept it, right? I didn’t know, but I nodded.

  “We took samples from the house. Hairbrush, nail clippings, things like that.” The Detective peered at me as he divulged this information, perhaps waiting for a reaction. I wondered if he knew what I was thinking. About me and Jack, our friendship, what had occurred in the past… I wondered just how much he already knew. I decided to choose my words carefully.

  “So do you have any leads?” He clenched his jaw and quickly shook his head.

  “No. Just the evidence that I already shared with you. But we’re fairly certain that Jack met with an untimely end. It’s the only explanation for the amount of blood that we found.” I shuddered when he said this. What?

  “How much blood are we talking about?”

  “It was a large house, sir. We found substantial amounts in several rooms.”

  I sat and gripped the mug with my fingers. What happened to him? My heart pounded in my chest and my head swam. I had learned to hate him, but I could never shake the influence that he had on my life. And whether I liked it or not, Jack and Elizabeth were inextricably linked. Linked to each other and linked to me. I sighed.

  “Sir, I know this is difficult for you. But I need to ask you a few questions.” I nodded and bit my lower lip.

  “When was the last time you communicated with him?” I told him in general terms about my visit to Nova Scotia in December. Mabry asked me if I had observed anything about Jack: his demeanour or anything he told me that I might have found unusual.

  I smiled wryly. Everything about Jack was unusual, so trying to pinpoint something was next to impossible. Jack had always been a moving target, and there was no way that I could imagine ‘normal’ circumstances with him. I thought carefully about the question and then told him no, there was nothing that came to mind.

  Easy, mate. This can only be touched by me.

  “Did you know him to do drugs?” My head jumped up when he asked me this and I instantly regretted my body language. Looking back at my coffee, I nodded and attempted to recover from my gaffe.

  “He was on antipsychotic medication.” Mabry shook his head.

  “I mean illicit drugs.” I nodded and squinted as I considered the question.

  “Maybe. Not that I recall.” His head bobbed up and down and he jotted something down.

  “Do you know anyone who might have wished him harm?” Wow. I wondered if there was a proper etiquette for timely answers to Police questions. I could have thought about that one for days. There was a long list of people that he had fucked over. I winced when I realized that I too fit into that category.

  But someone who would have done this? I shook my head, but didn’t respond.

  Mabry asked me a couple more questions, took a few more notes and then thanked me for my help. I didn’t know that I helped much.

  After he left my head was abuzz with thought. What do I do now? Is he really gone? Even though I hated myself for admitting it, it appeared that my one true friend in this horrible life, was gone.

  It never even occurred to me that he would meet with a violent death, which was ludicrous when considering the man I knew. Everything about Jack’s life was dangerous and fraught with risk.

  Why hadn’t it occurred to me that he would meet with such an unsavory and untimely end?

  Chapter 60

  This is the cow with the crumpled horn,

  That tossed the dog

  I showered. Not because I felt dirty, but because it was the only thing I could think of doing.

  It kept me busy for several minutes. Water streamed over my face while I propped myself against the shower stall with my palms. I tried to gain some clarity of thought as I let steaming water rush over my body. I hung my head and looked at my bare feet. Streams of water swirled and flowed around them, found their way into the drain and quickly washed away. Trying to take with them the dirt that was caked on every orifice of my soul.

  When my posture reminded me of Jack’s bathroom on his seventeenth birthday, I jumped up and turned off the shower. I towelled myself off and dressed. I called Fred Phillips. I really needed to talk to him. Mabry told me that Fred was in Nova Scotia but I didn’t have his cell number, so I called his home in Detroit. His girlfriend was there. She had already heard about the gruesome discovery and somberly gave me the number.

  I dialed it. After two rings Fred picked up and we grimly talked about the circumstances. He had flown to Halifax two days before to finalize some changes to Jack’s will.

  When he arrived the door was open. He discovered Alberto’s body in the kitchen. It lay sprawled and contorted in an indescribable shape on the floor. In pools of fresh blood. His fingers had torn strips of linoleum off the floor. Alberto’s head was about three feet away from the body and rolled slightly from side to side. After throwing up, Fred couldn’t help but take note of the poor man’s facial expression.

  “God, Malcolm, it was unbelievable. I have never seen such a look of terror and horror in anyone’s face. It’s almost as if his head still lived and had thoughts going through it. After it was removed from the body. Christ. I feel sick.” I shivered and felt sick myself.

  Understandably traumatized, he ran outside and puked. After several minutes of retching and composing himself, he called 911 and then waited. Afraid to go back into the house. Who could blame him?

  But when the RCMP arrived, they needed him to go back inside. To explain exactly what he saw and where he saw it. And also to help them locate Jack. They figured that Fred would have a better idea where he might be. And who can blame them? That place was one gigantic maze.

  Two Officers arrived on the scene. But it wasn’t long before they called for backup. And the Forensics Unit.

  Fred described it to me. Floors and walls were awash with blackened streaks of blood. He described it in a way that left me with graphic imagery. The blood appeared to have been sprayed over everything. Almost like it was done with a power washer. I think that was the analogy he used.

  I imagined what Fred must have seen. He described the different rooms, for he had seen a couple of them. Each one was the same. Ja
ck’s fine artwork covered with blood spray. The Police later told him that it was a mix of Jack’s and Alberto’s, along with the blood of an as-yet unidentified person.

  We spoke for several minutes about the events surrounding the last few days. I asked Fred what would happen next. He shrugged over the phone, saying that until the Police found the body or declared him officially deceased, that it was an ongoing investigation and nothing would happen.

  “Listen! All this has me shaken up and thrown me for a loop. So I forgot. We need to talk about something.”

  “We do? What?” There was a soft whistle on the line. I think Fred was deciding how to tell me.

  “Whew! There’s no easy way to say this.”

  “Well c’mon! What? Now I’m curious!”

  “I was supposed to tell you after our meeting. Mine and Jack’s. As a matter of fact, my next stop after Nova Scotia was Montreal.”

  “AND?” God, I hated this back-and-forth. Too reminiscent of Jack.

  “And…Jack’s left you some money.” I was sitting on the couch. I wiped my forehead with the back of my hand.

  “Why?” Fred chuckled.

  “I asked him the same thing. He said he’d rather do it now, while you can enjoy it. Rather than when he kicked off. One item of my commission was to tell you to ‘stop living such a pathetic fucking life.’ So there. I told you.” I groaned.

  “I was in Nova Scotia to finalize some minor changes to his will, but I was also there to pick up the first bank draft.”

  “First? Bank draft?” Ohh, man. Jack, what did you do? Fred chuckled again.

  “How much, Fred?” I heard the shuffling of papers, as if he was leafing through a stack of them.

  “Well, I don’t have the final tally with me. My clerks handled most of the transactions. The paperwork’s all done, but I’m waiting for my secretary to email me the final total.”

  “HOW MUCH?”

  “Are you sitting down?”

  “Yes.” I stood up. More flipping of papers.