“How did he even know we were there?” I said. “At the hole, I mean?” I was wondering if he’d gone to check on Dickie and Mary, see if his prisoners were dead yet.
“Oh, he had come out to Dickie’s to look for Pammie and old Geoff,” Ned said. “He’d gone to the house, and they weren’t there, so he went to Dickie’s. He saw the tape was off the door, and he went into the woods, ’cause we all know Pamela was the local wood nymph.” Ned finished his apple and chucked it into the trashcan. “Crazy as a fucking loon, that woman.”
“He found their bodies,” Dave told me. “And he immediately thought that somehow Dickie or Mary had gotten out or – whatever, I don’t know. But I guess he waited till Ned had gone and went tearing after him.”
“The old divide and conquer,” Ned said. “Bastard knew he couldn’t have taken us both.”
“Wow,” I said. “Just… wow.”
“You said a mouthful there, Danny girl,” Ned said. He stood up. “I’m going to love you and leave you. There’s a very sexy medical type around here who’s keen to get me alone.”
“He needs his arm x-rayed,” Dave explained to me.
“How did…” I started, but Ned interrupted.
“Oh, this? I fought the good fight after Murphy tasered me. He wound up breaking my arm to get me in the trunk.” He looked proud of himself.
“Phffft,” Dave said to me. “It’s probably just bruised. Go get it x-rayed, Romeo. I’ll come and find you.”
Ned kissed my forehead again, and left us alone. With the door open.
“Wait a minute,” I said. “How do you know all this?”
“Oh, as soon as Murphy heard the sirens coming to get Ned, he took off. But I guess he knew he wasn’t going to get very far, or maybe he just didn’t want to be on the run for the rest of his life. Anyway, apparently he just took himself down to the detachment and turned himself in. Sang like the proverbial canary.”
“And the cops told you all this?”
“Some of it,” Dave said. “I have friends.” He tapped the side of his nose and winked. I just shook my head. How Dave knew things and who his friends might be, I would probably never know.
Des Murphy. The kindly man I’d compared to my own dad. “What made him do it? I mean, has he done anything like this before?”
“Well, his wife died not long ago. Cancer,” Dave said, catching my look. “Natural death and everything. That’s stressful, and I’m sure his lawyers will say it was a precipitating event, made him lose his mind. And who knows, maybe they’d be right. And of course his first love, Rose, had died a while ago, and I guess when Pamela showed up around here, they started plotting against Dickie.” Dave got up and started looking in the cabinet and closet for something to put the flowers in. “Murphy really hated Dickie. Rich guy shows up married to the girl he loved as a kid, the one who got away?”
“Des talked about his wife as though she was still alive,” I said. Dave shrugged. “So Des had a hard-on for Dickie. But why all the others? Sarah, and Evan?”
“Oh, that was all Pamela,” Dave said. “With help from her son. From what I can tell, Murphy just had it out for Dickie, wanted him to suffer.”
“Poor Mary,” I said.
“Danny, Mary could have turned them all in, anytime she wanted. For whatever reason, she chose not to. Loyalty to one’s murdering family does not come above the lives of innocent people.”
“I know,” I said. And I did know, and if this was all true, then Mary did deserve to pay the price. But I had a good sense of how much she loved Geoffrey. “I just think she couldn’t bear to see her husband in a jail cell. And nobody is saying she did any of the…”
“Wet work?” Dave said. “No, Murphy hasn’t said anything about Mary having hurt anyone herself. And, of course, she hasn’t opened her mouth.” He found a dusty glass vase at the back of the small closet, filled it with some water from the bathroom sink, and stuck Ned’s flowers in it. “There.”
“Thanks,” I said. He’d actually done a good job arranging them.
Dave sat on the bed and grabbed my hand. “Danny,” he started to say. “When I was tied up in that cabin, I thought I would go insane. I was so worried.” I squeezed his hand and willed him to stop talking. I’m not ready, I thought. I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready.
Just as I was about to open my mouth to say something inane and probably regrettable, Maureen the nurse came in to give me pain medication and check my leg. I could have kissed her, and not just because my leg really did hurt. Dave said something about checking in the next day, and slipped out.
The nurse bustled around me, not speaking. She was gentle as she changed the dressing on my leg as I let myself cry for a few minutes. She helped me into a wheelchair so I could go to the bathroom, and tucked me in expertly when she helped me back into the bed. The doctor had been in while I was sleeping, she said, and was happy with my vitals, but I had to be prepared, she said.
“You’re going to have pain for a while,” she said. “I don’t know what you’ve been through, other than the basics. But I do know that you were at the rehab centre when all that shit started to go down.” Of course. Everyone would know about that. “Were you in for opiates?”
“No,” I said. “Crack. Opiates were never my bag.”
She nodded. “Good. I’m not one of those people who think that if you’re addicted to one thing you’ll be addicted to everything. You are going to need drugs for a while. You won’t get better unless you learn to walk without pain.” I wasn’t sure what she meant, but it didn’t matter. She was giving me another IV dose, and I just wanted to sleep, and wake up when my leg was better and this whole mess had blown over out there.
“Thank you,” I said, as she let herself out of the room.
“You’re welcome, Danny,” she said. “Get some rest. Ring if you need me.”
I decided that Maureen would also have to join me in Toronto. I floated along on my little morphine cloud and thought about Maureen taking care of me, and Jonas hanging with us and the boys. A little while later Laurence came in and gave my hand a squeeze, but he didn’t ask me to talk. He lay down on the other bed and started to read, and I slept.
I dreamed I was back in Toronto, but Ginger was there with me, and she was curled around me, telling me everything was okay, and if I didn’t want to, I didn’t have to do anything again except sleep.
THIRTY-SIX
The police arrived later, in the form of Staff Sergeant Lester. I immediately recognized him as the surly cop who had been at Rose’s the night Sarah had found Evan’s body in the basement. When all of us – Sarah Gilbert, Laurence, me, Aussie Rules/Ned and the other residents, along with Janet and assorted and sundry police – had sat in the kitchen, shaky and afraid.
And Des Murphy had come in and diffused the situation, as Laurence was tearing a strip off this guy.
“Good afternoon, Ms. Cleary,” he said. “We’ve met before.” There was a constable behind him, a younger man who kept bouncing on the balls of his feet as though he was either nervous or badly needed the bathroom.
“Hi there,” I said. “I remember.” Laurence had gone to get me a doughnut, making noises about being an errand boy. But it was a nice evening, and he needed to get out of this hospital room for a bit.
Plus, I really wanted a cruller.
“Do you mind if I sit?” He indicated the chair Dave had been in earlier.
“Please do,” I said. I amazed myself. So polite. Maybe morphine was the drug for me, after all.
“Thank you.” He sat down and made himself comfortable, then opened his notebook.
I was ready for this. I had already spoken to the criminal law partner of my lawyer in Toronto, Linda Patel, and I knew what I was going to do.
Tell the truth. That was the plan, anyway. Or at least, as much of the truth as I could tell without landing myself in prison.
“Ms. Cleary, before we begin, my colleague and I would like to audio record this chat. This will
save you from having to give another statement on video at a later date when you’re out of hospital, unless we have other things to follow up on.”
“Certainly,” I said. “But perhaps your colleague could come and sit down instead of standing in the doorway. You’re making me nervous,” I said to the young man. I smiled at him. “Please, why don’t you sit on the other bed, or find a chair.”
“The lady is right,” Lester said. “Morriss, take a load off.” The other cop smiled, and for a second he reminded me of Colin, Mary’s nephew, whose blood and brains had been splattered all over me not long ago. I felt so tired again suddenly. For half a minute I thought about asking Lester if we could do this tomorrow.
“I have heard that Sergeant Murphy has confessed,” I said. “Is this true?”
“It is,” Lester said. “We’re not on audio yet, so if you have any immediate questions, I’ll answer them if I can. Once we’re on audio, I’ll ask the questions, if that’s okay.” He paused. “Ms. Cleary, I would like to apologize to you for my demeanor when we first met. I had an impression of you based on information I had which was, I think, incorrect, or incomplete. I’ve done my homework, and I talked to Detective Belliveau, in Toronto.”
“Oh, how is he?” I said. “I was thinking of calling him. He’ll be worried.”
“Well, your name hasn’t been released to the news organizations, nor will it be if we can help it,” Lester said. He kind of snorted, and said, “Even Des Murphy made sure your name wasn’t released. For what it’s worth, you were never a target.” He told me that Belliveau had told him about Michael Vernon Smith and what my family and I had gone through. And how I was probably number one on Smith’s hit list, if he ever decided to come out of whatever rock he had crawled under. And apparently Sergeant Lester and Laurence had gone for coffee together when I was sitting in the hole.
“Your brother told me I was so rude, I was the only cop he trusted for sure,” Lester said, and I laughed.
“Well, he’s a good judge of character,” I said. “I, however, am not. You know, I really liked Des Murphy. He even reminded me of my dead dad. When he was alive, I mean.”
Lester sighed. “I’m not going to pretend that I was his biggest fan,” he said. “He was a bit too old-boys-club for me. But, until this, nobody ever said he wasn’t a good officer.” We were both silent for a minute.
“People, huh,” I said. That’s me, a philosopher if ever there was one. My leg was starting to hurt, and I was so tired suddenly. I wanted to sleep until there was no sleep left in me. I didn’t feel like talking, but I wanted to get all of this over with and go home, back to Toronto and Darren and the boys. “So it was Pamela who did most of the, uh, killing? That’s what I heard, anyway.”
Lester nodded. “There were aspects of this whole situation where Pamela and Des Murphy seemed to have been operating with what you might call a grudging cooperation. But Pamela was more interested in the drug users, the situation at Rose’s Place. Murphy was more focused on Dickie Doyle. And we think – well, I think – that Murphy used Pamela’s, uh, mental illness, to his own ends. And Pamela used her son.” He paused. “We still aren’t sure of how much of a role he played. But we will be.”
I nodded. “Listen, why don’t you turn on your recorder thingy. I’ll tell you whatever I know.” I tried to get more comfortable. “I’m not sure how long I’ll be of any use to you. I’m in some pain, and I keep falling asleep every five minutes.”
“Bet you’re glad to be in a bed,” Lester said.
“Detective, after the couple of weeks I’ve had, being in a bed, no matter why I’m here, is a miracle.” I wished Laurence would get back. I wanted that doughnut. And coffee. Coffee would be nice.
I told Lester the story, in broad strokes. Unlike my time dealing with Michael Vernon Smith’s family in California and Toronto and Maine, my motives for coming to Nova Scotia and Rose’s Place were honest, real, and without guile. And while I believed that Pamela knew that I would probably be the one who found the hand in the mailbox that started all this off, she’d only known that because she knew I went for a run every morning, and that checking that mailbox was part of my routine. And she’d approved of my routine. She thought I was a “good girl.” I told Lester about Evan’s head being tossed at me in the woods outside Dickie’s, about Laurence and me finding the body in the cabin. I told him about being shot at in the dining room, and grabbing Colin’s gun to keep the shooter from getting too close and picking us all off, one by one. I told him about finding Sarah Gilbert’s body when I was going to get some food and things for Laurence and me.
I spoke quickly, and didn’t add too many details. This part of the story I had told before, and as I spoke, I realized that, really, I hadn’t done anything wrong. I hadn’t broken anybody’s bones, or looked for any trouble. Not really. I had given a cop a good shot in the gonads, but he’d had it coming, and under the circumstances it didn’t seem like anybody was bringing it up. No, until I went into the woods with Dave and Ned, I’d pretty much been reacting, instead of seeking out trouble.
I explained that Dave was some kind of security expert, or private investigator, or bodyguard, but I truthfully said that I didn’t know his last name. I didn’t know his company’s name. And I hadn’t asked him to come here.
“He showed up at the hospital when I was here the last time,” I said. “After those fishermen rescued me.” I told Lester about Dave posing as the flower delivery guy, because he asked how Dave had made contact. I didn’t tell him that I was going to call Dave anyway. And I was clear that Dave had said that we shouldn’t trust the police because it didn’t seem like all of this could have been done without at least one member of the local detachment knowing more than he should. At the very least.
Lester asked where we all stayed, and I said I had no idea how to get there. That was my first lie, and even that was a half-truth. I’d been driven in and driven out at night. Once each, on a road I’d never been on before. I probably could find it again, but Lester didn’t need to know that.
Laurence came in halfway through, and Lester briefly paused the recording to get up and shake his hand. He asked if Laurence would mind leaving us in the room while we did the interview. Laurence turned to go, but I asked for my coffee and cruller before he did. We continued.
I told Lester about having dinner with the people Dave worked with, but I did not mention cocaine.
I told Lester about going into the woods to look for an underground structure of some kind with a metal detector, but not that Dave and I had broken into Dickie’s cabin.
I told him that I saw a woman in a white nightgown in the woods, but not that I’d seen her from Dickie’s cabin. Or, in fact, that I had thought for a minute it must be Rose Doyle.
I told him about us watching Pamela shoot Geoffrey, then shoot herself, and what I could remember about what she’d said. Lester knew about the cell dead zone around Dickie’s cabin, so he didn’t ask why we didn’t call the police immediately.
I told him about Ned finding the hole, and finding Mary in it, and how we needed to get her out right away, afraid we wouldn’t be able to find it quickly again, and our view that Mary needed to get out as soon as possible.
And finally, I told him about seeing Dickie in the hole, and asking him about the tattoo, and Dickie saying that Des had done it.
“You were right there when Des talked about finding that tattoo,” I said to Detective Lester. “He seemed really shaken.”
Lester nodded. “I’m sure he was,” he said. He put his hand in the air, indicating that I should shut up. “Thank you, Ms. Cleary. Those are all the questions we have for now. We appreciate your patience. For the tape, the time is now sixteen forty-eight, or four forty-eight p.m.” Lester turned off the recorder. “Sorry about that. We like to keep all the information in the interviews on point, and do the questions before or after, like I said.”
Detective Lester hesitated. He told the other cop he could go visit his wife. Th
e cop smiled brilliantly at both of us, and nearly ran out of the room.
“She just had a baby,” Lester said. “She’s right here in the hospital. He’s supposed to be on leave, but everybody’s been called back in.” He moved to the edge of his chair, like he was going to get up in a minute.
“You know, in my experience there’s a difference between killers like Pamela Carlisle, and killers like Des Murphy. Pamela spent much of her life institutionalized. Until now she had no criminal record – well, only minor shoplifting charges, misdemeanors during periods when she was out of hospital – but she was, to quote my grandmother, crazier than a shithouse rat.”
“I like her,” I said, and Lester gave me a look. “Your grandmother, I mean.”
“Yeah, I miss her like crazy,” he said. “But then you have your killers like Desmond Murphy. Pillars of the community. Would give you the shirt off his back, rescue your cat from a tree, and give you half his last meal. But there was something in him. Something broken.”
“Hard to believe this was his first episode like this,” I said. “I mean, you’re describing a kind of serial killer like Ted Bundy or BTK. Has anyone checked on any missing persons or his travel habits?” I was picturing a swath of dead people up and down the east coast.
Lester shook his head. “No. I actually do think that, I don’t know, after his wife died he had some kind of break, some kind of psychotic break or something. His loss was so great, and it broke him. And he focused on the man he thought brought all this bad luck into his life, from Rose Carlisle appearing again and, who knows, maybe tempting him or reminding him of what he had lost, to going through his wife’s long struggle with cancer and her death.”
I was silent for a minute. “It sounds like you feel sorry for him,” I said.
“I do,” he said simply. “I think he belongs behind locked doors for the rest of his life, probably, but in a way that makes me feel more sorry for him. He’s sick. And between you and me, he’s being totally honest with us. He’s telling us everything.”
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