‘Maybe they changed their routine,’ Bailey observed.
‘What’s this?’ Conway pointed to a pot on the stove.
Bailey picked up the pot and looked at the dried black dregs at the bottom, ‘Looks like someone cooked something.’
‘They must have made tea.’ Diya pointed to the boxes of tea and sugar still on the kitchen platform. Behind the boxes was a pile of red and gold candy wrappers.
‘I don’t recognize these wrappers, and my parents would never have left this kind of mess.’
‘I understand, but life changes when kids are not around,’ Conway said. ‘I am a proper slob until my kids visit over the weekend.’
‘What about the candies?’
‘Unless they were of a hallucinogenic variety, they don’t really have a bearing on the case.’
‘But they could have been! Someone may have given them those. You said there was something else in their systems you could not identify.’
‘We will have these tested,’ Bailey said. ‘There are certainly some questions here about your parents’ uncharacteristic behaviour, but nothing that can lead us to a different conclusion at this time.’
‘Ok,’ Diya nodded unable to suppress her tears.
‘Conway, let’s take the pot and these candy wrappers along.’ Bailey turned to Diya. ‘We will keep the case open for now.’
‘Thank you,’ Diya said as tears rolled down her cheeks.
‘You take care, dear.’ Conway patted her shoulder and ran behind Bailey.
The tears Diya had held in check finally flowed. She could reconcile herself to the possibility that her parents had become slothful and tardy in her absence, but she could not accept that they were foolish enough to experiment with drugs and drive into a ditch to their deaths.
FOOTPRINTS IN THE SNOW
D
iya sat in the window alcove nursing her smouldering anger, feeding it twigs of indignation.
How dare the cops insinuate that her parents dabbled in drugs?
The empty dryer, dishwasher, and dirty teapot had shaken her faith, but only for a moment. She was sure that there was a logical explanation as to why her parents had changed their routine, just as there was a reason for the drugs in their systems.
The night turned chilly, but Diya sat in the window alcove looking out at the woods behind her home. The winter-stripped trees looked like a tribe of burnt stick men praying to the dark sky for supplication. Eventually the sky relented and showered snowflake confetti on the bare trees. A delicate snowflake landed on the windowpane and clung to the hard glass with fragile tentacles, melted and rolled down the glass pane like twilight’s tears.
Snow fell faster now, clothing the burnt stick men in white shrouds. Were they looking at her with their empty gazes from behind the impenetrable curtain of snow? Diya shuddered and moved away from the window, retreating from the isolating silence of the night.
She wore a cardigan and a pair of heavy woollen socks and hunkered down in bed under a mound of quilts. At first, her chattering teeth made sleep impossible. Even when heat returned to her cold body, the events of the day kept sleep
at bay.
The breeze howled as the winter storm flexed its muscles. Somewhere a tree shivered, and a branch clawed at the gutter. The last acorns rolled down the roof like the luck of a losing gambler.
Her father always took care of those things. He cut the branches and split them into miniscule logs for use on snowy days.
Diya picked up a log and tossed it into the fire. Sparks flew and sizzled in the cold breeze. The fire glowed and warmth seeped into her frozen bones.
Her father added another log and the pleasant warmth turned into searing heat.
‘Isn’t it getting too hot?’ she said, but her father seemed not to hear.
He tipped the whole basket into the fire. Numerous fiery tongues marched towards her with malevolent heat.
‘Daddy, I am feeling very hot, please put the fire out,’ Diya called, trapped inside a coat of unbearable heat.
‘Daddy!’ she screamed, but her father was nowhere in sight.
Flames leapt at her, blinding her with scorching heat. Diya backed away, ready to run. The flames parted and she caught a glimpse of her mother and father trapped in the middle of the inferno.
‘Help me, please!’
Diya pleaded with Bailey, but the cop turned his back on her and disappeared into the crowd gathered around the fire. She pleaded with the faceless crowd, but no one stepped forward. Instead, they threw logs into the fire and jeered, their raucous laughter set to the tune of crackling flames.
Diya woke up in a tangle of quilts and pillows, her sweaty damp nightshirt clinging to her back.
The night was quiet; the storm must have passed. There was no fire, no crowd, and her parents were dead. But she could still hear the laughter from her nightmare.
Diya struggled to her feet and tiptoed to the bedroom door. The intermittent laughter was punctuated by a hum of strange voices.
She peeked around the door and the laughter stopped.
Was it just a scary remnant of her nightmare?
The voices came again. Now they were soft and conspiring. She was sure they were coming from the living room downstairs.
He liked the cold but found the snow detestable. Red was his colour, not white. It made him thirsty for something warm.
Diya crept to the back stairs that went down to the kitchen, away from the voices. She was halfway there when light flooded the kitchen. Her heart rattled in her ribcage. She clamped a hand over her mouth and stood transfixed, in horror.
Once again, laughter shattered the silence.
There were only three escape routes out of the house. One was through the back door in the kitchen, which was now occupied by at least one of the invaders, and the other two routes — through the front door and the garage — passed near the living room from where she could still hear the voices.
Even if she managed to get out of the house, how far could she go on foot on a snowy night? Her nearest neighbours were out of town; she had seen them drive away the previous day for their annual fun-in-the-sun vacation.
One feather-light step at a time, Diya retreated to the safety of her bedroom and gently locked the door.
Maybe the intruders did not know that someone was home.
In the month since her parents’ death, the house was unoccupied, and in the last two weeks that she had moved back home, she had gone to great lengths to conceal her presence.
But whoever had invaded the empty house would not be satisfied with just eating stale food from the refrigerator. They must have taken the risk for bigger gains.
For a moment, Diya considered dragging her heavy desk to the door, but it would make noise, and whatever flimsy protection her silence and the locked bedroom door provided would be lost.
She dialled 911.
‘Hello, my name is Diya Mathur and my address is 6878, Willow Lane, Arlington Heights. There is an intruder in my house.’
‘Where are you?’
‘I am hiding in my bedroom. Please help!’
‘A patrol car is on its way.’
‘Please don’t hang up, I am scared,’ Diya whispered.
‘I will stay on the line, honey,’ the woman at the other end promised.
Diya was relieved that help was on the way.
She went back to the door. The house was silent now.
He was sure the curly-haired girl who was hiding in the house was their daughter. She must be peacefully asleep, dreaming youthful dreams, her unblemished face flushed with longing for a lover. He was in no hurry; more than the kill, he savoured the hunt.
The silence worried Diya. It meant the intruders were now roaming about the house.
‘I think they are moving through the house,’ she whispered to the operator.
‘Is there someplace you can hide?’
‘My bedroom closet.’
‘OK, then go there and lock yourself in.’
Diya picked up her iPad and retreated to the windowless room.
The closet was refrigerator-cold. She needed quilts and warm clothes.
Diya was almost near her bed when she heard the sound, a soft tuneless hum. Someone was whistling in her father’s study next door.
Diya froze, her hands within inches of the warm quilts.
The whistling grew louder; someone was rummaging through her father’s things.
The photograph on the table confirmed his suspicion; the girl was his dead enemy’s daughter.
‘Courage! The officers are almost near your home.’
Diya had forgotten the 911 lady. She peeked outside the window. Instead of turning down her lane, the patrol car went straight.
‘They went the wrong way,’ Diya whispered into the phone.
‘I will check,’ the operator reassured her.
He smiled when he came to the locked door. So she knew her nemesis was nearby. He laughed at her futile attempts and gripped the doorknob.
The doorknob rattled and someone pushed at the door. ‘Please hurry!’ Diya told the woman. ‘They are trying to get into my bedroom.’
Should he let her run, toy with her, before he killed her?
‘It won’t be long; you get back in the closet,’ the operator instructed.
Diya retreated to the closet, clinging to the phone, her only lifeline.
A siren shrieked and the doorknob stopped rattling.
The siren startled him. He had underestimated the girl. For a moment, he was disappointed but then he smiled. Maybe providence had much more pleasure in store for him, and a slow painful death for the girl. Today he had come on a hunch, but the next time, he would plan a perfect death for her.
‘Open up, it’s the police!’ Someone banged on Diya’s bedroom door.
Diya was not ready to leave her safe haven.
‘I have to hang up. The officers are inside the house, they will take care of you,’ the woman said.
‘Please don’t hang up, I need you. How do I know they are real cops?’
‘Ask them their name and badge number, I will verify.’
‘What is your name?’ Diya shouted from the middle of her bedroom.
‘This is Officer Brett and my partner Officer James.’
‘What are your badge numbers?’
Diya relayed the information back to the 911 operator.
‘Yes, that’s them. Don’t worry honey, you are safe now.’
Diya’s hands shook as she opened the door.
Two cops were standing outside her bedroom door.
‘Did you catch him?’
‘There is no one in the house.’
‘Someone was outside my door less than a minute ago. They must be hiding, please search,’ Diya pleaded.
‘We have searched, there is no one in the house.’
‘How did you get in?’ A shiver ran down Diya’s spine as she realized that the two men had entered her home and she had not heard them break a door or window.
‘The front door was open.’
‘Then they must have gone out from there. Someone was laughing, and then they went into the kitchen. So I hid in the bedroom, but they tried to get in.’
‘Could be.’ The officers exchanged a glance that made Diya uneasy.
She went downstairs with them. The television was on, and a bearded man on shopping network was busy hawking a miracle cleaning product.
‘The kitchen was dark when we came.’
Diya followed them to the kitchen. It was bathed in a faint red glow.
‘That pot!’ She screamed pointing to the pot on the still-lit stove.
One of the officers went to the stove and switched it off.
‘The killer was here; he killed my parents and now he wants to kill me.’
‘Calm down, no one is in the house.’
Diya took a deep breath. The cops probably thought she was a loony.
‘Please call Captain Bailey. He knows the case.’
‘We’ll see,’ he said. ‘The basement door was also open. Did you leave any of the doors open?’
‘No, please call Captain Bailey.’
‘It’s 2 a.m. There does not seem to be an immediate threat.’
‘What if they are still hiding here? What if they come back?’
‘We have searched the whole house.’
‘What if they are hiding somewhere nearby? They came once, they can come again.’
‘There is no sign of a forced entry. Whoever it was must have been already hiding inside or had keys to the house.’
It had never occurred to Diya that someone might have keys to her house. Her parents’ keys were not among the things the cops had recovered from the wreckage.
The cops went over the house and ensured that every window and door was locked and secured from inside.
‘Lock the front door and bolt it from inside, so even if someone has the keys, they can’t enter.’
‘How can you be sure?’
‘I don’t think they will dare come back; they ran away in the first place because they heard us come.’
‘But …’ she protested.
‘You have two options.’
Diya could hear the exasperation in the cop’s voice.
‘You could either stay here or with someone else. Surely you have some family or friends who can put you up for the night.’
She could go to her friend Julie’s, but she could not bring herself to wake her friend up this late, and, what with the baby and Sam, Julie was already stressed.
‘I’ll stay,’ Diya said.
‘Good, you get the locks changed first thing tomorrow, and get a burglar alarm. It should discourage anyone who wants a free home.’
Diya was afraid to return to her bedroom; it was suffocating with muggy remnants of fear. Instead she took refuge in her parents’ bedroom. Their neatly-folded nightclothes were laid out on top of the comforter, she could almost see the faint indentations of their bodies in the gentle sag of the old mattress.
The bed was inviting; she could hide under the comforter and imagine she was in her parents’ embrace. Tears threatened to overpower Diya’s hard-fought composure. She was not ready to face life alone, but she had no option.
Diya huddled under a quilt of misery in her mother’s recliner, her ears attuned to every sound. She was sure she would stay awake the rest of the night but sleep overcame her. She woke up at 10 a.m. when the doorbell rang. Even as she sat up, her phone started buzzing its insistent summons.
‘Rise and shine!’ Sergeant Conway smiled at her dishevelled and disoriented face.
‘We heard you had an intruder last night.’ Bailey was his usual starched-shirt self.
Diya shivered as she remembered the terror of the previous night.
‘I hope you have not disturbed any evidence,’ Conway said.
‘No,’ she shook her head.
They came inside followed by two men and a woman with a dog.
Diya started following the others into the house.
‘No, we’ll wait here,’ Bailey said. ‘Tell us what happened last night.’
Fear fevered through Diya’s veins as she recounted the harrowing details.
‘I am sorry you had to deal with a break-in on your own, Ms Mathur,’ Bailey said. ‘The officers should have called us last night.’
‘All clear.’ The woman with the dog came outside. ‘There are no signs of a forced entry, but I think you should take a look at the backyard.’
The two men came out with plastic bags. Diya felt a sense of déjà vu when she saw the teapot.
‘Did you let someone in last night?’ Conway asked. ‘Maybe a boyfriend?’
‘Did you leave the basement door open?’ Diya countered.
She was irritated by the ever-present trace of doubt.
‘Let’s go outside.’ Bailey led the way to the back of the house.
Their feet crunched through the soft powdery snow.
‘I gue
ss it snowed almost a foot last night,’ Conway said.
‘Eight inches,’ Bailey corrected.
A set of unusually large footprints bisected the pristine backyard snow. The clear and precise footprints went from the basement to the edge of the woods where they were lost in a tangle of undergrowth. They looked almost human except for the long bowling-pin toes tipped with sharp claws.
‘What in the world is this?’ Conway muttered.
Diya stared at the curious footprints, imagining a huge, hairy monster hulking through her home last night. She shivered despite her father’s long coat.
‘Certainly doesn’t look human.’
‘Could be some animal, maybe a bear?’ Conway said.
‘Whoever heard of an animal breaking into a house to fix itself a cup of tea and watch television?’ Diya said.
‘Goldilocks in reverse.’ Conway tried to deflect her sarcasm.
‘They remind me of something, but for the life of me, I cannot remember what,’ Bailey said.
‘You are sure you did not make the tea?’ Conway asked.
‘I hate tea!’ Diya could not take it anymore. ‘Why don’t you believe me? I don’t know why someone broke into my home and made tea. I don’t know why there are strange animal footprints in my backyard. I don’t know why there were drugs in my parents’ system.’ She wiped her tears. ‘All I know is that my parents are dead and someone broke into my home last night.’
‘No one is saying we do not believe you,’ Bailey said. ‘It could have been a dope-head in search of some stuff or a homeless person in search of warmth. It was darn cold last night.’
‘Did your people find drugs in the house?’
‘No,’ Conway admitted. ‘Not even a trace.’
‘I told you, my parents would never do drugs.’
‘I understand it is very painful for you, but you can’t hide from life,’ Bailey said before the cops left.
‘It will be safer if the house looks lived-in. I will send someone to change the locks,’ Bailey added. ‘Clean up the house; get on with your life.’ He patted her shoulder and left.
Diya knew Bailey meant well; for all his gruffness, he was nothing but kind and courteous.
The cops were right. She could not hide from life forever, but loneliness threatened to overwhelm her. She just wished there was another person in the world who shared a few strands of her DNA.
The Trickster Page 2