Vengeance List

by Gary Gregor

  “First drink,” he raised his glass. “And thank you, by the way. The girl told me this was on your account.”

  “My pleasure,” Ann said.

  She held a long-stemmed flute glass that looked to Sam as though it contained sparkling white wine. Probably champagne, he thought. She would be a Champagne girl. They touched their glasses together and sipped their drinks in silence.

  “I love it here,” Ann said finally, casting her eyes across the ocean towards the remnants of the day fast disappearing in the west.

  “Darwin?” Sam asked. “Or here, the sailing club in particular?”

  “Both,” she nodded, turning back to face him across the table. “But it is special here. I’m on the committee, and I come here a lot.”

  “Alone?” he dared to ask.

  “Most of the time,” she responded. “I have a small circle of close friends with whom I socialise, when I can find the time to socialise, that is. The majority of them are also members here,” she added. “I also have a small yacht moored out there,” she nodded in the direction of the darkening sea, “which I also never seem to find the time for.”

  On the gentle, cotton-ball softness of the evening breeze, Sam caught a faint hint of her perfume, carried to him across the space between them.

  “How’s your drink?” he asked. “Can I get you another?”

  “Do you like champagne?” she queried.

  “Occasionally,” Sam nodded.

  “I’ve got a bottle on ice at the bar, just ask Toni for another glass.”

  “I’ll be right back,” Sam promised. He found himself strangely reluctant to leave her, even for a few minutes.

  “I’ll wait right here,” she smiled over the rim of her glass, as if sensing his hesitation.

  When he returned, she was gone. Gripped by a momentary panic, he stood at the table where he had left her, and wondered what it was he said that frightened her off. Then he saw her. In the shadowy light of dusk, he spotted her on the beach, at the water’s edge. His spirits lifted and he hurried to join her.

  She was wading in shallow water. Her shoes, held by a finger hooked through the ankle straps, dangled at her side. In her other hand, she held her empty glass. As Sam approached, she turned to face him, and held out her glass for a refill.

  “I thought for a moment, you had run out on me,” Sam said as he filled her glass and then his own.

  “Walk with me, Sam,” she said. She hooked an arm through his and steered him towards the northern end of the beach, into the darkness and away from the faint glow cast by the lights of the club.

  He felt awkward. Walking on the soft sand in his shoes was difficult. Somehow, he had to balance the bottle of champagne and his glass in one hand because nothing was going to make him remove his other arm from her warm, welcome touch. Arm in arm they walked slowly into the darkness. The sound of the waves gently caressing the shore cocooned them in a warm, isolated space and time that belonged, for the moment, to only the two of them. Any conversation seemed superfluous, even inappropriate. Sam dared to hope the ambience to the moment might lead to something better.

  A dark shape loomed out of the darkness. As they approached, Sam noticed an upturned dinghy, tethered by a long rope to a tree at the edge of the sand.

  “Let’s sit a while,” he suggested.

  “Okay,” Ann answered.

  They sat side by side, their backs against the dinghy. Ann’s leg rested against Sam’s, their knees touching, and he felt the warmth of her thigh passing through her dress. He became aroused, and silently hoped she wouldn’t notice in the darkness.

  “Comfortable?” he asked.

  “Very, thank you.”

  “Why did you ask to meet me tonight?”

  “Because you intrigue me,” she answered softly.

  “Clinically or otherwise?”

  “Otherwise.”

  “Now I’m intrigued,” he said. “Tell me more.”

  “Most of the men I meet are either frightened off by my position, or are married and are looking only for a bit of fun without the doting wife finding out.”

  “And you think I’m different?” he asked.

  “Well,” she began, “I know you’re not married, and I suspect you wouldn’t be intimidated by my job."

  Sam reached out and touched her lightly on her bare shoulder. Ann reached up and let her fingers rest gently against his cheek. He leaned towards her. She did not resist. Slowly, softly, their faces came together until their lips barely touched. Their warm breath, sweet with the taste of champagne, blended as their mouths moved feather soft against each other. He felt the tip of her tongue touch his lip, and the sensation surged through him, stirring emotions and feelings strangely unfamiliar. Gently, he pulled her to him and kissed her for a long time. Through the thinness of her clothing, he felt the firmness of her breasts rise and fall against his chest as her breath quickened. For a moment, he thought he could feel the beat of her heart pulsing against him, until he realised it was the hammering of his own. From somewhere, he heard her whisper throatily. “Take me home, Sam.”

  In the semi-darkness of his bedroom, she stood before him in the pale glow of light filtering into the room from the hall. Sam was already naked. He sat on the edge of his bed watching her as she lowered the thin straps of her dress over deeply tanned shoulders. She was not wearing a bra, and her breasts, small and firm, fell free of their confinement. Sam reached up and cupped them gently in his hands. He felt her nipples harden beneath his fingertips. Slowly he moved his hands down the length of her body, taking her dress down over her hips and letting it fall to the floor. She wore brief, white panties. He hooked his fingers into the waistband, helping her as she stepped out of them. Ann stepped closer to the bed. He leaned forward and kissed her lightly on her stomach, running his tongue gently around her navel. He moved downwards and felt the warm, soft growth of her womanhood against his face. He leaned back, making room for her, and she joined him on the bed. They lay on their sides, face to face. Fingers touched, teased, explored. Their mouths brushed lightly, then crushed together. When they could stand it no longer, she guided him with her hand, and they came together as one, connected in a joint embrace of passion. Their bodies glistened with perspiration in the half-light, and moved together in a rhythm heightening their urgency. She knew when he was ready. She could tell by the quickening of his movements and the soft groan that came from deep in his throat. She moved to meet him, and they arrived together in a tangle of damp nakedness, and shared moans of pleasure.

  Sam struggled slowly from the depths of sleep that followed their lovemaking. Ann murmured softly and moved sleepily beside him. She lay on her side, one arm thrown haphazardly across his chest. Her knee rested high in his groin.

  The soft ringing of the phone dragged him reluctantly awake. He reached out in the darkness.

  “Hello,” he mumbled into the mouthpiece.

  “Top o’ the mornin’ to you, Sam lad!”

  “Jesus, Paddy. Is that you?”

  “Aye, it is to be sure. I’ve been ringing for ages. What’s the matter with you? Did you tie another one on last night?”

  “No, not exactly,” Sam answered, stealing a glance at the sleeping form beside him. “I had the phone turned down. What time is it?”

  “It’s three thirty, so it is, and there’s been dirty work on the streets tonight.”

  “Shit, don’t you ever sleep? What do you mean, dirty work?”

  “We’ve got another one, Sam,” Paddy said.

  “Another what?” Sam drawled sleepily, an ominous feeling rising in his gut.

  “Another murder, Lad.”

  “Jesus, tell me you’re kidding; who?”

  “A shyster, I’m sure you know him. He’s been around for years, one of them legal aid fellas; name’s Kevin Thiele.”

  9

  Earth tremors, usually originating in the seas off the coast of Indonesia many hundreds of kilometres to the north-west of Darwin, were not
a regular occurrence. They were however, not that uncommon as to create any real alarm within the community. Kevin Thiele was in a deep sleep when he felt the shaking. As he stirred slowly into a groggy state of awareness, he assumed another such tremor was stirring him awake.

  He opened his eyes and caught a glimpse of his killer seconds before he died. A smiling face leaned over him. A glint of light bounced off the blade of a knife held menacingly in front of his eyes. His senses, still dulled from sleep, were slow to react. The knife moved closer and he felt a strange sensation in his throat. He opened his mouth to cry out, but no sound came. He was dying. A warm rush of blood flooded from his neck, and soaked the bedding beneath his head. He tried to speak. His mouth opened and closed. He heard only the sound of gargled, bubbling air, like a landed fish gasping for life-giving oxygen. As his eyes began to glaze over, and his life ebbed rapidly from him, he looked up into the smiling face above him and recognised his killer.

  The face smiled down at the dying solicitor. He was pleased with himself. Stupid, dumb fucks would never catch him. He had seen to that. That prick Foley couldn’t find his arse with four hands. He chuckled aloud at his joke as he fumbled around in the small carry bag at his feet. Finally, he found what he was looking for, and pulled a cloth from the depths of the bag. Slowly, meticulously, lovingly he wiped the blood from the blade. When he was satisfied, he carefully placed it in the bottom of the bag. He would show the fucking pigs. Bloody stupid, dumb coppers. The slow-witted bastards still had no idea who they were looking for. Even if some half-smart arsehole came up with his name as a suspect, the rest of his idiot mates would think he was a nut job. They wouldn’t catch him, couldn’t catch him; he had seen to that also. He had seen to everything, because he was much smarter than any of them. He moved to the foot of the bed, stood back and admired his handiwork. Yes, it was good. He was good, and he wasn’t finished yet. The more of the bastards he got, the better it felt.

  “Soon,” he said softly to the lifeless form on the bed. “Soon my work will be done.”

  With gloved hands, he picked up the telephone receiver at the bedside and dialled ‘000’, the police emergency number. Quickly, lucidly, in a voice he made no attempt to disguise, he left his morbid message with an anonymous officer in the Police Communications Centre. Then, he slipped out into the night as silently as he arrived.

  Tired, and benumbed with confusion and unanswered questions inundating his mind, Sam arrived at Thiele’s home thirty minutes after receiving the call from Paddy O’Reily. Police were in attendance, and the house was cordoned off with checked, reflective tape strung across the driveway of the modest premises. Two uniform patrol cars and two unmarked cars Sam knew would belong to the detectives at the scene, were parked haphazardly on the street in front of the house. Who the hell was going to book them for illegal parking? Sam thought. Lights glowed from behind curtains and blinds in the homes on either side of, and across the street from, Thiel’s house. His neighbours huddled on their porches, craning to get a view of proceedings next door. Little did they know, very soon they would be besieged by police officers wanting statements about what they might have seen, or heard.

  Sam spotted Paddy talking to a uniformed officer who was gesturing pointedly in the direction of Paddy’s car, no doubt suggesting to the newshound it would be both prudent and appreciated if he were to leave the immediate area without delay.

  Paddy turned his back to the gesturing officer and recognised Sam’s car. He walked briskly across the street and spoke through the open window.

  “Jesus Sam, where have you been?”

  “I got here as fast as I could. What happened here?”

  “It’s Kevin Thiele, so it is,” Paddy confirmed. “I can’t get any closer, but the whisper is his throat has been cut, from ear-to-ear.”

  “You know that already?” Sam asked incredulously.

  “Of course,” Paddy shrugged. “It’s my job to know.”

  Sam shook his head. “Bloody department leaks like a sieve.”

  “You knew this Thiele bloke, right?” Paddy asked.

  “I played squash with him just a few hours ago. Any other details?”

  “The department might leak like a sieve, but no one’s talking to me directly. I’m getting only snippets I’ve managed to overhear from those loose-lipped galoots across the street.” Paddy jerked a thumb at the crime scene behind him. “All I know is someone carved him another breathing hole.”

  “Well that won’t work,” Sam said sarcastically. “How did you find out about it?”

  “I was mooching around headquarters, as I do, drinking coffee with a few of the lads, and hoping for any interesting tidbits. I was about to call it a night when the call came in. There was such a flap going on, nobody seemed to notice I was still around. I followed the convoy of cop cars heading this way.”

  “Who made the call?” Sam probed.

  “Jesus, Sam, what am I, the Police Commissioner?”

  “I know you, remember?” You’ve normally got all the facts, and half the story, written by now.”

  “Aye,” Paddy nodded, “but this is different. The lid’s on tighter than a Catholic nun’s knickers, so it is.”

  “Is Foley in there?” Sam indicated towards the house.

  “He arrived just before you,” Paddy answered. “Bloody rude he was and all. Told me to foock off out of it, so he did. The language was downright foockin’ awful.”

  Sam indicated the officer who had been remonstrating with Paddy earlier. “Who’s the uniform?”

  “Don’t know. John something or other,” Paddy answered. “I’ve seen him around a bit. He hasn’t been here long. A Senior Constable transferred in from Alice Springs I think. I did hear Foley promise to bust him back to school crossing guard if he let anyone through not directly involved. He’s doing the job. I tried to get in for a quick peek, but he threatened to put the bracelets on me.”

  “The police don’t do school crossing guard,” Sam observed absently.

  “What?”

  “Never mind,” Sam said.

  Sam saw Russell Foley appear in the doorway of Thiele’s house. He watched as Russell walked across the lawn and spoke briefly to the uniformed officer standing sentinel at the entrance to the short driveway. The officer moved across to his patrol car in response to instructions from Foley.

  Foley looked up and glanced across the street. In the blue, grey light of the approaching dawn, he spotted Paddy talking to Sam Rose.

  “Shit,” he murmured. He paused, changed his mind about going back inside the house, and walked purposely across the street. He positioned himself between Paddy and Sam’s car.

  “Well, excuse fooking me!” Paddy complained.

  Foley ignored the Irishman. “What the fuck are you doing here?” he hissed at Sam.

  “And a very good morning to you, Russell,” Sam smiled.

  Foley turned to Paddy. “Did you call him?”

  “Oh, you did notice I was here?” Paddy answered sarcastically.

  “As a matter of fact,” Sam interrupted, “I just happened to be passing by when I noticed all the activity. Thought I’d stop and see what was going on. You know me, Russ, I can’t help myself.”

  “You’re a fucking liar, Rose. Where were you heading?”

  “Home.”

  “From where?” Russell demanded.

  “Are you interrogating me, Russell? Jesus, leave me alone. I’m a concerned citizen. And, unless you’re going to move that cordon to include this side of the street, I have every right to be here watching the Territory’s finest at work.”

  “Get in my way mate, and I will do you,” Russell spat.

  “Is that a threat?”

  “No, it’s a fucking promise!”

  “I’ll try to remember that. In the meantime, I don’t suppose you would care to tell me what you’ve got in there?” Sam nodded in the direction of the house.

  “No, I wouldn’t care to tell you,” Foley spat. “It’s no
ne of your business. You’ll find out when the rest of the public does, and that will be when, and if, I decide to release a statement. Now, why don’t you piss off and let me do my job?”

  “I’m not keeping you, Russell,” Sam said. “Please, carry on.”

  Foley glared at Sam, then at Paddy, as if searching for something else to say, then turned his back and strode purposefully across the street. Sam and Paddy watched him in silence until he disappeared inside the house.

  Paddy, a full head shorter than both Sam and Foley, had been watching the exchange between the two adversaries. Like a prolonged rally at a tennis tournament, his head swivelled from one to the other. When Foley entered the house, he turned to Sam.

  “Shit, I was getting dizzy, so I was. Nice to see you two are still such good friends.”

  “Bite your Irish arse, Paddy,” Sam snapped as he started his car.

  “Hey! Where are you going?” Paddy asked.

  “I’m going home, where I should have stayed all along. That stubborn prick is not going to tell me anything.”

  “What about what I found out at the morgue? Don’t you want to know what I learned?”

  “Not if it can wait a few hours. I’ll meet you in my office at ten o’clock. We’ll catch up then. Right now I’m going back to bed.”

  “Okay, okay, I reckon it can wait. I might hang around here a bit longer. You never know what I might hear. You go on then. You get back to whatever, or whoever I dragged you away from. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  Russell Foley ordered everyone from the room. When he was alone, he closed the door and stepped to the foot of the bed. For a long time, he stood and stared at Kevin Thiele’s body.

  A gaping slash across Thiele’s throat grinned hideously back at him. In the still, humid air, he could just make out the faint, metallic smell he always associated with still warm, human blood.

  Thiele had died with his eyes open. The fixed glaze of death left him staring unseeing at the ceiling. Foley cast his eyes around the sparsely furnished room. Kevin Thiele’s unpretentious, even dull lifestyle was reflected in his house. The furnishings, although neat and clean, were plain and inexpensive. It seemed to Foley that, in life, Kevin Thiele had been just as he appeared to those who knew him, an uninspiring and somewhat unmotivated character.