Sixth Victim

by Kate Mitchell

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  From the table near her bed, Phoebe took out a photograph. Cecelia had been prepared to hate him on sight, believing she would see a recognizable monster, but it wasn’t in the picture. He was rather nice looking and kind. Was Phoebe sure this was the same man who was her husband?

  ‘Yes, I can say it for you,’ smiled Phoebe with irony. ‘He is handsome with inherited wealth. On paper, this should be a marriage made in heaven, at least, it should have been for me. He told me he was a virgin like myself. People refuse to believe that he hit me. They’d always say you are lucky to have a man like him. He looked a thoroughly nice man.’

  Holding his picture in her hands, Cecelia found it difficult to believe that under those eyes slept a monster. Dark wavy hair, finely shaped nose and soft and full pink lips, a face which could draw faintness from every female heart.

  ‘Well, it just proves that the outside is not the same as the inside. Why did he pick you?’ it came out without thinking.

  But it sparked off another of Phoebe’s laughs.

  ‘I have often asked the same question myself,’ her eyes twinkled. ‘Obviously, my beauty and even possibly my interesting wit which attracted him.’

  ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that.’

  ‘No, that’s okay. I used to wonder why he was still free. When we went out together, I’d see the girls looking at him and then looking at me. It was a wonderful feeling until I got married, although to be honest, he didn’t beat me straightaway, it was when we came back from our honeymoon when he struck into me.’

  Together they had cleared out the small room, which was going to be the new bedroom, Phoebe bought a bed for Cecelia. After dragging the heavy mattress up the stairs, they were now sitting on it.

  ‘I don’t hate Harry anymore, for me that’s a waste of energy, I just don’t understand him or why he would want to make not only my life miserable but his as well.’

  Although Phoebe’s scars from their marriage weren’t visible, her pain came from deep within.

  ‘In the first year of our marriage, I went to the police asking for help. They were very good, they listened to me. I showed the bruises where he hit me, they told me that I had to pack my bags after giving me an address for a women’s refuge. I moved hoping to start afresh again. What I didn’t reckon on was that Harry had followed me.’

  Although this wasn’t an amusing story, Phoebe started laughing nervously as if this were the funniest story to be told.

  ‘Harry followed me to the police station and when I left, he went in to talk to them. Such a clever move.’

  ‘He must have suspected you were up to something.’

  ‘Yes, and I was stupid to doubt his intelligence, but he was kind enough to tell me about the interview. He liked to dabble with reality which included me having a history of mental illness especially in self-harming. He told them that I would throw myself downstairs…’

  ‘You’re kidding me.’

  ‘No, and he got away with it, he wasn’t going to let me go. I was his punchbag and now I was doing this to myself. Another year went by before I realized that if I stayed, I would be dead, and it would be suicide. One day, I know he will find and kill me. I read it in the tea leaves once that I was going to die early and with a violent death.’

  15

  The days passing was to be remembered as one of those wonderful holidays when young women reverted to their childhood. Trying on each other’s clothes for they were nearly the same height and size. Kooky, Cecelia looked eccentric in Phoebe’s clothes while Phoebe paled into a person who could pass without anyone remembering her. Astonishing to see Phoebe as herself, but that’s how she must appear to others. Through the night they would creep into the kitchen to make waffles with plenty of maple syrup. It was fun.

  But of course, there always has to be an end to everything. And that day came for these two little girls to rejoin the world of adults. Fantasy had lost its nebulous fibers, the dream had broken, it was time to awake. Time to make money which for Cecelia meant writing. Today, she was going to the Alandra Police Department to find out the latest on this recent murder.

  A body had been found dug deep on the perimeters of Elmansor Park baseball field. A new baseball stand was being erected so more training could be done. The digger had pulled up a man’s leg. Forensic revealed the death happened over a year ago, as they had also determined the man’s age when he was murdered as about twenty-three to twenty-five. The fractured skull showed he had died from a massive blow to his head and from the markings, it suggested an axe was the weapon.

  Knocking on Detective Travis’s door, Cecelia was told to enter. The policewoman was going through some documents and frowning.

  ‘You write very well,’ Detective Travis said without looking up. ‘It’s a pity that young rookies aren’t shown how to write good notes. Adequate, I suppose but most of the time, they expect officers to learn on the job. Which to my mind is not good enough.’ Travis was wearing thin gold-rimmed glasses making her look like an English professor. ‘I’m getting a better picture of the people you interviewed especially Mr. Davis from your notes.’

  Was this a compliment? From Detective Travis perhaps it was.

  ‘We’re waiting for the body to be identified. I put my bottom dollar on it being Tony Hare. And if it is, then he didn’t run away from his responsibilities, he was murdered. And making an uncalculated guess, I would say that the arrow is pointing at Mr. Davis being his murderer. There isn’t anyone else with any real motive for the murder.’

  ‘You don’t know for sure it is Tony Hare or if Mr. Davis killed him.’

  ‘No, I don’t. I shall wait until the evidence proves it. It was from your notes which drew my attention to it. I want to congratulate you. You’ve done a damn good job.’

  If Detective Travis needed to have success, why did it have to be someone as vulnerable as Mr. Davis?

  Words became dangerous. Suffering from guilt, Cecelia nearly bumped into Phoebe who was coming out of her shop with more flowers. Her poker-dotted and striped beanie sat comfortably on her head.

  ‘You’re back again. What’s the hurry?’ she blinked. Her eyelashes had long extensions and when she blinked, they fluttered like butterflies; she looked just like a wide-eyed rag-doll.

  ‘I need to visit someone. I think I might have done him a great deal of damage. I’ll give you a call when I find out what has happened,’ said Cecelia too serious for Phoebe’s liking.

  ‘Oh, before you go. You had a telephone call from the property manager. He thinks he’s found someone interested in renting your property, he just needs to agree to the rent.’

  In Phoebe’s hands, the blue petalled irises rendered a beautiful picture of serenity. Against her pale white skin, and her expression could have been executed on Delft pottery. For the first time in years, Phoebe looked happy and at peace with the world.

  ‘I don’t know when I’ll be back. Do you think you could deal with it?’

  ‘Yes, I can,’ Phoebe was surprised. ‘Is there anything you want me to say?’

  ‘No,’ grinned Cecelia. ‘Except get me the best price you can,’ and then she stopped in reflection. ‘Without losing the customer.’

  ‘Am I not a businesswoman? Do I not always get the best out of a bargain?’

  The banter between them was fun, they got on so well together. ‘Yep.’

  Wouldn’t it be wonderful, Cecelia excited thoughts chased her up the stairs taking two at a time, to go into partnership together? It would be a far better life than journalism. Her written words had got people into trouble, while her mind reminded her to change from jeans to a skirt out of respect for the couple.

  ‘I don’t know when I’ll be back,’ Cecelia said again tackling the stairs.

  ‘I was thinking of doing something with chicken tonight. Something not too heavy like chicken and fruit salad. What do you think?’ Phoebe smiled at Cecelia rushing around. ‘I’ll do something with chicken then.�
�

  ‘Okay.’ Cecelia spared a hand for goodbye.

  Rushing everywhere, Phoebe stood at the door to say her goodbyes. A customer wanted flowers. Such a hurry that the man had to stand out of her way. No time for a hug; things needed to be done.

  The sun was shining, the world looked happy and optimistic; everyone wants flowers on a day like this.

  An ambulance waited outside the Davises' house. Lights still flashed as the paramedics were busying trying to assess the sick woman’s condition. With the doors open, Cecelia walked in edging nervously to the obvious conclusion that an angel had come calling for Mary Davis. The tide of death was pulling her away.

  From the doorway, she watched Mr. Davis staring down at her small body, drained of blood, and fighting for life. Shoulders bent in helplessness while his sweetheart lay dying, Mr. Davis’s grief superseded his will to live.

  Breathing now lightly with the help of oxygen, the hours of existence were numbered. Now it was up to him to decide whether his wife should go to the hospital to be made comfortable. The paramedics had taken her blood pressure and just finished checking her heart. Her sleep was deep, and she wasn’t aware of what was going on.

  An intimate scene of someone struggling to hold on to their life. And there was Mr. Davis’s grief inestimably flowing out and covering the room. All the days of his life had never prepared him for her death. His darling was leaving him. Every second she was drifting further away to the shore of the dead. Nothing could solace him, not even their dead children, he was being abandoned.

  From the muddled whispers and gestures, the paramedics were now leaving the room. Let her be, Mr. Davis had told them; she is better off here with me. I won’t leave her.

  No one noticed Cecelia staring from the doorway, only stepping back when the two paramedics passed. They were going to their next callout.

  ‘Mr. Davis,’ Cecelia stepped forward into the living mural. ‘It’s me, Cecelia Clark, I need to talk to you.’

  He didn’t move; he didn’t turn to look at her, but perhaps he didn’t care. Gently and carefully coming across, Cecelia stood beside him to help him keep his vigil. Mary had crept into herself to become a child whose complete efforts in life were just made by breathing. Side by side they watched her.

  ‘It’s just a question of time,’ Mr. Davis’s hoarse voice said he had been crying. ‘She had another stroke this morning and hasn’t come out of it. I know she’s fighting to stay with me. But I can’t let her hang on like this. She’s suffering.’ It comforted him to have Cecelia keeping the vigil with him.

  To Cecelia’s eyes, it looked like Mary was asleep, a tired child sleeping.

  ‘They wanted to take her to the hospital. But I couldn’t do that to her. To die in some unknown bed, she would be afraid. People don’t care in those places…’

  If only Cecelia could tell him that people do care that all life is precious, yet people are always busy.

  ‘I don’t know what to do anymore or how I’m going to live without my Mary. The last question she asked me was when is our girl coming home. Soon, I told her, soon. But then she smiled at me, a funny smile, I had never seen her smile like that before. She knows about our Marcia. She told me she was looking forward to seeing her soon. She knows she’s dead.’

  ‘Perhaps she was delirious.’

  ‘No, no, she wasn’t delirious. The look in her eyes told me she knew.’ Turning to Cecelia as if it had just registered that she was standing beside him. ‘Days, hours, minutes, that’s all they’ve given her. This year she would be sixty-three, but she looks a lot older than that. Come,’ he said walking out of the room. ‘She’s asleep. I need to sort out my plans for what I’m going to do without her.’

  Sadness and tragedy could feel so heavy, Cecelia followed Mr. Davis into the kitchen.

  ‘Thank you for being here,’ he said sitting down heavily. ‘I would have been alone without you.’

  ‘It’s nothing,’ Cecelia muttered under her breath, and then even quieter, ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Mary was supposed to have a few more years with me. I’m not ready to die yet, but there again, who is?’

  How to broach her thoughts and the message she had come with. Shuffling her feet, he must have picked up on how agitated she was.

  ‘You came here on your own?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why?’

  She had to find the courage to tell him and to tell him now. If he didn’t find out from her then he would find out some other way, and it might not be so friendly.

  ‘You’ve got something to tell me.’ He was frowning but not afraid. ‘Come on girl, tell me what’s on your mind.’ Haunted eyes. There was nothing she could say to him now which would upset him anymore. He had gone past all the horrors of living.

  ‘A body has been found on Elmansor Park Baseball field,’ Cecelia hurried out.

  ‘And what is that to do with me?’

  ‘I just thought you ought to know.’

  ‘Yes, so now I know.’

  ‘The police suspect it’s the body of Tony Hare,’ Cecelia faithfully recorded.

  So now he smiled, the curling of his lip showed he was pleased. ‘And today of all days. It’s almost prophetic.’

  ‘Yes,’ she muttered feeling in some way that she was to blame for Tony Hare’s death. But she was just the bearer of ill tidings. A man losing everything, and she had come to find out if he was guilty or not.

  ‘Is that why you are here, to tell me the police have found his body? Is there anything else you’ve come to tell me?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well go on that’s what you’re here for.’

  ‘They think it was you who killed Tony Hare.’

  He laughed, he thought this was funny. ‘I can see how everything adds up. It’s obvious that I’m the likeliest suspect because of Marcia,’ Mr. Davis was looking at Cecelia seriously. ‘But how did this come about? It seems to me a very novel opportunity that the police have stumbled on me.’

  ‘I think it’s my fault.’ Biting her bottom lip, Cecelia felt she could cry. ‘I mentioned your daughter Marcia had once been in love with Tony Hare and that he had come to you when she was killed before suddenly disappearing. I’m so very sorry. I don’t know what possessed me to write those things.’

  ‘Perhaps you thought I was guilty of his death. But never mind, it doesn’t matter anymore. Nothing matters anymore.’

  ‘But you might go to prison because of me,’ now distracted with worry, Cecelia needed his forgiveness even more.

  ‘Quite honestly, I don’t care if I do. It’s all the same to me, but at least I will be in good company.’

  Was he giving up on everything? He didn’t know how sorry she was.

  ‘Look, young lady, it’s just another problem landing on my shoulders. Perhaps God figured I can take it. Whatever. It just doesn’t matter anymore. I’m not going up to His place, I’m doomed to go down. You know, it strikes me that I was a good candidate for bad luck. I didn’t complain because I had my Mary. I thought if I complained they would take her away from me and give me all those empty things that wealth can buy. But, if I could choose again, I’d choose exactly this same old life. So, I’m not going to fight.’

  What could she do for him? What could she give him, say to him to make him happier? But he was accepting fate like a man prepared for execution. Suddenly he was losing Mary, and it didn’t matter to him whether he was guilty or not. His life had been emptied of everything he loved. They could lay him on a bed and stick a needle in him for all he cared, as life must be important to want to hang on to it.

  ‘I am all tuckered out,’ he began. ‘I’m just waiting for Mary, and she won’t be hanging around for long.’

  There was nothing she could say to stop him from thinking like this. It was like a replay of her old self when she was stalked with depression; what an ugly word. Shock was always a good strategy to get those tempers working.

  ‘Did you kill Tony Hare?’ if he sai
d no then she would do everything she could to get him off.

  His first response was a smile. ‘What do you think? I take you as my judge and jury. You tell me what you think?’

  She would have liked to say that she didn’t think he would commit such a crime, but who knows what a man would do to revenge his family and especially his daughter.

  ‘I’m going to check on Mary. Do you want to come with me? Perhaps you can talk to her, make up a story to tell her about Marcia. Tell her how happy Marcia is. That would be a kindness I’d appreciate. Would you do that for me? You can forget about what you wrote in your notes for the police.’

  For thirty pieces of silver, she had sold her soul, such was the price of vanity.

  Still, in that wavering sleep between one world and another, Mary Davis kept to her slumbers. While he watched claiming every moment in this world with her. But now looking at that once young face, what do you say to a dying woman?

  ‘As I was passing, Mrs. Davis,’ began Cecelia. ‘I thought I would drop in to tell you about Marcia.’

  Eyes flickered open breaking through from her coma, Mrs. Davis wavered eyes fell on Cecelia and held them there. ‘Marcia was writing to tell you, but as I was passing, she bade me tell you myself. It’s good news. She has passed her first exam to become top in her class. Her tutor is amazed by her progress; no one has done better than Marcia. And to start so late in the year. Her tutor is putting her down to do research—you know special research for helping people all over the world. She is likely to find a cure for cancer. You don’t know how special your daughter is…’

  The gasp came from Mr. Davis’s lips. ‘Mary,’ he called. ‘Mary, can you hear what this young lady has just said?’

  Mary looked at her husband.

  ‘Mary, my darling. You’ve been in such a deep sleep. Did you hear what the lady has come to tell you?’