by Tess Little
“About what? About Richard? The filming?” I asked.
“Not that.”
“Then what?”
“I lied and I lied for such a long time, Elspeth. And now I want to tell the truth about Richard and me, but—fuck. This is not right at all. This is not how it’s supposed to go at all. I wasn’t going to—”
“Whatever it is,” I said, “you don’t have to tell me. If you don’t want—”
“I do,” she said. She hit the wheel, nodded violently as she said, “No, I do, I do. I need to tell someone. If I don’t tell you now, then I don’t know if I can—I thought maybe coming forward about the filming might make me feel better, it might make me feel like I’m brave and I’m doing something good, but now it’s this ugliness and I can’t control it. I’m a coward, I’m a fucking coward.”
“You’re not a coward, Kei.”
“You don’t know that,” she said. “You don’t know.”
“Whatever it is, I’m sure—”
“You don’t know that we killed him.”
For a moment I couldn’t talk.
And then she said it again: “We killed him, Elspeth. We all killed Richard.”
* * *
—
“You told me you didn’t,” I said. For some reason, that was my first thought. “You told me you didn’t.”
“I know.”
“When you got in the car, you told me—”
“I know, Elspeth. I lied.”
“What do you mean you lied? You killed him?”
She didn’t say anything.
“You killed Richard?”
She kept driving.
“Who’s we, Kei? Who killed Richard?” I was shouting now. “Kei, what do you—”
“Let me talk, let me talk, give me a second, okay?”
We had reached the highway and she was going fast. I clung to the grab handle as she swerved around a car.
* * *
—
“I had fallen asleep,” she said. Her voice was eerily calm, even as the vehicle picked up speed. I kept clutching the handle, my other hand holding on to my seat. “There was the argument with Richard about whether he’d take the dope, remember? I can remember that. And then I think I must have fallen asleep, because the next thing I remember is different. It was quieter—like everyone else had fallen asleep—and the aquarium was bubbling. And that’s when I heard it. This choking noise.”
(The wounds; the bruises; a long, blunt object.)
“I think that’s what woke me up.” She was speaking without emotion, eyes wide, dazed. Like she was reciting a story that had happened to someone else. “At first I tried to ignore it. I kept my eyes closed. I think because I’d just woken up and maybe I could tell myself it was nothing. But then it happened again, the choking noise, and it was—it was disgusting. I wanted to—I needed to stop hearing it. It was this cough, retching and coughing, and then this gurgling sound. This gurgling cry.”
(The wet “O” of the mouth, the stare of the eyes, the stench of vomit.)
“That’s when I opened my eyes. He was twitching. His legs were twitching. His chest. It was this shuddering, Elspeth. I was frozen. I was horrified. I keep seeing how he was shuddering.”
I was confused. “But he was already choking when you woke up? So you didn’t kill him?”
“He was still alive, Elspeth. He was alive when I woke up. And then I looked around the room to see if anyone else had heard, and—”
“Did you see someone there? Was it Tommo?”
“Everyone was right where they had been before. The first person I remember seeing was Tommo. And he just looked at me and I looked at him and it was like I was asking a question and he shook his head, just a fraction; he shook his head. And then I could see that Charlie was awake as well. He looked at me. His eyes were enormous, he was horrified. And then Miguel and then Jerry. All five of us were watching each other. And then—”
A sob caught in Kei’s throat. She went on, her voice climbed higher, got quieter. “And then I felt Sabine waking up and I just held her still and Richard was choking and I heard the vomit splatter it was going everywhere and Sabine sat up like she wanted to go to him but then it was like she felt me holding her and she turned and she looked at me and that was it I had made the decision for us—I don’t know why I made that decision. We were looking at each other when Richard was dying. It was everyone, it was all of us looking at each other while he lay there shuddering and jerking and the vomit—”
“But you said you killed him, Kei. It wasn’t—are you saying he was already dying when you woke up?”
“He was alive, Elspeth. We killed him. We just sat there while he was dying, and I think—I know if just one of us had moved, we could have saved him.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do. I know it for a fact. I have to live with my decision. I decided in that moment not to let him live. I killed him, Elspeth.”
“You didn’t kill him.” I didn’t want to believe it.
“Stop trying to defend me,” she shouted. We were going faster, faster. “Don’t justify what we did. We made that decision. I sat there, listening, while a man lay dying, and I decided not to move. I heard him, I heard him. Don’t defend me.”
I kept quiet.
Kei released the pedal, slowed us down a little.
When she spoke again, there was something poisonous in her voice. “You know, we did it on purpose—made you find the body. In the morning, I was awake—I was awake all night—but I kept lying there until someone else discovered him. I think the others did too. That’s why you found him, and Honey too. Don’t defend me. We did that to you. To both of you.”
(The flesh was cold to the touch.)
“I saw Lillie at the memorial,” she went on. We were picking up speed again. “I saw what this did to her. It was wrong, I know it was wrong. It doesn’t matter how much I hated Richard or the things he did to me. I made a decision and now I have to live with it.”
“Kei…”
“Don’t try to talk me down.” She was crying. How could she see the road?
“Kei.”
“Shut up.”
There was a car ahead—Kei swung into the oncoming lane to pass. The headlights of an approaching truck were growing.
“Kei,” I shouted, clinging to my seat.
“I did it,” she sobbed, “I did it. We killed him, Elspeth.”
As we paced down the hallway, it took every ounce of discipline not to adjust the collar of my shirt or to tidy stray wisps of hair. I clutched my papers in both hands, held them tight to my chest. The sound of the crowd grew louder—and then the door was in front of us.
“Wait,” I said. “One minute.”
We paused so I could catch my breath. I looked to the floor. The carpet was a nondescript color: not quite blue, not quite gray; not textured but not smooth. I studied its fibers. I took my time. Then I raised my head and gave the nod.
The room fell silent as we entered. Somebody coughed. Someone shuffled in their seat.
I settled my papers on the podium and cleared my throat. Ready to address the crowd, the lenses, the microphones.
The cameras snapped.
* * *
—
The night of the party, as we moved from kitchen to atrium, we continued to play alter ego. Miguel was the next victim.
“Billionaire entrepreneur,” said Richard.
“I thought the game was what you could be in another life?” asked Jerry.
“It is,” said Kei, “but Richard here seems unable—”
Richard held up a hand. “He owns a publishing empire. Fashion magazines, literary journals. A real patron of the—”
“Incredibly unimaginative,” said Kei.
“A
ll right,” Richard said, “if you’re so good at it, tell me: What am I?”
“A disgraced politician,” offered Tommo halfheartedly, in Kei’s silence. “You’ve been fiddling your expenses and your secretary.”
“An artist,” said Miguel.
“A con artist,” corrected Jerry.
“Please,” said Richard.
We waited for the next suggestion, which came, after a few seconds, from Charlie. “I think you could have, like, run for Congress.”
“Very astute, mate,” said Tommo.
“What about you, Ellie?” Richard said. “Tell me, what do you think?”
“A chef,” I said. “A ship’s cook.”
No one reacted, so I explained: “You’re ruthless and exacting, maybe missing a front tooth. You insult the rest of the kitchen. The sous chef can’t get it right. And if you don’t fire the busboy within a week, he’ll have left, in tears, of his own accord.”
Honey and Sabine joined the group.
“But you criticize yourself too,” I added quickly. “And the dishes are always perfect.”
Richard ignored me, turned to Kei. “Still no suggestions from you.”
“Don’t worry, dude,” she said, unbothered. “I know what you are.”
“Enlighten us, then.”
“You’re a puppeteer.”
Richard gave his sharp laugh. “Excellent. Fantastic. So that was the nugget of gold we were all waiting for. Sounds like the beginning of a bad joke, doesn’t it? What did the politician say to the puppeteer? Well, I’d take a puppeteer over a builder, a barista, a postwoman”—he pointed at Tommo, Charlie, and me in turn—“or an unemployed music-video director”—Kei frowned—“any day of the week. Who does that leave? Jerry…”
His old friend grinned.
“Jerry, the heavyweight champ.”
The joke evaded me. Jerry laughed along, punched Richard’s arm lightly, but I could sense his unease.
“And Sabine, the starlet who would do anything.”
“Leave her alone,” said Kei, too quiet.
“What did you say?”
“I said leave her alone. It’s not funny.”
Richard narrowed his eyes. “She can talk for herself, darling, no need to get involved.”
Sabine took a sip of her champagne, watched him over the rim of her glass.
Honey shook his head, rubbed his jaw. “Kei’s right, you take it too far.”
“And what are you, my love?” Richard turned to Honey, stroked a thumb across his cheek.
Honey shrugged it off. “Come on, this is bullshit. Let’s talk about something else.”
“What is he?” Richard looked around the group. “No suggestions? None? Surely someone can think of an occupation for a high-school dropout who left home at—”
“Shut up,” said Honey. “Seriously, shut up. Nobody wants to hear this.”
“No? I thought that’s what this game was about. Brutal honesty.”
The music paused between songs—and then continued.
Honey sighed. “I’m going outside. You can be as honest as you want without me. Sabine?”
Richard watched them leave. “A fucking puppeteer. A con artist, a cook. So you’re allowed to take the piss out of me, but I can’t give it back?”
When there was no answer, Richard laughed. “It’s a joke,” he said. “It’s a joke.”
Nobody else laughed.
“But you want to know what a real joke is?” Richard continued. “This game. Fucking hell, who plays parlor games at parties in this century?”
“I’ll get the Monopoly board out,” said Jerry. “Anyone else want another drink? Okay, I’ll just help myself.”
Kei whispered something to Charlie.
Richard sniffed, turned to me. Raised his eyebrows as though he might find a friend.
I looked down at my drink, ready to make my excuses and leave. But a thought occurred—and I asked him, genuinely curious, “What could Lillie have been?”
“Ellie,” he said, a quiet warning.
But I pushed harder, repeated the question. It suddenly seemed vital to know: What did he think of our daughter?
“I don’t know, Ellie,” Richard said wearily. “She’s an actress, through and through. I don’t know.”
“You’re wrong.” I shook my head. “She could have been anything.”
He looked at me. “Yes, she’s a clever girl. Very determined.”
“No, that’s not what I meant,” I said. “You don’t understand.”
But when Richard asked what it was that he could not grasp, I struggled to explain myself. Could only repeat weakly, “You don’t understand.”
* * *
—
The cameras snapped. The words on the paper.
Kei was not with me as I stood at the podium.
The night of her confession, I had made her pull over. I swapped seats with her and drove us back. She chain-smoked the entire way. When we reached Lillie’s house, she got out of the car to return to the driver’s seat, but before she opened the door she paused to ask, “Are you going to tell Lillie? Will you tell the police?”
“I don’t know,” I said. It was the best I could do. Kei nodded a few times, defeated.
I had gone to bed numb that night.
I looked at my words on the paper. Swallowed my saliva. My fingers felt sticky.
The cameras snapped.
Kei had postponed her interview, she told me the next day. I called her early, before Lillie woke up, relieved when she picked up the phone. The way Kei had driven, I had worried she wouldn’t make it through the night. We arranged to meet for breakfast. I had too many questions—and Kei was the only one who could answer them. I ordered myself a black coffee; she asked for a flat white with a shot of espresso on the side. She looked terrible. She hadn’t slept.
“Have you decided?” she asked.
I hadn’t.
The waitress set our coffees on the table, asked if we wanted anything else.
“No. Thanks,” said Kei. Waited until the waitress had left to continue. “I called Sabine last night. She thinks I was crazy to even think about going public. And she thought I was crazy to tell you everything.” Kei poured sugar into her coffee. The crystals dented the foam. “But it’s weird, I don’t regret it. Telling you. Can I ask something, though?”
I didn’t nod, but she went on, meeting my eye. “If you decide to tell the police, can you just, like, not mention Sabine? It wasn’t her choice—I stopped her. The others made the decision for themselves, but she didn’t.”
“Why do you think the others let Richard die?” I asked, cradling the heat of my coffee mug.
She sighed, stirred her coffee. “I couldn’t say for sure.”
Then: “I have my thoughts, though. The stuff about Tommo from court—I bet that’s accurate. Jerry, I don’t know, but he and Richard were in a bad place. Same with Miguel. He told me about this big fight they had that night, something about funding—Richard was threatening to tell Miguel’s wife about an affair. And Charlie…I honestly think Charlie was just scared. A scared little boy. He was sitting there, terrified. I saw it in his face.”
I didn’t understand. “But you’d be okay for me to mention Charlie to the police?”
“Sometimes I want to protect him,” said Kei. “But he’s not a kid. And, yeah, he was scared—scared about calling an ambulance, being there with the drugs. You heard him panicking about his manager the next morning. It was self-preservation.
“No, Charlie made his bed. We all did. Apart from Sabine—I really believe I stopped her from saving Richard. She’s been racked with guilt. The only reason she didn’t confess during the investigation, and especially when Tommo was arrested, was for me. Both of us, actually, we wanted to protect each ot
her.”
Kei drank her flat white in one go. Wiped her mouth with the napkin. “Well, no, that’s not quite true. I probably would have given myself up in the trial. I felt bad for one person taking the rap when all of us were guilty. But then Tommo pulled that shit.”
“His defense?” I hadn’t thought of the trial once overnight—I’d been too preoccupied with the night of the murder. With imagining what had happened in Richard’s last moments, as I slept, just feet away.
“He dropped me and Charlie in it. But that’s not what pissed me off. It was—there was no need to bring in Honey. He was innocent, like you. And I know you’re friends with Tommo, Elspeth, but you should know he’s a nasty piece of work. He knew Honey was innocent, but he wanted to pin it on him because he thought he could get away with that. A Black man; a gay Black man. Young—and poor when he met Richard. Dirt poor. He knew that Honey wouldn’t play well with the jury. So why should I have stepped in to help out Tommo? He’s trash. A real piece of shit. He and Richard deserved each other.”
“And Miguel and Jerry?”
“They had no loyalties to Tommo. Miguel looks after number one, and Jerry—can you blame him? With his treatment, not knowing which way it’ll go…I wouldn’t want to spend my last days in jail either.”
I remembered Miguel calling the house, then approaching me at the memorial to point the finger at Honey.
I gulped my coffee. It was still scorching hot. And then I asked Kei the question that had gnawed at me all night.
“Are you sure,” I said, “that Richard wasn’t murdered? The throat bruises—is there any way that someone could have done it just before you woke up?”
“I’ve thought about that,” she replied. “I mean, I guess it’s possible. But I don’t think it would change how I feel about everything. I still feel like I should have helped Richard.”
Kei paused on this thought. Then swirled her espresso a few times, threw it back. “There was something else, though,” she added. “Have you finished your coffee? Let’s go for a walk before this place gets packed.”
