by Alex Barclay
For four hours, Anna washed down the lens, inside and out, then swept and scrubbed the floors. Darts of pain ran across the small of her back. Her shoulders ached and she was starving. She went back into the kitchen and there was a sandwich and a bottle of Coke on the counter from Shaun with a note beside it – gone out. She ate quickly and headed out again, rolling the top of a pair of overalls down to her waist, tying the arms in a knot. She pulled a blue sweatshirt over her T-shirt and walked towards the lighthouse.
‘Excuse me? Mrs Lucchesi?’ She turned around to see a man smiling down at her.
‘Hi. I’m Gary. Mark from Lawn Order can’t make it today or tomorrow. Personal stuff. He sometimes calls me to fill in.’
‘Oh,’ she said, puzzled. ‘He didn’t say anything about that. It would have been OK for him not to come in for a couple of days. There’s no real need for you to be here.’
He looked down at the pot he was carrying. ‘Well, I’ve brought some things, so I may as well just unload them.’
‘That’s very pretty,’ she said, touching one of the leaves. ‘What is it?’
‘Uh, that’s a—’ he looked at the label, ‘Hosta.’
Anna studied his face. ‘Well, you can put it down there,’ she said. ‘Near the bottom of the steps. Are you sure that’s it? That it’s something personal, that’s why Mark didn’t come to work?’
He stopped. ‘Sure,’ he said. ‘That’s all it is.’
Anna watched as he walked away, then went back into the house and dialled Mark’s number. It was diverted.
When Shaun got to the harbour, the first thing he saw was the crew from the TV station, the cameraman heaving off his equipment and swinging it through the open doors of a news van. The reporter stood a few feet away, pushing away the hair that blew across her face, then climbing into the passenger seat. Shaun watched as they drove up the slope, the driver nodding as he passed him. Small crowds had gathered to watch the activity by the dock. Shaun stood far enough away to go unnoticed.
Seven men in black drysuits stood on the harbour wall, looking into the water, a line of boats rocking back and forth against the concrete beneath them. One of them nodded and the first diver slid down the side into the water, holding a thick rope in his hand. His head stayed above the surface. Then three divers pulled on black masks and jumped in after him, each with white dual cylinder oxygen tanks mounted on their backs. They held on to the rope and moved under the boats.
Martha Lawson brought a tissue up to her nose and looked away, as though they were immediately going to find a new horror for her to face. She linked her sister’s arm. The divers continued for hours, moving around the harbour, then further out, working from a small boat.
Shaun was still there after most of the onlookers had gone home. Everything he saw depressed him. The boats that could have spent a month carrying evidence out to sea in tangled fishing nets, the churning tides crashing off the rocks, even the hungry seagulls that flew overhead. The secrets of the harbour today were not the same secrets as a month ago. Suddenly, he heard a shout from one of the divers in the boat. The three divers in the water surfaced. One of them held a pink sneaker in his right hand. Shaun watched as it was placed into a clear plastic evidence bag. He started to cry. He loved those sneakers. They were so Katie.
Victor Nicotero was sitting on his deck with a cardigan zipped up to his neck and a can of beer that was freezing his hand. Patti handed him the phone.
‘Nic, when do I call you?’
‘When you’re looking for something, Joe.’
‘I know, I know. And this time, it’s for another alarm bell check. Because they are ringing loud, here. But honestly? I don’t know if a part of me is wanting something to be this way or not…’
‘Spell it out for me.’
‘OK, if you heard what I’m about to tell you…what would you think? Two guys from the same small town, one a kidnapper/murderer, the other – done time for stabbing a guy. The big crime around the area before then is the rape of nine women who were then hunted down like animals and killed. Case goes unsolved. Years later, the first guy is shot dead. The second guy’s out of prison and within two months, a new girl is found dead in the woods where he’s at. Meanwhile, the Police Chief in their town, head of the original serial killer task force, commits suicide.’
‘I gotta tell you, I’d be hearing a ringing too, Joe. Especially if it was my son’s girlfriend…’
‘You don’t miss a trick.’ They were quiet for a while. ‘So, how’d you like a trip to Texas, Nic?’
‘I’m old. I need heat. I say yes.’
‘If you hiked those pants up to your armpits like you’re supposed to—’
‘You’re right behind me, buddy. When’s the big five oh?’
‘Four days. And ten years.’
‘Sure, Lucchesi. So, what’s the plan?’
‘I need you to go talk to the lonely widow of a man called Ogden Parnum. Find out what you can about why her Police Chief husband decided to blow his brains out. And anything you can about the Crosscut case he had been working on—’
‘Crosscut? OK. I’m on it.’
Nora Deegan stood at the wall in front of her favourite painting, a simple watercolour that picked up the greens and purples in the living room. She was holding a paint card beside it, moving along rows of small squares, each with a different shade of white.
‘I can’t make up my mind,’ she said. ‘For the gallery.’
‘Too many shades of white,’ said Frank. He pointed to one. ‘I like that.’ Nora nodded.
‘I need you to do something for me,’ he said suddenly. ‘On one of your little coffee mornings.’
‘What do you mean little? They’re huge, important affairs. Do you mind?’
‘Of course they are,’ said Frank, smiling. ‘I just need you to, I don’t know, settle things down around the place.’
‘What?’
‘The Lucchesis. It’s all around the village about Shaun,’ he said. ‘But the lad’s not involved. If he was, he’d be locked up by now. He’s in bits. I’ve seen how people are reacting. And Anna and Joe. Joe has been a pain in the backside since this all happened, but you can’t blame him. I think the poor man is driven mad. He’s getting fierce paranoid. He got this email in and it was total nonsense and he was thinking the worst as usual. Anyway, enough of that, it’s safe to say, the family is under a fair bit of pressure. Is there any chance you could, I don’t know, say the right thing to the right people? I know you tell the golf ladies about my cases.’
She raised an eyebrow.
‘You’re the sergeant’s wife, honey. They’ll trust you.’
Lime-scented steam filled the bathroom. Joe walked in and stepped around a pile of Anna’s clothes that lay crumpled on the floor.
‘Don’t go near them,’ she shouted from the shower. ‘Toxic.’
He tried to smile.
‘I’m serious. I had to do everything today. Some of the workmen didn’t show up and neither did Mark. I’m starting to get nervous.’
He made a face. He opened the mirrored door of the cabinet and started searching through it.
‘Well, would you show up for work if you thought someone was being questioned in the house about a murder?’ said Anna.
Joe kept searching, holding a finger up to let Anna know he couldn’t speak. A flash of frustration crossed her face.
‘But Shaun went in voluntarily,’ he managed, ‘no big deal.’
‘That’s not the way people’s minds work. I think something funny’s going on, Joe. With you trying to stick your nose in and Shaun being questioned, I think everyone’s avoiding us.’
‘Don’t be silly, honey.’
‘At least Mark had the decency to send a replacement. Even if he was a bit clueless. You know the way Mark strides around, knows every bit of the land. This guy seemed out of it. I sent him away, though. I’d rather wait.’
‘Mark will be back and so will the others.’
�
��I’m the one who needs a rest,’ said Anna. ‘I’m exhausted.’ She turned off the shower.
Joe reached for her bathrobe. She saw him wince when he turned his head.
‘I got you some heat packs for your jaw. Like eye masks. They’re in hot water.’ She pointed to the sink and the round objects floating in it. Joe looked in and saw two gel-filled plastic faces. One was Homer Simpson, the other was Bart. He looked at her and raised his eyebrows. She smiled.
He took them out, dried them on a towel and put one up to each cheek.
‘Hmm. Warm.’
Suddenly, they heard frantic pounding on the front door. They exchanged glances. Joe looked at his watch; it was almost midnight. He put the packs back in the sink. They both walked slowly downstairs into the hall, Joe holding his hand back to keep Anna behind him. She pushed it away.
‘Uh-oh,’ said Joe as he looked through the glass. He opened the door.
‘What is wrong with your family?’ said Martha hysterically. ‘What is wrong with you all?’ Her eyes were dark and sunken, her hair pulled back into a thin ponytail. In one month, she had lost thirty pounds from her slender frame.
She looked from Joe to Anna. ‘Your son comes over here, has…has sex with my daughter…I didn’t raise my daughter to be having sex before marriage! Then he lies to the guards. What did he do to her?’ Anna almost cried at what she was witnessing, more for the broken woman before her than what she was saying about her son.
‘Martha…’ Joe’s jaw felt like it was being torn apart.
‘You’re a murderer!’ she shouted. ‘Who are you to comment on anything? Shooting someone dead, I heard. And I came to you looking for help! You, of all people. Was I mad? You…carried her coffin!’ She raised her hand, then lowered it, clenching it into a fist in front of her. ‘If I find out that…he, that…I swear to God…’ She trailed off. Joe stared at her.
‘Have you nothing at all to say for yourself?’ she shouted.
Anna finally spoke. ‘Shaun really loved Katie. You know in your heart, Martha, he would never hurt her.’
‘I know nothing,’ she cried. ‘Nothing about anything! I don’t know what to think! Why did he leave her to walk home alone?’ she said, her voice strangled and desperate. Shaun had come to the door. Tears were falling down his cheeks.
‘I don’t know why,’ he sobbed. ‘I don’t know why either. It was a mistake.’
‘Martha, I’m so sorry about Katie,’ said Anna. ‘We all are. But none of us knows why it happened.’
‘Someone has to know!’ said Martha. ‘Someone has to know! What else do you know?’ she pleaded with Shaun. ‘What else haven’t you told them?’
Shaun was wailing, his hands covering his face. ‘Nothing, nothing, nothing. I’ve told them everything now. She’s just gone. I can’t believe any of it.’
‘Lies, lies and more lies,’ said Martha. ‘You’re a disgrace of a family.’ She turned and staggered down the path. Shaun ran to his room.
Joe shook his head and looked at Anna.
‘Jesus Christ,’ he said through gritted teeth. ‘This is a fucking nightmare.’
TWENTY-TWO
Denison, North Central Texas, 1988
The engine was running, a low hum in the darkened street. Donnie and Duke sat in the front seat of the pickup.
‘Hello, Barbara,’ said Donnie, putting out his hand.
‘Why you shakin’ her hand?’ asked Duke. ‘Do you shake her hand every time you meet her?’
‘No,’ said Donnie.
‘Well, why the hell do it tonight?’ said Duke. ‘It won’t look right.’ He nodded for Donnie to try again.
‘Hi, Barbara,’ said Donnie. ‘We’re having a party for Rick and I was wondering if you’d like to help me work on a guest list.’
‘That’s more like it,’ said Duke.
A car pulled into the driveway ahead and a man in a grey suit stepped out. He walked towards the front door.
‘What the fuck is this?’ hissed Duke. ‘Who the fuck is this guy?’
Donnie closed his eyes.
‘The husband,’ he said.
‘What time is it, Donnie?’ said Duke.
Donnie looked at his watch, but he knew.
‘Eleven-oh-five.’
‘And what night is it?’ said Duke, thumping the dashboard.
‘Tuesday,’ said Donnie.
‘You stupid fuckin’ son of a bitch,’ said Duke. ‘You dumb fuck. I talked you through this, Donnie. Visualise it, I said. Visualise everythin’. Imagine a big fuckin’ clock with a big fuckin’ Tuesday on it and a big fuckin’ time printed in big black letters across the centre. Eleven. Oh. Five.’
Donnie leaned back against the seat and exhaled slowly.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, looking over at Duke.
‘I love you too, sweetheart,’ whined Duke. ‘I hate it when we fight.’
Silence hung in the air.
‘You fuckin’ loser,’ boomed Duke, starting the engine. ‘I’ve had it. Time to move on. I can’t—’
‘No!’ cried Donnie. ‘Listen, I know I messed up, but I won’t do it again. I swear to God.’
‘Messed up?’ roared Duke. ‘Messed up? Messed up is gettin’ the time of a movie wrong or puttin’ salt on your fuckin’ Cheerios. Your brand of messin’ up could have had us face down and handcuffed, bent over takin’ it up the ass in some fuckin’ prison shower. This,’ he roared, stabbing the air with his finger, ‘this was the biggest mistake of your life. And it’s the last one you’ll ever make.’
Donnie’s heart pounded. A sharp pain seared through his chest. Duke reached across him and opened the door.
‘Get out,’ he said. ‘Get the fuck out of my vehicle.’
Donnie stumbled from the pickup, closing the door behind him with a soft thud. Through a screech of brakes, he heard Duke push the door open again and slam it closed.
Rachel Wade wiped along the counter of Beeler’s with a dirty towel that stank of stale beer and ash. She turned to polish the mounted bottles behind the bar, her thin, blonde hair swinging. She moved into the back bar to clear the last of the tables, gripping dirty glasses in her slender fingers. She flicked off the lights with her free hand on her way back into the bar. Suddenly, a man appeared behind her in the darkened lounge.
‘Excuse me?’ he said.
Rachel jumped. ‘Holy shit!’ she said, turning around, her hand to her chest. ‘You scared the hell outta me. I thought I locked the door.’ She squinted into the black, but all she could see was his eyes, magnetic and blue.
‘Sorry, ma’am,’ he said, smiling. ‘Just wonderin’ if I was too late to order myself a beer.’
‘Closin’ at four,’ she said. ‘But you’re the first to come by since midnight.’
‘Bottle of Busch, then,’ he said.
She put down his beer, then came out from behind the bar, picking up glasses, wiping down surfaces, sticking darts back into the board. Duke watched her slim hips as she moved between the tables, watched the pink lace bra pushing against her white shirt.
‘Why don’t you come join me for a drink?’ he asked.
‘OK.’ She grabbed a bottle of Jack Daniel’s and took the stool beside him. After an hour, she locked the doors and after two, they were at the end of the bottle. Rachel stood up to go to the bathroom and rocked back on her heels.
‘Whoa. You think you’re doin’ OK, ’til you’re on your feet,’ she laughed.
Duke laughed with her and watched the denim sway as she walked to the bathroom.
Rachel used the hand dryer, then looked at herself in the mirror. Her eyes were red and she could barely focus. She pulled a tube of gloss from her pocket and slicked it across her lips. As she reached out to pull open the door, it swung back in her face. Duke pushed his way in, quickly moving his right arm behind her back and pushing her up against the cold tile wall. He kissed her roughly, pushing his tongue around her mouth, his teeth clashing with hers. Rachel held him back, taking in a sharp breath.
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br /> ‘Hey,’ she said. ‘Calm down. Let’s go back into the bar.’
‘Let’s not,’ said Duke, his hand shooting down, grabbing her roughly between the legs, his tongue out, ready to plunge into her mouth again.
‘Ow,’ she said. ‘Relax.’ She leaned her head back and looked, confused, into his eyes. They were black now, his pupils huge. She waved her hand in front of his face.
‘Hello?’ she said. ‘This is no way to treat a lady.’ She smiled at him, but the panic was rising in her chest. She started to think about the bar, the doors, the phone, the neighbours, the screams. She told herself she was being stupid. Then her eyes locked with his and she knew this was it. At the same time, her body went limp and she knew her arms, her fists, everything would be useless to her. Her legs had dissolved into shakes. She managed to shove her knee up, but it missed his groin, harmlessly connecting with his rigid thigh. He grabbed her throat now, pushing her head against the wall, kissing her again, clawing at her everywhere. With one final push, she freed herself, pulling at the door, running and staggering into the black of the lounge. The place she knew so well was suddenly foreign to her as she tripped over tables and stools, desperately trying to reach the bolted door. Duke was on her in seconds, pushing her effortlessly to the floor, her jaw smashing into the sticky blue carpet. The smell of smoke and beer filled her nostrils once more. She tried to wriggle free, but something inside her told her to lay still. She thought he might feel sorry for her, she was so small, he couldn’t want to hurt her. She was crying out in pain now, but too weak from alcohol and fear to do anything about his weight bearing down on top of her.
She felt the fabric of her shirt being ripped up her back, the breeze freezing the cold sweat. Then she felt something sharp. He wasn’t ripping her shirt, he was slicing through it with a knife.
‘Please,’ she sobbed.
‘Shut your fuckin’ mouth,’ he said. His voice was utterly chilling, stripped of the earlier warmth.
