by Amy Cross
“I don't know what you see in her,” she continued, “but I suppose if you really love her -”
“Love!” Joshua said with a laugh. “Seriously? How can anyone love someone like Madeleine Le Compte? She might look good on a dark night, but she's a monster!”
“Have you ever met her?” Evangeline asked, turning to him.
“You just said it yourself -”
“I said she seems strange to me,” Evangeline continued, “but I also know that sometimes, when you get past a person's exterior, you find something quite different within. Perhaps that is what Benjamin has found with her.”
“She's one of them,” Joshua continued, taking another swig of beer. “Everyone knows what they're like. I mean, Christ, you should see Le Compte's house. The inside's like some kind of gothic castle, with all these candles and huge oil paintings. There's one, right in the hallway, that's absolutely bloody terrifying. No-one in their right mind could come from a family like that.”
“It's a big divide to bridge,” Evangeline said, turning back to Benjamin. “It's almost as if you come from two completely different worlds. Then again, Baron Le Compte and Estella Graves seem to be trying to make it work. If you ask me, there's something rather romantic about it.”
“Edgar's taking Estella into his world,” Benjamin replied, “the way a spider takes a victim into its web. With Madeleine... We wanted to share a new world, one we created between us.”
At this, Evangeline forced a smile, with a hint of tears in her eyes. “Ever the romantic, Benjamin Wood.”
Benjamin stared at her for a moment, before suddenly turning his gaze to his brother, who was busy pouring himself some more beer.
“Whatever happened,” Evangeline continued, “I'm sure there's still a chance for the pair of you to make it work. If she really loves you, Benjamin, she'll come around eventually. Things are said in the heat of the moment sometimes, but they don't last.”
“How do you know?” Benjamin asked, still staring at Joshua.
“Know what?” Evangeline replied.
“How do you know?” Benjamin asked again, getting to his feet and making his way around his brother. “About the inside of Edgar Le Compte's mansion, I mean. None of us ever went up there.”
“I've heard things,” Joshua replied uneasily.
“No, you were very specific,” Benjamin continued, stopping behind his brother's chair. “You've been there.”
“Of course I haven't.”
“And where did you get the money for all this beer?”
“I won it at the cantina.”
“You never win at the cantina,” Benjamin replied. “Besides, you had it before you went there. Father told me.”
“I won it last week.”
“In which case you'd have spent it well before now.”
“What are you -”
Grabbing his brother around the neck, Benjamin pulled him back until the chair was on the verge of toppling over.
“You've been up to that house,” he said firmly. “Don't even think of lying to me!”
“So?” Joshua gasped.
“And you came back with money.”
“Get off!”
“And the very next day... The very next day, Edgar Le Compte came to see me and warn me away from Madeleine.”
“You're hurting him,” Evangeline said, clearly shocked by the sudden violence.
“You told him about us,” Benjamin continued, squeezing his brother's neck tighter. “You went up there and you gave him information in exchange for money. You sold us out!”
“So what if I did?” Joshua spluttered, still trying to get free. “I didn't tell a lie, did I?”
Letting go of him, Benjamin took a sudden step back, allowing the chair to fall over and sending Joshua sprawling across the floor.
“Selling out a member of your own family to Edgar Le Compte,” Benjamin continued, looking down at Joshua with an expression of abject contempt. “I knew you were capable of low actions, but I had no idea you could do something so pathetic. I only hope the money was worth it, although I imagine you've spent most of it by now on alcohol and card games.”
“I simply told the man what his sister was up to,” Joshua replied, getting to his feet. “He'd have found out eventually anyway, and at least I got some money for it. If you don't like people telling the truth about you, brother, perhaps you should mend your ways!”
“You disgust me,” Benjamin said firmly.
“You're over-reacting,” Joshua said with a sigh, before turning to Evangeline. “Tell him! He's taking this way out of proportion!”
“It's pretty low to rat your brother out,” she replied, grabbing her coat.
“Stay and finish your beer!”
“I'm not thirsty,” she said, hurrying past them both and heading for the door. “I should never have come at all. Benjamin, I hope everything works out for you.” With that, she headed out, letting the door swing shut after her.
“She still likes you, you know,” Joshua continued, turning to his brother. “God knows why, but if you ever got over that Le Compte bitch, you could pick up Evangeline Mediaci in an instant. I don't know what it is that these women see in you.”
“Go to hell,” Benjamin replied, turning to walk away.
“When do I get a crack at Evangeline, huh?” Joshua asked. “Can't you tell her to switch her affections to me? The whole evening, I couldn't stop staring at her bust and thinking about how I'd like to -”
Without letting him finish, Benjamin turned and landed a punch on his brother's jaw, sending him sprawling back against the table, knocking over several glasses in the process.
“From this moment on,” Benjamin said firmly, “we speak to one another only when it's strictly necessary. We might have the same parents, but you are no brother of mine.”
“Listen -”
“You are no brother of mine!” Benjamin shouted, grabbing him by the collar and lifting him up for a moment, until their faces were just inches apart. “You are a low-life piece of scum, a rat, and I do not care what happens to you, just...” He paused, trying to counter the rage that was urging him to tear his brother apart. “Keep away from me, keep away from Madeleine, and keep away from Evangeline for that matter. You're nothing but bad news and -”
“What's going on down here?” a voice called out suddenly, as their father emerged at the foot of the stairs. “What are you two boys doing?”
“Nothing,” Benjamin muttered, letting go of Joshua's collar and letting him fall back to the floor. “Just a minor disagreement.” Turning, he hurried past his father, heading out to the workshop.
***
“Come on,” Jennifer muttered, flicking through the pages of the logbook as she sat at the kitchen table, with a cup of coffee and a candle to keep her company. “It has to be in here somewhere.”
Hearing a banging noise in one of the other rooms, she looked over at the doorway for a moment, and then at the window. Outside, all she saw was darkness, so she quickly turned her attention back to the logbook, searching for any mention of that fateful night a few years ago when -
“Looking for something?”
Startled, she looked over at the door and saw Inspector Tarud watching her.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, closing the logbook and sliding it under the table-cloth.
“Looking for some stolen property,” he replied, making his way across the room. “You see, after you left the police station a few hours ago, I started wondering what you'd been doing when I found you in my office. And then I realized it wasn't the first time I've found you in there after one of our little assignations. And then I looked at the lock on the front of my desk, and I realized that there were lots of little scratch-marks, as if someone has regularly been using a pen-knife to get it open. And then...”
He lifted the edge of the table-cloth, to reveal the logbook.
“Oh dear,” he continued with a faint smile. “That's official police property
, Mrs. Kazakos. Whatever is it doing in your kitchen?”
“I found it.”
“Of course you did. In a locked drawer, in my office. And then you brought it here.”
“Everything in your logbooks is supposed to be a matter of public record,” she stammered. “Anyone on this island has the right to come to you and ask to see it.”
“Exactly,” he replied. “So why did you feel the need to steal it?” Taking the logbook, he flicked through it. “Well, this isn't a recent one, is it? This is a little old, almost...” He turned a few more pages. “What a coincidence,” he said finally. “This logbook happens to cover the period when your husband, the late Mr. Adam Kazakos, died in one of my cells.”
She opened her mouth to reply, but no words came out.
“I've told you everything that happened that night,” Tarud continued. “Your husband was drunk and abusive. He tried to break the bars down, and in the process he suffered a serious concussion. I tried everything within my powers to help him, I called the doctor -”
“Who said that the injury has been sustained several hours earlier,” Jennifer replied bitterly, “and most likely from something larger than the bars on a cell door. He cast doubt on your whole story!”
“He said there were certain inconsistencies,” Tarud told her. “That's a little different, and he most certainly didn't make any accusations of impropriety.” Closing the logbook, he paused for a moment. “So at least now I understand why you've been so keen to come and offer me your services at the police station, rather than at my home. You were moonlighting as a private detective, weren't you? Let me guess... Every time I went to the bathroom to wash your filthy stench off my body, you ran another quick search of my possessions, hoping to find something that would implicate me in the death of your poor, dear husband.”
“You're the one who kept calling me over,” she pointed out.
“This is going to look bad,” he continued, holding the logbook up. “A whore, found in possession of stolen police property -”
“I'll tell them everything!”
“And I'll deny it, and they'll believe me, not you.” He smiled. “Then again, perhaps we can come to some kind of an arrangement. You've become an expensive habit, Mrs. Kazakos, even for a man with one of the most prestigious jobs on this wretched little island. From now on, I think I'll be availing myself of your services without paying anything. How does that sound?”
“Go to hell!”
“If I pay you,” he continued, “you're a whore. If I don't pay you, you're just a little loose with your morals. Surely the latter is preferable to the former?”
“You killed him,” she replied, getting to her feet. “I know you did!”
“You don't know any such thing,” he pointed out. “You suspect it, you might have a gut feeling, you might even be convinced in that shriveled little heart of yours, but you don't know that I killed your husband. For you to know such a thing, you'd need evidence, and it would also need to be true.”
“Is it?” she asked.
He paused, with a faint smile on his lips.
“Why would I want to kill him?” he replied finally. “He was a smuggler. I had plenty of evidence to show that he was transporting illicit alcohol and cigarettes through Parios, and that's not even mentioning the war supplies he was involved with procuring. I had more than enough to charge him and have him locked up on the mainland for a decade.”
“Not without implicating yourself,” she pointed out, struggling to restrain herself. “He'd have mentioned his business partner in court, and that would have looked bad, wouldn't it? After all, what better business partner is there for a smuggler, than the chief of police?” She waited for him to reply, but she could see from the look in his eyes that she was getting close to the truth. “A smuggling case would go to trial on the mainland,” she added, “not here, and then your involvement would come to light.”
“Careful, Jennifer. Any more accusations like that, and I might have to put you in the cells for a night too.” He paused, before leaning closer and tapping the side of her head. “And we know what tends to happen to members of the Kazakos family in my cells.”
She raised a hand to punch him, but he grabbed her by the wrist.
“I wouldn't, if I were you,” he hissed. “What if you lost that precious little girl of yours? Get yourself into trouble with me and I'll have her shipped off to an orphanage on the mainland faster than you can blink.”
“You wouldn't dare!”
“She's already lost one parent,” he said firmly, letting go of her wrist and taking a step back, “and I know for a fact that there are no grandparents waiting to take her in. If she lost her only surviving family member, an orphanage would be the natural option. I'm sure you've heard the stories about the main orphanages, though. It's not as if the children are given food and lodging for nothing. They have to work. By day, they sit in the workrooms and stitch garments together, and by night they're rented out to...” He smiled. “Well, like mother like daughter, I suppose...”
“Go to hell!” she shouted, trying to punch him.
Grabbing her wrist, he twisted it around until it was almost at breaking point.
“Get on my wrong side,” he sneered, “and I'll consign that girl to a life of misery, and then I'll consign you to an early grave.”
Struggling to get free, she finally realized that she had to back down. Despite the anger in her heart, she pulled her arm back.
“That's better,” Tarud continued, letting go of her wrist. “I'll see you tomorrow, Jennifer, and I trust you'll still give me everything I want, even though I'll no longer be paying you.” Tucking the logbook under his arm, he headed to the door.
“You killed him!” she blurted out suddenly, getting to her feet. “Just admit it! Even if no-one else ever finds out, at least tell me the truth!” She waited for a reply. “At least tell me whether or not he suffered,” she added, with tears in her eyes. “Please, you owe me that much.”
“I don't owe you anything,” he replied, making his way back over to her and stopping for a moment, before reaching up to wipe her tears away, “but if you really must know... Yes, he did suffer. I'm afraid he suffered a great deal for several minutes. He lay on the floor of that cell, bleeding and sobbing, and he begged me to let him see you and that little girl again. I told him to go to hell, and I suspect that's exactly where he is right now. After all, no-one likes a smugger, not even the Lord.” Grinning, he leaned closer and began to lick one of her tears away, before grabbing her waist and pulling her closer. “You know what? I could actually use a little action right now.”
“Get out of here,” she hissed.
“After I'm done,” he replied, tossing the logbook to one side before turning her around and bending her over the table. “You've got me all worked up, Mrs. Kazakos,” he added, as he began to undo his belt. “You only have yourself to blame, I simply have to work off some of this -”
Grabbing the coffeepot, she turned and swung it at his head, catching him on the temple and sending him back against the wall before, finally, he slumped to the floor.
“Oh God,” she whispered, still holding the coffeepot in her trembling hand.
Staring down at Tarud, she realized that his eyes were open, staring across the room with a hint of surprise but not moving at all. Glancing at the steel coffeepot, she saw not only her own horrified reflection but also a thick patch of dark red blood.
“No,” she said finally, setting the coffeepot down and kneeling next to Tarud. “You can't...”
She paused for a moment, before reaching out and putting two fingers against the side of his neck. She searched in vain for a pulse, before sitting back and staring in shock at his dead body.
“Oh no,” she whimpered finally, as she heard a creak from upstairs, as if Anna was getting out of bed. “No, please God, no...”
III
“One Tenderling,” Nixon said, setting the creature down onto Edgar's desk, “as ord
ered. I do hope that you'll consider a gratuity for the prompt service.”
“Let me see that thing,” Edgar snarled, pushing past him and looking down at the creature. “Is it dead?”
“Of course not! I merely knocked it out.” He paused. “Twice, actually, but that's by the by, no extra charge. Also, Estella is -”
“I must find out who brought this thing to Thaxos,” Edgar said firmly.
“Estella's in the -”
“Whoever it is,” Edgar continued, “they will pay dearly.”
Stepping over to join them, Kate stared down at the hideous creature. The size of a small child and with pale red skin, the Tenderling looked a little like a goblin from some of the storybooks she remembered from her childhood, although its mouth was hanging partially open to reveal several rows of razor-sharp teeth.
“Is this thing real?” she asked finally. “It's a trick, right? Like... a puppet?”
“It's real, Edgar replied, “although it is not long for this life. As soon as I have the information I need, I shall take great pleasure in delivering the most painful death any Tendering has ever endured.”
“I also brought Estella back,” Nixon added. “She's in the -”
“Was there much of a fight?” Edgar asked.
“Well, not too much. I'm fine, but Estella suffered a few scratches. She's pretty badly shaken up, Edgar, but -”
“I must get to work at once,” Edgar replied, interrupting him once again. “This is something I should do alone.”
“What about Estella?” Kate asked.
“You heard Nixon. She's fine.”
“I wouldn't say that she's fine,” Nixon replied. “She's alive and she's unharmed, and I managed to cut out the pebble that the beast put into her neck. As far as I can tell, there are no more, so eventually she should make a full recovery.”
“See?” Edgar said, turning to Kate. “As I told you, she's fine.”
“Go to her,” Kate replied.
“There is no -”
“Go to her!” she said again, more firmly this time. “Edgar, it sounds like she's been through a lot. If you care about her at all, and if you want her to know that you care about her, you have to go to her.” She waited for him to reply, and finally she realized that she was starting to get through to him. “This thing will still be here in an hour or two, but right now Estella needs you. She needs to know that you care.”
