Six Dead Men

by Rae Stoltenkamp

  No, you never forgot your first kiss.

  But then he never called. Frankie said if a boy didn’t get what he wanted, he often didn’t call again, unless he was a nice boy. Allie and Luis took her with them to the seaside for a week. Seeing the sea for the first time in her life made forgetting 2 Tone just that little bit easier.

  Madie paced agitatedly from room to room. There was no reason for her to feel such agitation. She had a vague recollection of Danny. Okay, so she knew Anthony a bit more intimately. But you could scarcely call a few kisses in a school yard intimacy. However much she told herself this, a little malevolent voice kept creeping into a corner of her mind and whispering ideas of guilt to her.

  She felt some sort of action was called for and went back to the recycle bin for a second piece of paper. She found an old italic pen she had given to Junior and used this to write a neater list of names with street names attached.

  Calvin's name first, then Maxie's.

  She took care with each letter, doing the capitals with a flourish, curling the bottoms of the ems and ens. They deserved that much at least. She continued her list. She wrote the names, taking care to give them each a florid touch. Somehow she felt she owed them this. All the while Madie felt her sense of responsibility welling inside of her as each moment passed.

  She glanced down at her italicised efforts. Her eyes roved over the twirls and curls but none of it made the men any less dead than she knew them to be. And now, in her mind's eye, faces materialised against each name on her carefully written list. They paraded before her. Her mind conjured up the most awful images, faces with skin and flesh decaying, eyeballs glaring at her from bony eye sockets, skulls with enough physical features to see the men they once were. The macabre images in her mind would not be quelled.

  Now she found herself remembering the embarrassing encounter she once had with Andrew Carson.

  Maybe Luis has done this. He came over all protective that time when he found me and Andrew kissing at that party. He even threatened to have my Bacardi Breezer analysed for that rape drug. Allie and I teased him for days afterwards. No, that’s ridiculous, it can’t be Luis. He wouldn’t hurt anyone. Allie's the one that disciplines the girls. Luis just likes to act tough in front of his friends. It’s probably ‘cos he’s outnumbered at home by all those girls. “Ruled by a petticoat government, that boy.” Mum used to say. I wish she was still around. She’d make sense of it all. No, not Luis. All me. Me.

  The sense of guilt continued to blanket her mind. Every time she tried to push it away it would re-surface. Madie had a strong feeling that in some inexplicable way she had contributed to the deaths of all these men. As her mind tussled with the possible reasons; doing a merry-go-round swirl that threatened to make her sick to her stomach, the images continued to parade through her mind’s eye.

  It’s too much of a coincidence, the way I knew them all. What is it I’m doing if it is though? It’s just all so weird. Crazy really, for me to feel responsible but I can’t shake the feeling. I just know it’s something to do with me. Yeah Madie, so totally un-conceited of you. Frankie would say it was me looking for attention. She always thought I was attention seeking. Oh mum, what am I going to do? Who can I talk to about this? Allie? Maybe if she was still single, but she’s got Luis and the children to think about. She doesn’t have time to deal with my strange fancies. Frankie’s completely out of the question. She always turns to me for advice; it’s never been the other way round. Hard to believe she’s the elder sister really. Brendan? No, no good. He's off in Manchester getting a B A in beer swilling as Allie calls it. Anyway, I can't be bothering my younger brother with my problems. He should be coming to me or Allie with his problems.

  Madie considered the people who worked with her at the surgery. I don't really know any of them. Susan's nice enough but she's only been there a month and I don't get on with Maxine. Not to mention how the place is so busy it's difficult to get to know people. Or do I use that as an excuse? I run off to the coffee shop to read every chance I get. I haven't really given any of them a chance.

  She heard her mother's voice speaking to her out of the past. "You've got to let people in Madie. You shouldn't be so solitary."

  "I know mum - no man is an island and all that." Madie's voice carried her impatience but there was a tiny wobble in it too.

  Her mother continued in gentle tones. "The family's all well and good, but a teenager needs friends her own age." Madie turned from her mother's concern but her mother, persistent, grasped her by the shoulders, turned her and drew her into an embrace. "Just try honey... for me. I can't be your best friend forever baby girl." She would do anything for one of her mother's hugs right now.

  Should have paid more attention to her. Can't confide in someone if you don't know them and trust them. I can't talk to any of the doctors. They'd be sure to think I'm suffering from some sort of mental illness. Then that would be something else altogether. I already feel a bit unhinged. Oh God, why do I feel so... guilty?

  Madie tried switching on the television as a distraction, but everything continued to conspire to remind her either of Calvin or Max, 2 Tone or Curtis. Time seemed frozen in an ice age of her own making. Pacing the living-room and then the corridor between the living-room and her bedroom; she gripped her arms tightly over her chest then placed her fist in her mouth and bit down hard on her knuckles to stop the scream sitting at the top of her throat.

  How had Inspector Deed known she knew all these men? And he had known. There was something so solid about him. She remembered how the hairs on the back of her neck had stood on end when he walked into the interview room. And how she'd thought at the time that he wouldn't let you get away with things. But she also had the feeling he was tough but fair. And then there was the way he had looked at her when he pushed that list in front of her. Detective Chief Inspector Deed... He has a nice name, like good deeds or something. The right name for someone who solves crimes. And he has kind eyes. He’s possibly the only one I can really talk to about this. He seems to think I’m guilty anyway. How could he think that though? He doesn’t even know me. Is there something about the way I look that makes him think I have criminal tendencies — God I sound like one of those crime shows on TV. I didn’t think the police believed in that sort of thing any more, what did my sociology teacher say — a dead science, using people’s physiognomy to determine their criminal tendencies.

  Entering her room, she went to the bedside table where her rucksack slumped against a leg and rummaged through it until she found the contact card Detective Inspector Deed had given her. It weighed heavy in her hand. Madie paused, waiting for the slim rectangle to give her the advice she felt she so badly needed. The card stared up at her blankly. She scrunched it up violently and hurled it at the bin beside her bed. Her sliced thumb began to bleed afresh and throb anew. She slumped onto the bed so heavily the ancient springs squeaked. Madie turned her back on the bin and Curled up in a foetal position.

  *****

  Madie woke with a start out of a strange heavy sleep filled with eerie dreams and knew with absolute certainty how the men had died. How was she going to explain it to anyone? It was just too insane to even contemplate. She was guilty. There was no doubt in her mind. She had to turn herself in. Madie knew who she should call. Her head turned towards the bin where a small corner of Deed's contact card peeked out at her provocatively.

  *****

  It was Deed's voice mail. She had scripted her lines and rehearsed the speech to say to him. The slightly distorted voice of his message service caught her off guard and her carefully prepared script was hopelessly lost in a sense of panic. She stuttered as she left her message. With the phone back in its cradle she stared at it with a heavy sense of resignation. It's done. She realised she had no concrete evidence to present Deed with, but she also knew it had to be more than mere coincidence she had known each victim, even if briefly. As she ran through her memories again, rewinding and playing a private viewing of he
r last remembered meeting with each man, the common thread seemed so small a thing, so insignificant. If the timings in Deeds files told her she had been with each of the men just prior to their deaths, then she would know she was entirely to blame. Because of this, she had to see him.

  Maxwell Fraser aka Mad Max

  I'm having a top time at Beebo's wedding bash. It's a kind of farewell do except no-one else realises it, least of all Shari. She thinks she’s my girl, even claims the bun in her oven was made with my dough. I’m thinking no way baby. No way I’m getting stuck here and being forced to support a kid or stay with a woman dogging me every step I make. Shari’s got great looks but the girl’s got a powerful mouth on her. Looks and a great booty can go a long way to making a man hang around but I’m not sticking around to hear that voice ringing in my ears like a punch from Muhammad Ali. I’m heading for warmer climes. I’m stepping into the big leagues in Jamaica.

  I laugh inside watching them all. They're dressed to the nines as usual. Weddings always bring out the secret stashes of fake designer gear some have been saving for just such a moment. Then there's the ones who always dress to kill and don’t hide the fact their wealth is got by any means possible. They think if they put enough in the collection plate on a Sunday they’ll be forgiven for all their sins. Me, I know I’m going to hell, so I’m going to enjoy every minute I have in my own little piece of Max made heaven.

  Of course there’s the aunts and grandmothers in their national dress you’ve got to watch out for. They’re sharp as anything. Nothing gets by them, but I’ve got my tricks and they all like me. They know I’m a bad piece of work, but they appreciate me because I don’t go around pretending that I’m not.

  Well, I’m just gonna spend some time with my brethren so I can enjoy my last night on this godforsaken wet island.

  Aha, Madie Bricot, sweet Madie Bricot. I've been trying to get my hand up her skirt for years. How does she keep avoiding me? Well there’s no time like the present. Might as well give it another bash. It’s probably the last time I’ll be seeing her unless she decides to hop on a plane and join me. Mmmmm, now there’s an idea. Maybe I can persuade her to join me in the land of sunshine. I’ve never really given her the full strength of my sweet talk. This could be the time to bring it on. I'll just do a little side step round Ronnie G and a quick duck and dive so Shari doesn't see me.

  "Madie, how's about a little kiss to see me off on my travels?"

  "You going somewhere Maxie?"

  "A trip to warmer climes. Go on, just a little peck on the cheek. It's a wedding after all."

  "Honestly Maxie." But she's smiling and leaning in towards my cheek.

  I knew she couldn't resist my charms. I do the old whip and snog, turning my head at the last minute so her soft lips are on mine. I push my tongue between them and her warm mouth is sweet. She pulls away and I see her hand wanting to slap me, but she glances over to where Shari is. Her eyes flash with annoyance. Oooh she’s got a bit of bite to her. Maybe she wouldn’t make such a good sunshine companion after all. She’s got that look in her eye. I think she’s about to give me a lecture.

  My phone vibrates in my pocket. Saved by the bell.

  *****

  It all started about a year ago. I was a small time runner, but then I run into this kid, says his boss has been keeping tabs on me and thinks I can be their man in Havana if you know what I mean. At first I'm thinking hell yeah, you're just winding me up. But then he gives me this mobile phone. Says wait for the call from the man himself. I'm thinking this has got to be a load of crap. But a few nights later the boss calls me on the shiny blue phone and says he wants to test my abilities. He sets up some couriers and asks me to deal with the transaction. A package with the goods and instructions arrives at my door - DH bloody L. Don't they have sniffer dogs or something? No money goes through my hands, it’s all wired through the phone. Technology! What about my cut is what I want to know, but something makes me keep my mouth shut. I do the meet, sort out the imaginary money and Bob's my uncle. The next thing I know the door bell rings at some ungodly hour and I’m shitting a brick convinced the cops have found out. But instead I'm having to sign for this official looking package at the front door. I'm near enough stark naked and freezing my nuts off. But when I open it, the package is chock full of cash in used tenners and twenties with a note from the boss thanking me for a job well done. And so it goes from there.

  Now he's sending me to Jamaica and I'm gonna head up operations there. I didn't ask about the guy I'm replacing. I'm just glad I get to go to a pleasant setting and a happy life of petty crime - well, maybe not so petty. There's a house by the beach with a very nice silver BM parked alongside it. He emailed the picture to the phone which by the way isn't blue any more. I get a new one every month and I DHL the old one to an address I can't tell you because if I did I'd have to kill you. Ha ha ha, only kidding.

  *****

  Eastern Europe's where the big money is in our line of work. The whole Jamaica thing was just to get the dogs off our trail. I reckon the boss has got the beginnings of a master plan. Though I reckon the boss is missing a trick not moving to Jamaica. I’m betting the life of a Jamaican drug baron can mean you need a few extra body parts to hand. Know what I mean?

  The boss has got a series of suppliers of body parts all over Eastern Europe. Thank god for Tupperware I'm thinking. And those new click and store jars must be just fabulous. So maybe some organs get a bit oozy in the back of the delivery van, but in general it all works out just fine in the end. It's a win win situation. Someone gets a handful of money for donating an organ to someone else whose need for the organ is pretty big so they're willing to hand over a shit load of cash to get their hands on it. Swapping body parts - it's like a damn chop shop. This sort of thing makes me feel squeamish so I don't really want to know too much about it. I faint at the sight of blood. Not to mention how I almost always throw up when I go to get my flu jab. Okay, so I only do that because the nurses are usually really cute and I get to play on their sympathies a bit. All except that time I went round to the surgery and they had a bloody male nurse from Poland.

  I'm just going to be the money man now and that's the way I like it to be. So I'm going to enjoy the sun, sea and ganga and make the most of what's on offer.

  Chapter 3

  Deed punched in the message service code on his keypad and listened to her hesitant voice mail again. "This is Madie Bricot." pause "I think I have important information for you. I need to see you urgently." Madie. I like that. Not as formal as Madison. Wonder why her parents gave her the name. Deed watched the steady creep of the second hand on the clock in his office and wondered why time was like the flow of treacle whenever one needed it not to be. The thought of seeing Madie Bricot once more had him unusually on edge.

  He had watched her interview tape repeatedly, using every skill he had to interpret her responses. Even though he had scrutinised her scrupulously during the interview he had not been able to detect any of the tell tale micro expressions he was expert at finding. He had hoped the video tape would allow him to see those fleeting facial faux pas he might have overlooked, the ones that lasted only a few tenths of a second; those mini clues which gave him the physical evidence to substantiate the feelings in his belly. And each time he rewound to the beginning and pressed play, his stomach churned in that familiar way. He used the zoom facility to watch the muscles in her face, to search for excessive blinking, a fragment of a shrug, too much eye contact, too little eye contact, anything which would tell him more than the words she spoke. There was nothing there beyond the normal responses of a woman reacting to the knowledge that her boyfriend was dead, but he rewound and replayed over and over. How does she do it? How does she lie without revealing herself? It's nearly impossible to do. At one point he realised his own face was reflected deep within the surface of her eyes because he had moved so close to the screen. This is bordering on obsession. There’s no need to watch the tape. Your gut has never let
you down, no matter how little physical evidence there was to the contrary. Why won’t you just accept this one. She’s guilty. Now all you have to do is find the evidence. He turned off the recording.

  There were no interview rooms available. A sudden influx of disreputable visitors. I'll have to meet her in my office . He was secretly glad of this. Detective Inspector Deed knew he should have Johnson in on the interview, but Robert Deed wanted to see her on his own. It will all be above board. My door will be open.

  Deed now continued to stage the scene carefully; pictures from Burry’s autopsy were casually scattered across his desk. Burry's photo lay topmost, creating a strange jigsaw of limbs and torsos across the surface of the desk. He had also dug out some photos from the autopsies of the cold cases. These joined Burry’s photographs in a deranged montage. Any response from Madie Bricot regarding the pieces of crucial evidence he had left on show should speak volumes.

  After the seemingly interminable wait her arrival was sudden. Johnson escorted her across the squad room floor towards Deed then wandered off to his own desk. Signs of her emotional distress were evident. There was the slight smudging of her eye make-up and the redness of her eyes that told him she had been crying. Three small creases now resided on her forehead where before there had been none. She was twisting a tissue into a tight ball and then unfurling it with restless fingers. She also chewed repeatedly on her bottom lip.