Accidental Deaths (A Willows and Parker Mystery)

by Laurence Gough

Frank sat up, interested, wanting a better look. She flicked a wall switch, drawing the curtains. Since the TV was on, there was enough light to see.

  Frank said, “Where’d you come from?”

  “Roger sent me.” She removed her sunglasses with a theatrical gesture. Her eyes were a pale glacial blue. She kicked the door shut with the heel of a size-four white leather Nike with a blue stripe, smiled.

  Frank said, “Nothing personal but, like I told Rog, all I’m interested in is scoring a little dope. A roll in the hay don’t interest me in the slightest.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Frank.”

  Rolling her hips, the girl crossed the carpet and sat down on the edge of the king-size bed. She pulled off a Bass Weejun and began to gently massage Frank’s foot. Even through his sweaty grey sock, her fingers felt cool, soothing.

  She said, “I saw you in the lobby.”

  Frank waited. Waiting was something he had learned to do well. A prison thing. A working-for-people-like-Newt thing. The girl said, “I thought you were kind of cute.”

  “You did, huh.”

  “Nothing personal. I’m crazy about big men.” She smiled, letting him know he was being teased. For what that was worth. The sock came off. She leaned over and kissed his big toe. “How tall are you?”

  Frank told her. She took off his other shoe and then his other sock.

  She said, “That feels good, doesn’t it?”

  “It might if I was in the mood.”

  “Relax, it’ll happen.”

  The phone on the bedside table warbled softly. Frank picked up. Rog said, “Everything okay up there?”

  “What’s her name?”

  “Lulu. Lemme talk to her.”

  “Not until you say the magic word, Rog.”

  “Please,” said Roger promptly.

  Frank handed over the phone. Lulu said hello and then nodded her head and said, “Don’t worry about it, you’ll wear out your pacemaker.” She handed the phone back to Frank. “Roger wants to say a few words.” There was lipstick on the mouthpiece. Frank wiped it clean on a pillow.

  “What?” he said into the phone.

  Roger said, “Be nice to her. Please.”

  Frank said, “Why should I — you sure that’s what she wants?”

  There was a slight pause, and then Roger said, “If she tells you she likes you, Frank, you can believe her. She really and truly means it.”

  “How would you know?”

  “The girl happens to be my daughter. As a matter of fact, she’s my only child.”

  Frank said, “Don’t bother me again,” and slammed the phone down so viciously that, far below him in the lobby, Roger flinched and ducked his head as if to avoid a fatal blow.

  2

  Seven cream-painted concrete steps led to an open porch about four feet square. The door was off its hinges. The floor of the porch was painted brown, and was littered with chunks of stucco and plaster, wood-splinters, glass, a great deal of blood.

  The girl’s body lay across the threshold. In the living room, Cherry Ngo sat slumped in a crumbling overstuffed chair in front of a dead fireplace. A Siamese cat lay in Cherry’s lap. The cat’s huge blue eyes were wide open but saw nothing — a sliver of shrapnel had simultaneously relieved it of all nine lives.

  Homicide Detective Jack Willows said, “Hey, Cherry. Wake up. Talk to me.”

  Willows’ partner, Detective Claire Parker, said, “He’s in shock, Jack. The ME says we’re wasting our time.”

  “We’ll see.”

  Five minutes earlier, Willows had helped himself to one of Cherry’s Player’s Lights, fired up his Zippo and stuck the cigarette in the corner of the kid’s mouth. The glowing tip of the cigarette was only about a quarter of an inch from Cherry’s bandit moustache, but he didn’t seem worried about it. Smoke had curled up into his eyes for the past five minutes. He had yet to blink.

  Thirty seconds later, a quick sizzling sound was accompanied by the sour smell of scorched hair. Parker plucked the cigarette out of Cherry’s mouth and tossed it in the fireplace. “Satisfied, Jack? Or should we try something else — maybe give him a hotfoot, or pull his fingernails off with a pair of pliers.”

  There were only two possible witnesses to the murder — Cherry Ngo and his younger brother, Joey.

  Willows and Parker went down into the basement, past the furnace and laundry room, another room containing a set of free weights and a cracked wall-to-ceiling mirror. Joey Ngo’s bedroom was just big enough to contain a bureau, a single bed, Joey, and two uniformed cops.

  Willows had to duck his head to get through the door. The bedsprings creaked as Joey sat up. He averted his face, wiped tears from his eyes.

  Parker said, “We know how you feel, Joey, but we have to talk to you now. It can’t wait.”

  “I didn’t see anything.” It was hard to say how old Joey was. Twenty, maybe. His hair was cut very short. He was about five foot six, couldn’t have weighed more than a hundred-thirty pounds. His face was smooth and round, unformed, a blank. He wore a black T-shirt, faded black jeans. His feet were bare. There was a Band-Aid on the heel of his left foot.

  “Just a few questions.” Parker smiled. “It won’t take long.”

  “How’s my brother?”

  Willows said, “He’s in shock, but he’s going to be okay. Tell us what happened.”

  Joey blew his nose into a rumpled sheet. Lit a cigarette. Same brand as his big brother. The window was painted black. Willows propped it open with his ballpoint pen.

  Joey said, “Like I told the other cops, I was down here when it happened. Sleeping.”

  “Was the window open, or shut?”

  “Shut.”

  “The heat doesn’t bother you?”

  “What heat you talking about? The only heat around here is you.”

  “You heard the shots, is that what happened, the shots woke you up?”

  “First thing I remember is Cherry yelling, screaming his head off.”

  Parker said, “Then what?”

  “I got dressed, ran upstairs.”

  Willows said, “You put on the clothes you’re wearing now?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Got a job, Joey?”

  “Yeah, I got a job. Speedy Auto Parts, over on East Eighth.”

  “You Vietnamese, Joey?”

  “Canadian.”

  “When’d you emigrate?”

  “Seventy-six.”

  Parker said, “With your parents?”

  “My father, but he died a couple of years ago.”

  Willows said, “What time you start work?”

  “Eight.”

  “Has Cherry got a job?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  Parker said, “What did your brother say to you when you went upstairs?”

  Joey shut his eyes, sucked smoke deep into his lungs. After a moment he opened his eyes and turned his head, exhaled towards the open window.

  “He didn’t say nothin’ at first. He was standing by the door. The door was mostly closed and I couldn’t see her. Cherry was trying to shut the door the rest of the way but it wouldn’t close. Then I saw it was because her leg was sticking into the living room. That’s why the door wouldn’t close, because of her leg.”

  Joey flicked the remains of his cigarette out the window, lit another.

  Parker said, “Could you see outside?”

  “No, nothing. It was real dark. The porch light was shot.”

  Willows said, “How’d you get the blood on your feet, Joey?”

  “That’s her blood, Emily’s, most of it. I got cut, but it ain’t that bad.”

  “Emily Chan, that’s her name?”

  “Yeah.”

  “She was Cherry’s girlfriend?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Tell us how the blood got on your feet.”

  “I went over and pushed Cherry out of the way and opened the door. You see her?”

  “Yeah, we saw her.�
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  “What kind of gun do that?”

  “We’ll talk about that later.”

  “Shotgun?”

  “Did you touch her?”

  “No way.”

  “But you went out on the porch, didn’t you?”

  “Cut my foot on the glass.”

  “Did you see anybody?”

  “The woman in the blue house across the street. She don’t like us. Makes racist remarks. Was standing in the driveway by her car.”

  “Did you say anything to her?”

  “Never do.”

  Parker said, “Did you see anybody else?”

  “No.”

  “How long were you outside, out on the porch?”

  “I don’t know. I couldn’t tell you. Maybe a minute. Ask the lady in the blue house. She knows more about me than I do.”

  “You’re sure you didn’t touch Emily?”

  “Yeah, I’m sure. Fuckin’ right I’m sure.”

  Willows said, “Okay, you went back inside the house. Then what?”

  “Cherry was still screaming. I got no idea what to do, how to handle the situation. You see the door? He ripped it right off the hinges. Grabbed it with his bare hands, like he was Superman. Then he grabs me and all of a sudden I’m real scared, because he’s looking at me but he doesn’t see me, know what I mean?”

  Parker nodded.

  “And he’s still yelling, and then he stops, and he shakes me hard and says, ‘Cindy’s been shot,’ so quiet I can hardly hear him. Then he sits down in the chair and kind of goes limp. Is that where he is now, sitting in that chair?”

  Willows said, “Cindy is the cat, right?”

  Joey started crying again, his slim body shaking with the force of his despair. Willows waited. Joey blew his nose on the sheet and took another drag on his cigarette, fought to get himself under control.

  Parker said, “I don’t want you to worry about him, but we’re taking your brother to the hospital. It’s a routine precaution. You have to understand that there’s nothing wrong with him. They might want him to stay overnight, but probably they’ll just take a quick look at him, prescribe a sedative, and send him home. Why don’t you come along for the ride — he could use the company.”

  Joey uttered a long, shuddering sigh. He looked up at Willows and said, “Yeah, you’re right. Cindy’s the goddamn cat.”

  3

  Lulu took Frank’s pack of cigarettes and lighter off the bedside table. She lit up and put the cigarette in Frank’s mouth, said, “I guess that was Rog doing his concerned daddy act, huh?” Frank said, “I’ve heard of weird scams but this one takes the cake.”

  “He’s my daddy, and I’m an only child. What exactly do you expect from him; callous disregard?”

  Frank said, “If I had beef stew for brains, I’d still be smart enough to figure this one out.”

  “I’ll do anything you want, and I’ll do it better than you’ve ever had it done before. But there’s one thing you have to understand: I’m not in the life and Rog isn’t a pimp.”

  Frank blew smoke at the ceiling. He stared at her, and she stared right back. He said, “How old are you?”

  “Twenty-two.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “How old do you think I am?”

  “Fifteen, maybe sixteen.”

  Lulu laughed. It was an interesting experience, kind of. She had perfect teeth. Her tongue was pink and healthy looking. She could’ve been a ghost, she was so pale. Frank repressed a smile. It had occurred to him that if he tried real hard, he might be able to see right through her.

  She said, “I take care of myself. There’s no magic to it. Eat plenty of fresh vegetables, exercise. Swim in the hotel pool. Jog.” She smiled. “Stay out of the sun, that’s real important.”

  “How much?” said Frank.

  “For the night, five hundred. Or maybe it won’t cost you a dime — who can say?”

  “Half an hour?”

  She smiled. “Forget about it; you won’t want me to leave.”

  Frank wriggled his feet. He said, “I don’t know why it looks so sexy, but it does.”

  “What’s that, lover?”

  “Kiss my toe some more.”

  “Okay. Whatever you want.”

  “And … ” Frank blushed.

  “No problem,” said Lulu.

  Frank said, “But first I’m gonna go take a shower, because of the hygienic aspect.”

  Lulu nodded. “Cleanliness is next to godliness, all right. Especially nowadays, I guess.”

  “Hey,” said Frank, “it’s nothing like that. I been walking all over the place, checking out the town. It’s hot. I worked up a sweat.”

  Lulu slipped off the bed. Her movements were fluid and graceful, almost boneless. She was agile as a snake. As she wriggled out of the blue and pink Lycra it made a kind of slurping sound, like someone in the far distance using a straw on the bottom of a milkshake.

  In the shower, Frank was softly but firmly told to assume the position. He stood with his legs spread wide and the palms of his hands up against the tiles, while Lulu lathered him up and lathered him down. She’d left the heat lamps on but turned off the fluorescents. The bathroom was like a sauna and the lamps turned the steamy air a dusky rose colour that was kind of romantic. Frank leaned his head back as Lulu’s slick and soapy hands skated in slowly widening circles across the ridged muscles of his belly.

  “Like that, do you?”

  Frank said, “Yeah.” His voice was hoarse. He was having a hard time standing still, keeping his balance.

  Lulu got up on her tippy-toes and kissed him in the hollow of his throat, nibbled him gently. “You like that too, don’t you?”

  “Yeah,” said Frank again. He smiled into the spray and then the smile faded, was washed away by the sudden scary thought that the water he stood in was a hell of a lot deeper than it looked.

  “Something wrong, baby?”

  Frank said, “Your turn. Gimme the soap.”

  She was like a river, the way her body flowed into its curves, so gentle and sweet, predictable and amazing. Frank tried his best to make his huge, clumsy, callused hands drift light as feathers down her body. She was so tiny and so perfectly formed, so fragile. Her bones were like the bones of some small bird. He was afraid that if he wasn’t careful he might hurt her.

  She gasped, moved against him.

  Frank said, “You okay?”

  “Could I have a little bit more of that, please?”

  “Sure thing,” said Frank.

  After the shower, Lulu asked Frank if he had a clean white shirt. There was a spare in the closet, on one of those hangers you can’t steal and take home with you. The suite cost two hundred and fifty bucks a night, and hotel management was worried about being ripped off to the tune of a coat hanger? Modern life. Frank gave her the shirt. It came down to her knees and took a couple more years off her life. Now she looked about twelve. She said, “Where’s the key to the room?”

  “In my pants pocket.”

  Lulu slipped on her sunglasses, looked down at him. The big mirrored lenses reflected two naked half-tumescent Frank’s. She said, “Get it for me, will you?”

  Frank rooted through his pockets until he found the rectangle of plastic. When he offered her the key she took his hand and led him to the door. He opened the door and followed her out into the corridor. The door swung shut behind them, hydraulics sighing and then the lock making a final small click as if somehow taking an irrevocable bite out of his life. Frank stood there, bare-ass naked and already starting to feel a chill.

  What the heck was going on?

  A door about fifty feet away opened and an elderly couple came out. The man tried the door to make sure it was locked, and then he and his wife walked arm in arm down the corridor, their backs to Lulu and Frank.

  Lulu whispered, “A second honeymoon, I bet. So sweet. Kiss me, Frank.”

  Frank took her in his arms and kissed her long and passionately.


  “Perfect.” She leapt up, into his arms, forcing him to take her weight. Frank reflexively assumed the time-honoured stance of a groom about to carry his bride across the threshold. Finally it became clear to him why she’d wanted his white shirt — it was the only wedding dress they had. He unlocked the door and carried her back into the room and across to the bed.

  “Oh Frank,” she said, “I know you’re going to have a hard time believing this, but I’ve been waiting for you all my life.”

  There seemed to be a million buttons on the shirt. Frank got a few of them out of the way, bent to kiss her breasts.

  “I’m crazy about you, Frank.” She turned her body slightly towards him, to make herself more accessible.

  Frank got ready to say something, and then thought better of it.

  Lulu said, “What?”

  “Nothing.”

  “No, you’re holding back. I can tell.”

  Frank kept working at the buttons. There was no sense wasting time. He said, “It isn’t that big a deal, but I wish you wouldn’t dye your hair.” His fingers lightly traced a path across her belly. “Especially down here. It can’t be good for you, all those chemicals.”

  “I don’t bleach my hair, Frank.” She removed the sunglasses. “Look at me.”

  Obediently, Frank stared into the cold depths and icy shallows of his lover’s pale blue eyes.

  “Look at my skin. See the veins? I’m the colour of a fucking glacier.” She sat up, moved a little away from him. “I’m an albino, Frank.”

  “An albino?”

  “Crows, rhinos, people … It’s congenital. There’s nothing you can do about it. It’s caused by an absence of pigmentation in the hair and skin. Notice how pale my eyes are? I’m wearing tinted contacts; my eyes would be even paler without them. It isn’t vanity, Frank. The tinted plastic filters out the light. Think about this: light hurts!”

  Frank kissed her on the mouth.

  She said, “That’s good, Frank. I like that, kiss me just like that. Can we try a little experiment?”

  “What?” said Frank.

  “Close your eyes. Pretend, just for a moment, that you’re blind. Sightless.” Lulu’s voice was soft as raspberries. Frank shut his eyes.

  She said, “Try to remember that you’ve always been blind, in all your life there’s never been anything but darkness.” She paused, and then added, “You’ve lived alone in a room all your life. I’m the first and only woman you’ve ever touched. You don’t know if you’ll ever be with me again. Kiss me, Frank. Kiss me and kiss me and kiss me. Memorize me, discover all my secrets. See me as I really am, in darkness.”