by Philip Cox
THIRTEEN
‘For God’s sake, Will; just leave it,’ Chrissy said quietly as she pressed hard on a pan of potatoes with a masher, trying hard not to let Jake and Louise overhear their conversation.
Will leaned against the cupboard next to the stove. ‘Just think about it, though: that card, or whatever it was, was probably what those guys were looking for.’
‘And killed him for, remember?’
‘I don’t buy that. Sure he died, but it wasn’t murder. Not first degree, anyway.’
‘Does it matter?’ Now Chrissy was dishing out the mashed potato, her metal spatula crashing onto the plates.
‘Of course it damn well… We can’t talk about it now; the kids are listening.’
The kids probably weren’t listening. Jake was sitting at the kitchen table, but was listening to something on a set of earphones and was playing a game or messaging on his phone. Louise was engrossed in a video on YouTube: some schoolgirls were acting out their own version of Hansel and Gretel.
Will opened his mouth to argue, but the look on Chrissy’s face convinced him to park this conversation until later.
‘Devices off!’ Chrissy called out as she served the food. As always there was little or no response, so she took the tablet away from Louise while Will pulled the wires from Jake’s ears and took away the phone.
‘You know the rules,’ Will said to the kids’ protests. ‘You can finish your conversation and your movie after we’ve eaten.’
Jake stared down at the plate. ‘What is it?’
‘What does it look like?’ Will asked.
Jake slowly shrugged. ‘I guess…’
‘It’s meatloaf,’ Chrissy snapped. ‘And the white stuff is potato. You know, a vegetable.’
‘Can’t we go to Donald’s?’ Jake moaned.
‘Yeah, right,’ Chrissy said. ‘Really healthy.’
Jake thought a moment. ‘The fries are made of potato, aren’t they? You know a vegetable.’
Will knew that Chrissy was in no mood to argue. ‘Just eat it, Jake. There’s nothing else.’
Jake gasped. ‘Oh, whatever,’ and picked up his fork.
‘What about you, Loulou?’ Will asked his daughter.
Louise nodded, her cheeks full.
‘So what did we all do at school today?’ Will asked, trying to change the subject.
‘We had a story about hunting a bear,’ Louise said. ‘And then we all sang Five Little Monkeys.’
‘Was that fun?’ Will asked. Louise nodded eagerly.
Chrissy asked, ‘What else did you do?’
Louise pulled a face. ‘Er…I think that was it.’
‘What about you?’ he asked Jake.
‘Just stuff.’
‘Just stuff,’ Will repeated.
‘What kind of stuff?’ Chrissy asked, impatiently. ‘Math, English, IT?’
‘Yeah, that sort of stuff.’
Chrissy sighed in exasperation and carried on eating. Will said nothing; it was quite clear this conversation was going nowhere.
‘What did you do today, Daddy?’ Louise asked after a while.
Will looked up. ‘I did lots of things. I did some work on my computer. I talked to some people on the telephone, and I went out to look at a condo on 105th Street.’
‘Did you see Uncle Dan?’
‘Yes, I did for a while. He wasn’t in the office in the morning, though.’ Will looked over at Chrissy. ‘What about you, Mommy? What did you do today?’
Chrissy made a gasping noise. ‘Why does it matter what I did today?’
‘She wants to know.’
‘Just stuff, that’s all.’
‘Just like Jake, you mean?’ Will laughed. ‘What kind of stuff?’
Chrissy glared at Will.
‘You were at home all day,’ Will added. ‘Loulou asked what you did.’
Chrissy said impatiently, ‘Just cleaning and tidying. Are we okay on this?’
‘Sure. We’re all okay, I guess.’
Nobody said anything else for the rest of the meal.
After an ice cream dessert, Jake disappeared to his room and Chrissy gave Louise her bath while Will cleared up the kitchen.
‘She ready for bed?’ Will asked when Chrissy came back downstairs thirty minutes later.
Chrissy pottered about wiping surfaces. ‘She’s in bed. I’ve kissed her good night. She wants you to read her a story tonight. Says it’s your turn.’
Will sighed. ‘Okay. I’ll finish off here once I’ve done.’
His daughter’s choice of story was the fairy story Princess and the Pea. Will was about three-quarters of the way through the story when he could see she had fallen asleep. He stopped reading, tucked her in, kissed her on the forehead, switched off her bedside lamp, and slowly closed her door behind him. He looked back as he closed the door, her room bathed in a faint orange glow from the night light. He stepped across the hall to Jake’s room, pausing with his hand on the door knob. Then he turned around and went back downstairs.
Chrissy was in the kitchen making coffee. ‘Is she asleep?’
‘Went off before I could finish the story. Out like a light.’
‘What’s Jake up to? Surely he’s not asleep?’
‘No, he’s just in his room,’ Will answered slowly.
‘You mean he’s in there jacking off?’
Will was taken aback. ‘Well, yes. Kind of.’
‘Well, either he is or he isn’t.’
Will felt a little uncomfortable, as if he had been caught. ‘Sounds like he is.’
‘He’s been doing that for a while. Haven’t you noticed before?’
‘Er – possibly. He is thirteen, after all.’
Chrissy poured two mugs of coffee and passed one to Will. ‘Were you doing that when you were his age?’
‘Don’t remember. It was so long ago. How long have you known? About Jake, I mean.’
‘A while. I noticed when I did his laundry. Do you think he’s watching some porn or something?’
‘I didn’t hear any other sounds. He’s probably online.’
‘That’s what I’m afraid of. Will, we ought to be checking where he goes on the internet, what he does.’
Will sat down at the kitchen table, swirling his coffee. ‘In case some sixty year old creep’s grooming him?’
Chrissy shrugged and sat across the table. ‘Maybe. Or maybe he’s grooming some eight year old.’
‘That’s sick. You’re being ridiculous.’
‘I’m not. How do you know what he’s up to in there?’
Will nodded. Chrissy was right. ‘Yeah. I’ll talk to him.’
‘That’ll make a difference,’ said Chrissy sarcastically. ‘Maybe I’ll check his browsing history while he’s at school.’
‘Do you know his passwords?’
She sighed and shook her head. ‘You can install filters, or something, can’t you?’
‘Guess so, but he’s going to be able to get past them. Maybe the school could help, give advice.’
Chrissy said, ‘Yeah, maybe,’ then went quiet.
‘Look, he’s a good kid, really. Let me talk to him first. One of those father and son conversations. Like my old man did with me.’
Chrissy smiled. ‘I bet that was interesting.’
Will laughed. ‘Yeah, he brought in a couple of girlie magazines and a pack of condoms. I don’t know who was more uncomfortable, him or me.’
‘And did it do any good?’
‘Not a bit.’ He laughed. ‘Jake probably knows more about it than I do.’
Chrissy sipped her drink. ‘I hope not. Not at thirteen.’
‘Anyway,’ Will said. ‘Why were you so pissed off at dinner?’
‘I wasn’t.’
‘Yes you were. You had a face like a paddled ass.’
‘Did I? Why do you think? All that crap about the guy in the men’s room.’
‘I’m just curious, that’s all.’
‘About what? You overheard a mu
gging that went wrong.’
‘No, it was more than that. They must have followed him in there, and they were looking for something. They ran out of time, that’s all.’
‘And you got all this by listening in the stall? With our daughter?’
‘Listen: I was almost shitting myself, more about her than what was going on outside. That’s why I’m so curious.’
‘Nosy, you mean. Will, you’re the biggest buttinski I’ve ever known.’ Chrissy got up and put her empty cup in the sink. ‘Talking of laundry, I have loads to iron.’
In a second, Will was away from the table and standing behind her. Saying nothing, he turned her round to face him. Then leaned down to kiss her. She responded gently. Will put his hands on her waist and lifted her up so she was sitting on the kitchen work surface.
‘Will,’ she said quietly, ‘we can’t do it here.’
‘Why not? Louise is fast asleep and Jake’s got his hands full.’
‘But what if -’
‘We’ll be quiet,’ Will said, unfastening her zipper and tugging at her jeans top.
‘And quick,’ she said, raising herself slightly to assist him. She was constantly looking over Will’s shoulder. ‘Promise me something, then.’
‘Anything,’ he breathed as she did the same with his clothing. ‘Promise what?’
‘That’s you’ll forget all this stuff about the guy in the restroom. We’ve been through enough, what with the break-in last night.’
‘Promise.’ Kissing her, he moved her slightly towards him and parted her legs. When Will entered her, Chrissy wrapped her arms around him, still looking over his shoulder. As they moved in unison, silently and in the knowledge that this encounter had to be brief, they both knew that Will had no intention of keeping his promise.
FOURTEEN
Eleven o’clock and Will was alone downstairs. Chrissy had finished whatever she was doing that night and had gone to bed half an hour earlier. Before going to bed she had looked in on Jake. To her relief he was no longer spanking the monkey, but playing a game on one screen and messaging Dan’s son Clyde on another. On his mother’s instructions, he ended both and went to bed, falling asleep within minutes.
Downstairs, Will pondered. After their session in the kitchen earlier, both he and Chrissy went about doing various things as if nothing had happened. Neither of them discussed Will’s interest in the dead man at the mall; both of them knew that this would not be the end of the matter. Had that conversation continued, Will would have explained his theory that whoever broke into their house the day before was looking for the little white card the deceased was clutching, being unaware that it was still in his possession, or rather now in the police’s possession. They failed to find anything that time: who was to say that they might not return?
Will had already checked the backyard earlier that evening, but made one more sweep before shutting, locking and checking the back door and windows. Once he was satisfied, he made himself another coffee and fired up his laptop.
As the cursor flickered in the Google search box, he sat back and thought of where to start. Being convinced this card was the key to what was going on, he started there. But what type of card was it? A bank card, a credit card, or some kind of workplace identification card?
He had heard of a bank called Capital One, so keyed in that organisation’s name. On the website of the McLean, Virginia, bank there were images of the various cards on offer. None was white with a green border. Will sighed: maybe it was too much to expect to get a hit first time. He tried to Google banks with one in title. This drew a blank. The he tried white cards with green border. This time he got several stationery printing companies, a British garden centre and details of the Green Card lottery. Another blank.
Maybe he should start with the dead man. After all, it sounded as if the two assailants had followed him into the men’s room; even with the limited view Will had under the stall door, it seemed to him that the guy was running, running about in the room, maybe looking for a means of escape.
But who the hell was he? How could Will find out? He could hardly go to the police.
‘Jerk,’ he said to himself, and called up the titles of the main New York newspapers. He would have to wade through their online editions for Monday. First, he checked the Wall Street Journal. Nothing there, although that may not be the right type of newspaper.
Next was the New York Times. He hit the enter button and as the Home page filled the screen, Will heard a noise from upstairs. Footsteps. He froze and listened. From the sound and pace it was probably Jake. He could hear muffled noises, then the toilet flush. Then footsteps back into the bedroom. He waited a few seconds then checked the screen. He clicked on the US tab, and scanned the new screen. Nothing.
Then the Daily News. Nothing again. Then Will realised he was looking at the wrong editions. He needed the previous days. He looked to see if there was a link to the paper’s archive. All he could find was a login tab. That would mean registering and keying in credit card details, just to save a trip to the library the next day. He would have to do that.
One more try: the New York Post. Will moved the cursor down the Home page. Nothing here, just crap. Then he arrived at the Metro section. A headline, in bold type, jumped off the page. Shopper found dead in mall bathroom. ‘Way to go,’ he said quietly and clicked. The story came up and Will read it three times. This was it. Directly under the headline was a photograph of the Columbus Circle entrance to the mall, then the report itself.
‘So that’s who you are,’ Will said quietly, tapping the thumbnail picture of the victim. His name was Carmine DiMucci, 39, from Paterson, NJ. Will could easily recognise the man from the photograph, clearly taken in happier times, without the bruising and bleeding and swelling he saw on Sunday. There was a quotation from Detective Julianne Roberts, saying that the police believe this was a mugging gone tragically wrong; that the attackers appear to have been disturbed, as the man’s wallet was still in his pants pocket. He had been left in the mall restroom, where a witness had found him, but died shortly afterwards. An autopsy was pending, although it is believed he died from a heart attack brought on by the attack. The police are studying CCTV from the mall, but appealed for any witnesses who might have seen Mr DiMucci or two men leaving the restroom around the time of the attack. Further down was a black and white still from the security camera, showing two figures - probably men, young men, in Will’s opinion - leaving the men’s room. Both were wearing hooded sweatshirts, the hoods up and obscuring their faces. Neither figure was particularly small: if they did break in, Will did not want to think of the consequences if somebody had been at home at the time.
He fingered the image to maximise it, succeeding to an extent, but the picture was too out of focus to be of any use. Nevertheless, Will stared at the figures for a minute. ‘So,’ he said to himself, but directing the question at the two men, ‘are you the sons of bitches who broke in here?’
The article ended with a quotation from the mall’s management sending Di Mucci’s widow and family their sincere condolences and urging any witnesses to come forward.
Will drank some coffee, pulling a face as he realised it was now cold. He poured it away, and made himself another cup. Standing at the kitchen table holding this second cup, he looked down at the article and the two photographs. Where should he go now? The late Carmine DiMucci or the two hooded figures? He sat down and looked again at the monochrome image. The picture was too indistinct to be of any use. But DiMucci…
The article said he came from Paterson. Will thought he had been there before: not too far - only around 20 miles - so it was not unreasonable for him to be in Manhattan. Maybe he worked here and had commuted.
But it was a Sunday, and he was dressed in traditional work clothes.
He tabbed up to DiMucci’s picture. He was smiling. The picture was obviously taken at a happy occasion. It was not a single portrait, but appeared to be the result of cropping. Maybe it had been part of a fam
ily picture; after all, the article said he had a wife and children.
Will sat back, rubbing his eyes. He was tired now. He nodded. He knew what he wanted to do next: he could easily take a round trip to Patterson in half a day.
Then Will started in his seat as he heard a loud noise from the backyard.
FIFTEEN
Will leapt out of his seat. Without even bothering to look out of the window, he strode over to the far corner of the kitchen, to where Chrissy kept her collection of knives. He pulled out one of the larger ones. It was sharp, pointed and the blade was about two inches thick. Grasping the handle, he unlocked and unbolted the door and ran into the darkened back yard.
There was no sign of where the noise had come from. Will stepped backwards back into the house and reached around the doorway for a light switch. He flicked it down and a bright halogen light filled the yard.
Will’s house was situated between two other, similar places. On one side, there was a high brick wall, around ten to twelve feet; on the other a metal chain-link fence around four feet. However, some years back, the neighbour had erected a wooden fence alongside the metal one, also around ten feet. The guy who lived in Will’s house before had owned a large dog and that was the reason for putting up the fence. When the dog owner moved away and Will and Chrissy moved in, it was easier to keep the fence up than have it removed. Will had no problem with that.
To the rear was another wall. Will’s property backed onto the rear of a café and jazz club on Perry Street. The space at the rear of that building was too small to be a parking lot, just enough room for a couple of employee cars, and their trash bins. The wall itself was around six feet high, with a small metal railing attached to the top, making the boundary eight feet. However, this was a weak spot. Walls and fences ten feet high were difficult if not impossible to get over, but a six feet wall, plus a two feet railing was a different matter. What was more, it would have been easy to climb onto a garbage can to climb over. This had to have been how they got over the other day: even in broad daylight, the rear was quite secluded. Will had always meant to make this wall more secure, maybe add some razor wire or something.
