by Ian Fox
“Get in that room and strip to your underwear! I’ll be there shortly.”
With his heart pounding, he went into the large room. The metallic parts of the torture devices shone in the green light. She had obviously changed the bulb. He noticed some new leather belts and wondered what they were for.
She suddenly appeared right behind him, with a cigarette in her mouth. “Do you have any special requests?”
Looking at the floor, he said, “I did something really bad. You’ll have to punish me very hard this time. I’ve been very naughty.” With fear in his eyes he turned toward the leather belts he had noticed. “What are they for?”
“They’re different size collars, for hanging. The other day someone nearly died on me, I left him hanging for too long.” She chuckled.
He didn’t feel like laughing. “Th-that’s for m-me. As I said, I-I’ve been very n-naughty—”
“Silence!” She hit him on the back with a thin chain.
“That hurts!”
“Into the corner, now!” She cuffed his hands behind his back and put the middle-sized belt, like a dog collar, around his neck. She pulled one of the metal cables from the ceiling and fastened it to the collar. She also fastened his legs in restraints. “Right! Now you’ll tell me what you did.”
“Oh, I can’t do that!”
She selected a whip and cracked it in his direction. The sharp blow tightened his body like a string. “How dare you disobey me!” She hit him again.
“No, I can’t do it! You’ll have to kill me first!” he cried.
“That’s just what I’m going to do, don’t you worry!” She went up to the wall and pressed a black switch. The wire fastened to his collar started to pull. “If you don’t tell me quickly what you did, I’ll choke you.” She put out her cigarette on his skin.
He breathed out with difficulty. “I can’t. I really can’t.”
“Then I’ll kill you. I can’t see any other solution. But first I’ll torture you to make you pay for your sins.”
The wire started to pull him up and the belt pressed on his throat. He was barely able to say, “Yes, I must pay for my sins. I must …”
After that, he could no longer speak. The motor pulling the wire was strong enough to lift him off the ground, so that his fat legs swung in the air.
Monique threw a glance at the clock. She intended to leave him like that for about a minute. More than that would endanger his life. She picked up a thin needle and pricked him with it. While she did so, she was thinking how hard her profession was. She was continually surprised by the demands of her clients. She had always been adaptable and liked doing a favor. And of course the money was good.
Not much later, he lay on the floor, blue in the face and gasping for breath. Monique sat next to him, filing her nails.
“How do you like my new gadget?”
He wanted to reply, but instead his voice whistled. He held his throat and coughed several times. “It was very good, just what I needed. You punished me well.”
“I’m glad you’re satisfied.” She stabbed him in the thigh with her nail file.
“Ouch, that hurts!”
“Of course it hurts. Time you were going. I’ve got work to do. You do understand, don’t you?”
“Yes, yes, of course.” He thanked her five times before leaving.
On the way home he kept massaging his throat and hoping that there would be no marks the next day.
Chapter 42
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Dr. Patterson’s lawyer, Leonard Hopkins, arrived four hours after being called. He was elderly, bald, and already retired. He had known Simon for years and so was ready to come to his help.
Hopkins entered the room, observing the narrow metal-frame bed and small table with two chairs.
Simon stood up quickly and gripped his hand. “I’ve never been so pleased to see you, Leonard.”
The lawyer laughed wryly and gingerly sat his bent body at the table. “My sincerest condolences, Simon. Please, tell me what happened.”
Simon put his hand to his chin and wanted to answer him. Instead he only managed to shake his head a few times.
The lawyer could see that his client could hardly hold back his tears. “Calm yourself, Simon. Take a deep breath and tell me what happened.”
“Someone … someone ….” He could hardly say it. “Someone was in the house when I got home. I’d been for a walk …” He told his story just as he’d told the police. He did consider telling his attorney the truth, but decided against it. Under no circumstances could anyone find out that he had been with Christine at the hotel. “The police don’t believe me. They think that I—”
“I know, they’ve already told me. I wanted to hear what you had to say.”
“Please, get me out of here. I’m innocent, I shouldn’t be here.”
The lawyer lowered his eyes. “That’s precisely the problem. The situation isn’t so simple. The forensic pathologist is of the opinion that the cut to the throat was done by a doctor. And that’s not all. They checked on the manufacturer of the scalpel used to kill Helen. It’s the same brand that’s used at your hospital. Or, to put it another way, it’s the same kind of scalpel you use when you operate.” When he said this he looked Simon in the eye, as if he wanted to see the truth there.
“Those scalpels are used almost everywhere because they’re the best quality. That doesn’t prove anything!” He was almost shouting. “Listen, Leonard! Not long after I entered the house I heard a thud. While I was in the kitchen, the killer was upstairs. I don’t know what to say to make you believe me.”
“Simon, calm down. It’s not me you need to convince. I’ll do everything in my power. You’ve got to convince the jury. It’s they who decide, not me.”
Simon couldn’t hold back any longer. He burst into tears.
“You’ll have to stay here until the morning. At ten the judge will decide on how much bail you’ll have to pay for your release.”
“I’ve no money. I won’t be able to pay bail,” he said through his fingers.
“Then you must find someone who’s willing to do it for you. Think who could help you.”
Simon shook his head and continued crying.
After a while he stopped sobbing. His eyes showed that he had an idea. “I’ve got to make a call. Please arrange for me to be able to call someone.”
An hour later Simon was able to use the phone. An older-looking female police officer stood not far away, watching him.
He hesitated for some time before he called directory assistance. He asked for the number of the Vucci residence. He could only hope that it would be Christine who answered. If not, he would put down the phone.
It rang twice before he heard a formal, female voice. “Hello.”
“I’d like to speak to Christine Vucci.”
“Speaking.”
He was relieved. “Christine, it’s me, Simon. Sorry to call you on this number, but I didn’t know what to do. Can you talk?”
Her voice became warmer and more affectionate. “Oh, Simon, it’s you. What’s wrong? I can talk. I’m alone in the house.”
“My wife has been murdered.”
“Oh my God!”
He told her the whole story. Christine was horrified.
“The worst thing of all is that I can’t tell them I was with you. I said I went for a walk, but no one believes me.”
“You can’t tell them, under any circumstances. If Carlo found out about the two of us, then …”
“He’d kill us both,” he said, finishing the sentence for her. “That much is clear, but what can I do? Please, tell me. Tomorrow they’ll ask for bail and I don’t have any money.”
“Don’t worry about the bail money, Simon. I’ll arrange that. That’s the least of our problems. Tell me where to send the money.”
Simon felt relieved. He couldn’t think of anyone other than Edna. “Give it to my housekeeper, Edna Weiss. She’ll pay it over for me.” He gave her Edna’s number
.
“OK, Simon, don’t worry, I’ll get you out of there and then we’ll decide what to do. It’s so awful. I’m so sorry about Helen. How could something like that happen?”
Simon tried to keep his voice steady. “If I’d only seen the killer. … Why didn’t I go into the bedroom a minute earlier? I might have been able to save her.”
“Simon, if the murderer was there it’s a good job you didn’t, otherwise he’d have killed you too. You must try and think who it might be. You must find the killer. Did your wife have any enemies? Was she ever mixed up in any shady business?”
“No, no, not Helen. She wasn’t involved in anything. Definitely not. If she had been, she wouldn’t have been grumbling about money all the time. And I’m sure she didn’t have any enemies. She never really talked about her friends.”
“There must be something, even though it may seem impossible to you now. No one would kill her just like that. Had she been behaving differently at all recently?”
He tried to collect his thoughts but could barely keep himself from sobbing. “I don’t know, we hadn’t been getting along too well lately. I didn’t notice any difference in her behavior. We had drifted apart from each other. And now I can see that was a mistake.”
“Whatever happened, it’s not your fault. You shouldn’t blame yourself.” The line went silent for a moment, as if she’d put the phone down. “I think Carlo’s coming. I can hear his car. I have to go.”
“Alright. I’m sorry I called you on this number. I wouldn’t have except—”
“Don’t be silly. You did the right thing. I’d really like to help you. I’ll give you my cell phone number. You shouldn’t call me on it, but you can send a text and I’ll call you back. Will you write it down?”
“Of course, Christine. Wait.” He signaled to the police officer standing nearby that he’d like a pen and paper. She went into the next room to fetch it. When he’d written down the number he thanked Christine and slowly put the receiver down. He thought how important it was to have good friends. And Christine certainly was one.
Chapter 43
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On the way back from work Dr. Anita Carter bought a copy of the Medford Mail Tribune, the town’s most widely read paper. She immediately saw the front page article on the murder of Helen Patterson. She was so astonished that she read it while standing in front of the newspaper vendor’s shop. She drank in the words, all the time shaking her head and then, visibly shocked, she headed for home.
In front of the building where she lived she remembered something. She stopped and looked again at the paper. Her hand went to her mouth and she peered with fright at the window of her apartment. She turned, took a few steps, and stopped again. Anita Carter was thinking of going to the police. Then she said to herself that it couldn’t be true and turned once again toward the building. Beams of sunlight partially blinded her as she looked at her window. She decided that she would first talk to Jerry.
When she entered the apartment, he was asleep on the living room couch. She stood there for several minutes, without taking off her jacket, observing him. Is it possible? she wondered.
She went to the kitchen to make coffee. She heated the water in the microwave and when the timer pinged Jerry Duncan woke up. Blinking, he came into the kitchen.
“Hi, darling, you’re home at last. I was kind of bored, and dozed off.”
He leaned against the kitchen countertop. Her eyes watched his unmoving features.
Pointing to the newspaper, she said, “The article on the front page may interest you.”
He took the paper and read the article with apparent horror. “Why, that’s impossible. It says that Dr. Patterson’s wife has been murdered.”
Anita looked at the floor. “Yes, someone killed his wife. That’s why he wasn’t at work yesterday.”
“I just can’t believe it.”
“Nor can I. Listen, Jerry, I want to ask you something. The murder took place on Wednesday, just before midnight. I was on duty that day and you were at home alone. Hadn’t you planned to speak to him that evening? You told me you were going to see him. Then I forgot to ask you and you never said anything.”
For a while he stared at her in disbelief. “I can’t believe it. Do you really think that I killed his wife?”
“I don’t think anything, Jerry, but that article shook me up and I got to thinking. Why didn’t you mention whether you’d been to see him? Did you go at all? What happened?”
He closed his eyes and sighed wearily. “I didn’t tell you because I was embarrassed. I was there. I walked up and down in front of his house for about two hours, but I couldn’t bring myself to ring the bell. I somehow couldn’t pluck up the courage.”
“And then you came home.”
“That’s right, and then I came home.”
“It says in the paper that someone cut her throat with a scalpel. Show me your right hand, please.”
“What do you want from me? Listen, Anita, this time you’ve gone too far. You know, sometimes you should think a bit before you speak. You can’t—”
She stepped closer, took his hand, and turned it over. “Really? What’s this? Why is your palm cut? It wasn’t like that before. I noticed it on Thursday. What happened?”
“I’m disappointed in you, that you could even think it. Do you really think I’m capable of something like that?”
She gritted her teeth. For a while she said nothing. “I heard you, Jerry.”
“What? I don’t understand. What did you hear?”
“I heard you when you were asleep. You spoke in your sleep.”
He stared at her suspiciously. “What did I say? Tell me.”
“I heard you talking about your father: I know what happened.”
He didn’t know what to say. “Did I really talk in my sleep? When was that?”
She began to shout. “Does it really matter when? You said a number of times that you killed him! How could you?”
He hung his head and ground his teeth. “You should never have heard that, Anita. I don’t know if you’ll understand. I was fifteen. It’s so long ago. It was an accident.”
“And on Wednesday night, was that an accident, too? What did you do, Jerry?” She was beginning to sound hysterical.
“Stop yelling. I told you, I never even went into the house. I cut myself with the hunting knife I had in my pocket. I swear it’s the truth.”
“A hunting knife? Why did you need a hunting knife?”
“I always have it in my pocket. For luck. Have I never showed you?”
“No, you’ve never showed me.” She wiped away the tears running down her face.
He ran to the hall and looked for his raincoat. He pulled the hunting knife from the pocket. There were drops of dried blood on it. “It wasn’t me, I swear,” he said as he returned to the kitchen and sat down. “You’ve got to believe me, Anita. About my father—”
“Why did you kill him?”
He got up and took her hand. “Let’s go in the living room. I’ll tell you everything. It’s a long story.”
She followed him into the other room, and a chill passed over her as she sat down beside him. “Tell me everything, Jerry. How did you kill your father?”
He told her all about his parents and how they used to fight. He talked and she listened. He needed more than an hour to tell his disturbing story. The whole time it seemed as if his heart was being torn apart.
Anita did not interrupt and by the time he’d finished she was beginning to believe him. Tears were streaming down her face when she finally spoke. “I’m so sorry, darling, for judging you the way I did.”
He pulled her toward him. “I’d probably react like that if I heard someone saying such things in their sleep.”
“Forgive me.”
He rocked her to and fro. “Shh, it’s OK, you’re my girl, it’s OK.”
Two hours later, when Anita was sound asleep, Jerry went into the bathroom because he
was feeling hot. He splashed his face several times with cold water and then looked in the mirror. Watching the sweat running down his face, he said to his reflection, “I’m so lucky that she believed me.”
Chapter 44
_______________________
“You look in a bit of a bad mood,” Carlo said as soon as he had put down his leather briefcase on the closest of the three living room sofas.
Christine sat reading a magazine in the antique hand-carved Asian Dragon Chair and didn’t even look at him. “You could say hello first.”
“Sorry, darling.” He went to her and gave her a wet kiss.
She closed the magazine and said, “I’m not in a bad mood, I’ve just had a difficult day.” As soon as he turned away she wiped her lips with her hand.
“What do you mean? Did you oversleep?” he joked.
She shot him an angry look. “Maybe your comments seem funny to you, but they’re not to me.”
He smothered the laughter he felt and took off his jacket.
An elegantly attired butler entered the room, greeted Carlo, and asked if he would like a drink.
“Thanks, Jordan, a vodka and lemon, please.” Carlo turned toward Christine. “What about you?”
“No thanks,” she replied without a trace of warmth in her voice.
The butler picked up the jacket Carlo Vucci had left on a side chair and carried it to the closet where clothes destined for the dry cleaner’s were kept. Carlo never wore the same jacket twice without it being cleaned.
“Tell me what’s so very bad to put you in such a mood.”
“You see. Can’t you hear yourself? Your questions always sound as if they’re designed to belittle me. I’ve no intention of answering.”
“Sorry! Maybe I’m a bit irritable. Things were crazy at work. I had to fire one of my best lawyers. The bastard was screwing me. He’ll get what’s coming to him … when the time is right.”
Christine knew that something bad was going to happen to the lawyer. If he was lucky, maybe he’d not be killed. She put her hands to her stomach, feeling sick.
