Killers

by Laurence Gough

  Willows said, “What’s the problem?”

  “Either she isn’t home or she’s refusing to answer the phone.”

  A badly scuffed fibreglass dinghy lay keel-up at the far end of the dock. The butt-ends of a pair of oars protruded from beneath the stern. Parker knew Willows would have noticed the boat. And she knew damn well he wasn’t going back to the city without talking to Roth’s widow, no matter what he had to do to see her.

  Willows said, “Well…”

  “Well what, Jack?”

  “Well, gimme back my quarter,” said Willows, and then turned away, deflected by the shrill whine of an outboard motor. Across the water, the woman in the red jacket stood at the wheel of one of the little ferries. Behind her a puff of blue smoke hung in the air. The woman cast off. The sound of the motor steadied and deepened as she put it in gear.

  Willows said, “Tell me, Claire, are you familiar with the word hijacking?”

  “Keep it up, Jack. Before you know it you’ll be the funniest ex-cop in maximum security.”

  They stood there on the dock as the woman expertly steered her small craft across the span of water that lay between them. As she drew nearer, Willows saw he’d been right about her age; she was in her early thirties, slim and fit-looking, with sensibly cut auburn hair.

  When the blunt prow of her boat touched the dock he moved forward and helped her tie up, then gave her a good long look at his badge. Before confusion could turn to apprehension he introduced himself and Parker, explained that they needed to get across to the island.

  “Who is it that you want to see?”

  Her voice was surprisingly firm. Willows wasn’t in the mood for a debate. He made sure she got a good look at his clamshell holster and the butt of his .38 Special as he put his badge case back in his jacket pocket. Her eyes widened satisfactorily. He said, “We need to speak with Iris Roth.”

  The woman nodded. She looked a little surprised, but not much. She’d have made a good poker player — or maybe she already was.

  Parker said, “Do you know Mrs Roth?”

  “Yes, of course. On the island, everybody knows everybody. It’s unavoidable, I suppose.”

  Parker said, “Do you know why we need to speak with her?”

  “Should I?”

  Spiky. Willows was careful not to let her see how much he approved.

  Parker said, “Mrs Roth’s husband has been seriously injured.”

  “Gerard? I’m sorry to hear that.”

  Parker thought it was just as well that the woman had said so, because otherwise she wouldn’t have had any idea how she felt. She said, “Did you know him very well?”

  “No, I didn’t. As a matter of fact I tried to stay away from him.” The woman glanced behind her, as if she expected Roth’s ghost suddenly to appear on the island.

  Parker said, “You avoided him? Would you please tell us why?”

  “My husband and I held an open house shortly after we moved to the island. We invited everyone. Dr Roth had been drinking when he arrived. He asked me to dance, and…”

  “Made advances?” said Parker.

  “He tried to put his hand up my skirt. When I asked him to leave he acted as if he thought I was joking. The next morning, shortly after my husband left for work, Dr Roth showed up with a bottle of champagne. He apologized for his behaviour and suggested we have a drink. I told him I wasn’t interested. His reaction was to reach out and fondle — grab, really — my breast.” Unexpectedly, the woman laughed. “My God, it was eight o’clock in the morning!”

  Parker didn’t see how that was relevant, but held her tongue.

  “I slammed the door in his face. When my husband came home I told him what had happened and he walked over and had a talk with Dr Roth. He didn’t bother me after that. But I doubt if there’s a woman on the island he hasn’t had his hands on. Except his wife, of course.”

  “They didn’t get along?”

  “You’ll have to ask her. But I very much doubt it. She seems like a really nice person to me.” She pushed back the sleeve of her raincoat and looked at her watch. “Look, I’m late. I can give you a ride to the island, but you’ll have to make your own way back.”

  Parker said, “That’s just fine, thank you.” She and Willows stepped aboard. The engine made the little boat vibrate beneath their feet. They reversed away from the dock and turned towards the island.

  A few moments later Parker found herself struggling to keep pace with Willows’ longer stride as he hurried up the narrow footpath that serviced the island’s homes. The only vehicles she saw were the wheelbarrows residents used to transport groceries and other heavy items from the dock to their homes. Except for the crunch of snow and ice underfoot, it was eerily quiet. The air smelled fresh and green. Parker took a deep breath. She exhaled noisily, and said, “Nice neighbourhood.”

  “Depends what you’re looking for. There isn’t as much traffic — or trafficking, as you’d find at Main and Hastings.”

  “I wonder what it costs to live here.”

  “Lots,” said Willows.

  They crested the low hill and started down the other side. Almost all the houses on the island seemed to have grown out of the landscape. The island’s populace appeared content to coexist with nature rather than dominate it. Willows hardly knew Roth, but he didn’t seem like the kind of man who’d thrive in such a pastoral environment. Maybe that had been a contributing factor in the breakup of his marriage.

  Parker pointed through the trees at a long, low house with a wood-shingled roof and walls. She said, “That must be the one, Jack.”

  They walked down a limestone path through mature fir and cedar trees, and then across a span of open, grassy ground towards the rear of the house. There was only one window and it was at the far end.

  They followed the path around to the side. Parker stepped up on the porch and knocked on the door. At the front there was another small patch of lawn, and then what appeared to be a sheer drop to the sea.

  Willows glanced at his watch. It was mid-afternoon, but it seemed to him that the sky was already darkening. Despite his heavy coat, he could feel the cold seeping into his bones.

  Parker knocked again, more vigorously.

  Inside the house a dog yapped shrilly and then there was the clatter of claws scrabbling on linoleum.

  The door swung open. A large woman with a small, snarling dog tucked under each arm and a lowball glass in her hand glared coldly at them and then said, “No, I do not wish to sell my house, you bloody vultures. Now get the hell off my property, or I’ll tell Mr Jigs and Hot Stuff to piss all over you. And they’ll do it, believe me.”

  Willows said, “They’re Boston bulls, aren’t they?”

  “None of your damn business.”

  Parker said, “We’re police officers. We’d like to ask you a few questions about your husband.” She flashed her tin.

  Iris Roth eyed the shield. Her gaze shifted to the colour photo ID. She held out a large, calloused hand. Parker handed over her badge case. Squinting, Iris held the photograph up to the light streaming in from the open door. Mr Jigs and Hot Stuff were mostly black and partly white, like tiny cows, but with wildly bulging eyes and sharply pointed ears, stubby legs and no visible tails. Ruthlessly manipulated genetics had given them faces that were mashed flat and accordion-like, as if they spent their spare time wilfully running full tilt into a brick wall. One of the dogs licked Parker’s badge. Iris said, “When was this picture taken?”

  “A little less than a year ago. Last January.”

  Iris nodded thoughtfully. She handed the badge case back to Parker, turned to Willows. “You’re a policeman, as well?”

  Willows nodded. He introduced himself.

  Iris turned back to Parker. “How did you get across from the mainland?”

  Willows held his peace, but he thought mainland was a little weighty. A few years ago he’d have damn near been able to take a running jump across to the island.

  Parke
r said, “We were able to hitch a ride.”

  “Old man Sinclair came out for you?” Before Parker could deny it, Iris said, “Well, why shouldn’t he, if he feels like it?” She pushed open the door and stepped aside. “Come on in out of the weather, and I’ll tell you more about Gerard than he’d ever have wanted you to know. Would you like a drink?”

  “No, thank you,” said Parker very quickly.

  Willows, following his partner into the house, gave her back a sour look.

  Iris made a beeline for the kitchen counter. “Well, I think I’ll freshen this up just a little, if you don’t mind.” She shifted a dog to her shoulder, unscrewed the metal cap from a bottle of rye whisky and topped up her glass. She smiled at Willows. “Sure you won’t join me, Officer?”

  “We aren’t supposed to drink while we’re on duty,” said Parker. The dogs eyed her suspiciously, as if she was lying in her teeth, and they knew it.

  “Well then, let me know when quitting time rolls around.” Iris led them out of the kitchen and into the living room. A third dog virtually identical to the pair tucked under her arms lay curled up on the hearth in front of a cheerful fire. As they entered the room the animal reared its head and silently bared its teeth.

  Iris said, “Relax, Fireball, they’re friends.” She affectionately nudged the dog with the toe of her foot. Reassured, it licked its chops, yawned hugely and went back to sleep.

  The wall facing the ocean was all glass. Orange firelight danced on the low, open-beamed ceiling. A pale grey light from the sea moved restlessly on the walls. Iris sat heavily on an overstuffed chair by the fire and waved Parker and Willows towards a matching sofa on the far side of a coffee table made out of a varnished slab of polished driftwood.

  Parker said, “Mrs Roth…”

  “Call me Iris. I got a call about an hour ago, from Tony Sweeting. He said Gerard’s death was an accident. The woman who came around — from Victim Services — said she didn’t know what happened. But she wasn’t with the police. So what can you tell me?”

  Parker said, “It was an accident, as far as we know…”

  “But you think that could change?”

  “Tell me,” said Willows. “Why do you ask?”

  “That’s a very good question, young man. And I’m happy to be able to give you a very good answer.”

  In the kitchen, the phone rang stridently.

  Iris said, “I sensed when I spoke with Tony that he was a little uncertain as to what had happened to Gerard. As a matter of fact I asked him straight out if he was sure Gerard’s death was accidental.”

  “What did he say?”

  “That he only knew what the police had told him. But I could tell he was being less than candid. Do you mind if I answer the telephone?”

  “No, of course not.”

  Glass in hand, Iris pushed herself out of the chair and made her way back into the kitchen.

  Parker and Willows exchanged a look. Parker removed her overcoat. In the kitchen, Iris picked up. There was a pause and then she told whoever she was talking to that he was a damn vampire and deserved to roast in hell, and slammed down the phone.

  She came back into the living room with the bottle of rye tucked under her arm. Meeting Parker’s eye, she said, “Suddenly I’m getting a million phone calls from real estate agents. Somehow they’ve already found out about Gerard’s death. Disgusting creatures. Has there been something in the newspapers already?”

  “Not that I know of,” said Parker. “It may have been mentioned on the radio. We have no control over that, although we do ask that the news be withheld until the victim’s relatives have been notified.”

  “Well, I was notified, wasn’t I, so I suppose that means I have no reason to complain. But from now on I’ve got to remember to get the bastard’s names, so I can complain to the fools who employ them.”

  Parker waited a moment, letting the dust settle, and then said, “Is it fair to say that when you first heard about your husband’s death, it occurred to you that it might not be an accident?”

  Iris drained a quarter-inch of whisky. “Oh yes, I’d say that was more than fair.”

  “It occurred to you that someone might have killed him?”

  “Absolutely.” One of the dogs tried to wriggle free of her grip. She said, “My goodness, Mr Jigs, I forgot all about you, didn’t I! Poor thing!” She released both animals and they scurried down from the sofa and raced into the kitchen, claws clicking like tiny castanets on the linoleum. Fireball growled in his sleep, and curled into a marginally tighter ball.

  Iris said, “Gerard trained all three of the dogs to urinate on people’s legs. It took him months and months, but he never lost patience. He bought a mannequin and dressed it up and put it out in the yard. He’d say ‘heel’ and then urinate on the damn thing, and give them a piece of biscuit. Eventually the dogs caught on. ‘Heel’, he’d say, and they’d trot over to the nearest shoe and piss all over it. It was the only trick he ever taught them. If he was out for a walk and he saw somebody he didn’t like the look of…”

  She spoke Fireball’s name. The animal raised its blunt, oversized head, sleepily wagged its stump of a tail.

  “They’re such wonderful dogs, so affectionate and brave. Gerard perverted them. But that’s the kind of bastard he was — somebody who thought it was hilarious when his dog filled your shoe with hot piss.”

  Willows said, “I understand you’ve been separated for the past year or so.”

  Iris picked up the lowball glass and brought it to her lips, drank deeply. “Who told you that?”

  “An employee of the aquarium.”

  “A junior employee, I imagine. Some sweet young thing with loose morals and a tight skirt.”

  “Is it true — were you separated?”

  “No, absolutely not. Gerard kept a small apartment in the city, but it was primarily because he often worked late into the night. Worked until he was exhausted; too tired to drive home. He was a workaholic, as I’m sure you’ve been told.”

  Parker murmured noncommittally.

  “And Gerard absolutely hated crossing the bridge, especially when the weather was bad. He thought it was dangerous, and he was right.”

  “So he stayed over fairly often.”

  “Quite often.” Iris reached down and lovingly scratched Fireball behind the ear. The dog licked her hand. Iris waved her empty glass at Willows. “Sure you don’t want a drink?”

  “Thanks anyway.”

  “Have to drink alone, then, won’t I?” She unscrewed the cap from the whisky bottle a little too forcefully, and it spun out of her fingers and bounced off the hearth into the fireplace. Fireball twitched nervously. Iris poured herself a generous refill, drank half of it down.

  Willows said, “Maybe I’ll have one after all, if you don’t mind.”

  “Good idea!”

  Willows stood up, took the bottle and went into the kitchen and returned a moment later with a quarter-inch of whisky in a water glass. Parker noted approvingly that he’d left the bottle behind. He caught her look and smiled and raised his glass. Tricky bastard.

  Slurring her words a little, Iris said, “Well, he had girlfriends from time to time. I knew that much. It wasn’t always work or rotten weather that kept him over there.” She glanced at Parker and then looked away, at the fire and then out at the darkening ocean. “We’d been married a long time. I suppose you could say he went his way and I went mine. Isn’t this a lovely house?”

  Parker hesitated, and then said, “Lovely.”

  “Gerard always took very good care of me. It wasn’t one of those horrible situations you read about in the newspapers, where the poor woman has to account for every last penny. If I wanted a new dress, or anything at all, really, all I had to do was say so, and it was mine.”

  “He’d buy it for you?”

  “Almost always. And if he wasn’t around all that much, so what? The dogs were a lot more affectionate and a lot less demanding.” Iris dipped her finge
r in her drink. She tilted her head hack and held the finger over her open mouth. A fat drop of amber whisky trembled and fell. She smiled at Willows and said, “Yummy.”

  Parker said, “At the time of his death, was Gerard seeing anyone, Mrs Roth?”

  “You mean, who was the other woman — ’scuse me, who was the other lucky woman?” She shrugged massively. “I have no idea. Spot her at the funeral, maybe.”

  The whisky had suddenly taken effect. Iris Roth was slurring her words badly now. Her chin bumped her chest. Her eyes popped open. She focused on her glass, drank deeply and sighed wearily.

  Willows shot his cuff and glanced at his watch.

  Iris said, “Time to go?”

  Willows nodded, and stood up. He and Parker put on their coats. Willows went over to the fireplace, pulled the screen to keep the sparks at bay.

  Iris said, “Thank you.”

  Willows smiled down at her.

  She said, “Want a ride back to the mainland?”

  Parker said, “We’ll be okay.”

  Iris nodded. She thumped her glass purposefully down on the driftwood table, fell back against the sofa and closed her eyes.

  *

  As they walked along the pathway to the dock, Parker said, “Now what’re we going to do — any bright ideas?”

  “Old man Sinclair’ll give us a ride, I bet.”

  “You’re on,” said Parker.

  And lost.

  Chapter 14

  Because of the continuing cold snap and treacherous streets, a lot of people had left their cars at home in favour of the city’s already inadequate public transport system. Consequently the queue at the bus stop stretched well beyond the confines of the plexiglass shelter.

  Robyn fell in at the end of the line and waited for her bus. When it finally arrived it was ten minutes late and the seats and aisle were jammed with forlorn-looking office workers just like her. For reasons unknown to her and possibly to himself as well, the driver pulled up and opened his door. No one got off and there was no room for anyone to get on. The bus sat there for about thirty seconds, its diesel engine staining the air, and then a passenger standing by the open door complained loudly about the cold.