Killers

by Laurence Gough

  “The world’s first elevator with an in-flight movie. Good concept.”

  The third floor button lit up. The elevator crawled to a stop.

  Willows said, “Spread ’em!”

  The doors split apart, opening on a minimum-width hallway studded with heavy metal fire doors that had been painted a leprous shade of green. The two detectives walked down the hall until they came to apartment 304.

  Willows knocked.

  The door swung open. Susan Carter said, “I should have warned you about the elevator, but I forgot. They keep saying they’re going to fix it…”

  She was wearing a sleeveless black cocktail dress, diamond earrings and high-heeled shoes, in red. Her legs were bare. Her blonde hair was brushed straight back. She’d been crying but had recently made herself up. When she smiled, her teeth were very white against her full red lips. The way she looked, her general appearance, she should’ve been riding in a pink Cadillac convertible, next to a guy named Ken.

  The cocktail dress was backless, Willows observed as he and Parker followed Susan down a short entrance hall and into the living room.

  The apartment faced north; through the plate glass there was a spectacular view of False Creek, the city and mountains.

  Parker said, “Beautiful view.”

  “It really is, isn’t it? Would you like me to show you the rest of the apartment?”

  “If you don’t mind.”

  Parker waggled her fingers at Willows, who suddenly found himself standing alone in the middle of an expanse of pale blue carpet that he’d have bet a month’s child support payments had been specially chosen to compliment Susan Carter’s gorgeous eyes.

  The only furniture in the room was a big, pillowy-looking black leather sofa, matching loveseat and heart-shaped mirrored-glass coffee table with stainless steel legs. There was a lowball glass on the table. Willows picked it up, sniffed. Gin. He put the glass down. The living room was L-shaped with the dining room at one end, cleverly sited to take advantage of the view. The oval mahogany table was set for two. Cutlery and crystal caught the light. A slim crystal vase held two long-stemmed roses; one red and one white.

  White for purity, red for passion.

  The kitchen was a relentless blinding white except for the stainless steel double sink and matching fridge and stove. It looked more like a morgue than a place to prepare food. Willows trusted that was more by accident than design.

  The counter was bare except for a four-slice toaster and small microwave, an empty ice-cube tray and a bottle of tonic water.

  Willows opened the fridge. There was a variety of cheeses in an enclosed tray in the door. Three champagne bottles lay neck-out on the bottom shelf. Willows knelt and read a label. Lanson Père Black Label Brut. Good stuff. The fridge also held two six-packs of Paulie Girl and a litre of Mexican tequila, a pewter bowl of limes, a solitary apple long past its prime, and an unopened pound bag of Murchie’s coffee.

  Willows tried the freezer. It was crowded with a lifetime supply of ice-cubes, a pack of individual-size pepperoni pizzas and three blue plastic trays of frozen herring marked ‘Not For Human Consumption’.

  He checked the cupboards, found a few tins of crab meat and a bottle of Perrier, three bottles of Beefeater gin and a bag of wild rice harvested, if the artwork was credible, by authentic naked Indians toiling in birchbark canoes. Roth apparently ate out a lot, but did at least some of his drinking at home.

  Willows heard Parker’s rising voice. He eased shut a cupboard door and strolled back into the living room. The wall opposite the dining room was covered with dozens of photographs of various sizes in identical shiny black anodized aluminium frames. Willows was staring at a picture of Susan and Gerard and a couple of black-tailed sharks when Parker strolled into the living room with Susan close behind. The sharks were stark naked, but the humans, both of whom faced the camera, were decked out in oversized swim fins and masks equipped with snorkels.

  Susan said, “I suppose I should take that down, shouldn’t I?”

  Willows glanced at her, and saw that she was looking at a different photograph. He shifted his gaze. There were actually quite a few pictures she might think about removing, if modesty was a consideration. And there was that small black dog again, at a barbecue, sharing a hotdog with his mistress, now fifteen or sixteen. He became aware that the grown-up version was standing behind him, very close to him. He asked her about the dog, if it was the same as the one in the picture in her office.

  “That’s Elvis.” She saw the look on his face and said, “We called him Elvis ’cause he was a hound dog.” She smiled. “I love animals. All of them, great and small. If you treat them right, they never let you down.” She smiled again, wistfully, a little girl smile that only an older woman could pull off. She said, “I wanted to be a veterinarian, believe it or not.”

  Willows could smell her perfume, the gin.

  As if reading his mind, she said, “Would anyone care for a drink?”

  Parker asked for a glass of water. Willows said he wouldn’t mind a beer, if she happened to have a cold one.

  Susan said, “Coming right up.” Was she slurring her words a little? Willows wasn’t sure.

  He took one last look at the underwater picture of the two lovebirds in the shark tank. Gerard had been in pretty good shape for a guy old enough to be Susan’s father… He heard the chime of ice from the kitchen and a moment later Susan appeared carrying a silver tray. She’d poured herself another mostly gin and partly tonic, dusted off the Perrier and sliced into a lime, cracked open a Paulie Girl.

  Parker and Susan sat at opposite ends of the black leather sofa; Willows took the loveseat. He poured an exact measure of beer into a cold, freshly rinsed glass and drank swiftly but deeply.

  Parker sipped at her Perrier. Turning to Willows, she said, “Susan tells me this is where Dr Roth lived after he separated from his wife.”

  “The fact is,” said Susan, “that he spent most of his time here even before he officially left her.” She caught Willows eyeing her and shyly looked away.

  Willows said, “Well, we weren’t aware of that.”

  Susan wore a slim gold watch with a gold band and diamond bezel. She studied the watch for a moment, then glanced up and again caught Willows watching her.

  Parker said, “Are we interrupting something — were you expecting someone?”

  “Gerard gave me this watch. I was looking at it because I was thinking about him, that’s all.”

  Parker indicated the table. “I thought you might be having someone over…”

  “Who would that be? I don’t have any friends left. God, that sounds awfully dramatic, doesn’t it? What I mean is Gerard and I didn’t have any mutual friends. It was the nature of our relationship. And of course the fact that he was so much older made it difficult.” She glanced at Willows, a quick look that took him in all at once. “Gerard and I went out to dinner with another couple not long after we first met. My girlfriend’s date kept treating Gerard as if he was infirm. Opening doors for him, that sort of thing. Can you imagine?”

  Parker made small sounds of sympathy. She grinned wickedly at Willows as Susan delicately knocked back an inch of gin and tonic.

  Susan said, “The horrible part is that he was trying to be nice.” She shrugged. “Well, that was the end of our experiment in mingling.”

  “From then on, you kept to yourselves,” encouraged Parker.

  Susan nodded. “He was all I needed, and he felt the same way about me. Don’t misunderstand me — we continued to go out a lot, but always by ourselves.”

  Willows said, “Who took the pictures?”

  “Of the two of us together in the pool?”

  Willows nodded. Yeah, that one.

  “Gerard had all sorts of photography equipment. One of his cameras had an automatic timer. He’d set it and then jump in the tank with me.”

  “Did you swim there often?”

  “No more than five or six times altogether. It w
as fun, but kind of risky.”

  “The sharks?”

  Susan laughed. “No, the security guards. At night, you never knew where they were. Skulking around. Have you been up on the roof?”

  Willows nodded.

  “Gerard had a key — a master key — that opened all the doors. He’d buy a bottle of wine and something from a deli and we’d take the food and a blanket or sleeping bag up on the roof. He’d unlock the door and we’d slip inside and have a picnic, get a little bit drunk and take a swim in the tank and then come out and make love under the lights and that big blue tarp that hung from the ceiling and looked like the sky sagging down.”

  Susan tucked her legs beneath her. She gave Willows a very direct look, gently bit her lower lip. “Gerard was a wonderful lover. He never seemed to get enough of me. I really liked that. And it wasn’t just… carnal. He was a true romantic, always buying me perfume and sexy clothes, flowers…”

  Parker said, “Have you met his… ex-wife?”

  “Iris.”

  “Yes, Iris.”

  Susan nodded. “Once, by accident, at the aquarium. She wasn’t very nice. I remember thinking that she still hadn’t gotten over Gerard.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Well, she acted as if she hoped they might get back together, or even as if he’d never left her. But I guess that’s the point, isn’t it? I mean, he left her. So for him it was an easy adjustment but for her it must’ve been just the opposite. Have you talked to her?”

  Parker nodded.

  “How strange it must be, to live all alone on that tiny little island. So isolated.” Susan straightened her legs. She tugged at the dress, stood up. Her centre of gravity seemed to have shifted slightly. She started towards the kitchen. “Anybody ready for another drink?”

  Parker said, “We’re fine, really. Are you sure…” Her voice trailed off. She gave Willows a why don’t you do something? look.

  A bottle thumped down on the counter. Ice rattled in the sink. The refrigerator door slammed shut. Susan, as she made her way back into the living room, followed a route too circuitous for any self-respecting crow to fly. A small mouthful of gin spilled across her fingers and vanished into the rug as she leaned over to put another bottle of Paulie Girl on the table in front of Willows. He lowered his gaze and found himself staring into the mirrored surface of the table and a reverse image of his grieving host’s impeccable cleavage.

  Susan straightened up, almost overbalanced and caught herself just as he reached out for her. Willows hastily withdrew his extended hand. She looked past him, at the pictures on the wall, and then gave him a goofy, lopsided smile. By the time Willows figured out that he had no idea how to respond, the chance had passed. Susan tossed back a couple of inches of gin and tonic, ran her fingers through her hair. She tottered back to her spot on the couch and collapsed in a seductive heap.

  Parker said, “Susan, there was a stray cat in the alley behind your apartment on Bute. Are pets allowed in the building?”

  “No way. I wish they were. People are terrible, aren’t they, the way they just abandon animals, leave them to fend for themselves…”

  Willows sneaked a look at his watch. In less than twenty minutes Susan Carter had progressed from slightly tiddly to borderline falling-down drunk. He sighed, saw he’d finished his first Paulie Girl and poured half the second bottle into his glass. Waste not, want not, after all.

  Parker was radiating animosity.

  Willows asked Susan for directions to the bathroom. She offered to show him the way, but Parker cut in, told Willows to go through the kitchen and down the hallway, take the first door on his right.

  Curled up in a corner of the black leather sofa, Susan adroitly managed the tricky business of attacking her drink while simultaneously pouting up a storm.

  The bathroom was much larger than Willows expected. There were side-by-side sinks, a mirrored wall and jetted bathtub big enough for two. Or even three, if you were in the mood. He swung open the cabinet doors above the sinks. Susan had a supply of prescription drugs varied enough to satisfy the most venal of pharmacists, but he could see nothing unusual or illegal.

  He checked the drawers beneath the counter on both sides of the sinks and found the usual line of brand-name products and a wide variety of designer contraceptives.

  He flushed the toilet and went back into the living room.

  Parker said, “Ready to go, Jack?”

  “All set.”

  Susan Carter had slumped a little lower in the sofa. Her skirt had ridden up on her thighs. Her head rested on the cushion and her silky blonde hair was a golden fan against the curve of black leather. She was sleeping deeply. Her scarlet lips were slightly parted.

  Willows smiled down at her. He thanked her for the beer and said not to get up, that she looked perfect just as she was. He and Parker would find their own way out, no problem.

  Parker said, “Perfect just as she is?”

  “Well, a little immodest, maybe. If that’s what you’re getting at.”

  “The snoring doesn’t bother you?”

  “I kind of like it,” admitted Willows with a mock-sheepish grin.

  “Turns your crank?”

  “Just a little.”

  Shaking her head in mock-pity, Parker said, “Just a little, but still too much. Right?”

  They took the fire stairs down to ground level. The Ford had been ticketed. Willows unlocked Parker’s door. He waited for a Volvo station wagon to pass, then stepped into the street, unlocked his door and got in.

  Parker smiled at him, then laughed out loud.

  Willows said, “Okay, I admit it. She’s young enough to be my daughter. But she isn’t my daughter, is she? And all I did was look. You’d be worried if I didn’t.”

  Parker’s smile widened. “What are you talking about, Jack?”

  “Nothing. Forget it.”

  Parker said, “Take a look behind you. It looks like we’ve got a stowaway on board.”

  Willows turned around. A big-boned marmalade cat lay curled up in the middle of the seat. It opened a huge green eye and stared at him.

  Willows leaned back, scratched at the nub of an ear. The eye squeezed shut. There was a sound like a distant airplane revving its engines.

  Parker said, “Looks like you’ve got yourself another dependent. What’re you going to call him?”

  “I’ve always wanted a cat named Barney.”

  “Well, that’s a Barney if ever there was one.”

  “Lucky for him.” Willows started the Ford’s engine. He switched on the windshield wipers. The parking ticket skittered back and forth across the glass and then fell away. He turned the wipers off. “What was the bedroom like?” He smiled. “Tell me all about the bedroom.”

  “You’d have liked it.”

  “Yeah?”

  “More plate glass, the same great view of the city and mountains.”

  Willows made a left on Laurel.

  Parker said, “Wall-to-wall pink carpet. A king-size bed with a mirrored headboard. The ceiling was mirrored, too, Jack. And so were the doors of the walk-in closet. The bedside lamps had pink shades. There was a VCR and a television, and a library of the kind of films that are short on plot but long on something else.”

  “You’re referring to the complete works of Jacques Cousteau?”

  Parker shook her head, no.

  “Ah,” said Willows, “I see.” A clot of pedestrians shuffled lethargically past. He improvised a little two-fingered music on the steering wheel. The intersection cleared. He turned right on to Broadway. “So tell me, was Miss Carter broken-hearted, or what?”

  “You’re asking me for a woman’s point of view?”

  “Exactly.”

  “I’d say she was genuinely upset by Roth’s death.”

  “She loved him?”

  “Apparently.”

  “Okay,” said Willows. “Now tell me this — why?”

  “You mean, what was the attraction?” />
  “No, more than that. Why did she love him?”

  Parker stared at him, seeing him in profile as he concentrated on the traffic. After a moment she said, “Beats me, Jack.”

  Chapter 20

  She filled the sink with hot, soapy water and then used the electric opener on a can of Dr Ballard. Claws rattled and scrabbled on linoleum as Fireball and Hot Stuff and Mr Jigs raced wide-eyed and panting into the kitchen. It wasn’t din-dins time yet, but unscheduled treats were always welcome.

  The dogs rubbed up against her ankles, panting and whining in a display of ravenous affection.

  She stacked their bowls, then picked them up and put them down on the kitchen counter by the open can of dog food. Hot Stuff sat on his hind legs and barked twice. Untalented Mr Jigs snapped at him and then head-butted him and bowled him over.

  Iris snatched up Fireball and stuffed as much of him as she could into the hot water. His hind legs pushed against her breasts. He wriggled and squirmed and the soapy water bulged and frothed. Her eyes stung. Fireball shuddered and then all the starch went out of him at once.

  Suddenly he felt — there was no other word for it — lifeless.

  Iris shoved his sodden body along the counter until it bumped into the toaster. She dumped a few spoonfuls of Dr Ballard into Mr Jigs’ bowl and put the bowl down on the floor by her feet.

  Mr Jigs gobbled the food into his mouth. He was still licking his chops when she pushed him under. His body heaved and twisted. A cupful of water sloshed over the lip of the sink. Mr Jigs was much stronger than he looked.

  But not quite strong enough.

  When Hot Stuff realized what Iris was up to he ran about as far away from her as he could, all the way to the tiny guest bedroom at the other end of the house.

  Iris had to get down on her belly and crawl under the bed to get at him. Dust-balls made her sneeze. She yanked his nub of a tail and he snarled and snapped, bit her in the soft web of flesh between finger and thumb.