A Knock at the Door

by Ellis, T. W.

  Merlin just doesn’t sound right to her ear.

  Rusty heads to her car, which is only a short walk away yet it takes for ever to get there with that red-hot poker stabbing at her chest.

  Funny how much it hurts now when at the time she barely felt a thing.

  THE NEXT DAY

  ‘I have so little dexterity it feels like many seconds go by before I manage to take it in my grip, finger slipping through the trigger guard, and I elevate my arm so that as the seawater pulls back, my hand and the gun rise above the retreating wave and the weapon is pointing up at Leo. “Don’t,” my husband begs. I do.’

  Jem Talhoffer wipes tears from her eyes, clearing the exhaustion of her soul. She gulps down water from the plastic cup Rusty had Sabrowski fetch for her. She didn’t want coffee and Rusty tried not to get offended by this. Jem gulps the water down. Not surprising her throat is dry after telling her story.

  She says, ‘Like I told you at the start, Rusty, a knock at the door really can change everything. I wasn’t exaggerating because nothing will ever be the same again, will it? In the space of one short day I learned my whole marriage was a lie. I found out my husband was an entirely different person to the man I believed him to be. But in a strange way that helps, doesn’t it? Because it means I didn’t shoot the man I loved. I killed a man I didn’t even know.’

  Rusty says, ‘Is there anyone I can call?’

  Jem shakes her head. She went to the hospital alone, was discharged alone, came to the precinct alone to make her statement.

  ‘No one to pick you up?’

  Another shake of her head.

  Rusty leans forward. ‘No family? No friends?’

  ‘I don’t have any family and I don’t have any friends.’

  ‘How’s that happen?’

  She shrugs.

  ‘You had parents, didn’t you?’

  ‘They’re dead.’

  ‘Friends then,’ Rusty says. ‘You don’t have to have a best bud but you must’ve met people in your life, haven’t you?’

  ‘I’m not good with people.’

  ‘Huh,’ Rusty says. ‘You might be the first ever person I’ve dealt with in this job who’s more of a loner than I am.’

  ‘I don’t know what you want me to say.’

  Rusty turns up her palms. ‘I’m merely concerned for your well-being, Jem. You’ve been through a hell of a time and I don’t want to send you out of here with no one to look after you.’

  ‘I don’t need anyone to look after me. My injuries are all superficial.’

  ‘You’re traumatised,’ Rusty says. ‘Your husband’s dead. The husband who tried to kill you.’

  ‘I’m okay.’

  Rusty is pleased with herself because that’s the reaction she was after, and she’s ready with her reply, ‘Yeah, Jem, you don’t seem as traumatised as I would have expected.’

  Jem is silent.

  ‘Which is probably shock, right? That’s what happens to people who’ve undergone a trauma. They go into shock. They’re numb. Survival mechanism, I suppose. Evolution. So, I guess what we’re experiencing here is Darwinism in action.’

  ‘Darwinism,’ Jem says.

  Silence for a moment.

  ‘You didn’t talk about the diner,’ Rusty says.

  ‘I did. I told you we stopped by.’

  ‘Yeah, a “pit stop” as you called it. You didn’t tell me about recruiting a waitress to distract my officer.’

  ‘I didn’t think to,’ Jem says after a pause. ‘Didn’t seem important.’

  ‘Guess mentioning the phone call you made to the warehouse wasn’t important either. That’s how I found you, by the way.’

  ‘I can’t remember every last detail exactly, can I?’

  ‘Dana mentioned you and Trevor left in a truck. Not a car. Trevor’s truck by the sounds of it.’

  ‘She’s mistaken. We were in Carlson’s car.’

  ‘The car you used to drive away from Trevor’s cabin and head to the warehouse.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then why isn’t it still there? Since you left with Leo to go to the cottage?’

  Silence, then, ‘He must have collected it.’

  ‘Then where’s the car Leo drove you in? Since we only found Trevor’s truck at the cottage.’

  ‘Carlson must have driven the truck and then drove away in the other car.’

  ‘And then gone to collect his own car?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Do you see why I’m confused? Because then where is this other car?’

  ‘How am I supposed to know?’

  ‘Well, I do have this theory that might explain it,’ Rusty says. ‘It’s probably crazy. Like a “what if?” kind of thing. Wanna hear it?’

  Jem Talhoffer listens.

  ‘It’s been building up all day long and all night too. Started out as a tiny seed in my thoughts that has been germinating in the dark, sprouting without my awareness and growing stronger and stronger until I couldn’t ignore it no longer. Now, it’s fully developed. So developed that I’m even considering it to be more than your everyday theory.’

  The build-up works because Jem Talhoffer says, ‘What is it?’

  ‘You got a few minutes? You’re under no obligation to stay now you’ve given your statement. I just want to be clear on that.’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘Great,’ Rusty says. ‘I’ve been itching to share it with someone. My officers are not – how do I put this delicately? – of a particularly creative mind-set. They’re not likely to appreciate any idea that requires them to think any harder than they absolutely need to. And this theory of mine requires the ability to think so far out the box that the box can no longer be a consideration. The box might as well be a dot.’

  Silence, and Jem has no choice but to say ‘What is it?’ for the second time.

  Now Rusty has her undivided attention, and that’s what Rusty requires above all else. While Jem is eager to hear more, she won’t be thinking of what is showing on her face. Before, Rusty couldn’t read her eyes, so now she’s enlarged the font.

  Rusty says, ‘Incredible, isn’t it? You’re just a regular, everyday citizen when this began. Then, you’re running for your life, people want you dead, your husband is a thief. He’s lied to you your whole marriage. He kills the one person who has believed you, helped you without question. You fear for your life. You don’t know this Leo, this monster. You have no choice but to kill him in self-defence. Carlson gets away. The only one to survive besides you.’

  Jem swallows. Nods. Tears on her cheeks.

  ‘And no one around to contradict your story.’

  Jem dries her eyes.

  ‘Hope and expectation are two separate things though, aren’t they?’

  ‘I’m not sure I follow.’

  Rusty leans forward. ‘Then let me explain it to you. I hope we find Carlson, I really do. I hope we find him because according to you he killed Messer, he worked with your husband. He could be working for that mysterious third party. You’re not sure. But he’s clearly dangerous.’

  Jem nods.

  ‘But,’ Rusty continues, ‘I don’t think we will find him.’

  Jem says nothing.

  ‘You ever hear the expression if it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck?’

  She nods. ‘Then it’s probably a duck.’

  ‘Yeah, probably.’ Rusty pauses. ‘Only in this case we might consider me an expert in ornithology. Because I’m looking right at something that walks like a duck and quacks like a duck. And you know what? Not a duck.’

  Jem hasn’t blinked in a long time.

  ‘I’ve been focused on Leo all this time, Jem. I’ve been looking into Wilks, into Messer, into this mystery man Carlson. And all that time I never stopped, even for a second, to think about looking into you.’

  ‘Why would you?’

  ‘Why indeed, Jem? Why indeed? You’re just a part-time yoga teacher who keeps to herself. No offence, but you’re kind
of boring. Aside from the fact you happened to marry a money launderer.’

  ‘Everyone makes mistakes.’

  ‘They do,’ Rusty agrees. ‘I make a dozen a day and that’s me being generous. You, as far as I can tell, made only one.’

  Jem waits for elaboration.

  ‘You killed Messer.’

  ‘Carlson killed Messer.’

  ‘That’s not what Wilks said.’

  ‘Wilks was corrupt.’

  ‘Why did they try and kill you?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Jem says. ‘I had become a problem they didn’t need.’

  ‘Sure, but wouldn’t it have made a lot more sense for them to tie you up? To restrain you and keep you around if they needed you to lure Leo into a trap, for example? That’s something I just can’t get my head around even if everything else makes absolute sense. There’s just no way they would try and kill you in your own home, strangling or beating you to death in the bathroom. How would they have planned to get away with it? There would be a ton of evidence left behind. These were not junkies off the street but two federal agents. Why would they risk it? Why? I can’t answer it.’

  ‘Neither can I.’

  ‘But searching for that answer made me think about everything you had told me earlier. About the knock at the door.’ Rusty pauses. ‘About the phone call.’

  Jem doesn’t react.

  ‘And there it is, the phone. Just hanging from the wall. So, do you know what I do? I pick it up. I hear the dial tone. I tap 69 to get the number of the person who called last. I write down the number. I call them. Do you know who called you last? Carlson, right? Well, it was the Department of Motor Vehicles.’

  ‘Maybe Carlson works at the DMV as a cover. Or just used their phone.’

  ‘There is no Carlson, is there? You made him up. That’s why I’m not going to find him. He’s not real. But why make him up?’

  ‘I’m sure you’re going to tell me.’

  ‘Because you needed a reason to run like you did. You needed an excuse. When Wilks and Messer turned up on your doorstep you freaked out. This wasn’t supposed to happen. You ran. But then you changed your mind. You thought of a plan. You realised you could get yourself out of this mess and blame it on Leo. You came to see me, knowing that’s where Wilks and Messer would have gone. You told us what happened and I admit there’s a certain arrogant genius to it all. Walking into a police HQ and lying like that … Wow, the balls on you. How can you even walk? Bet you have bruises all over your inner thighs, yeah? You go back home with Wilks and Messer. You split them up. You attack them. You catch them by surprise. Maybe it all worked out exactly as you hoped or maybe it wasn’t that easy. Either way, you hurt yourself. Just enough to leave your blood behind in the bathroom, the hallway, the staircase. You make sure the house looks like a bomb went off, like you fought for your life, like someone arrived and saved you. Wilks, when she wakes up, even backs up your lie about Carlson to distract me from what’s really going on. You head to Trevor’s cabin, which is only a few miles away but by your own account takes you an hour. Why? Because no Carlson means no car. You feed Trevor more lies. He’s a good man and wants to help you. You take his truck to the warehouse that no one is supposed to know about since it’s registered offshore. Which is a hole in your version of events, because why would Leo try and run and leave behind the valuable accounts? I can fully believe that Leo kills Wilks here as he tries to protect his wife, the wife who has manipulated him all this time, using his sommelier business to hide her schemes. Of course, it’s you who convinces Leo to head to the cottage so you can engineer another attack. Carlson conveniently shows up and escapes with the money, naturally.’

  Rusty takes a breath.

  ‘But the worst part, the very worst part in all this, is that you killed Trevor. How could you do that? He just wanted to help you, Jem. I bet he insisted on going with you, didn’t he? I bet you tried to sneak off from his cabin in his truck and he caught you in the act and wouldn’t take no for an answer. He just wanted to help you. You killed Trevor and you killed Leo. You killed them both and you called me. Reliable Rusty. Too dumb to see the truth.’

  Jem begins to cry, shaking her head in protest.

  ‘Leo, the secret money-laundering thief working with corrupt NSA officers. Only that’s not accurate, is it? That’s nowhere near the truth, is it? Jem, the anxious little wife. No one would suspect there was so much more going on behind those big, dark eyes of yours. But that’s the thing with secrets, isn’t it? They have a will of their own. They simply must come out, sooner or later. You killed your husband. You had to, I know. But what I don’t know is if that was always part of the plan or not.’

  Jem Talhoffer is silent for a long time.

  Rusty says, ‘The government won’t be coming after you for anything more than background on Leo. They’re more concerned with the press finding out about their screw-up than recovering any money. They’re embarrassed, not out for blood. Whatever you stole isn’t worth their time.’

  Rusty can’t read a thing in Jem’s eyes. She’s not used to that and she doesn’t like it one little bit.

  When Jem speaks, once she’s dried her eyes, she says, ‘Can you prove any of that?’

  Rusty shrugs. She shakes her head. ‘I have a funny feeling all of the physical evidence is going to back up your story, won’t it? We’ll keep looking, of course, but if you were in the least bit concerned we might find anything you wouldn’t have called the police from that cottage, would you? You’d have just vanished.’

  ‘Am I under arrest?’

  ‘No, there’s nothing to charge you with. Besides, it’s just a theory.’

  ‘Then we’re done.’ Jem stands up. ‘See you around, Rusty.’

  Rusty escorts her to the door. ‘I figure you’ll want to move away. Maybe overseas.’

  She shakes her head. ‘No, I’m exactly where I want to be.’

  Rusty holds open the door and Jem steps through the threshold into the new morning. The setting sun paints the buildings in orange-pink light. It’s been a beautiful day.

  Rusty watches her go, admiring her poise. Rusty is neither angry nor disappointed. Like she said, it’s just a theory. Doesn’t matter what you know, only what you can prove. Rusty is an officer of the law not a champion of justice. She’ll investigate every lead, every clue. And she’ll accept the end result.

  Watching Jem make her way from the police department with all that sangfroid gives Rusty no confidence there will be anything to find.

  Maybe because there is nothing to find.

  Jem crosses the street and stops for a moment on the far kerb. Turns.

  Faces Rusty.

  There’s no traffic. No other noise of any volume, but there’s enough distance and wind between them that they would have to shout to hear each other. Jem doesn’t shout. Instead she says two words that Rusty can’t hear but can read well enough on Jem Talhoffer’s lips.

  Quack. Quack.

  ‘Are we really strangers?’

  He smiled again. ‘Not any more.’

  We talked for a while. We chatted about Rome and what we thought of it. I told him about the hostel where I was staying and how it was impossible to get a good night’s sleep but somehow it didn’t matter. I never felt tired. Each morning I couldn’t wait to get out of bed and out into the city. I told him how I would wander the backstreets to seek out the dense, old neighbourhoods and take pictures of children kicking soccer balls against alley walls and women hanging sheets from windows. How I felt both an outsider and conversely at home, like I belonged there.

  Leo told me how he had eaten so much pasta he had to stab another hole in his belt and I laughed as he demonstrated with exaggerated stabbing motions. I told him I would never understand how there were so many glamorous, skinny Italian women striding through the plazas to the polite applause of local men.

  I told him about all the many fascinating, unique people I had met.

  He told me how he fell in l
ove a dozen times a day.

  After finishing our coffees, we drank iced water and listened to a pair of locals discussing jazz. They spoke so fast we couldn’t possibly understand everything they said but we didn’t care. It was part of the fun. Like a game, trying to recognise enough words in their hundred-mile-per-hour conversation to piece together each one’s point and counter point. It was a lively exchange, getting heated but remaining casual at the same time in the way only Italians can manage.

  Leo asked, ‘What are you reading?’

  I held up the paperback for him to see.

  ‘“On the Precipice”,’ he read. ‘“One woman’s journey through anxiety”. Sounds like a thumping good read.’

  ‘It’s a little self-indulgent,’ I admitted. ‘But I’m learning a lot.’

  ‘I’ll bet,’ he said.

  There was silence.

  Comfortable enough for me. Uncomfortable for him.

  I said, ‘I sense you want to talk details.’

  ‘Well, I was having fun just having a conversation but it has to end sometime, right?’

  ‘It’s good that we get on,’ I told him. ‘I was worried you would be hideous.’

  He smiled. ‘I was the same.’

  ‘I’m pleasantly surprised.’

  ‘Likewise.’

  I said, ‘How long have you been doing this?’

  ‘A year. You?’

  ‘A few.’

  He shook his head. ‘The money is amazing.’

  ‘It will only get better. You already have the business set up?’

  ‘That’s right. Wine. Buying and selling. Good excuse to travel far and wide. Lots of foreign companies and accounts. But I’m not moving enough digits for them. They want me to clean a lot more than I can. I’m just not a numbers guy.’

  ‘Which is where I come in.’

  He sips some water. ‘How did you meet them?’

  ‘Travelling,’ I told him. ‘South America. You know how it goes.’