“Whatever,” he said. He got up and stomped into the living room.
* * * *
Ann could hear him yelling at the kids to clean up their toys. Her hands started to shake as she spooned sauce over the pasta and carried plates and glasses to the table. What in the world set him off this time? she wondered. He seemed fine a few minutes ago. How could his mood change that quickly? Silently, she prayed, “Please, God, let us have a peaceful dinner.”
Chapter 25
ANN WATCHED DAVID as he jabbed his fork into a mound of rigatoni and shoved it into his mouth. Now what’s wrong? she wondered. Just a little while ago, he was in a good mood. In all my life, I’ve never known anyone whose moods change as quickly as David’s, she thought. Except maybe my dad.
She took a bite of her salad and chewed it slowly, thinking back to when she was eight years old. She saw herself as a little girl in the living room of her parents’ house, hiding behind her father’s favorite chair, cowering in the corner. Her father was screaming horrible things at her mother and her mother was crying. Annie peeped out and saw her mother’s strained, tense face and watched as her dad hurled an ashtray in her mother’s direction. Her mother jumped out of the way.
“Mommy,” Davey said, startling Ann, “Can I watch Star Wars after dinner?”
“Sure,” she said.
“No, young man, you can not!” David told him. “You are going straight to your room and finish cleaning up the mess you made.”
“But, Daddy … . Mommy?” he pleaded, glancing from his father to his mother.
“David, it’s okay. I’ll straighten his room after I do the dishes.”
“No,” David insisted, “it is not okay!” He pointed at his son, “He needs to learn a little responsibility. You can’t baby him forever.”
Ann was angry. “I’m not babying him. He’s just a little boy. Why can’t you let him be one? I … .”
“You are the reason he has the problems he has,” David said, glaring at her. “You’re turning him into a Mama’s boy!”
“David, that’s not fair!”
“Fair? What’s fair in this world? Nothing, that’s what. He’s going to clean his room and that’s that.”
She knew better than to push the issue. The expression on David’s face, his tone of voice and the coldness in his eyes told her all she needed to know. “Davey, I’ll tell you what. You clean up your room while I do the dishes and then I’ll make popcorn and we’ll watch the movie together. How’s that?”
Davey frowned. “Okay,” he said.
They finished the rest of dinner in silence. Ann realized that Danielle hadn’t said a word the entire time. She’s smarter than I am, she thought. She knows not to provoke him. But is that what I want to teach her? To buckle under, to give in when she knows she’s right? No. I want her to be able to stand up for herself; I want to show her a good example. But, how can I do that when I know what the consequences will be? I can’t. And what about Davey? I saw the look in his eyes; he knew that David was angry and he didn’t want us to argue anymore because of him. I don’t want these kids subjected to their father’s rage anymore than they already are and I can’t stand the thought of David flying off the handle and breaking something else. God knows we’ve had enough of that, she thought, remembering her sister’s words, “Like when he broke our mother’s dishes?”
After David and the kids left the kitchen, Ann sat at the table, deep in thought. I married a man who is just like my father was, she suddenly realized. All these years, I’ve only thought of Daddy as a kind, loving father, which he was most of the time. I missed him so much that I guess I only wanted to remember the happy times. I couldn’t face the truth because, like David, there was another side to him, an angry, nasty side.
How could I have blocked out all those memories? she wondered. All those nights, lying in bed, listening to my parents argue about Daddy’s drinking and the way he behaved. I’m living my mother’s life. She always gave in to Daddy and now I understand why; she was trying to keep the peace, trying to protect Marnie and me.
She stood up and began clearing the table. God forbid, I should leave the dishes until later, she thought. Mr. Clean would have a fit. Why does everything have to be so perfect? But she knew the answer to that. It’s all his mother’s fault: Louise the perfectionist, the control freak. Well, show me a perfect house and I’ll show you a miserable woman, she thought, remembering her grandmother’s words, as she ran hot water into the sink.
The phone rang. She hurriedly dried her hands on a dishtowel and, praying that it wasn’t another obscene call, she picked up the receiver.
“Hello.”
“May I speak with Ann Kern?” the woman asked.
“This is Ann.”
“Ann, this is Marcia with Dr. Thatcher’s office. I’m calling to remind you of your three o’clock appointment tomorrow.”
“Oh. I forgot. Marcia, I’m sorry. I’m afraid I’m going to have to cancel for tomorrow.”
“That’s fine. No problem. Would you like to schedule another appointment?”
“No. I … . No, I’m sorry. I can’t. Not right now.”
“Well, call our office when you’re ready to do so.”
Ann agreed and hung up the phone. As she turned around, there stood David in the doorway.
“Who was that?” he demanded.
She hesitated. She’d been waiting for the right moment to tell him about her visit to the therapist but, given the mood he was in tonight, she knew this wasn’t a good time. Should she lie to him or tell him the truth? She didn’t want to lie. Eventually, he’d find out anyway. Still, the way he was glaring at her … .
“Well?”
“I was going to tell you but I forgot. I went to see a therapist yesterday.”
“A therapist? What kind of therapist?”
“A counselor, a psychologist. Her name’s Dr. Susan Thatcher. I got her name from Father Andrew. I needed to talk to someone. I wanted to tell you. I meant to. I was going to.”
“You needed to ‘talk to someone,’” he mimicked her. “And how much is that going to cost me?”
“It’s okay. Insurance covers everything but the twenty dollar co-payment.”
“No, it is not okay! Twenty dollars is twenty dollars. I would think you’d be able to find a better use for that money than talking to some shrink. What did you tell this woman, this doctor? What did you say about me?”
“Well, I … .”
“‘Well, I’ what? You told a stranger personal things about us, about me, didn’t you? How dare you!”
He picked up the roses lying on the counter and began to shred them, throwing the pieces onto the floor. “Wait a minute,” he said, pointing his finger at her and shaking his head back and forth. “You got her name from Father Andrew? Did you tell him our personal business too? You must have. Why else would he give you her name?”
“Well, I … .”
“That’s it! You’ve gone too far this time!” he screamed, stomping on the roses.
“David, please, stop,” she pleaded. “Don’t ruin the roses. I love them. They’re so beautiful.”
“Yeah. I can tell how much you love them. They’re wilted. You didn’t even care enough to put them in water.”
“I didn’t have time. I was going to do that in a minute. I’m sorry.”
“Sorry? Sorry? You’re actually saying you’re sorry? That’s funny because it’s always me. My whole life it’s always been me. I always have to say I’m sorry, don’t I? Well, this time I’m not sorry! I’m done! I’m never saying ‘I’m sorry’ again!”
He threw the rest of the roses down kicking at them as he stormed out the kitchen door. Ann heard his tires squeal as he backed out of the driveway and sped away. She put her hands over her face and cried.
“All I ever wanted was a happy family,” she sobbed aloud. “Why can’t we be a happy family?”
She uncovered her eyes, wiped away her tears and stared at the mess at he
r feet. After a few minutes, she stooped down to pick up the twisted, broken roses, tossing them piece by piece into the garbage can. There were petals, stems and leaves scattered everywhere. She pricked her finger on a thorn and blood oozed out. A horrible sense of impending doom came over her as she put her finger in her mouth and tasted blood, her own blood.
Chapter 26
DAVID LEFT THE HOUSE and drove straight to the bar. He was so angry. He slammed his fist down on the dashboard. The car swerved toward the curb. Quickly he straightened out the steering wheel. How could Ann have told Father Andrew about their problems, especially when his mother worked for the priest? How embarrassing for his mother! And, how could she have talked about their personal business with a therapist, a total stranger? And, all behind his back!
Sure, they had some problems. Okay, he had some problems. He was willing to admit that but he didn’t want the whole world knowing about it. You don’t air your dirty laundry in public. His mother had taught him that. Well, I can’t work like this. I’ll just have one to calm down, he told himself, as he pulled into the nearly empty parking lot of Whitey’s Tavern.
As he yanked open the door and stepped inside the bar, he remembered coming here with his father when he was a little boy.
“Gimme a Jack and Coke,” his father would bellow at the bartender, plopping down on a stool and resting his muscular arms on the bar. Then, he would reach down, pick Davey up and lift him onto the bar stool next to him. David remembered how his feet dangled from the stool. He wasn’t nearly tall enough yet to touch the floor.
“Give the boy a soda pop,” his father always said, ruffling Davey’s blonde hair.
Davey sat there, not saying a word, for what seemed like a very long time, watching his father down one drink after the other and listening to the men talk about all kinds of things, grown up things, and taking it all in. His father had instilled in him early on that “children are to be seen and not heard.”
“Got a good kid there,” the bartender said, “quiet as a mouse.”
His father beamed down at him. “Yeah, Davey’s a good boy. Makes a father proud.”
Finally, he would down the rest of his drink in a single gulp, set the glass on the counter and announce, “Gotta go home now. Don’t want the old ball and chain getting all riled up. You know how women are.” He lifted Davey from the stool and set him down on the floor. “Now, remember,” he would say, patting his son’s head, “this is our little secret, Davey, my boy. It’s just between us guys. Your mother doesn’t need to know everything.”
David went over to an isolated corner booth, sat down and reached in his pocket for his cigarettes and lighter. His hands shook as he tried to light a cigarette. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a man, wearing one of the bar’s logo tee-shirts, approaching his booth.
“How ya doin’ tonight, Dave? What can I bring ya?” the man asked him.
“Jack and Coke,” David replied.
“Comin’ right up,” the man said as he turned and headed toward the bar.
Must be a new bartender, David thought. I don’t remembering seeing him before. Then, how’d he know my name? he wondered. He leaned back and took a deep drag of his cigarette. He put his cigarette in the ashtray and stared at his hands. They were shaking so badly. It was as if they were separate from his body; he had no control over them. This had been happening more and more lately and it was starting to scare him.
The bartender brought his drink over and began to walk away. The second he set the glass down, David picked it up, using both hands, and guided it to his mouth. He gulped down the drink in seconds, cleared his throat loudly to get the bartender’s attention and, as the man turned back toward him, he raised his index finger to indicate that he wanted to order another drink.
He sipped his second drink. He watched as a couple of the regulars came in and headed toward his booth. Damn, he thought, go away and, as if they could read his mind, the men turned around and headed for the bar.
I want to be left alone, he thought, but suddenly he wasn’t sure if he had just thought the words or if he’d actually said them aloud. The not knowing terrified him. What’s wrong with me? he wondered. Why am I even here? I’m supposed to be out selling. And then, in a flash, he remembered the horrible scene with Ann. He saw the expression on her face and in her eyes as he’d destroyed the roses he’d bought for her. She was afraid of me, he realized. My own wife was afraid of me. What kind of monster have I become?
What’s happening to me? he silently asked himself. I feel like I’m falling apart. And my memory must be going too, he thought, recalling the conversation he’d had with his boss earlier in the day.
“How could you forget an appointment? You’re really screwing up lately. One more like this, Kern, and you’re going to be looking for another job.”
He remembered how he’d stammered an apology. He was getting a headache, thinking about it. He’d felt like a fool. How could he forget an appointment? He never used to forget anything. And, what would happen if he lost his job? Ann and the kids depended on him to provide for them. I can’t let them down anymore than I already have, he thought. If only I had a lot of money. Money. It all boiled down to money. All of my problems would disappear if I just had plenty of money. But where was he going to get it? He leaned forward and put his face in his hands, massaging his throbbing temples.
Two hours and several drinks later, he stood up and staggered to the bar. “Put ‘em on my tab,” he slurred. “David Kern.” He glanced up at the TV, which hung from the ceiling behind the bar. There, on the screen was the face of the Westwood Strangler’s fourth victim. The blonde-haired woman looked so familiar. Where do I know her from? he wondered. He scratched his head; he couldn’t quite figure it out. “Oh well, doesn’t matter,” he mumbled, turning away.
As he headed for the door, he heard the bartender say, “Better go straight home tonight, buddy.”
David had every intention of going home but, when he got to his car and reached into his pocket to retrieve his keys, he pulled out a twenty dollar bill with them. He stood there for several seconds, turning the bill over and over in his hands, trying to remember where he’d gotten the money. Finally, he shrugged his shoulders and whispered, “Well, I don’t know where you came from but I know where you’re goin’.”
After several attempts to insert his key into the lock, he managed to get the door open. He climbed in and started the car, flipping on the headlights. I feel lucky tonight and, with all the money I’m gonna win, I’ll be able to quit that stupid job and take care of my family in style, he thought, as he backed out of the parking space and drove out of the lot, heading toward Indiana and the gambling boat.
Chapter 27
IT WAS AFTER TEN O’CLOCK by the time Ann finished cleaning up the kitchen and got the kids to bed. Exhausted, she lay down on the living room sofa, picked up the remote control and turned on the TV. Not wanting to chance waking Danielle and Davey, she muted the volume as she flipped through the stations, looking for something to watch that would distract her from thinking about David’s outburst only a few hours earlier.
All evening, as she’d supervised the kids’ baths, read a bedtime story to Davey and finally tucked them both in and kissed them goodnight, she hadn’t been able to get it out of her mind. She shivered, remembering the look in David’s eyes. Pulling the collar of her flannel robe up to her chin, she closed her eyes but, when she did, all she could see was the pile of shredded red roses and her blood oozing out. What could I have done differently? she wondered. Why does everything I say and do provoke him?
She glanced at the TV screen. The ten o’clock local news was on. She started to change the channel. Find something funny, she thought. It would be good to watch a comedy; I could use a good laugh. No, she reminded herself, you need to know what’s going on in the world.
Ignorance may be bliss, but it can also get you killed. You may not like to watch the news but you’d better do it anyway. She turned the
volume up just as Steve Lane, the Channel 8 anchor, was introducing renowned psychologist, Dr. Richard Reniker.
“Dr. Reniker,” the newscaster said, “I understand that you’ve frequently assisted the police in several states and that you’ve worked with the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit in profiling criminals. Could you explain to our viewers what a profiler does?”
“Yes, thank you for inviting me, Steve,” Dr. Reniker replied. He smiled, looking straight toward the camera. “Well, with all the investigative crime programs on television these days, many of you may already know this but, for those of you who don’t, I’ll explain. A profiler is someone who gathers all available information about a particular crime or crimes and utilizes that information to create a profile, or portrait, of the type of person who would be most likely to have committed the crime or crimes.”
“And have you come up with a profile of the Westwood Strangler?” Steve Lane asked.
“Yes. I’ve studied the crime scene photos and the police reports relating to the cases and I’ve developed a list of what I consider characteristics of this person. Please keep in mind that this is strictly my opinion, although it is based on years of researching similar cases.
“I believe that these crimes are being executed by a highly organized person with a superior ability to delay gratification. In other words, he is capable of controlling his murderous impulses until he believes the time is right. He plans each and every detail very carefully. He does his homework, that is, he knows his victims and their habits. I also believe that this killer is very intelligent. I see him as someone who functions quite well in society but who definitely considers himself to be a loner.”
“Dr. Reneker, you say he’s intelligent and high functioning. Does that mean you think he’s someone with a white collar job?”
“Possibly,” the psychologist replied, nodding his head, “but not definitely. He could very well be a professional but, because of his loner tendencies, I see him as someone who works alone the majority of the time. Don’t forget, there are many bright people who are underachievers, working in jobs that are far beneath what they are capable of. He could be one such person. Whatever job he holds, he needs the time and freedom to stalk his victims and, ultimately, kill them. Of course, there’s always the possibility that he’s unemployed, possibly between jobs.” Doctor Reneker glanced down at his notes before continuing.
Mixed Messages (A Malone Mystery) Page 14
