by Graham Smith
‘You don’t need one.’
When Mother gets up and goes to the kitchen, I sink back into the seat trying to get my head round the surreal conversation we’ve just had. Not only have I just been given a gun by my mother, but it has been handed to me in a room crowded with porcelain ornaments and some of the chintziest fabrics known to man.
Her concern is touching in one way and insulting in another. Is she afraid for me due to a mother’s love or because she doesn’t trust me to keep myself safe?
Either way, I now have a gun I don’t want and am not sure I could use if the need should arise. Cracking a few heads is one thing. Pulling a trigger requires a whole different outlook.
By the time she returns with two steaming mugs of coffee, I’ve decided to take her advice and fire a few shots in the hills where nobody can get hurt and then stow the gun in the trunk of my car.
‘Now that’s dealt with, I want you to tell me why you’ve started seeing Dr Edwards.’
‘Isn’t what’s said between a psychiatrist and his patients confidential?’
‘Of course it is. But I’m your mother. Do you think so little of me that I’m not curious as to why after years of trying to persuade you to see him, you all of a sudden become his patient?’
‘I’m not seeing him for my own benefit.’
‘Then whose benefit is it for? I can scarcely believe you’re going for my benefit.’
I don’t give her the answer she is after. It’ll be less damning if she works it out for herself.
‘If you didn’t go to see Dr Edwards to talk about yourself… you were seeing him about someone else.’ She pauses as the cogs of her mind turn another revolution. ‘He won’t disclose anything about his patients, so you must have been using him as a consultant.’
I nod.
‘How can you do this to me, Jake? How can you use the man who knows everything about me and my fears like some reference book? Don’t you realise how this makes me feel?’ She pauses her tirade long enough to take a breath and reload her ammunition. ‘I’ll tell you how I feel. I feel sullied and humiliated by the way you’ve crept around behind my back discussing homicide with my therapist. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to speak to him again.’
This response is typical of her narcissism. I’ve had enough years of it to know how to deal with her though. So I go straight for the jugular and start asking her questions she can’t answer without tying herself in knots.
‘Don’t you think Kira’s killer should be caught?’
‘Of course I do. I just don’t want you to get hurt.’
‘Do you think Farrage and his buddies are up to the job?’
‘No.’ She is hesitant now, suspicious of where I’m steering the conversation.
‘So you agree me and Alfonse are the Niemeyer family’s best hope when it comes to finding the killer?’
‘No!’ The word carries enough vehemence to start a war. ‘They’re rich enough to fly in a private eye who has experience in catching killers. You know, the ex-cop type of guy.’
‘Do you think such a guy would do better than us with our local knowledge?’
‘I don’t care whether or not someone else could do the job. My cares are with you. How am I gonna become a granny if you go and get yourself killed?’
I let that barb slide as I’m happy to let her score the odd point; she’s about to lose the argument and we both know it.
‘We’ve taken the case and we’re working it. I consulted Dr Edwards because you have repeatedly told me he is the best in Casperton. You do think we should have the best help available, don’t you?’
‘You know I only want the best for you.’
‘That’s why I went to Dr Edwards. He’s the best. Your words.’ I leave it there and say my goodbyes, with Mother firmly hoisted by her own petard.
30
I pull a can of soda from Alfonse’s fridge and sit opposite him at his kitchen table. I can tell he’s annoyed and frustrated by the way his normal jocularity is missing. It isn’t just that he’s all business, it is the way he’s carrying himself. The scowl on his face is also something of a clue as to the lack of progress he’s endured today.
He tells me everything he’s achieved today. Listening, I can feel his anger transferring itself to me. Every possible lead or clue he’s pursued has either been verified or resulted in a dead end.
‘I feel like I’ve gotten nowhere.’
‘You’ve achieved a lot. If nothing else you’ve eliminated a number of suspects.’ My words may be the truth, but I recognise their hollowness.
‘So what have you learned?’
‘Little more than you. To sum it up, I’d say I’ve learned Kira was playing those guys she was seeing. That she was obsessed with me. I also found out my mother knows more about guns than I do.’
‘What?’
I give him a condensed version of the visit I’d had with Mother. I can tell from his face he doesn’t know whether to laugh at me or share her concerns.
‘So what did you do with the gun?’
‘I left it in my car. Which is where it’s going to stay.’
He nods his approval.
What I don’t say is the gun will never be more than a hundred yards from me. At the same time, it won’t be at my side, inviting me to use it for all the wrong reasons.
‘So where do we go from here?’
I can’t give him a ready answer as I’m not sure myself. Everything we’ve learned has led us into an end so dead there isn’t enough room to turn around and come back.
His look at the digital lives of Chalmers, Upson and Lester has turned up nothing at all.
He’d called Emily to establish Kira’s time of death. She’d told him a time which was four hours after Upson had flown out of SLC airport. Even if Emily was out by a couple of hours there was no way he could have murdered Kira and still made his flight after a two-hour drive. And he did make his flight.
Like the detective he is, Alfonse had checked this fact as soon as he’d learned of its existence. He’d called Upson’s cell and had put to him much the same questions I’d asked Lester and Chalmers. Alfonse got the same answers I did. This is a shame as far as the investigation goes. Upson is an easy fit as the murderer. Him working as a butcher would give him access to many sharp knives and the knowledge of how to use them.
However, if there’s one thing I’ve learned assisting Alfonse, it’s that the simple option is almost never the real solution. Anything that involves human beings will always turn out to be messier and way more complicated than it ever needs to be.
Nothing in the digital records for the three men has shown up anything untoward. None of them is sitting on a pile of money. There are no convictions for assault. No grievances raised against them in the local courts. In essence they are a bunch of guys who’d happened to date the same girl.
What makes everything more interesting is the girl’s behaviour with each of them and with me.
I got that she was playing it cool with me. What I don’t get is why she bothered seeing those guys at all.
The hooking would satisfy any sexual needs she had and even if it didn’t, there are more than enough sex toys in her basement to make up for the lack of a man in her life. Companionship is out, as she kept her dates at arm’s length. They weren’t invited back to her house, asked to meet her parents or any of the usual stuff that happens in a relationship.
Instead they were picked up and discarded at will with the casual indifference a child has for a less than favourite toy.
None of the three had stood a chance of ever getting close to her, of forming a bond that would last through the decades. Even the priggish Chalmers had recognised his relationship with Kira for what it was.
Try as I might, I just can’t figure out why Kira was seeing them. At least not until I pull out Alfonse’s folder and go through the pages copied from her journal.
No wonder he is laying off with the wisecracks. There is some whacked ou
t stuff on these pages.
Tough as they are to read, I go through them a second time.
Some part of my subconscious is aware of Alfonse moving around trying not to disturb me. I also know he’s keeping an eye on me as I read.
When I am finished my second pass, I get up and pace around the room. My boots sending out a metronomic beat on the laminate flooring as the movement helps me digest what I’ve just read.
Alfonse hands me another soda and takes the crushed remains of the first can from my hand.
‘Well?’
I shrug. I’m not yet able to organise my thoughts into a coherent sentence. It’s not every day you get to read the obsession-fuelled notes of your stalker.
The overriding element I’ve got is that Kira’s obsession with me appeared to be a case of undeclared love with psychotic overtones.
Upson, Lester and Chalmers had been selected as boyfriends so she could parade herself past me with them at her side. Every detail of her frustrations at the ploy not working has been recorded with intimate accuracy. The fact she’d repeated her actions a second and third time after the initial failure is described in self-critical terms where she’d railed at her own stupidity for not being able to make it work.
All blame is laid at her own door while I escape without criticism. The journal’s pages detail every occasion in the last two years when she’d seen me. Whether it is one of her nocturnal visits, seeing me at the Tree or just a chance meeting somewhere in town.
Times and dates are recorded, along with the clothes I wore, the people I was with and how I looked. Comments about any girls in my company are three points north of swivel-eyed jealousy.
Kira had vented against these unknowing innocents. She’d oscillated between describing them in every defamatory term ever uttered about a woman and comparing herself against them.
Every time I turn a new page I see further levels of obsession, self-flagellation at not being able to snare my attention and a further elevation of my appeal to her. It is as though all the setbacks, real as well as perceived, increased her affection for me.
Struggle as I might to get my head round the situation, I know Dr Edwards would find enough material in these pages to write several important papers.
The underlying theme is that I could do no wrong in her eyes and she was prepared to play the long game in her quest to snare me. There are screeds of pages where she is preaching patience to herself, stating I would tire of my single life and turn to her.
She’s even gone so far as to describe her hooking as a means to finance a decent lifestyle for the two of us should her father cut her free for not marrying someone he deemed suitable.
Reading this particular revelation twists a knot of responsibility in my gut. She’s written of her loathing for her clients and the depravities they paid her for. Yet she also rationalises the encounters as a necessary evil to provide a comfortable life for the two of us.
I feel shame that a friend, a sometime girlfriend who booty called me, should go to such lengths to create an imagined future. The fact I hadn’t had the slightest inkling of the depth of her feelings mocks me.
The logical part of my brain is trying to say otherwise, but the MacDonald blood in me is too proud to accept innocence. It wants action. Justice. A resolution for a young life ended many years too soon.
It doesn’t matter which part of my brain or nature I listen to. I know her killer has to be caught and brought to justice. This is no longer a case. It is personal.
‘You ready to talk about it?’ Concern laces Alfonse’s face and voice.
Am I showing my feelings that much?
I dismiss the thought as soon as it registers. He’s been my best friend for twenty-something years. If he can’t tell when I’m upset by now, he isn’t deserving of the title.
‘I guess.’
‘Tell me, what are you thinking?’ The phrase is unlike him. He’s never shy in sharing his opinions and then asking for my thoughts on what he’s said. I can only guess he’s jumped to some of the same conclusions I have and is afraid of putting ideas in my head. Either that or he’s thought of something I haven’t. After all, he’s had longer to digest the content of Kira’s journal than I have.
‘I think I’ve been stupid not to pick up on her infatuation with me.’ I throw a barb at him to keep him on his toes. ‘But then you never spotted it either.’
I get a scowl and a continue gesture from him.
‘For whatever reason, Kira fell hard for me. Yet she didn’t push the issue, preferring to bide her time and wait until I was ready for a proper relationship. She was using the guys she saw while I was dating someone. They meant nothing to her and they were mostly aware there were no wedding bells on the horizon. Therefore, only Terrel Upson was fool enough to fall for her.’
He nods and repeats the continue gesture.
I take a deep breath and hold it for a moment before sighing it out. ‘That she was obsessed with me isn’t in doubt. Whether it’s relevant to her murder is another thing altogether. If it is connected, I would have made a better target as her infatuation with me would have prevented her from settling down with someone else. On the other hand, jealous rage isn’t known for promoting logical thought.’
‘The killer could have been a coward.’ Alfonse skewers me with a stare. ‘It’s no secret around here that you can look after yourself. She would present a much easier target.’
He’s struck a low blow, yet I have to agree with his logic. Taking me on would be a much tougher proposition than attacking Kira. ‘You’re right – but it still doesn’t make any sense. By killing her, he’s cutting off his nose to spite his face.’
‘Your face. Remember he’s already lost her by this point. And since when did killing someone ever make any sense?’
‘I’m still not convinced that’s why she was killed.’
‘Of course you’re not. Your subconscious will be trying anything it can to wriggle out of responsibility. Real or imagined.’
I look at him, take in the concern on his face. ‘Suppose her feelings for me are the reason she was killed. Knowing the motive doesn’t help us find the killer.’
‘Doesn’t it?’
He is right. If we are on the money with the motive, we can use this information to direct the investigation.
A thought enters my head. ‘If jealousy is the reason she was killed, we’ve a whole lot of suspects to look at.’
Alfonse’s snort was half mocking and half derisive. ‘You flatter yourself. There can’t be that many people jealous of you.’
‘Who says they’re jealous of me? What about all the wives or girlfriends of Kira’s clients? Perhaps she had a secret admirer who somehow found out about her feelings for me?’
The dejection in my voice is echoed by the way Alfonse slumps into a chair.
With so many possible suspects it will be tough to get a handle on which, if any, of the wives or girlfriends had learned of their partner’s visits to Kira. Then it will be a case of working out if they’d taken matters into their own hands.
There is always the possibility they’d hired a killer. If the husbands can afford ten grand for sex, the wives would have twenty to hire a hitman.
While investigating this possibility we’ll be up against rich and powerful women with secrets to hide.
‘So what do we do then?’
He is really asking which direction we should point the investigation.
‘You been invited to Claude’s party tonight?’ He nods. ‘We go and hang out. Find out what we can about the guys she dated. If they’ve had any other relationships since Kira. Who they’re seeing. If they’re obsessed with Kira, they may have not bothered with anyone else.’
‘Kira did.’
I scowl at his double-edged statement. ‘Have you a better idea?’
‘No.’
A familiar look crosses Alfonse’s eyes. It’s the one he gets when his mind is travelling digital highways and is about to go off-road.<
br />
I guess he is thinking of ways he could learn more about the wives or girlfriends of Kira’s clients. Whether there is a way he can identify them without their knowledge.
Once he knows who they are, he can begin to trace their movements, both physical and financial.
I rise from my seat. ‘I’ll see you at Claude’s in an hour.’
31
I pull in behind the police cruiser and climb out. Chief Watson had called as I was driving from Alfonse’s.
So here I am. Summoned for the second time today – this one way more intriguing than the first. I doubt Chief Watson will give me a gun, although I hadn’t expected Mother would either.
The plastic crime scene tent erected four hundred yards from the car park is just visible in the fading light. Its presence confirms my suspicions about the reason for the chief’s terse call.
‘Come to the Panchtraik Reservoir public car park and ask for me. I need you.’ He’d rung off before I’d had the chance to agree or refuse.
Insects brought out by the cooling night air are starting their mating calls as I set off towards the plastic tent.
I hang back while the chief finishes his conversation with one of the Tyvek-suited examiners. Farrage and one of his buddies are off to one side talking to a young couple. From their body language and the tears streaming down her face I figure they are either relatives of the person in the tent or they had found the corpse.
Keeping well away from the lake, I skirt the area and take a look around. I’m not looking for anything in particular, just something out of place. Or missing. Or broken.
Like the branches of the dogwood bush by the side of the reservoir.
Not wanting to contaminate any possible evidence, I approach the bush from the side. Using my cell as a torch, I look at the ground to make sure I don’t trample anything I shouldn’t.
Up close and under illumination, the branch of the dogwood looks to have been broken within the last day or two. When I turn my eyes to the ground I find a tyre mark. Not wide like a car tyre but wider than you’d get from a bicycle.
