Watch Them Die

by Kevin O'Brien

  Hannah nodded. “Yes, I think so,” she said, catching her breath. “I think so—very much.”

  Ben was a wonderful lover; tender, sweet, and passionate. He actually held her afterward. Snug in Ben’s arms, Hannah rested her head on his chest and listened to his heartbeat.

  And there wasn’t a snowball’s chance in hell she’d fall asleep like that. After years of solitude, Hannah had become way too accustomed to sleeping alone.

  She nodded off for a few moments, but woke up again. Comforting and stimulating as it was in Ben’s arms, she eventually wriggled out of his embrace. She waited a few minutes to make sure he hadn’t woken. Sleeping, he looked like a little boy.

  Hannah carefully crept out of the bed. She adjusted the blinds and peered out her bedroom window. She wondered if Kenneth or one of his bloodhounds was out there somewhere watching the apartment right now. Or was her secret admirer keeping vigil alone tonight? Despite all the evidence against Paul Gulletti, she still felt uncertain about his part in these murders.

  What is it that Ben had said? This video-killer got more than he bargained for when he went after you. The same could be said about Kenneth—if indeed he was in Seattle. Did he have any idea his life was in danger?

  “Wow, what a beautiful thing to wake up to,” Ben muttered.

  Hannah turned to see him sitting up in bed, giving her a sleepy grin. Blushing, she smiled back at him, then grabbed her blouse off the back of the chair and put it on.

  “Oh, rats,” he said. “You know, it was like a vision, seeing you there naked with the moonlight coming through the blinds. I’m serious.”

  She was still blushing. He made her feel so self-conscious.

  “You still look pretty damn good,” he said. “What are you doing way over there?”

  She glanced out the window again. “I was just thinking about my estranged husband.” She sighed. “This killer—whoever he is—he might be doing me a big favor by blowing Kenneth to bits.”

  “Oh, Hannah, no,” he whispered. “It would only make things worse for you. The police might think you had something to do with his death. And if we don’t try to prevent it from happening, we’d be just as guilty as this killer—”

  “Relax,” Hannah said, sitting on the end of the bed. She let out a sad laugh. “I really don’t want Kenneth dead. I couldn’t live with myself if I just sat back and let him get killed. I mean, Good Lord, in a few hours, by the light of day, I’ll have a hard enough time trying to rationalize sleeping with a married man. My guilt plate is already full.”

  Ben leaned over and kissed the side of her cheek. “Jennifer and I are more or less separated, if that’s any help.”

  She shrugged. “I guess it helps—more or less. So what are we going to do to prevent this son of a bitch from getting blown to bits?”

  “We’ll have to get in touch with him,” Ben said. “I know Ronald Craig worked for a place called Great Lakes Investigations. I’ll call them, for starters. Do you still have your in-laws’ phone number?”

  Hannah frowned. “You want to call my in-laws?”

  “Yeah, if the detective agency won’t help. In fact, I might try your in-laws first. I’ll call from a pay phone, of course. We need to find out if he’s here in town and how to get in touch with him.”

  Hannah was shaking her head. “I don’t like this. A call from a Seattle pay phone? They’ll know I’m here.”

  “Well, they probably already know that, Hannah. Don’t you think?” He put his arm around her shoulder. “Listen, if we can get in touch with Kenneth—or his private detective, we might be able to straighten some things out, maybe even persuade them to drop the charges.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Huh, dream on.”

  “Well, at least we might get a description of our video-killer. They’re sure to have seen him.” He kissed her again. “I’ll figure out how we can do this, Hannah. We’ll come up with a plan in the morning. C’mon, let’s get back under the covers.”

  “I want to check on Guy first,” she said, kissing his shoulder. She put on her robe and crept out of the bedroom.

  When Hannah peeked into Guy’s room next door, she could see him curled up in bed, sucking his thumb. But his eyes were open, and he looked back at her.

  Hannah sat on the edge of his bed. There were still little abrasions on his face. She felt his forehead. “Can’t you sleep, sweetie?”

  “I heard Ben talking,” Guy said. “Is he awake?”

  “Oh, he’s just gone back to bed. But you’ll see him in the morning.” She smoothed back his blond hair.

  “Can Ben be my dad?” he asked.

  Hannah tried to smile. “I don’t think that will happen, honey. But he’s our friend, and that’s important.”

  He yawned. “My dad’s in heaven, isn’t he?”

  Hannah hesitated. “Um, yes.”

  “Joyce says he’s watching over us. Is he?”

  Hannah kept stroking his head. “Yes, honey,” she said, swallowing hard. “Your father is watching us.”

  Eighteen

  They were using the pay phone by the abandoned little grocery store a few blocks from Hannah’s apartment, the same pay phone from which she’d called the Green Bay police department a few nights ago.

  But this time, Hannah wasn’t alone. And the surroundings seemed a lot more innocuous on this crisp, sunny Wednesday morning. Though she wouldn’t be talking to anyone, Hannah still had a lot of trepidation about this call.

  Ben had stepped out earlier and bought a phone card. He’d been gone most of the morning, then returned with Starbucks coffee and a cinnamon roll for her, as well as a coloring book for Guy.

  An hour later, as they’d left her apartment building together, Ben had taken hold of Hannah’s hand. She’d told herself it shouldn’t matter if anyone saw them, but it did. Someone was watching and judging, maybe even getting a little angry that she was happy with another man. Before they were halfway down the block, Hannah muttered, “Excuse me.” Then she causally pulled her hand away to move her windblown hair out of her eyes. She didn’t take hold of his hand again.

  She felt extra anxious about leaving Guy and Joyce alone—especially today. There was no reason for the increased apprehension on this particular morning. Maybe it was the Catholic schoolgirl in her. She almost expected to be punished for giving in to her desires last night. Whatever the rationale, she dreaded being away from Guy today.

  She would be working alongside Seth at the store. It was a chance to talk with him more about Paul Gulletti—and about certain theories on film directors and their leading ladies.

  For now, Ben would be doing the talking. Hannah had mixed feelings about this whole venture. Part of her wished she could hear what was said on the other end of the line. Another part of her hated making any kind of contact with her in-laws. The idea of reconnecting with them—even through a third party—made Hannah sick to her stomach.

  As Ben punched in the Woodleys’ number, then the phone-card code, Hannah stood behind him, wringing her hands. With the receiver to his ear, Ben smiled reassuringly at her. Then, he suddenly looked away. “Yes, hello,” he said into the phone. “Is Mr. or Mrs. Woodley there, please?”

  Biting her lip, Hannah stared at him.

  “They don’t know me. This is in regard to their grandson,” Ben said. “I think they’ll want to talk to me…. Yes, thank you. I’ll wait.”

  He covered the mouthpiece. “I got the maid.”

  Hannah nodded. “Sylvana. She’s very sweet. She—”

  Ben turned his back to her. “Yes, Mrs. Woodley, hello,” she heard him say. “Yes, that’s right. I have information regarding the whereabouts of your grandson. I need to get in touch with your son, Kenneth, but I can’t reach him. Do you have a number I can call?”

  Ben paused and shot a look toward Hannah for a moment. “My name wouldn’t mean anything to him—or to you…. Uh-huh. Well, Mrs. Woodley, I don’t have time for a lot of nonsense, either. I need to talk to Kenneth a
bout your grandson, Kenneth Woodley the Third. I know where the boy is, but I don’t know where Kenneth is. So here’s what I’m asking you to do, Mrs. Woodley. Do you have paper and pencil handy?”

  Ben sighed. “Yes, I can wait—for about fifteen seconds; then I need to hang up…. Oh, really? Well, I could hang upright now. Then you can forget any chance of ever finding your grandson, lady. I’m just trying to help here…. Yes, well, I thought so.”

  He covered the mouthpiece, and frowned at Hannah. “God, what a pain in the ass.”

  “I had two years of her,” Hannah whispered. “And compared to her husband and son, she’s Mother Teresa.”

  “Yes, Mrs. Woodley,” he said into the phone. “I’m still here. Tell your son to contact me at this e-mail address. Are you ready? Ralph-at-eight-oh-nine-oh-three-dot-net.”

  Hannah listened to him repeat and spell it out. She wondered whose e-mail address he was using.

  “Tell your son to contact me today,” Ben was saying. “Because after tomorrow, he won’t be able to get ahold of me at all. Do you understand, Mrs. Woodley? Fine, then. Good-bye, Mrs. Woodley.”

  Ben hung up the phone and let out a long sigh.

  “Where did you get that e-mail address?” Hannah asked. “What if they trace it?”

  “Just a second,” Ben said, glancing at a scrap of paper with notes scribbled on it. “I want to get this other call out of the way.”

  Hannah stood by while Ben dialed the second phone number.

  “Great Lakes Investigations?” he said. “Yes, I’m calling in regard to one of your detectives, Ronald Craig, now deceased. I need to get in touch with the client who hired him, a Mr. Kenneth Woodley. I believe he’s in Seattle at the moment…. Hello? Hello? Are you talking to me? Excuse me…. No, I can’t hold. Let me give you an e-mail address where Mr. Woodley can contact me…. No, I’m sorry, I need to hang up soon. Believe me, Mr. Woodley will want to contact me. The e-mail address is—Well, I don’t care. Scratch it in your arm if you have to. It’s Ralph-at-eight-oh-nine-oh-three-dot-net.”

  Ben repeated the e-mail address, then hung up without saying good-bye. “Damn, that was weird,” he said. “The receptionist was trying to stall. I could hear someone on the other end whispering at her to keep me talking. They were probably trying to trace the call.”

  Wiping his forehead, Ben put the scrap of paper away. Then he pulled out his sunglasses and put them on.

  “So—whose e-mail address is Ralph-at-eight-oh-nine-oh-three-dot-net?” Hannah asked.

  He glanced down at the pavement and shuffled his feet. “Well, I set that up this morning with Jennifer.”

  Hannah stared at him. “You mean, your wife Jennifer?”

  “Yes. She knows computers. I couldn’t think of anyone else.” He shrugged. “Anyway, I explained the situation to her. She set it up so they can’t trace us through the e-mail address. In fact, by tonight, that e-mail address will no longer exist. In the meantime, your husband has a way of contacting us. We have a line of communication, but he won’t be able to track us down.”

  Hannah squinted at him. “When did you do all this?”

  “Early this morning, after I stepped out,” Ben explained. “I called her from a coffee shop. Jennifer was at work. The East Coast is three hours ahead of us.”

  Hannah nodded. “Yes, I’m aware of the time difference. What I don’t understand is how you could call up your wife and ask her for a favor this morning when you slept with me just last night.”

  Ben frowned. “Like I told you, she’s the only person I know with computer smarts.”

  “My God,” Hannah murmured, shaking her head. “Ben, how can you cheat on her, then turn around and expect her to do you a favor? In fact, you’re having her do something for me, the woman you just had sex with. Christ, that’s even worse. Did you tell her about us?”

  “No, Hannah,” he sighed. “Though I probably will—eventually.”

  “Well, I don’t understand you. What, is it okay for you to call her now and act like everything is fine, because you evened the score last night? Is that it? She cheated on you, and now that you’ve had sex with me, everything’s copacetic?”

  He shook his head. “It’s not like that. What happened with us last night has nothing to do with my marriage. Jennifer and I are separated, but we’re still talking. We’re still trying to work things out.”

  “Oh, and did you think sleeping with me would help?” Hannah asked pointedly.

  “Like I said, last night had nothing to do with my marriage. It was about you and me, Hannah. It was about us.”

  “Well, how much of an ‘us’ is there when you’re trying to work things out with your wife?”

  He sadly shook his head, then shrugged. “I don’t know. You’re the one who wants a head start running away to another city. My guess is you don’t see any future for an ‘us.’”

  Biting her lip, Hannah took a step back. She couldn’t look at him. He was right, of course.

  “How’s this e-mail thing supposed to work, anyway?” she asked finally. “Do we just wait to hear from Kenneth, or what?”

  “Yeah, we wait,” Ben said, nodding. “Jennifer will keep checking for a response. I gave her your numbers at work and home. She’ll call when Kenneth sends an e-mail.”

  “Your wife’s calling me? What if she asks about—us?”

  “Well, she didn’t ask me this morning,” Ben said. “But if she tries to put you on the spot, tell her to talk to me.”

  “Let me get this straight,” Hannah said. “She’s our link in communicating with my vindictive-as-hell husband. And you’ve given her my work and home phone numbers. What makes you so certain she won’t totally screw us here?”

  “I trust her,” Ben replied.

  “You trust her? Wasn’t she fucking this guy behind your back for three or four months? And you trust her? Are you nuts?”

  He smiled a little. “It might seem that way. But I know Jennifer would never do anything to betray me again.”

  Hannah frowned. “Yeah, just wait until she figures out about us last night.” She glanced at her wristwatch. “I’ll be late for work,” she muttered. “We’d better get going.”

  They crossed the street together. Ben took her arm, and Hannah awkwardly pulled away.

  He didn’t say anything. Neither did she. They both kept walking.

  “Hannah, I looked it up in the computer, and I couldn’t find anything,” Seth said. He was working on the register alongside her. “Maybe you know. I have this lady on hold right now. She was asking for inspirational videos by Mr. T.”

  “As in I pity the fool?” Hannah asked. “That Mr. T?”

  “Yeah, believe it or not. She says he has a series of inspirational videos, and she’s looking for them. Do you think it’s a joke?”

  “Or a cry for help,” Hannah replied. Then she shrugged. “Either way, we don’t carry them.”

  Hannah watched him handle the woman on the phone with a polite, professional air.

  She’d been working with Seth for about three hours now, since he’d started at eleven. So far, Hannah was impressed. He knew movies, and the customers seemed to like him. With his black V-neck, the designer glasses, and his wild hair, he was very avant-garde handsome. Some of the gay clientele clearly noticed, and Hannah watched Seth tactfully dodge a couple of overt passes. “Same thing happened yesterday,” he’d muttered to her, after weathering the second flirtatious overture. “Five different guys came on to me. Maybe I ought to wear a sign: I AM STRAIGHT.”

  “We’ll fix you up one,” Hannah had offered. “Like one of those vanity plates, I-M-S-T-R-and the number eight.”

  He had a decent sense of humor, and he seemed to master the job very quickly. Hannah couldn’t find anything wrong with him.

  Tish was pleased with him too; so she’d told Hannah when she phoned the store this morning. “Talk about a fast learner,” she’d said. “This kid caught on to the layout of the place like you wouldn’t believe. I’m seri
ous, he was in the door only two hours on his first day, and already he was telling customers where to find such and such a video.”

  “Maybe he’s been in the store before,” Hannah had offered. “And we just didn’t notice.”

  “Well, something about him is a little familiar,” Tish had allowed. “Maybe that’s it. Whatever, I’m glad you recommended this kid, Han. Unless he suddenly turns out to be a total psycho, he’s a keeper.”

  After hanging up with her manager, Hannah had looked up Stroud, Seth in the computer. She’d figured he might have been a customer at one time. He was in the system; only he’d just opened up a new account two days ago.

  Seth chose a video to play in the store: Alfred Hitchcock’s Shadow of a Doubt. Hannah used the movie as a segue into a line of questioning.

  “Hey, speaking of Hitchcock,” she said as she Windexed the countertops. “We’re seeing The Birds in class tomorrow night. I ran into Paul at the college the other night. He mentioned something, and it reminded me of a conversation you and I had earlier.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Seth replied, checking in returned videos.

  “Yes. He said that for discussion period we were going to talk about a director’s power over his leading actress, like Hitchcock putting Tippi Hedren through the paces. The courtship, the molding and controlling. It made me think about what you said.” Hannah kept wiping off the counters. She peeked up at Seth. “You know, the way Otto Preminger picked on Jean Seberg while making Bonjour Tristesse. Svengali and Trilby. Remember that conversation?”

  Seth was shaking his head. “Oh, brother. Paul Gulletti doesn’t have an original bone in his body. I wrote a paper for him on that subject two years ago. He got it published, practically word for word, in a book of film essays. The SOB put his own name on it. I’d have sued, only the book hardly made back its printing costs. It had a bunch of contributors, all these egghead film critics. Just didn’t seem worth the hassle of raising a stink with him.”