by Rick R. Reed
“Maybe in a minute.” McGrew leaned back. “Tell me again how you happened to make Mrs. Walsh’s acquaintance.”
“Met her in a bar the other night.”
“Which was when?”
“Couple days ago. Just like I told you on the phone.”
“Okay and, so, what? The two of you struck up a conversation?”
Jenkins snickered. “Not exactly. Well, hell, yeah. I guess you could say that.”
“What do you mean?”
“The lady was comin’ on to me, man. Y’know? I mean, she was like lookin’ at me, givin’ me the eye.” Jenkins glanced at the floor, as if embarrassed. “Y’know, I tried to ignore her, but she just kept starin’, so basically I went over and asked her if she wanted to come back to my place.”
“And she accepted?”
“Right. No fuckin’ pretenses either. She knew what she was comin’ here for.”
“Sex?”
“In spades, man. We had us a time.” Jenkins laughed, dragging on his cigarette.
“Did she tell you she was married?”
“She might have mentioned it. I didn’t really give a shit at the time.”
“She tell you anything about herself?”
Jenkins scratched his head, then took a swig of beer. “Nah. We didn’t do much talkin’, if you catch my drift.”
McGrew felt soiled. Was the man telling the truth or just boasting? Was he just one of the nutcases that came out of the woodwork when a sensational murder case happened, trying to give themselves a starring role? McGrew wondered what was coming next—a confession maybe? “Just sex, then? That pretty much it?”
“Pretty much. She did me a couple times, then my boy came home from work and she did him, too. Then she was outta here.”
“Make any plans to see each other again?”
“This wasn’t no romance. I don’t know. I didn’t ask for her number, if that’s what you mean.”
McGrew glanced at Beth’s photo again. Something was wrong. This just didn’t fit.
It would help Jenkins’ credibility if he could offer something about Beth he might not have read in the papers. But if they hadn’t talked much…
“She have any unusual markings?”
“She was fine, man. Perfect. Refined, y’know.” When Jenkins leaned close, it was all McGrew could do not to lean back to escape the alcohol and tobacco reek. If the guy stank like this in the morning, what would he be like at night? He just couldn’t visualize someone like Beth Walsh underneath this guy. “She wasn’t the kind I usually get.”
McGrew nodded, again feeling soiled, like a conspirator, as the guy stared, looking for some sign of understanding, some sort of brotherhood thing. McGrew looked away. “Maybe I could talk to Brian, now.”
* * * *
Feeling defeated, McGrew drove away from the apartment building. He hadn’t learned anything that made him believe the story they had told about a woman who picked up a piece of scum in a cruddy neighborhood bar called Champs, went home with him, and not only fucked his brains out, but his son’s, too.
McGrew didn’t need to look at the photograph anymore to see Beth’s face.
Why, Beth, why?
Chapter 10
Beth felt nothing. All she knew was that it was morning and she was alone. Alone in Abbott’s apartment, where he had brought her after…what had happened with Mark.
No. She didn’t want to think about that. Didn’t want to remember. What good would remembering do? Perhaps it wasn’t even real, as she had suspected all along. She would need more proof, need to see again what had happened.
She needed to hear the words from someone official.
She looked around the little room again: gray-painted brick walls, a mirror with a diagonal crack, threadbare plaid furniture. The bed where Abbott had slept the night before, thrashing and turning in his sleep, chattering and laughing, screaming. She had never seen such a performance. By morning, the bedclothes lay in a heap on the floor, pulled from the bed.
All she could do was watch. When they had arrived at the apartment, he had tied her to a chair, binding her so tightly she couldn’t move. He had slipped duct tape over her mouth. If she could have spoken, she’d have told him the tape was unnecessary. She didn’t have the will to scream—or even speak. Not now. Maybe not ever again.
Why didn’t she feel anything? It seemed like everything inside had gone cold. She didn’t even feel like getting away, not after what had happened. Abbott could remove the tape and her bindings and she would stay rooted to the chair. What was the point of getting up? Of movement? Speech? Who needed those things, anyway?
* * * *
Abbott pulled open the door to Bennie’s. Somehow, he would have to cover himself, account for the disappearance he was about to effect.
Inside the bar, it was cold. Robert, the owner, always set the thermostat to 65 during the day, when there were no customers.
This was how Abbott liked the bar best: dark and empty. The only illumination came from a single track light above the bar and what seeped out from underneath Robert’s office door. The jukebox’s neon lay dark. No music played. No people babbled. Nothing made his head hurt.
The office door swung open. Robert emerged, empty glass in hand. He was a tall man who bore a resemblance to basketball coach Phil Jackson. He dressed as well, anyway. Abbott had never seen him not wearing a suit. Even here, during the day, he never so much as loosened his tie or take off his jacket.
He stopped. “Abbott! How are you? I didn’t expect you here this morning. We didn’t ask you to come in, did we?” Robert always spoke that way, like talking to a child or an invalid.
“No. I, uh—” Abbott knew what he wanted to say, but it was hard to get out the words.
“Well, I’m actually glad you stopped by. I’ve been meaning to have a chat with you.” He smiled, revealing perfect rows of Chiclets white.
“About?” Abbott cocked his head, wary. This wasn’t the way this was supposed to go.
“Let’s go back to my office and sit down, all right?” Robert held up his empty glass. “I was just about to get myself a soda. Want one?”
“No.” Abbott brushed by his boss, went back to the office, and sat down. The light was brighter here, making his eyes hurt. He closed them until he heard Robert’s footfalls drawing closer.
The man seated himself and folded his hands atop the desk. “I’m just going to be up front with you, buddy. I’ve had some complaints about the way you treated one of the customers the other night.”
Shit. Abbott looked into Robert’s eyes, pretty sure he knew what was coming. He didn’t want any connection between himself and Beth. And now…
Play dumb. “What do you mean?”
Robert leaned forward. Abbott could smell his cologne; he wanted to gag. “What I mean is that someone said you were shouting at one of our female patrons. And some of the things weren’t appropriate.”
Abbott shifted. “What did they say?”
Robert spread apart his hands. “I don’t think we need to go into that. More than one person has mentioned it to me and I have no reason not to believe them.”
“Who said it? Who said it?” Abbott felt the rage beginning to rise, throbbing behind his temples, making his face hot.
The man shook his head and took a sip of the clear, fizzing liquid in his glass. “That’s irrelevant. Are you denying this? Do you have no memory of this?”
What was this? A trial? “No, I think I remember what you’re talkin’ about.”
“Good. One thing I can’t stand is a man who does wrong, then doesn’t accept responsibility. Actions have consequences. That’s what I try to tell my kids.”
Abbott clenched and unclenched his fists.
“Listen, buddy. I try to run a respectable establishment here.”
Respectable, my ass. A breeding ground for filth and disease is about all it is. Abbott wished he could speak his thoughts out loud. He stared at his employer, waiting for him
to get it over with. The inevitable.
“And being respectable means having employees who don’t disrespect the patrons. No matter what they do.” Robert straightened his tie. “That’s class, Abbott. And that’s what Bennie’s is all about.”
Abbott nodded.
“What you said to that woman the other night was way out of line. And I’m afraid unacceptable for this establishment. That kind of talk might go over in some dive in Bridgeport, but not here.”
Abbott wanted to wrap Robert’s tie around his perfectly shaven neck and squeeze until the fucker’s eyes and tongue popped out.
“Bennie’s will not tolerate such behavior or language.” Robert turned to his computer and brought up a spreadsheet. The man’s hands shook. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to let you go.”
That’s it, then? I tell the truth to some cunt who’s begging for it and this is my reward?
“Do you understand? Do you understand why I really have no choice?”
Abbott just nodded, afraid if he spoke, he would start to scream and lose all control.
“Good. If you’ll sit tight for a second, I’ll write you a check.” Robert smiled. “Don’t worry…you’ll get what’s due you, plus a week of severance. Under the circumstances, I think that’s more than fair, don’t you?”
“Sure.” Abbott closed his eyes to shut out the light and his boss’s concerned stare. Oh well, at least this saves me the trouble of quitting. And the severance will come in handy. Abbott planned on being away for a long time.
Chapter 11
Kate laid everything on the coffee table: chicken liver pate with green peppercorns, rounds of French bread, cornichons, small porcelain plates, and linen napkins.
“What’s all this?”
She bristled at the annoyance in her husband’s voice. He had stayed home from the office to meet with Detective McGrew about Beth’s disappearance. She knew he was reluctant. After all, time was money.
“I just thought Mr. McGrew might like a little something. We so seldom get company.”
Ted rolled his eyes. “Christ, Kate, this isn’t a social call. A cup of coffee would have been more than adequate.”
She smiled. “It’s brewing in the kitchen. Kona.”
He shrugged. “You make no sense. You get nuttier all the time.”
Kate stepped back. The words stung.
The doorbell rang.
* * * *
McGrew chewed as little as possible and swallowed, trying not to gag. But it seemed the woman had gone to so much trouble, he had to eat something, just to be polite. He dabbed at his mouth with a napkin and looked at the couple. “Can one of you tell me a little about Beth? What she was like, who her friends were, that sort of thing.”
Ted Donner’s ramrod posture in the straight-back chair didn’t shift at all. He wore a gray pinstripe suit and red tie, wing tips. “There isn’t much to say about our daughter, detective. She led a sedentary life, almost isolated. She had few friends, did little. I suspect she was lonely. Her self-esteem wasn’t what you’d call ‘elevated.’”
McGrew watched as a pained expression crossed Kate Donner’s face. Glancing out of the corner of her eye at her husband, she said, “I don’t think that’s quite accurate. Beth’s always been sort of quiet, Mr. McGrew. That much is true, but she’s just a little shy. It has nothing to do with self-esteem.” She looked toward her husband again, as if afraid he would stop her. “But she did have activities. Every Tuesday, she was at the Children’s Hospital, making the rounds, brightening the stays of those poor little ones. She was a good girl.” She stopped, eyes bright with tears. She picked up a radish and ate it.
“And which of you was the last to speak to Beth?”
Mrs. Donner dabbed at the corner of an eye with a napkin. “I was. We usually spoke on the phone and we did…just a few days ago. It was a couple days before…everything happened.”
“The murder,” Ted Donner said.
During the ensuing quiet, McGrew listened to the buzz of a small clock on a secretary desk in the corner.
“Yes.” Mrs. Donner toyed with the pate, finally spread some on a piece of bread, and ate it. “We didn’t talk about anything special. Beth was thinking of redecorating…” Her voice trailed off and she looked up, eyes bright.
McGrew nodded. “There was no indication of anything wrong? Maybe she didn’t say anything, but there could have been something in her voice. Was there any clue something was amiss? Think.”
She shook her head. “No, she was as she always was. Upbeat, excited about planning for her home. I think we talked a little about Mark and how he was planning to go up to Door County for some legal work he had there.”
“What prompted you to go there, Mrs. Donner? Did you and Beth have plans?”
“I hadn’t heard from her in a while and I just wanted to check and make sure everything was all right.”
Ted Donner said, “My wife hasn’t much of a life of her own.”
Mrs. Donner gave a brittle smile. “Beth and I have always been close. She called me just about every day. It was unusual not to hear from her. When I tried calling her, there was never any answer. I have a key, so I went over.”
McGrew felt uncomfortable at the coldness in this home, a vast separation between husband and wife. Did the two even speak to one another when no one else was here? Or did Mrs. Donner tiptoe around, afraid of doing or saying the wrong thing?
She bit her lip. “That’s when I saw…everything.” She picked up some stray crumbs on her plate with her finger and put them into her mouth. “I hope you don’t want me to talk about that. I’ve already gone over it and I don’t think I could bear to again.”
“Kate, if the man needs to know something, you’d better tell him.”
McGrew leaned forward, taking her hand in his. “It’s okay, Mrs. Donner. I’m just trying to get an idea of Beth right now. Okay?”
“All right.”
“The big question is, do either of you have any idea, any at all, of what might have happened to her?” McGrew paused. “Even if the idea might be something uncomfortable to bring up, like an affair, or a secret she had.”
“What are you implying?” Mrs. Donner gaped.
“I’m not implying anything. Just like you, I’m only looking for answers.”
Ted spoke up, “He’s just doing his job, Kate.”
It almost made McGrew feel soiled having this man support him. “I just mean we all have secrets, you know? Things we may be ashamed of or that would surprise people if they really knew us.” He smiled, feeling like he was sullying their daughter’s reputation. But with the information he’d received earlier from Jenkins, he had to press the point. “If Beth was involved in an affair or something like that, it could help us find her. And I think that’s what we all want.”
“My daughter would never have an affair. Never. I don’t think she’d even be able to entertain the thought.”
“Nothing’s impossible, ma’am. Beth was human.”
“You be quiet, now.” The woman, almost cringing, looked at her husband. “Beth wouldn’t cheat on Mark. They were so happy together. I’d never seen a couple so much in love.”
McGrew recalled Jenkins saying, “We had us a time.”
“Beth was a good girl, Mr. McGrew. You can bet on that. Whatever’s happened to her was completely out of her control.”
McGrew swallowed some coffee. It tasted bitter. “I’m sure.”
Ted Donner stared at McGrew like he knew he was lying.
* * * *
Outside the Walsh residence, McGrew slipped out of his shoes. He donned a pair of gloves and slid in under the yellow crime scene tape. With the key he had been provided, he unlocked the door and went inside.
He could see at once why Beth wanted to redecorate. The apartment was a high-tech nightmare: all leather, stainless steel, and granite. The living room had some charm, with its polished hardwood, high ceilings with ornate cornices, and a marble fireplace. But the furni
ture looked like it should be displayed in some showroom. McGrew felt no warmth here, nothing that made this house seem like a home.
He thought of Beth and wondered if she really knew what home meant, thought of her cold father and obese mother, gobbling down every morsel in sight because she was so hungry, but not for food.
The day was cold and gray, the sky filled with low-hanging clouds, and shadows crowded the room. McGrew flicked on an overhead light and the shadows revealed what was hidden—a smeared and bloody handprint on one wall. He shivered, thinking of the despair and helplessness of the person who had made it.
Stop it. What’s wrong with you? You need a vacation? You seem to be getting a little carried away.
McGrew stooped, seeing splatters and dark stains on the shiny hardwood. He thought of the knife. Where was it? It had yet to be located.
And where was Beth when the knife was being used? Had she watched, horrified? Or had she taken part with some lover like Jenkins, urging him on as he plunged it in again and again, erasing her husband’s face?
Who was Beth?
* * * *
June Comstock was waiting for McGrew when he returned. She sat perched on a corner of his desk, looking through a sheaf of 8 x 10 photographs. She put them down when McGrew walked in.
“What did you find out?”
He shook his head, plopped down in his chair and took a sip of the coffee he had bought at the 7-11. It was cold, but at least it gave him a chance to think. “The whole thing’s a confusing mess.”
“A mess is what they did to this guy.” She threw the photos on his desk. He glanced at the first one, a close-up of Mark Walsh, his face awash with blood, his flesh hanging in ribbons, one eye out of its socket, teeth protruding because his lower lip had been slashed away. McGrew felt his gorge rise. He wondered when he would develop the stomach for this, when he could make a dark joke, as some of his peers did.
June sat across the desk from him. “Who’ve you talked to so far?”
“You gonna ride me every step of the way?”
