After I refilled my coffee, I hummed and unwrapped the paper from the blue plastic which enshrouded it. Casually, I scanned the headlines on page one. I sipped and turned the page with half-interest.
The reading was unspectacular and commonplace. I scoured the columns on the left-hand page, neither focused nor interested in current events. That is, I wasn’t interested in the world’s current events. I was too busy smiling and thinking about my recent event. The three C’s.
But life has a way of pulling the parking brake when you’re cruising at 120 MPH. And that’s when it happened. While I sipped coffee. While I tried not to think about her. While I half-wondered what had happened to Jack. And while I dreamed of tendril-like fingers running across my bare skin. That’s when I saw it on page three.
American Lawyer Found Murdered.
The cutline read Decapitated Body Identified, Police Have No Suspects.
I put my coffee down. I picked it up and peered at the type. The paper had my full attention as an evil black chill ran through my body.
Montreal (CP) – The naked, headless body of an American woman visiting Montreal was discovered near the banks of the St. Lawrence River yesterday, and the grisly discovery has Police baffled.
The body of Elizabeth Mackenzie, a Detroit lawyer who was visiting Montreal for reasons unknown, was found at 6:15 Saturday night by a jogger. According to one Police official who spoke to this newspaper on condition of anonymity, “the body was cleanly decapitated and not very well hidden, as if someone wanted it to be found.”
To add to a mystery that has Police stymied, the woman’s head was not to be found. A purse that was found nearby led to the woman’s positive identification.
The 33-year old was a corporate litigator based in Detroit. A Spokesperson at the firm she worked for refused comment except to say, “Ms. Mackenzie was a talented young lawyer with a great deal of potential. We are terribly saddened by this news.” Police have stated that while they have no suspects in the case, they are speaking to “persons of interest.” They also disclosed that while the woman’s head has not been found, they are conducting an ongoing search.
I fell to the floor in a lump and wailed for several minutes, sobbing uncontrollably.
Whether I wanted it or not, nineteen years were finally put to rest for me.
I thought about the first time I saw her. And every time after that. In my heart, I saw the gentle smiling eyes that once shone only for me. I saw her crying by the fire as she admitted that Jack raped her. I saw her beautiful, sleeping face, the first morning I woke up next to her. I saw her embarrassment the day I walked in on the two of them having sex. And I heard the pain and hurt in her voice when I told her that I’d been unfaithful to her.
I don’t know how long I sobbed on the floor. But eventually, I began to regain my composure. Slowly and still in shock, I unsteadily pulled myself to the couch. I wiped the tears from my face.
My denial got the best of me for a brief moment and I wondered. What are the chances that there are two Americans named Elizabeth Mackenzie visiting Montreal? I already knew the answer. But I was trying to find a way to deal with this.
She’s dead.
I poured a Scotch. What should I do? What could I do? There was nothing. Nothing left to do. Nothing left to say. Only grief. Horrible grief that released me. And signed my death warrant at the same time.
God, Malcolm. I’m so sorry. I can’t.
It’s over.
It’s really over. I lit a cigarette and listened to nothing for awhile, wondering how in God I could go on. Knowing that she was dead.
She’s dead. The idea attacked my mind like thousands of tiny warriors that stormed my brain. She was dead.
I blame myself for everything that happened. Her words permeated and rang. I thought about the day before. When she appeared on my stoop.
Why had she come? She was obviously there to talk to me. But Jack drove her away. Ohmigod. He may have been responsible for her death! She probably wandered the streets and met with foul play when she should have been at my house, safe and sound. Jack drove her away.
I drank more Scotch. God! This wasn’t happening. I missed her, but in a different way. It didn’t occur to me at the time that her being dead was only marginally different than what I had been experiencing these many years. Dead or alive, she was merely an affirmation of what my life had become.
Or not. She came to see me. Why? What was on her mind and in her heart? Sadly, I would never know. And while my subconscious worked overtime dealing with this painful information, I couldn’t think about it.
Jack. Where are you?
I looked around the room and thought about the night before. When did we arrive back here to confront Elizabeth? What time did the hookers arrive? What’s the last thing I remember about last night? When was the last time that I saw Jack? What was he doing, while I was doing the three hookers?
You pathetic asshole. Do I have to do everything for you?
A loud rap came at the door. It was forceful and I jumped involuntarily. Jack. I pulled the curtains aside and peered outside.
There were two men dressed in trench coats and sporting serious expressions on their faces. Another rap at the door. More insistent now. Police.
Trembling, I walked to the door and opened it. Two men peered into me. One tall with a harsh look to his face. It was pock-marked and unsavory. The other was short and obese. With a balding head and a gray handlebar moustache that was wiry and bushy. They held their badges up to me.
“Malcolm? Montreal Police. Can we speak with you?” I nodded dumbly and gestured for them to come in. Without saying a word, they walked right into the living room.
I ran my fingers through my hair as I closed the door and somberly followed them. I sat down in the chaise lounger. The fat one sat on the couch, but the tall one remained standing. He looked at the newspaper on the coffee table. It was open just where I’d left it. He looked at me. There were still tear stains on my face.
“I take it you knew Elizabeth Mackenzie?” I nodded. Wide-eyed and with disbelief. I realized that they watched me. Looking for gestures or tells. Regaining my senses a bit, I cleared my throat and attempted a response.
“Uh, yes, I knew her.” I choked out the words. Knowing that I could lose it at any moment. The short one had taken a notepad from his breast pocket and he watched my face as I responded.
“Where were you yesterday between Two and Five?” Pock-mark man looked at me with furrowed eyebrows and bit his lower lip. I paused. I didn’t quite know how to answer that one. But somehow, somewhere, my mind found the strength and ingenuity to answer his query.
“I was here, with a friend. We started drinking around Two, and then I passed out. Got up a little while ago. And then I saw that.” I pointed at the newspaper and managed a couple of sobs.
“You like to start your parties early. Can you give us the name and number of your friend so we can corroborate your whereabouts? We want to be able to eliminate you as a possible suspect. I’m sure you want that too.” The short fat cop looked at me with dead eyes. Inwardly, I panicked.
How the Hell could I give him a name? I didn’t know where to find Candi and her crowd. And I had no idea where Jack was. Or what his involvement was.
I thought about the yelling match that he had with her. It didn’t look good, no matter how you looked at it. I thought of Bill. My financial advisor. He was at his cabin in Vaudreuil, so I could get to him first. He’d say anything I wanted him to. I gave them his office number.
“What was the nature of your relationship with Ms. Mackenzie?” I placed my hands on my face. Several seconds passed while they watched me. I finally managed to regain my composure and continued to speak through stuttered sobs.
“We…we were going out together. That ended.”
“You were close? Even after you broke up?” I nodded and stared at the newspaper. I didn’t even hear the question. Out of the corner of one eye I noticed the fat cop. H
e made notes.
“How close?” The tall cop pretended to take interest in my Christmas tree while he actually looked at my phone. I did too. The light no longer blinked. I sighed and wiped bitterly-hot tears from my eyes.
“We just broke up. On Christmas Eve. I proposed to her and she said no. God! I can’t believe she’s dead.”
“That’s interesting.” The fat cop spoke as if I too knew what was interesting.
“How?”
“Hmm?”
“How’s that interesting?” He flipped through pages in his book.
“According to her best friend, she came to Montreal to see you.” I nodded while my chin rested on my chest.
“I know that.”
“So she called to tell you that she was coming?” I shook my head.
“Then how did you know?” The tall cop held one of my bottles of a Special Reserve Lowland Single Malt. He rolled it in his fingertips. As if he knew that it was a paycheck to him.
“Seeing her sitting on my steps kinda gave it away.” Both cops stopped and looked at me.
“She was here?” The tall cop gingerly replaced the bottle of Scotch and walked toward me. I nodded.
“I saw her outside. She never came in.” The fat cop kept making notes. But the tall one laughed.
“You mean to tell us that she came all the way from Detroit to see you – and you never even asked her in for a drink of your forty-year old Special Reserve?” He looked at me with suspicion. All facades had disappeared. “Do you really expect us to believe that?”
“We got into an argument. No. That’s not right. We didn’t argue. Uhm, look, she got upset and left. She never came in.” The tall cop shook his head and chuckled to himself.
“What time?”
“It was just before Two.”
“Just before you started partying. Hmm. Can you think of anyone who might have had a reason to wish her harm?” The fat one with the handlebar moustache stopped writing and looked at me as if he expected me to have the guy’s name and number in my back pocket. I shook my head and sighed, wringing my hands and wishing that they would leave so I could drink.
I’ll make you forget her. Once and for all.
“No. No-one. We had a couple of mutual friends, but none of them were here in Montreal. God! This is happening so quickly…” A moment of quiet lucidity. I looked up at him.
“She was found last night.” Tall cop shrugged.
“So?”
“So how do you know it was her?” Renewed denial. He gestured at the paper on the table.
“If you read the story, then you know we found her ID.” I shook my head with a faint glimmer of hope. They didn’t have a head.
“Yeah, yeah, but the body…” He snorted. Irritated that I was suddenly questioning him.
“Hah! You really think we’re that dumb? Don’t you ever watch Law and Order? You know, birthmarks and distinguishing features? Her brother flew in from Buffalo last night. He identified the remains.” Ohmigod.
That’s all she is now. Remains.
He walked toward me. Seemed content that he had shut me up.
“Malcolm, I’m not smart enough to be able to afford the kind of Scotch you drink. So forgive me if I need clarification. Let me get this straight. She came all the way here to tell you she wanted to marry you…”
“What?” Both cops stopped what they were doing. Surprise.
“She came here because she wanted to say ‘yes’ to your proposal. She told her best friend that she wanted to try and work things out.” He looked at me with distaste. Disheveled and shattered and reeking of sex. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s your taste in Scotch. Or maybe you’re quite the stud. But you must have left a lasting impression.
“Is there anything you want to tell us?”
God! Elizabeth. Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you stay?
God, Malcolm. I’m so sorry. I can’t.
Sobs threatened to well in my chest but were quelled by utter disbelief. I whispered.
“I didn’t know.” Whispered, my response wasn’t meant for them. This isn’t happening.
“Yeah. Well, forgive me if I’m not convinced. You see, you’re the very last person she saw before she was killed. That makes you my newest friend, Malcolm. Or my newest enemy.” His voice was steady and level, but the menace wasn’t hidden.
“You can’t believe that I...Ohmigod! I loved her!” The fat cop wrote furiously while tall one’s pock-marked face peered at me with cold eyes.
“Loved her! What was to love? You didn’t know that she came here to tell you ‘yes.’ She told you she didn’t want to marry you! Was the head that good?” I glowered at him. There was crossing the line and then there was pole-vaulting over it. Besides, the mention of head had a new meaning.
“Look.” I spoke in a low, even voice that was barely tempered by grief, confusion, fear and anger. “Unless there’s something else, I would like to be left alone. Please leave.” The tall cop seemed to consider my words as if he was about to say, ‘no, we’re staying.’ But he nodded.
“Alright. I think we have enough for now. I’m certain we’ll be talking again.” He reached in his breast pocket and pulled out a card. Flipped it on the table. He nodded to the fat one, and the two summarily left.
Goddammit, Jack!
Where the Hell are you?
Chapter 54
After they left, I called Bill.
Special clients had his number at the cabin. We met for dinner several times a year and our relationship was more than business. I knew I could trust him.
I explained what happened, and why I couldn’t tell them about the hookers. I didn’t even mention Jack. But the mere idea that this might make the news was enough for him to agree to help. He hadn’t been out of the cabin for several days, but only his wife and partner knew that. It was a short drive from Montreal. Not enough to raise warning flags. He said he’d tell them that he came into Montreal in the afternoon and spent the evening with me.
“I’ll call Marie and Stan, just to make sure the stories jibe. I won’t tell them any more than they need to know.” I was relieved. I didn’t have anything to be guilty about, but it was easier this way.
“Does Jack know?” As a favor to me, Jack had sent some business Bill’s way. Even though they weren’t as close as we were, we partied together. I thought about Jack. I hadn’t seen him since the night before. I worried. For many reasons.
“No. I haven’t talked to him yet. I needed to talk to you first.”
“Malcolm, are you sure you’re not involved in this? I don’t mind helping out a friend, but I’m not in the habit of breaking the law.” I nodded. I was expecting that, and I didn’t blame him for being cautious. He had his reputation – and his license – to protect.
“Bill, believe me, while she was being murdered,” Monotone words. Sadness filled the air around them and I cringed. Murdered. “I was getting my dick sucked by three hookers.” I began to sob. There was a long pause. Maybe Bill was having second thoughts.
“Alright. Alright. I’m sorry, Malcolm. I had to ask. I suppose if push comes to shove, the hookers can be your Plan B. It’s tricky business, though. Lying to the Police.” I knew that. I’d lied to them before.
“I’ll get back to you in a day or two. To make sure you’re okay. Keep your chin up.”
“Thanks.” I hung up and stared at the newspaper that was still splayed on my coffee table. I cried and held myself. Rocked back and forth. I wished that I could turn the clock back. If I had done things differently, she’d still be alive.
God, Malcolm. I’m so sorry. I can’t.
What would it have been like? If Jack wasn’t there. She was going to say yes. What if I had answered the phone?
God, how I missed her. It was twenty-four hours since she sat on my stoop. And while she wasn’t in the best of spirits, at least she was alive. Her tears were real. So was her pain.
The phone screamed at me. I nearly jumped out of my chair. I ha
d been lost, but my mind was shocked back to grim reality. It was Jack. Thank God! I picked up the phone.
“Where the FUCK have you been?” It was his cell phone number so he could have been anywhere.
“Hey tiger, what’s the matter? You don’t know how to say thank you anymore?” He laughed. So I took the phone and pounded it with rage on the coffee table. Several times. I was in no mood for games.
“Jack, where the Hell are you?”
“OW! Jesus. Warn me before you do that again. I’m back in Nova Scotia. I left early this morning. You were still sleeping like a baby. I wonder why?” He laughed. “I figured after last night you needed the sleep, so I quietly let myself out. Christ. What the Hell’s the matter with you?” I sighed and my fingertips caressed my eyelids. I didn’t know whether to believe him or not. He was so convincing.
“I’ll tell you what the FUCKING matter is! Elizabeth is dead! You hear me? DEAD.” Few words have such finality.
“What? When? What the Hell…Mal, listen to me. Listen very carefully.
“Mal, are you there?” I nodded and sobbed a sound to confirm my presence.
“You have to tell me exactly what happened. Dead?” I nodded. As if he could see me. I told him the whole story, up to and including talking to the Police and then Bill.
“God, the Police found you? Already? Jesus, that was quick.
“Mal, what did you tell them.” It wasn’t a question. It was a statement. A mother talking to her child. ‘Don’t lie to me.’
“Don’t worry. I didn’t tell the cops – or Bill – about your involvement. I wanted to talk to you first. So I could be sure that you didn’t have anything to do with this.” He breathed a sigh of relief when I told him about the Police and Bill. But when I suggested that he might be connected, he gasped.
“What? What the Hell are you saying? You honestly think that I had something to do with this?” I closed my eyes in the hope that this was all a bad dream. I opened them. The newspaper was still spread out in front of me. And I was still talking to Jack.
The House that Jack Built Page 35
