“Understood.”
Susan waited inconspicuously around the corner of the bank’s basement corridor at the appointed time. She heard the drop and waited until the messenger entered the elevator and the doors closed behind him. Picking up the report, she went straight home. She sat on her reading chair and held the envelope for a long moment before she opened it. Hopefully her suspicions would be proven wrong. The report looked very thorough, very official in appearance, the sort of thing one would expect a crime lab would provide for a homicide detective.
Her lips quivered as she read the analysis aloud. “Both of the hair samples were reviewed by microscopic spectrometry, which indicated they were from the same species: Human, Caucasian.
“The DNA comparison of the two samples revealed a match correlation of 99.9999 percent.
“Based upon microscopic spectrometry and DNA analysis, the two samples are from an identical source with probable certainty of 99.9999 percent.”
Susan now knew what she’d dreaded acknowledging. The hair from the fox picture in Bob’s office and Marty’s hair sample she’d supplied from the cutting in her locket were identical. Marty had to have been in David’s barn sometime between the time Bob last saw her and when he found the scalp cut with the hair attached. Susan’s focus narrowed. How could Marty’s scalp and hair have gotten into David’s barn?
Susan was no fool. She was David’s babysitter for years, when he was just a precocious child. She knew he was capable of wrongdoings to animals, especially insects, but was it a logical extension to believe he could have harmed Marty? Had he figured out that she was his half-sister? Would that have mattered to David if he had figured it out? Would he be that vindictive toward her and Marvin that he would destroy Marty, take her life somehow?
Susan suspected that David very well could commit murder. He was a devious little monster, always conniving, always slipping away and hiding from the truth, always doing bad things for no other discernable reason than because he could get away with doing them. He always tried to get people to pity him, and he then used their pity as a ruse to gain their confidence and take advantage of them. That was his predictable pattern. She remembered thinking when he was a child that he would be a strong competitor for Hitler if David had an army behind him, but fortunately he could only wreak his havoc in the corporate dictatorship Marvin set up for him. Susan now had a firm foundation upon which to base her suspicions. She knew she was likely dealing with a murderer, and David was both secretive and ruthless. She proceeded with caution.
Susan thought hard to recall those times she’d been at David’s. She tried to remember everything she could about each visit. Details suddenly mattered. What was there to focus on? Where the cars were parked? How many people were at the parties? What did Marty do at the parties? Whom did she talk to? What food was served? It was all a blur. Susan needed to focus, but focus on what, exactly? She made herself a Gibson, sipped it slowly and tried to relax. She believed she was on the right track, but she needed to be sure. Heading to bed, she lay there, looking at the ceiling. Nothing came to her. It was like that for her, night after night, for the next vexatious week. How did just the red hair patch end up in David’s barn?
The mind is a most peculiar companion. When it’s given a problem to solve that has it stymied, it places the problem into storage, sealing it up into a mouse jar of sorts until it’s prompted to recall the problem and resume its deliberations. It must have been a good ten days since Susan first pondered the question of how Marty’s hair and scalp had found its way into the corner of David’s barn. She couldn’t rule foul play either out or in without a theory.
Thus was the straightjacketed state of Susan’s mind when John, now her weekly dinner date, suggested they dine at the Ritz Chateau that Saturday evening, after a theater show. His wife had passed since the days when he controlled the union pension plan, so his dinner dates with Susan were the high point of his week. He showed his appreciation by always taking her to the finest dining rooms in the city. They’d finished cocktails, discussing the play, and ordering wine. Susan ordered flounder for her entrée. John often merely doubled her order, but that evening he chose lamb chops. As he closed the menu book, he remarked that the way they did lamb chops at the Chateau made for the best meal in Plaintown. When the entrées arrived, Susan had order envy; John’s chops looked absolutely succulent. “Maybe I should have ordered the lamb chops as well! They look delicious.”
The mouse jar opened and the mouse struggled to get out as Susan first stared at John’s chops, then at his tie, then at the chops, then at her dinner partner’s eyes. “John, give me a moment, won’t you, dear? I need to think. Something just came to me.”
John, affable as always, replied, “Sure, babe. Take your time,” as he looked away at the tables around him and sipped his cabernet. All the while, Susan’s mind was racing over observations she had made in years past. At David’s parties, he sometimes served lamb chops or leg of mutton to his guests. She recalled one particular occasion about three years past when she had dropped off some filings that needed David’s signature. He was going on one of his ‘hunts,’ but the government filing deadline was that afternoon.
After she got his signatures, she paused for a moment on the driveway next to the barnyard to count the sheep. She had no reason to do that other than idle curiosity before she drove downtown. There was the omnipresent Dolly, the black one. There were also seven white sheep—all females, she thought, except one white ram. It was in the fall, she was sure of it. Her filing deadline was September 30th, and David was going hunting for an ibex in Texas at one of those disgusting game farms.
The next spring, it would have been at David’s party for the office staff on Memorial Day, at the end of May. There were lamb chops and leg of mutton served. She recalled—dimly now because she didn’t want to think about where the meat came from at that time—that there were fewer sheep in the barnyard on that Memorial Day than there were the prior fall. Instead of the seven whites, there were only four female whites and the ram—and of course Dolly, the black sheep.
David received many compliments about the meat, but no one, including Susan, asked where it came from. She was the only staffer who made occasional trips to the house, at least that’s what she believed back then, thus no other employee would have noticed that three sheep were missing, or so she now believed. Susan had assumed at the time of the Memorial Day party that David had sent them off to be sold or sent to a butcher. Now a nagging doubt overshadowed her prior assumption.
“You’re very deep in thought and off to a faraway place, sweetheart.” John gently brought Susan back to the dinner they were sharing.
“Sorry, dear. Just one of those moments where I thought I forgot to do something important at the office.”
Her thoughts were indeed off in faraway places and times. She could tell white lies to John. He knew she did it often and he really didn’t care. He had become like an old faithful dog, always there for her, always eager to please her. That night while she bedded him in her comfortable maiden position, she looked up at the ceiling and back into her past.
Her thoughts raced through time, through all the actors she knew on a time-traveled stage. There passed Marvin, her beloved; Joseph, her betrothed; Marty, her great failure and heartache; and David with his boy-toy harem playmates she’d tolerated these last few years while sitting in her office, smoking an occasional slim panatela cigar while staring at the portrait of Marvin and the butterfly pin Marty gave her, wondering how life could pass by so quickly.
CHAIN FALL
Susan came to the office that Monday with a sense of purpose she hadn’t felt in years. The firm was drifting listlessly. David was embroiled in litigation, often away in conferences with his lawyers. Barbara had run off to join forces with Bob. The loss of the two of them took the wind from everyone’s sails. They were the energy of the place. Everyone liked them, but David now told everyone to hate them; they were the enemy. They were trai
tors to David and to all other employees, he proclaimed. Susan chuckled silently to herself when she found out that Bob had won the U.S. Supreme Court decision.
David knew he’d lost that day long before the decision was handed down. He was in his office that afternoon, screaming at Susan’s staff girls for failing to keep his desk cleaned off and his papers properly filed. He always had some difficulty with the men’s room door because it had become warped from age. For decades David, and all other men who used the facility, simply gave the door a slight increase in force to open it, but not that day.
David kicked the door and continued kicking it. After repeated kicking, David finally succeeded in destroying the beautiful fruitwood-paneled door. He went to Mrs. Rodriguez and ordered her to call building maintenance and have the door properly repaired so it no longer stuck. He chastised her for not calling them years before.
“Make sure you tell them to shave that door down so it no longer warps in its frame. And tell them to search for identical replacement paneling,” he barked.
David was just like the little boy she used to babysit, Susan noted. He was still trying to tear wings from helpless flies, still tearing legs from ants, always eager to inflict his miseries upon the helpless beings of this world. Some things and some people never changed.
But this David was more dangerous to people than the one she knew as a little boy. Marvin must have seen that evil quality in his son; otherwise, why would he have created an unofficial unaffiliated advisory board to watch over the firm, and David, after his death? Why had he structured the firm’s service contracts to leave Susan to watch out for David, putting her in the position to try at all times to make sure he did the right things with the business after Marvin died? Why else had he made her a lifetime fixture at the firm after his death if it wasn’t to make sure David stayed on track with the law and the regulators?
Susan understood his wishes now. She would always be true and obedient to him, even after his death. She owed the love of her life that much, and she forgave him for making her carry such an unsavory burden.
Muscle Boy was the likely suspect for Susan’s inquiry, but she needed to be discreet about confirming her suspicions. He was seated at his drawing board, now in his third year of trying to create a new logo design, when she walked into his office unannounced. When she saw his latest logo rendition, which looked like a flying saucer being struck by lightning from above and below, she could barely keep a straight face.
“Good morning, Muscles,” she began cheerfully, trying to dispel the natural antagonism he felt toward all women. “I’m in a bit of a jam and I don’t know where else I could turn to for help. I’m going to be hosting a party for my women’s executive club ladies and I wanted to serve a sumptuous dinner of lamb chops and leg of lamb. I remember that party at David’s a few years back when lamb was served. I didn’t want to trouble him with this, but maybe you could be kind enough to tell me which butcher shop he used to buy the meat from?”
She had the most imploring look of sincerity Muscle Boy had ever seen on a woman’s face. Ordinarily he would have told Susan to stop bothering him because he was concentrating on getting his logo’s lightning bolts properly angled, but seeing her sincerity, he allowed the female organization to pierce his force shield just this one time.
“Why, Ms. Maloney, David didn’t use a butcher for that. I did it,” he said proudly.
“You did it? What did you do, Muscles? Did you go fetch the meat?” Susan’s query was most sincere.
“No.” Muscle Boy was getting ruffled. “I butchered the sheep for the dinner.” His reply intoned a measure of self-importance.
“Really!” Susan put her hand over her heart in amazement. “I had no idea you were such a tremendous talent, Muscles. I should have made good friends with you long ago! Tell me, where did you do the butchering?” Her eyes widened. She was on the trail of her missing daughter; she could sense it.
“Why, in the barn at David’s farm.” He was suddenly friendlier. Rarely did anyone ever pay him a compliment, even David.
“How could you do that? I hear they’re pretty strong animals. How do you hold them down while you cut them up? How do they stand still for that?” Susan was wily and projected honest curiosity about his talents.
“Oh no, Ms. Maloney, I string them up and kill them kosher style. David showed me how the rabbis kill kosher. I don’t do any blessing on them though. I just cut their throats and let them bleed out before I cut the guts out of them.”
“Well, you must be very strong to do that. Hold them up with one hand while you slit their throats. You do amaze me, Muscles.” Susan looked as if she were in awe of the cretin, but she was just playacting.
“No, ma’am. You don’t understand. I grab their back legs and tie them up first. Then I lift them on the chain fall.” Muscle Boy was eager to tell all.
“Really?” Susan was fascinated. “What’s a chain fall?”
“It’s a long chain on a block of double pulleys, ma’am. David keeps it in the barn, in his toolshed in the back corner. I hook it up to the big hook on the top rafter of the barn and hook the bottom hook to the rope that ties the sheep’s back legs together. When I pull on the chain, it’s easy to lift a sheep up in the air.”
“Oh, I bet you’re just saying that. You’re very strong, aren’t you?”
“No, ma’am, I’m not just saying that. Using that pulley, even a weak man like David, or even a child, could easily hoist up a fully grown Angus bull.”
“You don’t say. Have you ever seen David hoist anything with it?”
“Oh yes, ma’am. He’s hoisted up a big sheep, a hundred-thirty pound one. He hoisted a big one before I got there.”
“Well, I guess I won’t be getting my chops there. I wouldn’t want one of David’s sheep to have to die for me. I think I’ll just go to a butcher shop. Thank you, Muscles.” As she started to leave, Susan turned back to her new information source. “Tell me. What on earth do you do with the parts of the sheep that can’t be eaten after you butcher one of them?” Susan posed her afterthought as a mere natural curiosity.
“Well, first we sheer the sheep while she’s hanging upside down. That way David doesn’t waste any wool. He sells the wool to some lady who comes around every year, exchanging it for his knitted socks and scarves. But the gut piles David feeds to his pigs and the bones and skulls go through his wood chipper several times until they’re just fine bone chips. He uses those to fertilize his vegetable garden and rose beds. He turns the chips into the ground mixed in with his compost from his compost pile.”
“Well, I’ll run along now, Muscles. Thank you for all that. Now I know I’ll go to a butcher for my meat. I couldn’t bear the thought of hurting one of those darling ewes. They are all so, so cute.” Susan acted the part of a squeamish little girl and turned away.
Muscle Boy returned to his logo quest, thinking that Susan was kind of okay for a woman, but overly girly.
Susan left his workshop and walked slowly back to her own office, trying hard not to throw up. The thought of her beloved Marty being butchered by David in his barn flooded her constitution with revulsion, remorse, and despondency. What had poor Marty felt while hanging there upside down? What thoughts, what terrible turmoil her poor innocent child must have suffered. What had her daughter ever done to deserve such a horrible ending? Sure, she’d busted up some marriages, but she’d never physically harmed anybody, had never raised a hand against anybody. Marriages that were too fragile to withstand a little whoring weren’t worth being marriages in the first place, she silently opined.
And David! What about David? Why would he do such a thing? Had he discovered Marty was his half-sister? Was he doing her in as a favor to some broker’s estranged wife? What on Earth could be David’s reason?
When it rains, it pours! The answers began coming pitter-patter. David wanted Bob as a lover. Bob was David’s property, at least in his mind. The stupid, arrogant little bastard! Bob was totally straig
ht, never had a homosexual bone in his body and could never made into a gay person. Bob loved women. He loved her Marty. Marty got in David’s way. She had to be murdered so David could have a chance with Bob. That suddenly explained the fishing trips, the antelope hunt, and it explained the destroyed Jeep. Bob had rejected David. He wouldn’t be one of David’s pathetic fuck-buddies.
Gay men were no different than straight men when it came to dealing with rejection. Some handled it well, some not well at all. Rejected in love, David took out his frustration first on the Jeep and then on Marty. David acted out behaviors like a child who couldn’t have his way in a sandbox, taking his toys away. He took away what he had given Bob—the Jeep, the portfolio performance to help sales build the firm, the firm itself, and even Marty’s life. The devious little prick probably destroyed that codicil the same day he showed it to Bob.
David’s behavior was his revenge play to destroy Bob’s life. If he couldn’t have Bob, then Bob couldn’t have a life without him. That had to be the operative theory. Everything suddenly fit! Susan noticed that David had stopped spending time with Bob, only playing with his ‘gay boys for hire’ now. Their commonality was they were all women-hating creeps David picked up off the street or at a gay club or bathhouses. He was a vengeful, lonely man who’d scraped the barrel bottom of gay male partnership choices. He hadn’t changed one bit since childhood.
Yes! Now Susan understood why Barbara left after the lawsuit commenced. It was business for her, but even more. Barbara saw that, with Marty gone and Bob on his own, she finally had her chance to become his woman on her own terms. Susan knew her people well. She got distinct vibrations from Barbara whenever Bob was around, but Barbara was so discreet, so smooth at hiding her feelings, that she could never be certain.
If Marty had lived, Barbara would still be there, making Susan’s life and chore load much easier than it was presently. Susan had long ago thought of Barbara as a second daughter. She was brilliant, diligent, ethical, honest, and dependable. Susan missed her terribly and began thinking she needed to let Barbara know she fully supported her decision to join forces with Bob.
When The Butterflies Come Page 41
