by Ed Gorman
He heard the bitterness in his voice but felt no shame or regret. It was high time she heard what he really thought of her.
'All those years you choked the life out of me'
She slammed her brandy glass on the desk. 'Is that why you came back, after all these years? To tell me how terrible a person I am?'
'It's one of the reasons. I also want to see my sister.'
Her anger was gone suddenly. She slumped in her chair. In the past few minutes, she'd aged another few years. 'You haven't even given me a hug.'
'I don't want to hug you. I don't want to touch you in any way.'
'I'm your mother.'
'Yes, you are. Yes, I could never forget that.'
'I can't believe you hate me this much.'
'I want to see Doris. Where is she?'
She got up from the desk unsteadily and started to walk around the desk. 'Peter, I want to hold you. You're my own flesh and blood.'
'Not anymore I'm not, Mother. I'm somebody else now. Even you didn't recognize me.'
She leaned over to slide her arms around him but he pushed her away so hard she fell back against her desk.
'I want to see my sister. That's why I came here.'
'Your sister,' she said. 'Your sister didn't raise you, I did. Your sister didn't take care of you when you were sick, or worry about you when you were playing outdoors, or hire bodyguards to watch you night and day.'
He stood up, clutching his topcoat to him. 'Where is she?'
'She's upstairs, if you really want to know. I forced a sedative on her because she was going to tell that bitch you married what Arthur and I did to her. Your sister! She's not any more grateful to me than you are!'
She started crying, a crazed old woman's tears. He saw now that she was broken and alone and he thought: 'It'll be a mercy, what I'm going to do. A mercy for meand a mercy for her.'
She looked up at him and held her arms out and said, 'Can't I just hold you for a little while? Do you hate me that much, Peter?'
He moved quickly then.
He didn't want to change his mind.
The topcoat fell away from his arm, leaving behind the bloody axe it had been covering.
When she saw it, she screamed, knowing instantly what he was going to do.
A maid appeared in the doorway suddenlyprobably the same bitch who'd hassled him over the gate speakerand so he reached calmly into the pocket of his suitjacket and pulled out his.45 and shot her in the middle of the forehead.
'Oh my God, Peter, you don't know what you're doing. You need to calm yourself down. You need to talk tosomebody. Get some help. You really do.' She was gibbering. 'I can see that now. I should've gotten you help years ago; years ago. I'm sorry I didn't, Peter. I really should have.'
All this time she was backing up, first toward the fireplace then toward the built-in bookcases.
But she couldn't find any place to hide from Peter and his axe.
There wasn't any place to hide.
'All those years you kept me a prisoner here, Mother,' he said over and over again, until the mere sound of his own voice sickened him. 'All those years.'
'Peter, you can go away againback to Europe. I won't tell anybody. I won't. I promise.' She looked frantically to the door where the maid sprawled on the floor. 'We can bury her down by the river. Nobody'll ever find her. Not ever. You'll be free, Peter. You really will.'
The first time he swung the axe, she was quick enough to duck and so all he was able to catch was a brass candlestick lamp. The entire thing flew apart in large chunks. Evelyn screamed again and ran to the other side of the room. She kept looking for a way to get around him, to make it to the door.
But he was not going to let that happen.
The second time, his blade caught a mirror of beautiful glass and even more beautiful fretwork. The glass shattered in large dagger-like shards and fell to the floor.
This time she covered her ears and closed her eyes, as if she were trying to will him out of existence.
And that made it easy for him.
'Mother.'
He knew she heard him but wouldn't open her eyes.
'Mother.'
Eyes closed; ears covered.
'Mother.' Then: 'Goodbye, Mother.'
He got her neck clean. At the last moment, curious to see what he was doing, she opened her eyes and dropped her hands from her ears and and that was when the axe came angling through the air right at her neck.
It was a clean cut. Her head wobbled leftward then rightward then rolled down her back to the floor.
Blood was geysering from the enormous wound just as the body was falling to the floor.
He walked around the body that was violently spasming to some rhythm only the dead could possibly appreciate… all the way around to where her head had rolled over in front of the fireplace.
The head was on its side. Clean as the cut had been, there was an awful lot of gore dripping now from the neck.
She was a mess.
He was happy.
He went to find his sister.
***
Fitzsimmons from the DA's office arrived shortly after the boys and girls from the crime lab.
He came over to Mitch. 'I suppose you expect me to tell you what a good job you did. Getting a confession and all.'
'First of all, I didn't ''get" the confession. He told me willingly. Second of all, I wouldn't want a compliment from you. It would spoil your track record.'
'I suppose I was kind of a jerk this afternoon.'
'This afternoon? Fitzsimmons, you've been a jerk all your life. And someday somebody's going to wipe that smirk off your face.'
'I take it you'd like that privilege?'
But Mitch was sick of him. Fitzsimmons already had the aura of celebrity about him. Somehow he'd manage to take credit for solving the caseat the very least he'd take credit for pushing the police department so hardand then he'd find a reason to hold seven or eight press conferences over the next week or so. Everybody knew by now that Fitzsimmons wanted to be Governor in the next two or three terms.
Mitch went in to see Sievers.
Just as he arrived, Randy Dupree went into the bathroom. Closed the door. You could hear him barfing.
Sievers shrugged. 'Second degree, maybe even manslaughter. He pushed her, she fell. There won't be much to contradict that from the lab boys.'
'Yeah, but Fitzsimmons'll be able to ride it all the way to the state capitol. Wonder how he'll like prosecuting somebody from his own class.'
Sievers laughed. 'I could promote one hell of a boxing match between you two.'
Mitch nodded. 'Yeah, I guess I do sound pretty childish.'
'Fitzsimmons is a spoiled, arrogant prick. But there are a lot worse people in this world, Mitch. There really are.'
Randy Dupree came back. He looked pale and shaken. He sat down and stared at the floor. Mitch felt sorry for him but he also felt sorry for the victim. She was already forgotten and depersonalized'victim'no name, just 'victim.' She'd had a long life ahead of her.
'I guess I'll go see that girl I was telling you about,' Mitch said quietly to Sievers.
'That Cini?'
'Yeah.'
'Well, you can spend a little more time on that case now.'
'Yeah.'
'But not full-time, Mitch. We're up to our elbows in work so I'm going to need you.'
'I understand.'
He nodded to Sievers, glanced at Dupree again, and left.
***
The call came just when Jill was putting her eighth cookie to her mouth.
She was thankful for the phone call. It gave her an excuse to put the cookie down.
'Hello.'
'Jill.'
Didn't recognize the voice.
'Jill, this is Doris.'
'Doris? Are you all right? You sound kind of'
'I just woke up. I was taking a nap.' Pause. 'I'm sorry but I won't be able to keep our lunch date tomorrow.'
Jill had
been looking forward to seeing Doris again. She'd also suspected that Doris had been going to tell her something about Eric Brooks' murder.
'Did something happen, Doris?'
'No. But I was wondering if you could come out here tonight.'
'Out there? But'
'Don't worry about Mother. She's gone out to one of her board meetings and she won't be back till late. They've just bought a new company in Argentina.'
'I'd feel uncomfortable, Doris. Going out there, I mean.'
'It'd just be us, Jill. Just the two of us.'
'Well'
There was a pause. 'I need to talk to you about Eric Brooks, Jill.'
'Can't we talk now?'
'Not over the phone. Iwell, you know how paranoid Mother is. I guess I got that from her. I never discuss anything personal over the phone.'
Unthinkable, really. Driving out there. Entering into the shadows and gloom of Evelyn's prison.
But Doris really did seem to know something about Eric Brooks' death.
She spoke without thinking: 'It'll probably take me a little while to get there.'
'There's no hurry.'
'You're sure everything's all right?'
'Everything's fine, Jill. I just woke up, that's all. Sort of muzzy, I guess.'
'I guess I'll come out, then.'
'I'm looking forward to it. See you in awhile.'
Jill hung up slowly. The receiver hadn't been cradled for more than ten seconds, when its ring shattered the silence.
'Hello?'
'Need some company?' her friend Kate said.
'God, I'd love to see you. But I've got to go somewhere.'
'Ohwhere?'
'You're not going to believe this,' Jill said. 'Out to Evelyn's mansion.'
***
He had fed Doris coffee and nicotine pills and then dragged her into the shower and run cold water on her for ten minutes. He tried not to notice her naked body. He had always dreamed of sleeping with his sister someday but had never been able to bring himself to it.
He thought of Rick Corday, the other man Adam had accused him of being.
He wished he were Rick Corday now.
He put Doris on the phone and made her call Jill, whispering orders to her as she obviously looked for some way to warn Jill away from coming out here.
Every few moments, Doris would look up at the face of this total stranger and shake her head. How could this be her brother? Hadn't her brother died in the electric chair?
He took her downstairs to the den.
She screamed when she saw her mother's head on its side over by the fireplace.
He slapped her and made her help carry away the bodies of both her mother and the maid.
Then they sat down and waited for Jill to come.
It would be so sweet after all these years, he thought. So sweet to pay that bitch back for what she'd done to him. First Evelyn and now Jill. At last.
CHAPTER 63
Winter wonderland. That's how Mitch saw all the snow now. Yesterday, before he'd found Cini, Mitch looked at the eight inches of white stuff as a curse, something Midwesterners had to endure because of impure thoughts or because of constantly (and secretly) abusing themselves.
But now, with the socialite case solved, and with Cinihe felt certainagreeing to cooperate and clear Jill… well, it was a winter wonderland.
Whistling, he walked down the street to Cini's apartment house. Pretty co-eds all apple-cheeked and bundled-up passed him in twos and threes, their perfume lovely and wan and sexy on the night air. They probably figured he was on his way to pick up his date, he was so happy and all.
He winked at a snowman and bowed to a snow angel.
He picked up a tiny tricycle from the middle of a walk and carried it up on the porch; and he took a big chunk of icy snow and set it back in place on the snow fort from which it had fallen.
And finally
He got a running start and slid down the snow-packed sidewalk the way he had when he was a kid.
Damn near falling on his ass.
And breaking a couple of bones.
But he kept right on whistling, right on passing pretty girls, right on dreaming of holding his own pretty girl later on tonight.
There was a Domino's Pizza truck parked in a NO PARKING zone several yards from Cini's.
Mitch went up the front steps just as the Domino's kid was coming down. The kid nodded. He was hurrying. This time of night was probably his optimum time of the evening.
The hallway was positively festive, several different kinds of music fighting each other for dominance, several different kinds of meals mixing into a not-unpleasant odor of heat and sweetness.
He went up to Cini's door and knocked.
Hard to tell if anybody was inside because of all the noise in the hallway.
He knocked again, louder.
The door opened behind him.
A kid with acne and a sarcastic grin was shrugging into a Navy P-coat as he pulled his apartment door closed behind him.
'You know Cini?'
'Sure,' the kid said.
'You see her this afternoon or this evening?'
'You her dad or something?'
'Or something,' Mitch said, showing him the badge.
'Wow,' the kid said. 'What's going on?'
'I'm just looking for Cini.'
'She in trouble?'
'Not at all.'
'I always thought of her as pretty uncool, actually, way too uncool to get into any kind of trouble.'
'Uncool in what way?'
'Well, you know, she never comes over to my place when I ask her.'
Yeah, Mitch thought, that makes her uncool all right.
The kid pulled a dark stocking cap down over his ears. 'Cops. Cool.'
Mitch did some more useless knocking.
During a lull in the various symphonies, he pressed his ear to the door. Heard nothing.
He touched his hand to the doorknob.
Gave it a turn.
Unlocked.
He thought of how cautious she'd been when he'd appeared here earlier. Very suspicious. Two big imposing chains to keep him on the far side of the door.
Now it was unlocked.
Not like Cini at all.
He turned the knob. Pushed open the door.
The smell was high and sweet and he identified it immediately. Not something you mistake once its put into your personal computer.
Somebody had fouled themselves at the point of dying.
He was afraid he knew who.
From his jacket, he took a pair of gloves.
Had to be very, very careful now.
He found a wall switch and flipped it on.
She was sprawled across the couch, facing him, arms flung wide. Her head was tilted far back. Her throat had been cut. The front of her was a mess. Dried blood everywhere.
He checked out the apartment for anything else of note.
He wasn't whistling now.
Why had he ever been such a dumb sonofabitch as to whistle in the first place?
He went to the phone, even with gloves careful of touching the receiver, and called for the crime lab.
***
The gates had been left open.
The gates were never left open.
Jill's headlights shone on the darkness beyond the parted gates, the darkness that led up the winding drive to the even greater darkness of the great dark mansion.
She wanted to turn back. She wanted to be safe in the cozy warmth of her home.
But she had to talk to Doris, had to find out what Doris knew about Eric's murder.
She put the car in gear and started up the curving drive.
As the mansion came into view, she was struck, as she always had been, by how closed and obstinate it appeared, like an angry face. Only once, on Evelyn's fifty-fifth birthday, had the doors ever been flung wide and guests invited in. Japanese lanterns of green and gold and orange had lit the night like giant electric bugs. A s
mall dance orchestra had played. Peter and Doris had acted like perfectly normal people living in a perfectly normal household. Even Evelyn had been kind that night, her smile, for once, seeming almost sincere.
But now the mansion was itself again; closed, hostile, impregnable as it towered against the racing clouds of the quarter moon.
She pulled up in front of the sweeping front steps and shut off lights and engine.
She took her flashlight from the seat, grasping it tightly. It could also be used as a weapon.
She got out of the car. The sub-zero weather attacked her like a hungry beast.
She crunched through the snow up to the steps, clipped on her flashlight, played it across the front of the vast house.
The massive arched front door stood open.
Once again her impulse was to flee, to run back to the safety of her own place.
She tried to convince herself that the girl Cini would tell the police the truth. But what if Cini refused? Then who would Jill turn to?
She needed to go into the house.
She angled the flashlight beam through the open door and walked up the steps.
When she reached the door, she paused, listening.
No lights anywhere inside. No sound.
Moonbeams highlighted the winding staircase that cut through the center of the house.
She walked inside, her footsteps loud and hollow on the parquet floor. She found a light switch, tried it. The electricity was off.
'Doris? Doris?'
But silence was the only response.
She walked deeper into the house, memories returning as she did so. The great stone fireplace; the short hall leading to the servants' small apartment; the den
She stopped, looked in.
At one point, the den had been her only retreat. Peter and Evelyn both displeased that she'd started working again, Jill had shut herself up here, watching the highly improbable romantic adventures of Sandra Dee and Troy Donahue or Frankie Avalon and Annette Funicello on the late show. A prisoner is what she'd been; a prisoner.
The den had been changed, the style of furnishings more modern now. To double-check herself, she turned the lamp switch to On. No lights came. The power really was out. She lifted the receiver of the telephone to her ear. Somebody had also cut off the phone.
