Darkhouse (23 page)

Joe hesitated. ‘Thanks.’ He tried to hide his disappointment. This put Katie’s death back to the night of her disappearance when the last person to see her alive apart from her killer was poor Petey Grant and before that – Shaun. He threw the pupal case in the bin as he walked back through the campus. His anger he understood, but the emotion that came out of nowhere hitting him like a slap, was an unfamiliar sense of embarrassment.

‘I meant to tell you,’ said Frank, ‘before Shaun was called in yesterday, Joe Lucchesi was here with some new information.’

‘That’s convenient,’ said Richie.

‘Come on now. Our job is to take it all in. Joe was concerned because he thinks someone from a previous case back in New York could be out to
get him and went through Katie to do it. Joe shot someone dead last year – that’s not common knowledge – and the man’s friend has just got out of prison and could possibly have come over here.’

Frank watched how Richie’s eyes would glaze over if the conversation stretched to more than a few sentences. His right eye would turn out slightly, then in again as he came back to reality.

‘Why does Joe think that?’ he said eventually.

‘Well, in fairness to the man, he found some evidence outside Danaher’s the other night that was a direct link to the original shooting.’

‘Wow,’ said Richie after thinking it through. ‘That’s weird. There could be something to this.’

Frank strained to find the sarcasm until he realised there was none. He could not understand Richie. One minute he was one way, the next minute he was another. He clung to each new development as if it was a single unit. Whoever was attached to that development was, by Richie’s rationale, a suspect. Suspects walked in and out of his sights accordingly: Petey, Shaun, Joe, Duke Rawlins…

Frank was about to remark on this, give a weights and measures speech, but he was too tired for a head-on collision with the spiky young guard. Instead, he filled him in on more details and left.

Anna was sitting on the sofa with her glasses on, reading a book. Her legs were stretched out onto
the low coffee table. Joe walked in and sat beside her. He grabbed the remote control, flicking channels on the muted TV.

‘So you’re not going to tell me anything,’ Anna said. ‘Our son has been lying to us, you’ve been keeping things from me…’

‘Not this again.’

‘Yes, this again. We don’t just talk when it suits you, Joe. This is serious. He lied.’

‘Shaun’s sixteen. He was scared. The last thing you’re gonna do is tell any grown-up that you were having sex, let alone your parents and a bunch of cops.’

She stared at him.

‘What?’ he said. ‘You’ve never lied to your parents?’

‘You were never arrested for murder,’ she hissed. ‘Are you crazy?’

He stood up. ‘I’m going for a walk.’

Oran Butler and Keith Twomey sat in an unmarked squad car outside Healy’s Carpet Warehouse. Two other guards were in a car at the entrance to the industrial estate.

‘I can’t believe this is happening again,’ said Keith.

‘We don’t know that,’ said Oran. ‘They could show up yet.’

‘It’s two in the morning. We’ve been here four hours, Butler. Not a chance.’ Oran leaned back
against the headrest and closed his eyes. He dozed for an hour until the surveillance was called off and Keith drove them back to Waterford station.

Anna had forgotten to ask Shaun about the email he had received at school. She knocked lightly on his bedroom door and walked in. His thumbs were hammering on a Game Boy Advance, his bloodshot eyes focused on the bright screen.

‘I just wanted to know what you were talking about the other day,’ she said. ‘Some email I was supposed to have sent you.’

‘Supposed to,’ snorted Shaun, fixed on the game. ‘Who else would be sending me a photo of your stupid shoot?’

‘But I haven’t even seen those photos yet, Shaun. Brendan hasn’t emailed them to me.’

‘What?’ He lost his last life and threw down the game. ‘Damn!’ He stared at her. ‘But I saw it. In my school account.’

‘Why would I do that? Why would I even use your school account? I’d use Hotmail if I was going to email you. Bring it home to me tomorrow.’

‘I get my school mails forwarded to Hotmail. I can show it to you now.’

They went into the den and Shaun downloaded his mail. He clicked on the newest one. The image appeared on screen. Anna frowned. It was definitely the shoot.

‘But look,’ she said, pointing to the screen.

‘There’s Brendan. He’s in it. He couldn’t have taken this.’

Frank hated being in the station after hours. It was too quiet. He was reading and rereading every statement he had copied. Endless scenarios were running through his head. The phone on his desk rang and he was surprised to hear O’Connor at the other end.

‘Frank? Myles. I’ve a bit of news for you on Katie’s phone records.’

‘Fire away.’

‘The last person she called that night—’

‘She called someone?’

‘No. I should say “the last person she tried to call”…’

‘Yes?’

‘Was you, Frank.’

The house was quiet when Joe got back. He went into the den and closed the door quietly behind him. He took a deep breath, then dialled international directory enquiries for a number in a town that wasn’t even a tiny dot on the world map.

‘Officer Henson, Stinger’s Creek.’ The voice was slow, laconic.

‘My name is Detective Joe Lucchesi, NYPD. I’d like to speak to someone about a local guy, a Duke Rawlins, got out of prison some months back, would have been sent away in the mid-nineties.’

‘Duke Rawlins. Doesn’t sound familiar, but I’m kinda new here. Why are you asking?’

Joe chose his words carefully.

‘You think he might be involved in something? Well, you let me go check that for you,’ said Henson. ‘But I won’t be able to get back to you for a day or two.’

‘I just need—’

‘We lost an officer, detective. Funeral’s tomorrow.’

‘Oh. I’m sorry,’ said Joe. ‘What happened?’

‘Uh, self-inflicted gunshot wound. Tragedy. Former Police Chief, too. Ogden Parnum, a good man. Retired only recently.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ said Joe.

‘So were we,’ said Henson. ‘Give me your number. I’ll call you as soon as I can.’

Joe turned on the computer and waited while it started up. He connected to the Internet and typed in three words: Stinger’s Creek Parnum. He got several hits on what seemed to be the same story. He clicked on the first one, a short piece from the
Herald Democrat Online
.

Town in Mourning after Suicide Tragedy

Former Police Chief Ogden Parnum from the small Grayson County town of Stinger’s Creek was found dead yesterday morning of a self-inflicted gunshot wound to the head. Chief Parnum first hit the
headlines in the late eighties/early nineties for his work on the Crosscut Killer Investigation when nine young women were brutally raped and murdered, their bodies left in wooded areas off the I-35. To date, the case remains unsolved…

‘Jesus Christ,’ said Joe.

Sherman, North Central Texas, 1987

‘One of these days, someone’s gonna snap you right in half, Alexis,’ said Diner Dave, picking up her bony wrist and dropping it back on the counter.

‘Skinny is in, or haven’t you heard?’ said Alexis, pushing her bright plastic bangles up to her elbow and letting them slide down again.

Suddenly, Dave reached out and squeezed her by both hands.

‘You look after yourself out there, sweetheart. I mean that,’ he said.

‘Aw, Dave, you say that to me all the time,’ she said, squeezing back. She stopped. ‘You look so sad.’

‘But I see how you come in sometimes,’ he said.

‘I know what I’m doin’, but thanks for carin’,’ she said. ‘Now, get me a basket of greasy chicken and fries.’

When she had finished eating, she slid off the red leather stool, leaving two hot sweat stains from the bare cheeks under her short satin skirt. She swayed out the door.

‘Bye, Diner Dave!’ she called as she swung the heavy door open. ‘Until the next time,’ she said in a deep superhero voiceover. Her words were drowned out by the meat, slapped and sizzling on the grill in front of Dave.

She walked to the corner, then crossed the street to a rundown brownstone. If she had taken one second longer to climb the stairs to her apartment, the phone would have stopped ringing and the caller would have moved on to the fourth business card he had found in the phone booth. But she made it, panting into the receiver as she grabbed it to her mouth.

‘Sounds like we’re off to a good start already,’ said Donnie. Alexis laughed.

‘I’ve been a busy girl,’ she said, switching to business. ‘All by myself.’

‘Wanna tell me about it?’ he said.

‘Why don’t you come over and see for yourself?’ she said.

‘Your card here says you’re blond, 110 lbs. I’m not gonna arrive and find some big momma with a moustache now, am I?’

‘No, sir,’ said Alexis. ‘You’ll find the sweetest little pussy you’ve ever—’

‘Lunchtime OK?’ he said.

‘Why, that’s when I really get goin’,’ said Alexis.

Donnie put the phone down and ran to the truck where Duke was waiting.

When it was all over, Alexis sat on the edge of the bed.

‘You look sad, sweetheart,’ said Donnie. ‘Is it because—’

‘I love what I do,’ she said. ‘I make people happy. Men come to me because they want to be happy. I give them that, they walk away on a cloud.’ She stopped. ‘You look like you don’t get it.’

‘I get it,’ said Donnie.

‘You’re a sweet guy,’ she said.

‘Let me take you for a drive.’

‘Where?’ said Alexis.

‘You go to your prom?’ he asked.

‘What?’ she said. ‘No, I did not. Was long gone at prom time.’

‘Well, why not come on a little prom date with me?’ said Donnie.

She searched his eyes for danger and saw just honesty.

‘In the afternoon? What the hell,’ she said. ‘It’s never too late.’

One hour later, Alexis found herself naked from the waist up, her skirt blowing in the breeze.

‘What’s your real name?’ roared Duke, grabbing
her by the hair and shaking her. She screamed.

‘I said, What’s. Your. Real. Name.’ He pulled her backwards and she twisted her body to take the weight off her hair. He shook her again.

‘Janet,’ she said.

‘Janet WHAT?’ he roared.

‘Janet Bell,’ she said, whimpering.

‘Well, it’s goodbye Janet Bell…’ He stopped. ‘In fact, it’s goodbye Janet Bell, hello no-one! It’s goodbye Janet Bell and it’s goodbye Alexis, the trampy little whore with the dumb name. It’s goodbye all of you!’

He released her hair, then turned her away from him, kicking her, sending her stumbling onto the hard earth. She was too weak to move, her head hanging listlessly.

‘Run, little lady, run,’ said Duke. ‘Go on, Donnie, chase her down!’

Donnie ran, while Duke pulled a three-blade arrow from his pack, raising his bow to shoulder height, then squeezing shut his left eye.

Alexis turned to him, confused, then screamed when she saw what he was doing. She fell back, then pushed herself up from the ground, now desperate to stay alive, desperate to run. Donnie was right behind her. She staggered away from him until the first arrow hit, piercing her left kidney.

‘Ten points,’ shouted Duke, laughing at Donnie.

As she went down, the second arrow flew wide, missing her by an inch.

‘Damn,’ said Duke, running towards her. ‘Damn.’ He stood over her with Donnie, listening to her shallow breath.

‘Make it go away,’ she whispered through chattering teeth. ‘Make it stop.’ She looked towards Donnie. He was standing there, mesmerised.

‘OK,’ said Duke as he turned her on her stomach, slid the knife under her for the first cut and pressed down hard.

When he was finished, he got up and walked to the truck, pulling two shovels from under the tarpaulin, throwing one to Donnie. He went back to where Alexis lay, face down in the dirt. He kicked her bloodied ribs and smiled.

He walked over to a tree nearby and struck the hard earth with his shovel. ‘Damn this! Donnie, get the hell over here.’

They dug until sweat soaked their shirts and a shallow grave opened up before them. Duke grabbed Alexis’ wrists and slid her across the ground into the hole, pebbles hopping up around her. They covered her with earth, then branches and leaves. Donnie sat in the truck. Duke stood solemnly over the grave and clasped his hands.

‘Goodbye, Alexis,’ he said and walked away smiling, humming the theme tune to
Dynasty
. ‘Goodbye, JR. G’night Mary Ellen…isn’t that it?’

Donnie was sitting at the bar in the Amazon, his hands wrapped around his fifth bottle of Busch.

‘Look at your eyes, boy, one playin’ pool, the other keepin’ the score,’ said Jake, the barman.

‘How can I look at my own eyes?’ said Donnie.

‘Such a shame your daddy didn’t whip that smart mouth offa you,’ said Jake, shaking his head.

‘Nothin’ wrong with my eyes, anyways,’ said Donnie, nodding towards the girls twisted high and low around poles on the low platform in front of them.

One of the dancers strode across the floor, her eyes blazing.

‘You wanna raise that goddamn stage, Jake,’ she said, stabbing the air with her spiky finger. ‘I can’t work with those truckers pawin’ me all night. I’m about three inches higher than ’em. How in the hell’s that gonna stop their roamin’ hands?’

‘Wouldn’t mind roamin’ all over those titties of yours,’ said Donnie, sitting up on the stool. His foot slipped off the metal bar and he swayed backwards, grabbing out at her to keep his balance. She batted his hand away.

‘Go fuck yourself, Donnie Riggs, like I said before. She turned to Jake. ‘Two things always to say to Donnie. Fuck and you.’

Jake laughed.

‘They real?’ asked Donnie, pointing at her breasts.

‘When I’m naked,’ she said slowly. ‘And I’m looking in the mirror, touching them, they’re very, very real. Soft, the way they should be. One hundred per cent all-American. But for you, honey, they’ll never be real, they’ll only ever be in your fucking dreams.’ She tapped her nails on the bar to get Jake’s attention.

‘You can’t make a man’s dick hard like that, then leave him hangin’,’ said Donnie, throwing his hands up.

Jake ignored him and spoke to the girl. ‘Stage stays the way it is, sugar. Maybe you should look into gettin’ yourself some higher heels.’

She glared at him and walked away.

‘You’re hot for me,’ Donnie yelled after her.

Without turning her head and with her dancer’s grace, she raised her elbow into the air, followed by her middle finger.

‘Man, she even makes that look sexy,’ whined Donnie.

Jake started to sing, ‘I learnt the truth at seventeen…’

Donnie threw a beer mat at him. ‘I’m nearly eighteen,’ he said.

‘And whatcha gonna do then, boy?’ laughed Jake, ‘vote her up the ass?’

The door to the bar opened and Duke walked in, taking a seat beside Donnie.

‘Two Buschs, Jake,’ he said.

‘Hey, Duke,’ said Donnie. ‘Jake here’s been givin’ me a hard time.’

‘No surprises there.’

‘I need to talk to you,’ said Duke.

‘’Bout what?’ said Donnie.

‘Stuff,’ said Duke. ‘Drink that back and let’s go.’ He glanced over at the dancers and saw someone wave. He squinted into the spotlight and realised it was one of his mother’s old friends. He slammed down his bottle and left.

Duke drove along the road to Donnie’s house.

‘’Member what I was saying before?’ said Duke. ‘Donnie? Donnie?’ he said, shaking him. ‘You awake?’

‘Let me sleep,’ slurred Donnie. Duke punched him in the face.

Donnie sprang up.

‘Jesus Christ, what the hell was that for?’ he asked, his anger calmed only by the menace in Duke’s eyes.

‘I was talkin’ to you,’ growled Duke.

‘Alright, alright. What?’ said Donnie.

‘I think that was too easy. Our plan. Today. You know? She was like a willin’ accomplice, a girl like that.’

‘She didn’t look too willin’ to me,’ said Donnie.

‘You don’t think she was willin’ back at her apartment when she knew there was fifty dollars waitin’ for her at the other end?’ spat Duke. ‘You
don’t think a girl like that is
willing
? Let me tell you, she’d do worse things than what we done to her to get some money in her pocket, Donnie boy. Nothing comes between a whore and her money. And her drugs. Nothing. You flushed her out, didn’t you? And was that hard? Or did she just walk out that door with a total stranger who had just left fifty dollars on her nightstand?’

‘Yeah, well—,’ said Donnie.

‘Quit your whinin’.’