The Killing Hour (9 page)

I realise I’m holding my breath. I begin to let it out as I slowly turn a complete circle in my room, spotting new damage as I do so. The video beneath my TV has a book jammed into the slot. The display on it has been broken and the play button pried off. A lamp is on the floor, the framework twisted and bent, the bulb shattered, the prongs on the plug wrenched sideways.

Jo waits in the hallway asking me over and over what I’ve done. All this destruction around me. This is my room. My personal space. If I snapped right now, if I lost my mind and went completely berserk, there’s nothing left in here for me to break.

But I don’t snap. As much as I love my books, my cars, my toys, they’re nothing to what has already happened this week. In the scheme of things all this is nothing. These are just items, materials, things that can be replaced. It will cost me money but that’s all. I can move on. I cannot say the same for Kathy. I cannot say the same for Luciana.

I lean down and turn off the stereo. The CD stops clicking and the hissing disappears and the room becomes eerily silent. Even Jo stops talking. I walk through the destruction back into the hallway. It’s as if a localised earthquake hit my room.

I close the door on everything.

If only I had taken a different route home the other night.

I tell myself not to think this way. I try not to tell myself that Luciana may have found somebody who wasn’t going to help and then kill them. I try not to tell myself any of this, but it’s true. What would have happened if I hadn’t come along? Would another game-show contestant have succeeded where I failed?

‘If you didn’t do this, Charlie, then it’s time to go to the police. There has to be plenty of evidence here.’

‘The only evidence here is that the place has been trashed. It doesn’t show by who.’

I open up the door to my bedroom. The curtains here are open. Everything appears normal. I start to close the door.

‘What’s in the box?’ Jo asks.

I push the door back open and I see it now, sitting in the centre of my bed, plainly in view. I can only imagine what’s inside. The box makes me uncomfortable in a way I can’t describe. I know that whatever’s inside it will rock my world and shatter what small hope I have left, but if I don’t look then I can still hold onto the hope that it’s empty. It’s the Schrödinger Paradox.

‘Charlie?’

‘I don’t know what’s in it.’

‘The hell you don’t. You kept a souvenir, didn’t you? What is it? A head? A heart?’

‘I didn’t, it’s not mine, really, I, I …’ I bite my lower lip hard enough to draw blood. ‘Let’s go back to the car. He’ll be back. If he looked for me last night he’ll look for me again tonight.’

I close the house up and we head outside. Jo seems happy to leave. We pile into her car. I drive fifty metres then do a U-turn and park against the kerb. The shortest drive of my life. I kill the engine and we wait.

14

If Charlie is heading for an insanity plea then saving a body part is the right way of going about it. Of course maybe he really is crazy. If that’s the case then all Jo needs to do is stay calm and collect her thoughts because common sense, in theory, beats out insanity any day. She decides she has to at least make another attempt at earning Charlie’s trust.

‘I’m sorry I doubted you,’ she says.

He looks over at her and his face relaxes. ‘Really? Do you really mean that?’

‘I’m also sorry you had to bring me here to convince me. You didn’t have to hurt me, Charlie.’

‘I didn’t want to hurt you.’

‘I was just thinking.’ She pauses for a few seconds. ‘Nah, it doesn’t matter.’

‘What?’

‘What would happen if the police came here right now? Whatever’s in that box will be evidence against you.’

She watches him think this over, his face tightening. ‘I hadn’t thought of that. But they’re not even looking for my car. I might be in the clear. At least for now.’

‘Unless …’

‘Unless, what?’

‘It’s probably far-fetched, but what if Cyris called after planting the evidence? I mean, why else would he leave it there? Maybe just as a message, but I’m betting he’s planning on setting you up for the murders. What better way to go about it?’

He opens his mouth and she’s sure he’s about to argue, but he stops. ‘They’d need a warrant to go inside.’

‘They could probably get one, and even if they didn’t, all they need to do is look at your back door. Straightaway they have sufficient grounds for entering.’ She can feel Charlie getting nervous. ‘We should go and get it.’

‘I’ll go.’

‘Untie me and I’ll help.’

‘I’ll be quicker by myself.’

‘Untie me anyway.’

‘Why? So you can leave me here?’

‘I won’t leave you.’

He leans into the back and pulls out some of the rope he bought earlier. ‘Don’t make it harder than it needs to be.’

‘What are you going to do?’

‘I just need to keep you here. I’ll only be a minute.’

‘Charlie …’

‘I’ll only be a minute.’

Slowly she nods. Being tied up won’t be too big a problem, especially if a neighbour walks by. Or maybe she’ll be able to loosen the ropes.

‘What if Cyris comes along while you’re in there? What do I do?’

‘He won’t.’

‘How can you be so sure?’

‘I just know.’

I bet you do
, she thinks. She tightens her muscles as he wraps the rope around her body and the seat, and she bites down on the gag. A moment later he steps outside, taking the keys with him. She relaxes and feels the rope give slightly. As soon as Charlie is out of sight she will begin working against it.

15

If the clouds still look like bruised candyfloss the darkness hides it. Night has arrived and with it my fears. I have to hold my watch up to my face and twist it to get some illumination from a streetlight flooding across the hands. It’s quarter past nine.

I move around to the back of the car, open the boot and borrow a stake. I tuck it into the waistband of my jeans. I carved a weapon out of a broom handle and now it’s all I have to protect myself. I’m not sure if I can get any crazier. I close the boot, glance in at Jo and cross the road towards my house.

I step past the gate and climb the two steps to my back door. The first thing I do is turn on the light, then draw the curtains. I head from room to room closing up the entire house, leaving several of the lights burning. When Cyris arrives he’ll think I’m home. I try to put myself into his mind, subjecting myself to his dark thoughts. He’ll figure I’m thinking it’s safe to return since he’s already been at my house.

The last room I close up is my bedroom. I look at the cardboard box and try not to feel intimidated by it – but fail. I can feel it calling me a coward for not opening it. The temptation is there, but so is the fear. The corner of a piece of paper is sticking out from under it. I reach down and tug it out. It’s covered in patches of dried blood. Written across it in Kathy’s handwriting is my name and number. I’d completely forgotten about this. I don’t know whether to feel relieved that it was Cyris who found it and not the police.

A car pulls up outside and a door opens, then closes. I stand motionless, a cold sweat breaking out across my forehead. I’m like some mindless bunny caught in the headlights of a car, paralysed with confusion and fear. A few moments later knuckles are banging on my door. I pull out the stake and step into the hallway but I don’t want to answer the door because my mortality is going to leave through it. Then the knocking comes back. I’m now Action Man, ready to defend my home and castle. I keep the weapon behind me. Cyris is here.

With my free hand I turn on the outside light.

16

One moment Landry’s sitting in his car watching Feldman’s house, looking at the almost sunset, listening to the fading sounds of the day, and the next moment it’s dark and the streetlights are on and so are all the lights inside Feldman’s home. He sits up and rubs his hands at his eyes. He’s never fallen asleep on a stakeout before. Never. Then again he’s never been on medication either. Jesus, the day turned warm and he got sleepy. What sort of detective is he? The worst, and one who’s tiring easily because he’s dying.

He scrapes tiny pieces of wet gunk from the corners of his eyes. He doesn’t know how long he’s been asleep and he can’t remember ever feeling so disappointed with himself. He’s mentally chiding himself when he realises that Feldman is home – that’s all that matters. The killer has returned to continue living the safe life he thinks he has. A life full of urges and freedom.

He guesses he ought to be thankful he didn’t sleep through the night while Feldman came and went. He starts the engine and slowly lets out the clutch, allowing the car to drift up the street. He stops outside the house, grabs his jacket and climbs out. His anger is pulsing like a beacon in his mind as he walks over the grass verge to the footpath. He tucks his keys into his pocket. He can feel the adrenalin coursing through his veins and it worries him because he can’t afford to lose control of his emotions. He looks up and down the street. There are lights on in most of the houses but nobody around. People have settled in for the evening. They’re watching TV and drinking coffee and the realities they face every day are different from his.

He pauses outside the house and sucks in a deep breath, then another and another. He needs to stay calm. He can’t afford to make a mess of things. He straightens his jacket, but doesn’t spend much time trying to get it looking tidy – he isn’t here to sell this man a jail sentence.

He clenches his fists, takes in another deep breath, then walks up the narrow pathway to the front door. When he reaches out to knock he notices for the first time that his hand is shaking. Excitement? Or nerves? He hopes it’s one of those and not the alternative, because the alternative comes with nausea and vomiting. He turns his hands over and watches his fingers as he makes a fist then loosens it off. Something deep inside him feels different to the other times he’s come to haul away bad men for bad deeds. Something he can’t quite recognise. He suspects it arrived last week in his doctor’s office as he watched the minute hand of the clock on the wall shift six degrees closer to the end of his life.

He knocks. Then waits. A minute goes by before he knocks again, then, a few moments later, he sees the shape of somebody moving down the hallway to greet him.

17

Action Man: hold no fear. Action Man: save the world.

‘Who’s there?’ I ask, feeling nothing like Action Man.

‘Mr Feldman?’

‘Who wants to know?’

‘Mr Charlie Feldman? My name’s Bill Landry,’ a small pause, then, ‘Detective Inspector Bill Landry. With the Christchurch Police Department. Mr Feldman, I’ve a few questions for you. How about you let me ask them inside?’

‘I’m quite busy.’

‘I figured as much since you didn’t come to the door straightaway.’

‘Sorry about that,’ I say, ‘but I didn’t hear the first knock.’

I put the chain on the door, unlock it and open it enough to look at him. The man standing there looking at me is around two metres and heavily built. He has the same build as Cyris, but is far better groomed. He’s wearing a suit without a tie that looks like he’s slept in it for a week. He’s standing on a slight angle that makes him appear as though he could pounce forward just as easily as he could jump back. He looks like he’s expecting me to do something. Maybe run. Maybe attack. He has one hand behind his back, perhaps reaching for a gun, or for some handcuffs. His other hand is holding out his identification. I take a look at the photograph. A good, long look. Same buzz-cut greying hair, same brown eyes, same strong jawline, same long nose. The sort of face you’d expect to see cast as the hero in some war movie. The sort of face you don’t want on your doorstep behind a policeman’s badge with the intent of arresting you. His lips have little or no colour in the photograph but even less in reality, just like the rest of his face. The dark smudges under his eyes make him look unhealthy and tired. I’m pretty sure I’ve seen him in the background on the news. I suddenly feel like I’m going to faint.

I close the door, toss the stake into my bedroom, close that door, then take the chain off and hold the front door open, standing in the way so as to not invite him inside.

‘Expecting trouble?’ Landry asks.

‘Huh?’

‘The way you inspected my badge, it looked as though you were expecting somebody else. Or maybe you’re just looking for an excuse not to let me in.’

‘I’m merely being cautious. Is that a crime?’

‘Not at all, Mr Feldman.’ His smile has about as much warmth as ice. ‘In fact I wish more people were as careful as you. Have you finished taking a look?’

When I nod he closes the ID and tucks it into the back of his pants.

‘You look anxious, Mr Feldman. Like you think half the world is out to get you.’

‘What half are you in?’

‘That depends on how you answer my questions. Perhaps we can step inside?’

Before I can answer he tilts his head and gives me a direct look. ‘Unless of course you have something to hide?’

‘Come on through,’ I say.

He moves past, keeping his eyes on me the entire time. I shut the door behind him. I wonder what Jo is thinking. He waits in the hallway until I’ve locked the door then I lead him into the dining room. A light sweat has formed across my forehead but I do nothing about it. I drag a seat from the table for him and sit opposite. He pulls out a notebook and rests it on the table. He doesn’t open it, just slowly taps a fingernail against the cover. I rest my right elbow on the table, cross my legs and don’t offer him a drink.

‘I’m curious – if you didn’t hear me the first time I knocked on your door how did you know you were answering it after my second?’

I open my mouth to answer but can’t come up with anything. He smiles, then saves me from the awkward moment by taking me into another one.

‘Who hit you?’

I raise my hand to the bump on my forehead. It stings on contact. I try not to wince but fail. Gets me every time. ‘Nobody hit me.’