Heart Stopper (2 page)

She had taken him to the Science Ball with her. He’d been so proud to accompany her, the trousers legs and jacket sleeves of his black rented tuxedo only an inch too short. She wore a pink satin dress that contrasted so well against her brown skin that both glowed. He wore a pink cummerbund and bow tie. She left him for a minute to collect their posed photo taken by one of the many official photographers who hung around the grand hallway of the Great Southern Hotel when the various student Balls were held. The photographer showed her the Polaroid that he’d taken and remarked, “How did this Irish sod manage to catch an exotic beauty like you?” He leered at her “Guess I might have a chance then.” Michael never asked why she held on to the Polaroid only and never picked up the portrait that would have been prepared from the professional camera and probably sat awaiting them in the studio pile. He had framed the Polaroid and it leant casually on his French oak sideboard.

She forced lightness into her voice, “What did you do with my stuff? I thought I’d left some here.”

He handed her a small glass of brandy. “I gave it all away to the charity shop.” He grinned at her shocked expression. “Ok, I put it in the hallway closet. Didn’t want my many women to think I had another woman living with me, did I now?”

“Huh! Like you’d bring a woman through those doors without my prior approval.” She gulped the brandy down and snorted most of it back out through her nose. “Damn! I hate that stuff! Adds to the shock.” She grabbed a neatly placed dishtowel off the oven rail and wiped the brandy off her nose. “That hurts!”

“Priya! There’s kitchen towel there, don’t use my dishcloth!”

∞

They sat in Michael’s living room, Priya swaddled in a quilt on his couch gripping a mug of coffee; Michael perched beside her on his Moroccan pouf. She knew the questions would need to be answered, but her head still hurt and she just wanted to close her eyes and sleep and wake up to another day, a day without dead bodies in it.

Michael’s apartment was on the first floor of a medieval building converted into five apartments, each on its own floor. He had spent months decorating it, painting the walls with terracotta, he and Priya struggling with the over-sized brown leather couch and armchairs up the narrow twisty stairs. He had bought exquisite blue and green silk tapestries from India and red and black rugs from Turkey and had them shipped to Galway.

“He didn’t have any wounds on him, nothing, no marks on him at all.” Her voice was low and muffled as she spoke from the depths of the quilt.

The image of Daniel’s body, slumped against the bed, slammed into her mind. Daniel had always projected the right image for his setting, he had been the ultimate chameleon, smiled at the right times, said just the right things to the right people. He had worked out a lot, but his suits, made for him, covered his physique and he managed to look elegant in his clothes; he never looked out of place wherever he was. Many times, she had seen the shift of colors in him as he started to reflect his surroundings; leaving the routine of their research, the crumples disappearing to be replaced by softer folds as he charmed a patient, the smoothened edges for the funding agencies. He was constantly tugging at the stray cowlick on his head that refused to be tamed, the only part of his appearance he couldn’t control especially in death. She felt like reaching out and smoothing it down in her mental picture.

“I need to ask you, why didn’t you just call for an ambulance and the cops?” Michael’s voice was a gentle intrusion and her hand jerked spilling coffee on the quilt.

“I panicked! What would you do if you woke up in a strange apartment and found your boss lying dead? Ok, ok, don’t answer that, you’d never end up in that situation, would you? Just me, the screw-up.”

She swiped at the small stain of coffee and Michael got up, talking as he went into the kitchen.

“I’m not even going to dignify that... Do you want me to call the Guards now? We could say you panicked, or that you were still drunk. Are you sure he was dead? Could he have been passed out drunk or -” Michael walked back from the kitchen where he had retrieved the kitchen towel.

“He was dead.” She raised her head from the mug. “Definitely.”

 
He handed her a sheet of kitchen paper and sat down again.

“There’s more to this, Priya. You’re keeping something from me. We could still extricate you at this stage, it’s risky, but possible. Why won’t you let me call the cops? The worst they could get you for is obstruction of justice but if you ran because you were scared for your life and you called them now, there shouldn’t be any problem.”

“The eternal lawyer, nothing slips by, does it?” She shifted her position, shrinking further into the warm cave of the quilt.

“Well...?”

She gulped down her coffee and handed him the mug. He looked exasperated, but got up to get her more.

The day outside was waking up and she could hear the street noises drift in through the open window, the aroma of the different coffee brands brewed in the cafes below mingling with her own freshly ground coffee. She enjoyed annoying Michael by getting him to make an espresso in his specialty machine that occupied pride of place in his kitchen and then dumping the espresso into a large misshapen mug she had made in an unsuccessful experiment with evening classes in pottery. She had given him the mug as a present, chuckling inside at his polite, but reserved enthusiasm.

“He hurt me.” She spoke through the hiss of the machine and Michael didn’t react. He finished making the coffee her way, walked back over, and handed her the steaming mug. She stared at him and he said, “Sorry, did you say something?”

“Daniel tried it on.”

“With
you
? But he knows you’re gay! When? Why didn’t you tell me? What happened?”

“You remember the night of my birthday last year? You were in Mayo so I went out with the crowd from work. Stuff happened and well, he gave me a lift home.” She stopped. Her hands gripped the mug tighter, its roughness soothing.

“And...?”

“I was drunk, he wasn’t. He got the wrong idea. It isn’t that straightforward.”

“Did he, you know...?”

“No. But I got hurt.”

“And you didn’t report him?”

Priya looked away from Michael, the street was starting to come to life, cutlery being sorted and laid out on pavement tables, chairs unstacked to await the early morning people-watchers.

“Priya…? Why didn’t you report him?” Michael sat down on the pouf and leaned in to pry one of her hands off the mug and hold it between his own. She still didn’t meet his eyes.

“Because it was my fault,” she said.

His hands stopped their gentle rubbing motion.

“The Guards got involved. That was fun. Having to tell them that I let him take me home, that I’m gay and had no ulterior motive. That I was so drunk that I didn’t see the danger. Actually, I couldn’t even tell them the truth.”

“Why? What do you mean? What was the truth?”

Priya looked away from the window and straight at him. “I can’t tell you, I don’t like to even think about it. It was stupid, unbelievably stupid. Valerie was there, it was my birthday, I had gotten the call from my dad a few days before, I drank a lot that night and I wasn’t used to doing that at the time...”

“Valerie Helion? I should have known she’d be involved somehow.” His hands were gripping hers.

“She was just her usual self. And I...well, I should have known better.”

“You’ve never known better when it comes to that woman. I can’t believe you hooked up with her again.”

“I didn’t. She was flirting with Daniel in front of me and I...” She slipped her hand out of his and slid down further on the couch.

“I don’t want to talk about that night.” Her voice was low, but firm.

“So you went to the cops, what did they do?” There was a tremble in his voice.

“I didn’t go to them. They came to me. What do you think they did about it? He’s an important man. Fair play to them, they questioned him,” her mouth twisted, “very discreetly. Do you know how much money Daniel had invested in Galway, in Ireland?”

“I’m totally confused, Priya. They came to you? But they didn’t take it any further?” Michael’s fists were clenched; his eyes had watered. “Why didn’t you tell me? I could have done something.” He got up and then sat down again.

“There was nothing to take further. And I hadn’t even been in the job a year; besides, that was just after dad had called from India to say mum was sick. He still managed to slip in how proud he was of me for getting the job, of making a go of it. That’s why I got so drunk that night, I was too busy burying my head in the sand to see anything. It just didn’t seem to matter after that when things got worse with mum. I hated Daniel for a while because the whole thing delayed me going to India. And then when she died, I just…” Priya looked at him and the emptiness had crept back into her eyes and settled into its comfortable nest, its home for the last three years.

Michael rested his hand on her feet through the quilt. “You know Priya, at some point you are going to have to accept help. You were always your own knight in shining armor, but this is crazy. If you won’t accept it from me at least talk to someone, you know, in a professional capacity.”

“Armor was a bit tarnished after that I have to say.”

Michael was looking at her with that mixture of concern and exasperation.

“Michael, I just freaked out when I ended up there looking at him, like that. It was his apartment, or I least I assume it was. I know he lives in Seaview Close. I don’t know how I ended up in his apartment. I was in the guest room, I think. Come to think of it, the bedroom looked more like a hotel room than someone’s home. That’s why it didn’t make sense; it was off, you know...? I just reacted.”

She continued, “Look, I know I drive you crazy and I disrupt your life and I mess everything up. I don’t want to be involved in this. I just want it all to go back to normal, or at least, some semblance of normality. If I tell the cops now they’re sure to bring up the stuff that happened last October and they’re going to want to know what I was doing there and they’re not going to believe I don’t know and that I didn’t have anything to do with it. If we don’t say anything, someone will find him, they probably already have. I mean, why was anybody there at that hour?”

“Priya, slow down… I don’t know. I still think you should go to the Guards.”

“I can’t. I can’t go through that again. I didn't do anything, but they’ll make it out that I did. I thought you’d understand.”

Michael was silent for a few minutes then he took in a deep breath and sighed.

He said, “I do understand. I understand that you’re carrying around so much guilt for all sorts of things and it doesn’t matter how many times I tell you that you weren’t responsible. I just think you’re making a mistake and you’ll regret it. But I won’t say anymore about it, for now. Let’s wait and see what happened, how he died. If there’s anything suspicious or anything you could clear up for them then I’d like you to tell the cops. I’ll stand by you.”

Priya had shrunken into the quilt as he spoke. She lay quiet and then eventually nodded, the movement of her head against the fabric ringing loud in her ears.

“Can I stay here for a little bit?”

“Yes you can stay here; of course you can stay here. Why don’t you try and get some sleep.” He got up and took the empty mug from her hands. “If you don’t want me to say anything, I won’t.”

She looked up at him. “I need you to say something if you’re asked... I need you to say I was here all night, well, at least from the time I’d have left Massimo.” He didn’t reply and she rushed in. “If we’re lucky, no-one will ask. Please Michael, it’s going to be so much of a mess anyway, with Daniel dead, just let me stay out of the way on it. I’m going to have to get through this weekend and go to the clinic on Monday and pretend like nothing’s happened.”

He looked at her for a long moment and then nodded and went into the kitchen to wash the mug. She’d never needed to beg him for anything before and it felt strange.

Sunday, July 10, 2011

The diplomat didn’t say much. Lay on the bed and stared at the white walls. Hid his pale flabbiness under the clinic gown. Smiled at the young nurse who didn’t speak his language and who smiled back as she shaved his graying chest hairs. He tried to hold in his stomach as she ran the razor under his collarbone. The procedure was quick and mostly painless, just the jab of the local anesthetic. But he didn’t like the feeling. The thought of wires being pushed through his veins. The doctor had explained it to him and he knew he wouldn’t actually feel the leads, but the gray coils crawled through his mind on their way to his heart.

Afterwards the diplomat tapped the lump under his collarbone. Not hard. No. Just a light finger really. The man had reassured him it would work. It had to work though he knew deep inside that he was expendable, to them. His wife wouldn’t agree, or least he hoped she wouldn’t. The kids, who knew? These days, with their grown up ways, he wondered whether they would notice.

He wondered whether to write a Will. Despite the reassurances given by the man, he thought he would. It would be the responsible thing to do, just in case it all went wrong. August 1. He had 21 days.

He hoped the Will would not be needed.