The Game Changer (22 page)

HIS FIRST NIGHT IN SPRING VALLEY, AND LEE HAD slept better than he had done for a long time. He hadn’t set the alarm, because he didn’t need to. John had left early for a basketball game with the two boys, so Margaret in the kitchen was his only company. He liked Margaret. She wasn’t the kind of woman who intruded on your personal space, unless you happened to invite her in.

‘Coffee?’ she asked, as he sat down on one of the high stools at the kitchen counter.

‘I’m not used to a woman spoiling me, Margaret, but sure, why not?’

‘Black, one sugar?’

‘I can see why my brother fell for your charms.’

‘Good memory, that’s all. Mind if I join you?’

‘It’s your kitchen.’

She stretched her arms over her head, and he took in her curved shape, thinking of a whole different set of reasons why John had been drawn to this woman.

‘Well,’ she said, ‘it’s always good to have you with us, even if it’s only for a few days.’

‘The demands of being a New York detective,’ he laughed, ‘you can never get too far away from it.’ Picking up the cup, he took a mouthful of coffee, then raised the cup to her, as if in salute, saying, ‘Just as well I love it.’

‘What is it about it that you love?’

‘You mean besides catching the bad guys?’

‘Besides that.’

‘In one way or another, Margaret, I think I always wanted to be
in the force. John will tell you, even as a kid, I fancied myself as a bit of a hero. That was before, of course.’

‘Before what?’

‘Before I realised how muddy the waters could be. Unfortunately, there’s a lot of grey in my line of work.’

‘I don’t doubt it.’

‘People are complicated.’

‘I don’t doubt that either.’

Margaret topped up her coffee cup, allowing a long, easy silence to settle between them, until Lee said, ‘I like my personal space too. I like living alone. It suits me.’

‘Do you ever think about Marjorie?’

‘Sometimes.’

‘I can’t believe how long she’s been gone.’

‘Neither can I, but the past is always part of the present, in one way or another.’

He didn’t mind her bringing up Marjorie. In fact, that was one of the reasons he liked visiting. If Marjorie had lived, she would be the same age as Margaret. They had been in the same year in high school.

‘Any regrets, Lee?’

‘Yeah, lots of them.’

‘Which one stands out?’

‘It’s not like you to pry.’

‘John’s worried about you.’

‘He shouldn’t be.’

‘He thinks you need a good woman in your life.’

‘I had a good woman.’

‘But …’

‘No buts, end of story. Marjorie was here, now she’s gone, and there isn’t a darn thing anyone can do about it.’

‘I guess not.’

He looked at her, not saying anything for a few moments. She didn’t rush him.

‘My main regret, Margaret, is that I didn’t make contact with Marjorie before she died.’

‘You didn’t know she was dying.’

‘I knew I loved her, and we were miles apart.’

‘All relationships go through bad times. You weren’t to know she wouldn’t get better.’

‘I know that, but still. You asked me my big regret, and now you have it.’

‘Has it changed you, Lee?’

‘Yeah.’ He took another gulp from the coffee cup. ‘Now, if something is crawling at my insides, I don’t let it go. I stick at it until, one way or another, it’s resolved. Life’s too short to leave important questions unanswered.’

‘Which is why you’re such a good detective.’

‘I guess things have a habit of coming full circle, eventually.’

ALL THE WAY HOME, KATE FELT RATTLED. WALKING back down the mountain road, she kept turning around to see if anyone was following her, checking the signal on her phone in case she needed to get help. When she saw her car up ahead, her anxiety didn’t lessen, and after pressing the key fob to open it, she locked the doors as soon as she was inside. She looked ahead, seeing an empty road, nervously turning around, double-checking that the back seat was empty. That she was alone.

Leaning down, she pulled a facial wipe from her handbag. The blood from the dead bird had dried on her hands. Sitting in the car, she noticed there were specks on her jeans too. After cleaning her fingers, she wiped what she could off her jeans, then looked around her again. If someone had followed her, and was watching her now, they were doing a good job of hiding. She pulled her seatbelt down with such force that it got stuck halfway, and she wanted to scream but managed to extend it and snap it into place. She turned the key in the ignition. The engine cut out. She tried again, but it did the same. Stop panicking, she told herself, or you’ll flood the darn thing. Counting to ten, she turned the key for the third time. Thankfully, the engine ticked over.

As she travelled down the mountain, she told herself she was safe, that she was overreacting, and the further she drove, the less her heart raced. On reaching the apartment building, she parked the car and ran up the steps, still feeling anxious and threatened. Even when she shut the main door, she spent more time than normal checking the communal hallway, breathing heavily. Turning the key in her apartment door, her hands were shaking. Once inside, she slammed the door behind her. It was then that she saw the letter on the floor.

LOOKING AT THE FRONT DOOR OF KATE’S APARTMENT building, the Game Changer visualised her inside, imagining what she would do once she found that another note had been delivered. She’d seemed nervous getting out of the car. It was obvious she sensed the Game Changer was following her, and she was becoming increasingly rattled.

Kate needed to think more about death. People argue all the time about it or, rather, the form death will take. Some people want it to happen fast. They say things like they don’t want to suffer, thinking they might be able to choose. Others prefer surprise, or they want to be prepared, to have time to say goodbye. Even the death of animals can wind people up. Many enjoy meat created by the slow bleed, a method preferred by those of Islamic inclination. There will be argument and counter-argument about the cruelty involved. Many say that speed reduces pain and advocate more mainstream methods.

The Game Changer watched a pig slaughter once. There was a lot of noise. Pig squeals are particularly piercing to the ear. The pigs walked into a pen as if they were about to be given a meal, but they soon sensed that death was hovering. Each one got an electrode with two pads placed behind their ears, a charge administered to stun them. Not all of the animals were knocked out effectively. Some were still conscious, even when they were hanging upside down. A large incision was made to bleed them, the location of the incision, and the precision of the blade, determining how quickly the pig would die, as the blood dripped into the buckets below. One way or another, the animal died. Arguments about how much suffering was involved can only be resolved by those who suffered the death. That is, if animals could talk, and dead animals at that. With Kate,
it will be a slow bleed. She will cross paths with Stephen first. His dreams dictate his actions, and dreams are more easily manipulated than reality.

INSTEAD OF PICKING UP THE NOTE, KATE WALKED into the bedroom and took a pair of protective gloves, along with an evidence bag, from Adam’s locker. She returned to the hall, bagging the note before reading it. This time it was on plain white paper, and the message, although short, had been typed.

Her breathing was still heavy, but a rage was building inside her, a rage that wanted to know who the hell was sending the notes and why.

She read it quickly, jumping over the words, knowing she would reread them again and again. Before she had read it a second time, her mobile phone rang. Adam. Answering it, although she had washed her hands, she saw some hardened speckles engrained in her skin, tiny flecks she must have missed in her panic.

‘I’ll have to phone you back,’ she said, not giving him the opportunity to say anything more. Rushing to the bathroom, she thought about the bird, her eagerness to get away from it, and how afterwards, when she arrived back at the apartment, even before she saw the note, she hadn’t felt safe. It was after that that the anger had come, and now, scrubbing off the remaining blood, it was as if that action might take away the fear.

She turned the hot tap on full throttle, the water almost boiling, and continued to scrub her hands with soap, checking and rechecking that all the blood was gone. When she turned off the tap and examined her hands, her palms and fingertips were bright red, raw and shrivelled from the heat.

Ringing Adam’s number, she told herself to calm down. When he answered, all she said was, ‘I’ve got another note.’

‘Is it the same as before?’

‘No.’ Her words were coming out faster. ‘As soon as I realised it was hand-delivered, I put protective gloves on. I got an evidence bag from the bedroom.’

‘Good.’

‘This time, it was typed.’

‘Read it out loud.’

‘Okay.’ But as she sat down, the image of the dead blackbird came back to her. She felt like vomiting. ‘Hold on a second, Adam. I don’t feel well.’

‘Take your time. I’m not going anywhere.’

‘The note is short,’ she added. Her hands were shaking. ‘It says, “I hope you liked my present. Did the bird bring back fond memories? I’m keeping an eye on you, but then again, you know that already. It’s good to be close, Kate, isn’t it? I’ll be in touch again real soon.”’

‘What bird? Is it the dead raven?’

‘No, it was earlier today. I decided to go to the spot where I had originally gone missing.’

‘And?’

‘I thought someone was watching me. At first, I put it down to my heightened stress level, but then …’

‘What?’

‘I was about to leave the woods when I saw it, a dead blackbird. I wasn’t sure what it was at first, so I stepped closer, and when I picked it up, the bird was still warm. Someone had slit its throat, and had pulled back both wings. It felt like a message. Then when I got back here and saw the note, I knew, even before I read it, that the two were linked. Whoever was watching me must have doubled back here after I’d found the bird. My car wouldn’t start, at least, not at first. It would have delayed me a few minutes, but maybe that was enough.’

‘Calm down, Kate. Think. Have you any idea who could have sent it? What’s the relevance of the bird?’

For a few seconds she didn’t say anything, but then she remembered. ‘Jesus,’ she said. ‘It can’t be that.’

‘What?’

‘It happened when I was a child.’ She paused. ‘I found a near-dead blackbird at the side of the road. It was a female, the same as the one I picked up today. I hoped it would survive, but it didn’t. My father buried it. I remember crying. I thought my father could fix everything. That he could make the bird better, but he couldn’t. I guess it was the first time I really thought about death.’

‘Who else have you told about it?’

‘No one … I may have said it to Malcolm, but I can’t be sure.’

‘I’m going to pull that guy in again. He’s tied into this somehow.’

‘What do you think the note means?’

‘At the very least it’s intimidation, although at face value, there’s nothing particularly threatening about it.’

‘Whoever it is, they want to rattle me.’

‘I know that. Let’s hope the tech guys can pull something concrete from this one.’

‘Something tells me they won’t.’