Bridie brought him soup and French bread. He said,
“I didn’t know you had a driver’s license.”
“I don’t.”
He thought,
“When... when will I learn to stop treating her like a normal person.”
And he asked conversationally,
“So Bridie, did you shoot anyone today or is it a bit early yet?”
She smiled.
“The third musketeer took care of himself.”
“I don’t follow you, but then, I never did.”
“The Bill fellow, the police went to see him and he blasted one of them to smithereens. They’ve got him in custody now.”
Tom felt a chill with the relish she said this. Her loving emphasis on “blast” and “smithereens” was a horror show to hear.
He had like most convicts devoured crime novels. The hard-boiled work of Raymond Chandler was forever in demand. So too was Micky Spillane but you told yourself,
“This is prison, not the public library. Am I going to go highbrow? In every sense, you took what you got.”
Chandler had written about murder and,
“Giving it back to the kind of people that commit it for reasons, not just to provide a corpse and with the means at hand, not hand-wrought duelling pistols or tropical fish.”
He looked close at her as if her eyes could spell out who she was.
“How do you feel?”
“Feel... I feel fine, it was so easy and the rush, I nearly passed out from it. I tell you Tom, it’s better than sex, well better than any I ever had with my deadbeats.”
Her use of the present tense and the suggestion of further action appalled him.
He hung his head and she said,
“Tom, they deserved it. That Colbert was a child molester.”
“No, no he wasn’t.”
“Yes he was, you told me so yourself.”
“I was wrong. Kendra made it up to bring me back with Liz.”
Bridie lost it for a moment, panic then horror washed over her features. Then whatever demon had taken up residence reasserted control. Cunning turning to malevolence replaced these. She said,
“Liz, it always comes back to that bitch. She deserted... no abandoned you then married that creep. Yes... yes. We may have to fix that bitch too.”
“Good god Bridie. Are you gone stark raving bonkers? Kill Liz? This has to end... and now. You need serious help.”
Bridie stood up.
“I can’t believe you’d defend that... cow... you call me names. I can’t believe how ungrateful you are... don’t fuck with me Tom. There are things in my life you don’t want to know. To think I brought you a present too.
She snatched her handbag. Rummaged in it and took out a brightly wrapped parcel. For a frozen moment he thought she was going for the gun. This more than anything else made him realize how far gone he believed she was. She’s always been out there way beyond the boundaries of mere eccentricity. He didn’t think there was any coming back for her... or him.
“So are you going to open the gift.”
He took it and slowly unwrapped it. A gold cross with three jewels encased on the top. He didn’t know what to say and she said,
“Three jewels, for the third Cross, like you told me... remember, Tom.”
He stood up. Bridie seemed as if she might move to hug him but, let her hands fall useless to her sides.
“I brought you some clothes from your place Tom, while you slept. Don’t go, I’ll go to my own home. You’re safe here.”
“Give me the key Bridie.”
She rummaged again.
“I dunno where I left it. I’ll bring it by in the morning... okay Tom.”
With a low tone he said,
“Bridie, stay away from Liz. I’m going to help you with all this mess. You’re not responsible.”
She moved to the door and before she went, she said,
“Don’t threaten me Thomas. I don’t like that. I’m very annoyed at your whole attitude... you’ve changed... and that’s a terrible pity.”
Then she was gone.
The gashes in Tom’s face throbbed and he felt the onset of a massive headache. Fatigue pounded his bones and he wanted to sleep for a week. Moving to the phone, he rang Liz.
She sounded on the verge of hysteria and demanded to know what the dickens was happening. He hoped he could stay calm and not enrage her further.
“Liz, I’ll come round in the morning and explain everything. If Bridie calls, don’t let her in, on any account.”
“Bridie... what’s she got to do with this, what’s this about?”
“She’s been drinking again, you know how crazy she gets, okay.”
“You and your family.”
He wanted to let her have a piece of his rage or frustration but bit down and let it go.
“I’ll talk to you in the morning. Goodbye.”
He went into the kitchen and it took a while to locate some booze. Finally he found a bottle of Southern Comfort and began to work on it. Tomorrow, he thought, tomorrow I’ll make a decision about Bridie. He stretched himself on the couch and resolved he’d shower and change in ten minutes. In a quarter of the time he was sound asleep.
In the police canteen, Molly was wiping down the counter and weeping quietly. Over and over she thought of what she’d said to the sergeant.
“It won’t kill you.”
She knew she’d never be able to see a donut without wanting to weep. If the Superintendent looked in, she had a gallon of fresh squeezed orange juice for him. Aloud she said,
“I don’t think he will... not now.”
A ferocious crash pulled Tom from his sleep and before he could sit up, policemen poured in through the ruined door. He was grabbed from the sofa and thrown to the ground, his hands locked behind him. Cuffs clicked on his wrists, elbows banged his head and a heavy boot sank into his groin. Throwing up, he was dragged to his knees and a fist took out his front teeth.
Superintendent Barnes said,
“Now now lads, easy does it.”
Tom spat out the vomit and managed to ask,
“What the hell is this?”
“Mr. Thomas Kenny. I am arresting you for the murders of Robert Colbert and Terry Neill. I’m also charging you with assault and battery, breaking and entry plus robbery, from a holiday home yesterday.”
“What are you talking about?”
The superintendent moved close to Tom, grabbed his hair and said,
“As the result of a tip we went to your home in Clapham late last night and found a Glock automatic, the murder weapon I believe, and a roll of coins from the robbery yesterday.”
Tom said to himself.
“She took the bloody Krugerrands when she gave me the cross... crucified me all right.”
They dragged him out with his shoes scraping the carpet. A keen-eyed constable bent quickly down and palmed the golden cross. As he slipped it into his tunic, he thought,
“Probably fake but you might get lucky — you could never tell.”
The island of Ponos
Greece.
4 months later.
At Harry’s outdoor cafe, an American woman had been left behind by her tour. She’d felt exhausted in the morning and decided not to accompany them on a day cruise to Hydra. Bored now, she was in the mood for company.
She looked round and saw a blond haired woman sitting alone. Rising she approached and asked,
“May I join you?”
“Be my guest.”
“I’m Edie... Edie Barton from Trenton, New Jersey.”
“Nice to meet you.”
Edie was pleased to hear the British accent. London was next on their itinerary and she might learn some useful tips. Plus, like Edie, she was inclined to plumpness and that gave them something in common. The Daily Mirror was open on the table. A headline about some murder trial. Edie said,