I have to fight to keep my tone reasonable. Raising my voice to her levels will only result in a shouting match that benefits nobody. ‘I’m not going to stop anything. I’ll make sure I don’t put myself in danger, but there’s no way I’m going to stop.’
What I don’t say is that finding Kira’s killer has become personal. If she learns about Kira’s obsession with me she’ll start proclaiming it’s all my fault and that I’ll be the next to be killed.
‘I knew you’d say that. You’ve always been the same, Jake. You’re as stubborn as your bloody father. I’ve lost count of the times you’ve cut yer nose off to spite yer face. You never know when to back off and let it go.’
Try as you might, there’s very little you can hide about your nature from your mother. Mine knows me better than any other human alive and has enough about her to look at me with honesty. To see the real me.
I smile to try and diffuse her anger. A little flattery goes a long way with her. ‘I’m just like my mother. I have all her best qualities.’
‘Aye. An’ you’ve got a lot of bad ones from your faither.’ She isn’t smiling back but I can tell she’s softening.
‘Don’t worry. I’m not stupid enough to tackle a killer.’
‘Perhaps not. But you’ve got the MacDonald temper on you. What I’m afraid of is you getting yourself into a situation you can’t fight your way out of.’ She holds a hand out to forestall my protests. ‘That’s why I’m giving you this.’
She opens the handbag on the table to her left and pulls out a gun, which she proffers to me.
‘What do you think you’re doing?’
‘I’m making sure you have the means to look after yoursel’. You’re too pig-headed to listen to me, so I’m giving you this so you can get yourself out of the trouble I know you’re going to attract.’
‘Here.’ I give her the gun back. ‘I don’t know the first thing about guns. Beyond an air rifle I’ve never held one let alone pulled a trigger. I’ll be more likely to shoot myself than anyone else.’
She pushes her hands into her lap and leaves me standing with my arm outstretched. ‘Don’t be a fool, Jake. You don’t have to be a good shot. You might not even have to fire it. The idea is you have it so you can protect yourself. I don’t want you to go to jail any more than I want you to get hurt.’
I bring my hand back; the gun still rests in my palm. I give it a proper look for the first time – see the name Ruger. It looks small in my hand. Taking care not to point it at my mother, I try holding it properly. It is lighter than I expect a gun to be and despite looking small, it’s a good fit for my hand.
‘There’s a safety catch where your thumb is. I suggest you go out into the hills somewhere and fire a few shots, familiarise yourself with it.’
That’s the only thing she’s said to me today that I may pay attention to.
Her hand dips into the handbag and re-emerges holding two clips and a belt holster. ‘You’re allowed to carry it as long as it’s unloaded and not concealed.’
‘What about a permit?’ I am showing my ignorance, but guns have never held any thrall for me, therefore I’ve never bothered to find out about them.
‘You don’t need one.’
When Mother gets up and goes to the kitchen, I sink back into the seat trying to get my head round the surreal conversation we’ve just had. Not only have I just been given a gun by my mother, but it has been handed to me in a room crowded with porcelain ornaments and some of the chintziest fabrics known to man.
Her concern is touching in one way and insulting in another. Is she afraid for me due to a mother’s love or because she doesn’t trust me to keep myself safe?
Either way, I now have a gun I don’t want and am not sure I could use if the need should arise. Cracking a few heads is one thing. Pulling a trigger requires a whole different outlook.
By the time she returns with two steaming mugs of coffee, I’ve decided to take her advice and fire a few shots in the hills where nobody can get hurt and then stow the gun in the trunk of my car.
‘Now that’s dealt with, I want you to tell me why you’ve started seeing Dr Edwards.’
‘Isn’t what’s said between a psychiatrist and his patients confidential?’
‘Of course it is. But I’m your mother. Do you think so little of me that I’m not curious as to why after years of trying to persuade you to see him, you all of a sudden become his patient?’
‘I’m not seeing him for my own benefit.’
‘Then whose benefit is it for? I can scarcely believe you’re going for my benefit.’
I don’t give her the answer she is after. It’ll be less damning if she works it out for herself.
‘If you didn’t go to see Dr Edwards to talk about yourself… you were seeing him about someone else.’ She pauses as the cogs of her mind turn another revolution. ‘He won’t disclose anything about his patients, so you must have been using him as a consultant.’
I nod.
‘How can you do this to me, Jake? How can you use the man who knows everything about me and my fears like some reference book? Don’t you realise how this makes me feel?’ She pauses her tirade long enough to take a breath and reload her ammunition. ‘I’ll tell you how I feel. I feel sullied and humiliated by the way you’ve crept around behind my back discussing homicide with my therapist. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to speak to him again.’
This response is typical of her narcissism. I’ve had enough years of it to know how to deal with her though. So I go straight for the jugular and start asking her questions she can’t answer without tying herself in knots.
‘Don’t you think Kira’s killer should be caught?’
‘Of course I do. I just don’t want you to get hurt.’
‘Do you think Farrage and his buddies are up to the job?’
‘No.’ She is hesitant now, suspicious of where I’m steering the conversation.
‘So you agree me and Alfonse are the Niemeyer family’s best hope when it comes to finding the killer?’
‘No!’ The word carries enough vehemence to start a war. ‘They’re rich enough to fly in a private eye who has experience in catching killers. You know, the ex-cop type of guy.’
‘Do you think such a guy would do better than us with our local knowledge?’
‘I don’t care whether or not someone else could do the job. My cares are with you. How am I gonna become a granny if you go and get yourself killed?’
I let that barb slide as I’m happy to let her score the odd point; she’s about to lose the argument and we both know it.
‘We’ve taken the case and we’re working it. I consulted Dr Edwards because you have repeatedly told me he is the best in Casperton. You do think we should have the best help available, don’t you?’
‘You know I only want the best for you.’
‘That’s why I went to Dr Edwards. He’s the best. Your words.’ I leave it there and say my goodbyes, with Mother firmly hoisted by her own petard.
30
I pull a can of soda from Alfonse’s fridge and sit opposite him at his kitchen table. I can tell he’s annoyed and frustrated by the way his normal jocularity is missing. It isn’t just that he’s all business, it is the way he’s carrying himself. The scowl on his face is also something of a clue as to the lack of progress he’s endured today.
He tells me everything he’s achieved today. Listening, I can feel his anger transferring itself to me. Every possible lead or clue he’s pursued has either been verified or resulted in a dead end.
‘I feel like I’ve gotten nowhere.’
‘You’ve achieved a lot. If nothing else you’ve eliminated a number of suspects.’ My words may be the truth, but I recognise their hollowness.