Cry Baby (12 page)

She side-steps into the shower. A slight turn to reveal the curve of a breast, and then she’s out of his sight.

The water is warm on her back, and yet she notices that her hands are trembling, her breath fluttering. What are you doing,
Erin? Are you insane? You really think it’s a good idea to entice this lunatic into your home? Do you really want him lusting after your body?

She turns and pushes her head into the stream of water, anxious to drown the doubts. I’ve got nothing else, she thinks. No other source of hope. I need to be at least trying to do something.

And then she’s crying again. Sobbing silently, her shoulders heaving. At first she can’t understand what’s prompted this, but then she realizes it’s the freedom. It’s the sudden comprehension that, for these few brief minutes, she is out of his grasp. She does not have to listen to him, doesn’t have to put up with his satanic commands and his spiteful remarks. She has been untethered from that mystical third eye she has been forced to wear. No longer is he able to look where she looks, see what she sees. He has been cast out from her body. Exorcized.

And Christ does it feel good.

She wants to stay here forever. While she washes herself again and again with shower gel and shampoo, until her eyes sting and her ears are plugged with soapy foam, she wishes she never had to go back to her nightmare. She wants to scrub and scrub until there is nothing of herself left. She will be rinsed down the drainage hole and away from this place of disembodied voices and eyes. She does not want to hand over her body to the demons again, to give them the power they demand from her. Without her they are nothing. They need her physical form to give them life, the ability to move and be heard. She would like nothing better than to withhold all that from them for eternity.

But she knows she cannot.

Georgia is in there. The demons are holding her hostage. And the only one who can save her is her mother. Good has to vanquish evil – all the stories say so. Erin knows she has to find the courage to cross back into the underworld.

Where are you now, God? I could do with a little help here.

She turns the shower off. She can delay no longer. She needs to connect again, because that’s the only way to her baby. That’s her umbilical cord.

She reaches for a towel from the radiator. Dries herself off as best as she can while she remains standing in the tub. Then she grabs her bathrobe and puts it on. No more sex play. No more acting the temptress. It was okay while she was filthy and disgusting and caked in drying blood. The soiled appearance paired well with whoredom. But now she is clean. Bright as a new pin. She doesn’t want to contemplate sordid, unholy things.

She steps out of the tub. Grabs another towel and wraps her hair up in it. She inhales deeply, and likes how the air smells. The perfume of summer and flowers and freshness. Nice things. Pure things.

Then her eye catches sight of her coat on its hanger over the door, and her mental pictures begin to decay and become infused with gore and violence. She sees the unfocused image of a man bent over a screen, staring at her. Waiting for her to return to his domain, as she knows she must.

She retrieves the earpiece from the shelf and looks at it for a while. She is painfully aware that putting it back into place will transport her into his hands once again, but she also knows that it is a path she cannot refuse to tread.

She puts the tiny speaker back into her ear. Her world lurches.

‘Hello again, Erin. Feel better for that? Have to say, you look pretty refreshed.’

She doesn’t say anything. Just glares coldly at the brooch.

‘Come and get the equipment, Erin. Pin the brooch to your robe, and put the battery pack into your pocket.’

Remaining silent, she follows his instructions. She grimaces at the blood on her coat as she removes the brooch, anxious for it not to get on her fingers again. Finally she pins it into place on her lapel and drops the black plastic box into her pocket.

‘Okay, Erin. I think you should get ready again, don’t you? Dry your hair, put some more makeup on, do whatever it is you girlies do.’

‘Not yet.’

‘What do you mean, not yet? You’ve done a lot already, sure, but there’s still plenty of work to do. Four more, remember?’

‘Yes,’ she snaps. ‘I know. I know exactly. You don’t have to keep telling me.’

‘Hey, Erin. Don’t be like that. I’m just trying to—’

‘How’s
Georgia?’

‘What?’

‘Georgia. How is she? I want to know how my baby is.’

‘She’s asleep. Like a log. Is she always this good at night?’

‘Sometimes. Not always. Is she… does she look happy?’

‘Happy? Yeah, I’d say so. Sweet dreams, I’d say.’

Erin nods, even though he cannot see her. ‘Good. I need her to be happy. I need to know that… that…’

‘
Erin, she’s fine. And she’ll stay fine. Just a few more hours, okay. A few more… people.’

‘Right. Right. But later, okay. I need to rest. I’m so tired.’

‘I don’t think that’s such a good—’

‘Please. Just a couple hours.’

Silence for a while. Then:
‘It’s your call, Erin. You know what needs to be done, and you know how long you’ve got to do it. You make the call.’

She makes it. She leaves the bathroom and goes through to her bedroom. She turns the bedside lamp on, and the main light off. Then she lies down on the bed.

‘Just leave me in peace for a while, okay? Let me sleep.’

‘All right,
Erin. But leave the lamp on, okay?’

She stops responding again, and waits for the buzz of thoughts in her head to die down so that sleep can steal in and claim her.

5.16 AM

Everything has changed.

Two murders carried out within hours of each other by the same killer is serious enough. But the possibility of a third victim? One they haven’t even located
, let alone identified? Well, that’s just set all the alarm bells ringing. Ringing even louder because there is every chance that this is just the beginning. Where there’s a one, two and three, there may be a four, five and six on the way. They can’t let that happen.

And so it’s with a certain sense of urgency that Doyle returns to the squadroom with LeBlanc in tow. There is much work to be done.

The last thing he needs right now is to deal with Albert.

He’s trailing behind a female uniformed officer called
Sheridan. She looks pissed.

‘Wait there,’ she commands Albert, finger in the air. When her charge obeys, Doyle half expects her to pat his head and give him a biscuit. His amusement fades when she turns back to Doyle and he sees that her expression has darkened to a thunderous level.

To her credit, she keeps her voice low: ‘Where the hell have you been, Cal? I’ve been stuck with this fruitcake for hours.’

Doyle tries to look pained. He approached her to look after Albert while he was out on the first call. Turned on his boyish Irish charm and told her how he’d be eternally grateful for her assistance.

‘Sorry, Frankie. I caught a second homicide straight after the first. This could turn into something big.’

‘Yeah, I heard about that, and that don’t exactly make it better,
Cal. I should be out there too, trying to catch the perp, ’stead of running a crèche here for your adopted orphan. I am so gonna get my ass kicked at the end of my tour if I’ve got nothing to show for it.’

Doyle puts his hands out to placate her. ‘All right. Lemme talk to your sarge. I’ll square it with him, okay?’

He’s not relishing the prospect of trying to square anything with Costello, but he knows this is his own fault.

He chin-points at Albert. ‘You get anything out of him?’

‘Oh sure,’ says Sheridan. ‘It was riveting. I was almost tempted to take the matchsticks out from my eyelids. Now I know everything about Einstein and some theory he had about his relatives.’

Doyle is tempted to smile, but doesn’t want to get into further hot water with
Sheridan.

‘What about his mother?’

‘Nothing about his mother specifically. Just about his relatives in general.’

‘No. Albert’s mother. The one he says he offed.’

Sheridan shrugs, unfazed by her faux pas. ‘To be honest, I gave up trying to go there. Every time I steered the conversation that way, he went all weirdy on me. Scratching his head and mumbling to himself. Asking me if I was planning to shoot him, like that.’

Doyle looks over
Sheridan’s shoulder at Albert, who is counting something on his fingers. He sighs. ‘All right. Thanks, Frankie. I owe you one.’

‘You owe me big time. If I asked you to sleep with me, you wouldn’t be able to refuse, is how much you owe me.’

‘Are you gonna ask me that?’

‘I might, if I ever get desperate enough. See you around.’

‘Yeah,’ says Doyle as he watches her leave. He looks across to LeBlanc and holds up his fingers to let him know he’ll be just five minutes, then heads over to Albert.

‘How’s it hanging, Albert?’

Albert looks down at his pants, as if he should be able to see something hanging there.

‘I mean,’ says Doyle, ‘are you okay? Everything all right?’

Albert offers him a quick glance. ‘You’ve been gone a long time. Hours.’

‘Yeah, well, I had work to do. You’re not my only worry tonight, believe it or not. Officer Sheridan was okay though, wasn’t she?’

‘Yeah, but…’

‘But what?’

‘She’s a… a girl.’

‘What, that makes you feel uncomfortable, Albert?’

Albert suddenly makes one of his frantic scratching motions behind his ear. Doyle is tempted to step back in case something should come flying out at him. But he wonders if he’s on to something.

‘You feel awkward with her? Is that it?’

‘Yeah. Awkward, yeah. Not comfortable. Like my mattress. That’s not comfortable either. It’s all lumpy. She’s lumpy too.’

Doyle wonders how
Sheridan would react to being called lumpy. He also wonders whether Albert is suggesting that he’d like to lie on her to compare her with his mattress.

‘Did that bother you, Albert? Do women make you want to do bad things?’

Albert starts up his eye-dancing then, but Doyle presses on: ‘Does Officer Sheridan remind you of your mother?’

Albert’s gaze suddenly locks on Doyle, and he girds himself. Tenses for a sudden and possibly violent reaction.

But he doesn’t get one.

‘’Course not. My mother is smart. She knows stuff. She knows about prime numbers. Officer Sheridan thinks Isaac Newton is a singer. When I told her he was the guy with the apple, she asked if I was talking about iTunes.’

Doyle lets out a snort of laughter, partly because of what Albert has just said about Sheridan, but also through sheer relief. He didn’t really want to delve further into any warped relationship that Albert might have had with his mother. Sigmund Freud he ain’t. In fact, he finds that whole area of walking around in people’s minds just a little disturbing.

Doyle gestures to the chair next to the water cooler. ‘Sit down, Albert.’

Albert slides onto the chair. Crosses his legs and interlaces his fingers. Starts rocking slightly while looking straight ahead at nothing in particular.

‘Listen to me,’ says Doyle. ‘This has suddenly become a really busy night. Everyone in the station house is busy. We can’t afford to assign officers to look after you every single minute. You came here for our help, right? Well, then, let us help you. Give me some information. Anything.’

‘I, uhm…’

‘Yeah?’

‘I, uhm… I got some Edifix building blocks. For my birthday. I made a robot out of them. Then a house. Then a helicopter. Then another robot. Then a—’

‘No, Albert. Something useful, okay? Something about why you came here tonight. You told us you killed your mother. Was that the truth?’

‘Yes. The truth. I always tell the truth. The truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. Tell me no secrets, tell me no lies.’

His rocking is more vigorous now. Faster, like he’s on a racehorse.

‘How?’

‘How what?’

‘How did you kill her? With a knife? A gun? A rock? How did you do it?’

‘Aw, Jeez. Aw, Jeez. This is bad. Very bad.’

‘Come on, Albert. If you killed her, then you should be able to tell me how you did it. So what did you do? Stab her in the heart? Cut her neck open? What?’

‘Aw, Jeez. Can’t say, can’t say. It’s too bad. You’ll hang me. You’ll fry me in the chair.’

Doyle lifts his face to the ceiling. This is such a waste of time, and right now time is a precious commodity.

‘You know what, Albert? I don’t think you killed your mother at all. I think this is all a big lie to get attention.’

‘No. I told you. I don’t lie. Bad things happen to people who lie. My mom told me that.’

‘She tell you that bad things happen to people who hold back too? People who know something wrong has happened and won’t tell the police about it? That’s a crime too, you know.’

Albert’s rocking is frantic now. He starts tugging on his hair. Grasping at it just above his ears and twisting it so hard it looks like he could tear it out.

‘I
did
tell you about it. I told sergeant one-three-seven-one, and I told you. I always tell. Even when it’s really bad I tell. That’s why I told my Mom about Louie.’

Uh-oh, thinks Doyle. Uh-fucking-oh.

‘Louie?’

‘Yeah. Louie. I killed him too.’

Icy finger running down the spine time. Another killing? Really? You wanna just casually throw it into the conversation like this?

‘You killed Louie?’

‘Yeah. I didn’t want to tell my Mom, but I had to. She woulda found out anyhow.’

‘Found out what, Albert? What happened to Louie?’

‘I was s’posed to look after him. When I left him he was warm, and when I came back he was cold. I didn’t look after him properly. I was bad.’

‘Albert, who was Louie? Was he a member of your family?’

‘Yeah. Family. Yeah. I was s’posed to take care of him, but I didn’t. We had to get rid of him.’

‘Get rid of the body? How, Albert? How did you do that?’

‘We… we flushed him down the toilet.’

Doyle suddenly wants to collapse on the floor in a heap of despair.

‘Albert. Was Louie… was Louie a fish?’

‘Yeah. I had him for a whole year. Then I forgot to plug in his water heater. I needed to charge my Nintendo and I forgot to plug his heater back in. He got cold and died. It was my fault. I killed him.’

Doyle closes his eyes  and bows his head for a few seconds. Tiredness pours into his skull. Somebody please drape a blanket over me and leave me here until this is over. I want to wake up and find out that Albert has gone away and the number killer has been caught.

He looks again at Albert. Looks at this fragile human being who is constantly on the edge of being shattered into a million tiny pieces. He watches him sway and fidget and pull at his hair in frustration at not knowing how to deal with this hostile incomprehensible world

‘All right, Albert,’ he says in his most soothing voice. ‘All right.’

As he tries to restore Albert to what must count to him as some kind of normality, Doyle wonders what the penalty is in this state for killing a fish by neglect.