How Not To Commit Murder - comedy crime - humorous mystery (16 page)

Her eyes were hard with suspicion, as if she expected him to throw off his clothes then and there to reveal frilly underwear and stockings. He shrugged and looked down at his hands.

The couch sagged and Carlene was beside him. Her arms engulfed him and she pressed her cheek against his.

‘Baby, you can tell me, I promise I won’t laugh. I know you’ve been under a lot of pressure, trying to find work and adjust to life on the outside. We can work through it together.’

Her eyes were pleading, but in their depths lurked something else. Was it panic? Or fear?

‘It’s … difficult to talk about.’

‘I know, honey.’ She hesitated. ‘How long have you been doing it?’

‘Doing what?’

‘Don’t play dumb. Dressing up in women’s clothes.’

‘Not long.’

She gripped his shoulders. ‘I’m going to ask you something and I want you to be completely honest with me.’

‘I’ll try.’ As long as she didn’t ask him if he was taking part in a plan to kill his parole officer. Or if he fantasised about other women, or was associating with unsavoury characters….

‘Do you …. are you … you know … attracted to men?’

Reuben was so relieved he burst out in a loud guffaw. ‘Christ, no! I’m as red-blooded hetero as they come. You of all people should know that.’

She permitted herself a tight smile. ‘I know, but you hear all those stories about what happens in jail, and when I found the clothes, I naturally thought there’s a whole side of you I know nothing about.’

Reuben took Carlene’s hand. ‘Look, it isn’t anything to get upset about. I didn’t harm anyone. To tell you the truth, I got the urge to dress up but when I actually did, it wasn’t that exciting. In fact, I can tell you for certain I’ll never do it again.’

‘How do you know for sure? I’ve looked it up on the internet, and the men who do it say they can’t help themselves, it’s part of who they are and if they deny it they feel miserable.’

‘I’m not one of those men. When I took those clothes off and stuffed them in that backpack, all I felt was a huge relief.’

‘You didn’t go out in them, did you?’

‘Of course I didn’t! What do you take me for? An exhibitionist? I just wandered around the house and went out into the yard and scared the magpies.’

From her expression it was clear that doubt and the desire to believe him were waging war in Carlene’s mind. Reuben drew her to him and planted soft kisses on her cheek.

‘Promise you’ll tell me if you get that urge again,’ she whispered.

‘I already said I won’t but, okay, I promise I’ll tell you the minute I even think about trying on your underwear.’

‘That’s not funny.’

Reuben continued to kiss her, moving down to her neck.

‘And that was my favourite lipstick you took. I wondered where it had gone – never would I have dreamed that my own husband had stolen it.’

‘I’m sorry, honey.’

His mouth moved back up again to hers and she responded. He could always win her over with his kisses – women had complimented him on his kissing technique. He picked her up and carried her into the bedroom.

***

Reuben’s second day at work consisted of hours of unrelenting labour in a cramped kitchen with little ventilation, and an overriding odour of stale cooking oil and boiled cabbage. An exact replica of the first day. The boiled cabbage odour was a mystery, considering no cabbage was cooked there. Perhaps the smell was ingrained in the walls from a previous era. Not surprisingly, there were no onions to be chopped. When Joe wasn’t around, Reuben opened the back door to take in a lungful of fresh air.

At three o’clock, he washed his hands and got ready to knock off. Joe appeared at his elbow.

‘Not so fast, boy, I want that bag of carrots and celery chopped before you go. Practice makes perfect.’

‘But I have an appointment at three-fifteen.’

He had an appointment with Lucy, but he wasn’t about to disclose that to Joe, not being sure whether Nina had told him about his being on parole.

‘You’d better get started then.’ He winked at Nina, who had just appeared in the doorway.

‘I’m going, Uncle Joe.’

‘All right, my sweet. Do you have college tonight?’

‘Yes.’

‘I’ll keep you some meatballs.’

‘Don’t go to any bother, I’m going to the library after lectures. I’ll fix myself a sandwich when I get home.’

Joe wagged his finger at her. ‘You’re burning the candle too fast, young lady. It’s not good for you, and you can’t live on sandwiches.’

‘Okay, save me some meatballs,’ Nina said.

Reuben rolled his eyes at her. Joe whipped around. ‘What are you looking at?’ he thundered. ‘Get to work!’

It was three-twenty when Reuben finished chopping enough carrot and celery to feed an army of vegetarians. Joe tapped his watch. ‘Three minutes, that should have taken. I think you’re a lost cause, boy.’

He made a quick exit before Joe could conjure up another chore, and apologised to the receptionist at the parole office for his lateness.

‘That’s okay,’ she said airily, ‘Lucy’s running late with her appointments anyway.’

It was a different receptionist today – young, with a fluffy mass of blonde curls. She looked too innocent and untarnished to be in her job. ‘Five minutes late is nothing, we’re happy if you actually turn up on the right day.’

She leaned forward with a conspiratorial air. ‘Don’t say I said that.’

‘My lips are sealed.’

The waiting room was standing room only. Reuben found a spare bit of wall to stand against; next to a young guy in dreadlocks and board shorts who was sitting on a chair with his girlfriend sprawled across his lap. Slim and tanned, she wore the most micro of miniskirts. He ran his hands constantly over her body, making her giggle, and every few seconds their lips locked.

The other occupants of the waiting room looked away but kept an eye on the couple’s antics in their peripheral vision. Except for a greasy-haired, pimply-faced youth sitting across from them, who was staring right up the girl’s skirt.

‘Hey mate,’ Dreadlocks said. ‘Keep your eyes to yourself.’

‘It’s a free country, mate. I can look wherever I like.’

‘Really? Where’d you get that idea?’

‘Tell your missus to stop flashin’ it then.’

Dreadlocks tensed, his veins rope-like on his arms. His eyes glinted. ‘Get off,’ he said to his girlfriend. She jumped off, smoothing down her tiny skirt in a pointless gesture. Dreadlocks advanced towards Pimples and stood over him.

‘Get up and say that again.’

Pimples scrambled to his feet, hands out in front of him. ‘Steady on, mate, it was a joke.’

‘Some fuckin’ joke...’

‘Ben, calm down!’ The receptionist glared at him through the glass. There was nothing innocent or untarnished about her now. ‘If you start anything, the police will be here in two minutes.’

Ben clenched and unclenched his fists. His arm muscles twitched with the supreme effort of not knocking Pimples out. He gave Pimples a malevolent look and turned away. ‘Come on,’ he said to his girlfriend.

‘We’re going out to have a smoke,’ he told the receptionist.

‘Good idea,’ Pimples said.

‘Don’t push your luck, Josh,’ the receptionist said.

‘Jesus fucking Christ,’ Josh said as he sat down again. ‘The guy’s a maniac.’

‘What do you expect at the parole office, mate?’ said a skinny, greasy-haired man. ‘It’s worse than the loony bin.’ He wore a t-shirt with the words ‘Trainee gynaecologist. Volunteers wanted for oral exam.’

There was a wave of sniggers. Reuben had watched the episode with a feeling of deja vu. He’d encountered many like Ben in prison, their stance and their swagger containing a simmering anger that boiled over to rage at the slightest provocation. On the one hand he empathised with them, knew that the anger had come, in many instances, from being beaten, neglected and abused; and that they knew no other way of dealing with it except to inflict the same punishment on others.

Conversely, he was also contemptuous of them, of their inability to rise above their upbringing and their circumstances. It was a contempt born of fear, fear of being hurt. A fear he’d lived with every day in prison, that he’d risen above because he could act as if he didn’t give a shit and make them laugh in the process.

It was a fear he’d succeeded in forgetting about since his release, except when he encountered guys like Ben. And Frank Cornell. They brought it all back with a chilling vividness.

The door of the far interview room opened. ‘Reuben, come in.’

Lucy flashed him a quick smile as he sat down. Her face was paler than usual and there were shadows under her eyes. Had her child been ill? Or perhaps she and her husband were having marriage problems. He felt buoyant at the thought. He saw himself envelop her in his arms and bury his face in her soft hair smelling of apples and sunshine. He’d soothe her and tell her it was all okay because he would look after her. And he’d kiss her perfect shell of an ear, and it would taste so divine he would have to keep going, down her neck, into the hollow of her collarbone; she had the sexiest collarbone he’d ever seen…

He was aware she’d said something. She was looking at him half-reprovingly, like a teacher who’d caught her favourite pupil daydreaming.

‘Sorry,’ he said, ‘I’m tired, it’s my new job.’

He held out his hands. ‘Look at them, almost worn to the bone.’

‘Welcome to the world of earning an honest living.’

Her smile took the sting out of her words, but before he could stop himself, he said,’ If that’s earning an honest living, no wonder there are so many criminals around.’

Shit. In the list of Worst Things to Say to Your Parole Officer, that would have to be number one.

‘But I’m not about to go out and commit more offences,’ he added hastily.

Only if it means saving your life, of course.

She clasped her hands together on the desk. Her gold wedding band glinted under the fluorescent light.

‘I know that what you’re doing now doesn’t afford a lot of job satisfaction, but it’s a step in the right direction. Perhaps you should look at doing a course of some sort.’

‘Droop- I mean, Dave at the employment agency, was looking into that for me. I’ve never been much into study though.’

‘What you did or didn’t do in the past doesn’t have to dictate your future. If you’re going to succeed, you have to be able to break your old behaviour patterns and try new things.’

She sounded like Carlene. He had a vision of the two of them with their heads together, plotting and planning his future. But it was easier to forgive Lucy; it was her job after all.

As she wrote out his appointment slip, he had a premonition of what it would be like reporting to the parole office if Lucy were dead. Being questioned and lectured at by someone else, his life dissected by a complete stranger. Of course, Lucy was a stranger when he met her but only in theory – in his mind she’d always existed. Perhaps he’d have to report to Merle again. Yet another incentive, if he needed any more, to stop Frank from killing Lucy.

As he stood up to go, Lucy said, ‘By the way, I couldn’t find a report anywhere about that parolee hiring a hit man to kill his parole officer.’

‘Really? That’s strange.’

‘Not recently anyhow. There was a guy in Arizona who made threatening phone calls to the parole office, said he was going to skin his parole officer’s cat and hang it from a tree in the main street. But that was five years ago.’

‘Maybe that was it,’ Reuben said. ‘I might have got the story a bit mixed up.’

‘But the funny thing was,’ Lucy said, ‘his parole officer didn’t own a cat.’

Reuben smiled and shook his head. ‘There’re some crazy people around, aren’t there?’

CHAPTER 14

‘Where have you been?’

Carlene watched him with her hands on her hips as he brought the groceries in from the car and placed them on the kitchen bench.

‘You know where I’ve been. At the supermarket.’

‘You took two hours to get three bags of groceries?’

‘I like to check all the prices, make sure I get the best value.’ He busied himself putting away the groceries. ‘And I had a coffee while I was there too.’

It was half true. He’d had a coffee while shopping, but had done it all in fast forward mode in the last half hour, battling the Saturday morning crowds. He spent the first one-and-a-half hours driving to various locations, taking photographs of Lucy’s imagined haunts from the list he’d painstakingly created.

Carlene didn’t answer but her silence was accusing. She’d been acting strangely during the few days since the backpack incident. He’d caught her on a few occasions staring at him while twirling her fingers through her hair, and once he’d come upon her in the bedroom with his mobile phone, scrolling through phone numbers.

She flushed. ‘Just looking for the number of Pedro’s Pizzas.’

‘You haven’t got it,’ she added unnecessarily, placing the phone back on the bedside table.

She’d also resisted all sexual contact, pretending to be asleep when he came to bed, curled up with her back to him. She lay perfectly still as he kissed her goodnight, her body tense with the effort of not moving a muscle. Last night he’d caressed her neck and chest and slid his hand down to her nipples. They betrayed her by hardening under his touch and she removed his hand. Admitting defeat, he turned over and went to sleep.

There was a knock at the front door. It opened, followed by a ‘Hullooo!’ Reuben recognised the voice. Why did Jo even bother to knock?

‘We’re on the way home from ballet. I brought some bun loaf.’

She barrelled in but stopped when she saw Reuben in the kitchen. She had Brayden on her hip chewing on a ratty blanket, and Indya beside her in a pink tutu and satin ballet slippers, looking too angelic to be true.

‘Hi Jo.’ Reuben greeted her with a kiss. She stiffened and turned her head away. Carlene made coffee and they sat on the patio to have morning tea. Jo avoided eye contact as she passed him the plate of bun loaf. He was about to ask her what the problem was, when Indya, fixing Reuben with her most melting gaze said, ‘Uncle Reuben, will you take me for a ride on the Barbiemobile?’