Punishment (38 page)

Outside I surveyed the once-lovely vista, now compromised by the accusing pile of stone down where the meadow drops off into the sea. I wandered through the field and as I stood before the little monument I could no longer avoid
confronting the awful realization that now screamed for my full attention.

Three people knew the full particulars of the confrontation in Neil’s driveway—Neil, Strickland, me. Whoever was with Strickland when he arrived that night had already prudently retreated. Three people knew that Strickland had called me a pig. One of us wrote the note that was under the windshield wiper blade when I found the dog dead on the front seat of my truck. Strangled with a piece of fine wire, the kind we used as boys for rabbit snares. One of us killed the dog and it wasn’t me and now I knew it wasn’t Strickland.

From her youngest days, Caddy seemed to have the gift of concealing reactions that betrayed emotion. She could absorb shock and surprise with hardly any outward sign. I swear that we could be walking through a fancy room and if I said to Caddy, “Jeez, Caddy, you’ve got two different shoes on!” she’d walk three more paces before she’d even look down, and then just carry on with a shrug.

“I think it was Neil who killed the little dog.”

She was at the sink draining water off potatoes, steam swirling around her face.

“Why would you think that?”

“It could only have been him.”

Long silence as she shook the pot, replaced the cover. “But you don’t know for sure.”

“Not a hundred percent.”

“So why speculate?”

“I think Neil set me up, to involve me in a plan to get rid of Strickland.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t have badgered you into getting that television set. You’ve been watching cop shows.”

“This isn’t funny.”

She nodded, came close to me, suggested that we have a drink before dinner. And as she poured, she declared, “Well, it would be like something he would do.”

“So you wouldn’t rule it out.”

“Anything is possible.”

“Caddy. We murdered Strickland, Neil and me. I was part of it because of that dog.”

“Like I said before, it was only a dog. And Strickland is no big loss to the place. Good riddance, I say.”

“Caddy, I can’t believe I’m hearing this from you.”

“It’s always been your downfall, Tony, taking too much on yourself. At the end of the day …”

“Stop saying that. I hate that fucking expression.” My vehemence shocked me, and even Caddy showed surprise.

“
What
-ever,” she said eventually. “We’re all in this together. Remember that. You, me, Neil, the whole village. It will pass.”

“You? What the fuck did you have to do with it?”

“There are things you don’t know, Tony. And it’s best left that way.”

We ate in silence and I went to bed in the guest room. Early the next morning I gathered my possessions and moved back to my own miserable house.

Driving away I reminded myself that more than thirty years before she had shocked me into a state of grief that never really went away. I was always able to find some comfort in the knowledge, when I was in my twenties, that time would save me from despair. Time was on my side back then. In time I’d forget her, outgrow grief and vulnerability. But I never did and now time was my enemy.

Looking back, my decision to place a call to Anna that day stands as one of my more rational impulses. On the other hand it was possibly nothing more than a desire to hear a human voice—even if it might be hostile.

She picked up on the second ring. She sounded friendly, even happy. For an instant I regretted calling, felt sorry for the effect that what I had to say would have on her. Whatever wounded resentment I might have held after what she and Strickland did had long since been expiated. I told her anyway.

“Anna. I’m sorry to have to be the one to tell you, but I thought you’d want to know. Dwayne Strickland is dead.”

There was a long unsurprising silence and I used it to think through the rest of what I wanted her to know. She said nothing. I realized that she had nothing to say.

“He died in a house fire.”

Still no response.

“It looks like an accident. He was trying to light a fire with kerosene.”

“I’m glad you told me,” she said. I realized that she had been listening for evidence of an agenda. “You’re okay?”

I hesitated. “Sure,” I said. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t sound fine, but I’ll take you at your word. Where are you?”

“I’m at the old place. It’s peaceful here.” Wondering why I added that.

“You cared about him, Tony. You did your best for him. Don’t forget that.”

And whatever sordid impulse might have compelled me to say what I could have said, disappeared, words never to be uttered—words conveying empty, irrelevant, stupid knowledge that would one day mercifully die with us.

“Thanks for the thought,” I said.

“Tony, while I’ve got you—maybe this is a bad time, but it’s something you can think about in the next little while. The dog.”

“What?”

“The dog. Jack Daniels—surely you remember your little pal in Kingston?”

“Oh.”

“It doesn’t really work for me anymore, Tony, having a dog around. There’s a breeder interested in taking him but I thought of you, living alone out in the country. It’s a perfect place for a dog. I think it would be great for both of you. What do you think?”

I was afraid to speak, unnerved by a sudden congestion in my chest making it difficult for me to breathe.

As simply as I could I ended the conversation. “Give me a little time to think about it. Goodbye, Anna.”

——

It became dark outside. I was on my third drink, clear-headed once again. I put the bottle away.

Neil seemed surprised to see me, but motioned me inside. I could hear the rattle and clash of pots in the kitchen as we walked past the doorway, then straight through the comfortable living room to a little room in a back corner of the house. It was, by the look of it, his private space. There was a wall full of citations and awards and photographs. Young Neil the soldier, young Neil the cop, middle-aged Neil the cop, pictures of Neil the host, posing with the guests—identical smile in every shot, the poise of one accustomed to photographers.

He sat in a swivel chair, twisted side to side, hands clasped in front of him, twirling his thumbs. “Can I get you anything?”

The tone was wary, but unafraid.

“I don’t know why you had to kill the dog, Neil.”

He stood abruptly, towering over me, face flushed. “Jesus H. Christ.” Turned away indignantly, then back.

“So you’re blaming me for that, now,” he said. “Where’s this coming from? Guilt, is it? You’re feeling all guilty because some slimeball meets the end that was—and listen carefully to this, Tony—meets the end that was in the cards for him for a long, long time. Long before either one of us had anything to do with him.”

“The dog,” I said. “Why did you do that?”

“Oh fuck off with the dog,” he said. “A human being—and I’ll give Strickland that much—a human being I can understand. But snivelling over a fucking dog? Gimme a break.”

I stood. “I’m going to tell the whole story.”

“Are you now? And who are you going to tell? The media?” He leaned back in the chair and laughed loudly.

“I’m going to file a separate report with the police. I’ll leave it with them.”

“I see.” He hauled his chair up close to the desk and sat, elbows on the desktop, chin in his hands, like a schoolboy. “And what’ll you tell them?”

“Exactly what happened. And don’t worry. I’ll not minimize my own involvement.”

“No. I expect you won’t minimize anything. That seems to be your trademark, Tony. Tell the truth. Let the chips fall where they may, knowing that the chips always fall away from the fella with the axe.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Chicken-shit whistleblowers, is what. You’re all alike.”

I turned toward the door.

“It’ll be your word against mine,” he said.

“I’ll leave it up to them.”

“Fair enough. But before you go I want to show you something.” He was rummaging in the top drawer of the desk. “You know, Tony, cops aren’t all stupid and the fellas here, these young Mounties, they’ve done a pretty good investigation. They haven’t talked to you yet?”

I shook my head. “No.”

“They’ll get around to it. Now sit down. Sit down. Just for a minute.”

I sat in the chair nearest the door.

“Remember the night, the little confrontation in the yard here? Well they actually tracked down the young fella who
was with Strickland—maybe you don’t remember him, he kind of slipped away in the panic. But he was telling them how hot things got between you and Dwayne. He didn’t hear everything so they asked me and I was able to confirm that Strickland called you some pretty nasty things, including ‘a pig.’ ”

He was shaking his head now. “If I had a dollar for every time I heard that word. And how you said something about somebody putting a bullet in Strickland’s ass. You remember as well as I do, I’m sure.”

“And did you tell them that it was you carrying the gun, on the verge of shooting him? Did you remember that part?”

“Gun? What gun are you talking about? Are you trying to say you saw a gun?”

“This is bullshit, Neil. You know it as well as I do.”

“I’m just sayin’. But here’s the thing. This dog business never entered the picture, as far as the cops are concerned. But it’s true. You were pretty upset about what happened to that dog. Very upset.”

And from the desk drawer he removed and held up a yellow piece of paper. “And this here is proof of just how upset you were, Tony. You’re gonna have to tell them that you found this under the wiper on your truck. Clear evidence for you of who killed your dog.” He shook his head slowly, sadly. “Then you head for Strickland’s with the dead dog and the evidence and you break in and leave this on his kitchen table. But that’s not enough. Oh no. Tony’s so upset about his dog that he writes a little love note on the bottom—a threat. A clear, unmistakable threat. And then … and then, you fucking signed it.”

The expression on his face was one of mockery and pity and contempt. He slapped his forehead in mock disbelief, and slid the paper back in the drawer.

“How did you get that?”

“Huh?” He was through with me, his mind already elsewhere. He seemed weary. “Never mind how I got it. But you know as well as I do, Tony, I can’t give it to you. It’s evidence. And as a policeman myself I’m sworn and trained to protect evidence by all means possible.”

We both stood then and stared at each other, everything that connected us—history, community, the law—now replaced by a single common memory that made us hostages to each other.

“I have to ask you something, Neil.”

“Fire away.”

“You mentioned my wife. Anna. And Strickland. Where did you hear about that, Neil?”

“Don’t you worry about that, Tony. That’s between us. We can imagine what the cops would do with
that
but, trust me, some things are just too personal.”

“The question was,” I said, struggling for calm, “where did you hear about that?”

He put a gentle hand on my elbow, I brushed the hand away. “I’m just curious, how did you connect with Graham? How did you guys end up talking about Anna?”

He straightened up, seemed genuinely confused. “Graham who?”

“You know who,” I said.

Now he was perplexed. Studied the floor for a moment. “You’re away a head of me, Tony. I don’t have a fuckin clue
what you’re talking about.” He caught my elbow again, this time in a grip. “I don’t want to seem unfriendly, Tony, but I’m gonna have to ask you to leave.”

And he ushered me out of his little office, back through the living room, down a hallway toward the door.

Passing the now silent kitchen, lit only by a vent light above the stove, I glanced in and saw Hannah standing there in the semi-darkness. She was stone still, holding a dishtowel to her face, concealing her expression or maybe wiping something from her cheek.

I
needed two days to decide. And it gives me some satisfaction that for those two days I denied myself the comfort, inspiration, stimulation—all the myriad promises—of alcohol. I busied myself around my house. I cleaned. I stored things that didn’t have immediately obvious usefulness. I don’t think I turned on a radio or the television and I avoided the store. It doesn’t diminish the effect of this scene to admit that I was hoping to hear the ringing of the telephone and that I wanted it to be Caddy. But the phone was as silent as the table it sat on.

All the while, my mind processed the images and sensations and potential ramifications of all that had happened to me in the previous month. By late on day two I was reasonably certain what I had to do.

——

For a moment I wasn’t sure that she would invite me in when she saw me on her deck. Her face was expressionless. Then she nodded.

“I was about to make a cup of tea,” she said.

I sat. I did not presume to remove my coat. “That would be nice.” I sensed her uneasiness. I had caught her by surprise and I felt a little bit sorry for her. “I won’t stay long,” I said.

She shrugged, leaned back against the counter to await the kettle.

“You said the other day, ‘We’re all in this together.’ I want to understand what you meant by that.”

“It isn’t complicated, we’re community. We’re …”

“Jesus Christ!”

We were both startled to silence by my tone.

“I’m sorry,” I said quickly. I stood up and paced, calm resolve crumbling. “I’m starting to hate that word. ‘Community.’ It’s turning into an excuse for everything from mediocrity to corruption.”

“Sit, Tony,” she said. “Just sit.”

She unplugged the kettle and fetched a bottle. It was a fifteen-year-old single malt, unopened. She placed it on the table, returned to the cupboard and found two small glasses. She sat so that we had only the corner of the table between us. She placed her hand on my thigh and squeezed gently. Then she took the bottle, broke the seal and struggled with the cork.

“I found this the other day, after you left. It was with Jack’s stuff. A gift from some old friend, or customer when he had his
own business. Poor Jack wasn’t much for Scotch. Rum or rye would have been Jack’s choice.” There was a squeak and a hollow thunk as the cork pulled free.