Lesser Crimes Page 7

  "Call her Lee. Like the general."

  "I can look it all up, you know.”

  “Do that, then.” James gave him a grim smile. “She was sure you were a murderer for a while.”

  “She was?” Attie beamed. “Tell her I adore her for it. And it was very clever of her to figure the whole thing out. Although it did shorten the number of members-of-your-family-out-of-jail by two, and I love Aunt Imogen. Can’t we get her out of prison?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Robert can go to hell of course, but Im’s worth a million of Mia. Sometimes people are just so murderable, you know.”

  James knew it was impossible to contain Attie, and he didn’t try. “Strange that you didn’t tell me what you thought of Mia before I got married.”

  “Well, one doesn’t. One waits till all hell breaks loose to go on about how one always knew it.” Attie leaned forward. “I do approve of General Lee. Just for the record. Fantastic body, a brain and insane courage. Two out of three of those, and I’d marry her.”

  “I’m sure it’s the insane courage part that you’d drop.”

  “Well, my arms aren’t as buff as yours to be carrying her all over the place for days.”

  Attie's gaze wandered to the right. Caroline and Cathy were making their way back to the table.

  "At least I got you a woman with a normal name,” he said. “Be charming."

  "Why? She looks like she enjoys a brooder."

  "Then brood. Goes with that jumper. Besides, I always feel like your successes are mine.”

  “I’m sure.”

  They stood as the two women took their seats again. Cathy put delicate elbows on the table and smiled first at Attie, then at James.

  “What have we missed?"

  Do small talk. Eat dinner. Take Cathy home. Go home. Kill Attie some other time.

  At the door of her house on Earl's Court, Cathy turned to James with a bright but vulnerable smile. "Would you like to come up for a nightcap?"

  Wouldn’t it be wonderful if life were simple? Then he’d just lose himself in the body of a beautiful woman for a few hours. But that was the problem of knowing the consequences of things: he would want to run away as soon as the deed was done. He would use a person and hurt her for little reason. He would go home thinking a thousand times more intensely of Lee.

  "My sister is arriving," James said. "I need to prepare a few things. Another time?"

  Cathy’s face showed her bewilderment. Now she might spend Christmas wondering why a man wouldn’t want to sleep with her. James would kill Attie for interfering, even with his best interest, or something like it, in mind.

  His apartment was empty, because he had lied; Caitlin would only arrive the next afternoon, in time for Christmas Eve. And although his sister would soon be there, the place felt all wrong: a big space, sparsely but expensively furnished, with a privileged view of the Thames and of snow falling over black water. It was tasteful, and it felt wrong. It wasn’t a home, and there was no heart in it.

  An invisible but inexorable cord pulled him across the ocean.

  He poured himself a glass of whiskey, because it was cold, and walked into his bedroom. Taking the phone out of his pocket, he felt its weight in the palm of his hand.

  Don't drink and dial, dickhead.

  How are you, Lee? Is it bearable? Please tell me you're not miserable.

  It wasn't fair of him to do that, to her or to himself.

  James undressed, lay in bed watching the snow, and he thought of someone else. He thought of the pain that he could help, at least a little. It was time.

  TEN

  He had known it would hurt to see his aunt, and it did.

  The visitors’ room at the prison seemed to have a blue filter to it. The tables, chairs and walls were blue, as was the light coming in through barred windows. When Aunt Imogen crossed the door in a sweat suit, the blue of her kind eyes seemed faded, and her skin was gray.

  She stood, uncertain, biting lips that trembled. Her hair was half white now, and unkempt. James watched her clutch her plump hands together, the hands that had so often caressed his head and face — and all he felt was that he didn’t want her to suffer.

  He folded her in his arms.

  “Aunt Im,” he said, kissing her temple.

  “My dear …”

  They stayed in each other’s embrace for a moment to gather their emotions and smiled as they pulled away. He held her elbow and guided her to a chair, afraid that she might have become frail, although she looked sturdy.

  “What is it that I’ve heard?” she asked immediately. “The whole thing about Vivien, and then Mexico?”

  “Long story,” he said.

  “Oh, but I told her I could see it. That you had never, ever felt like that in your life.” She patted his hand. “It’s wonderful, James.”

  “Well, it’s actually a mess.”

  “No, no, no,” Imogen said. “You’ll see, it will work out.”

  He stroked her fingers. “Tell me about you.”

  “It isn’t bad here, you know.” She shrugged. “Not like in the films or anything.”

  “No one has hurt you?”

  “Oh, no. It’s just loud sometimes, when the women fight. But there are some older ladies, like me, and we keep to each other.”

  They both knew that she was going to be in there for years; Robert would get out before she did. But Aunt Im had always been able to tell what he was thinking.

  “I know you won’t go see your uncle,” she said. “Even Cat hasn’t.”

  “He can really rot.”

  “It wasn’t—”

  He cocked his head. “You’re not about to say it wasn’t his fault, are you?”

  “When you hear a story like that, you might think that Robert abused my love and drove me to do something terrible,” she insisted. “But you see, all the time I acted out of love for him and thought little of myself, I was happy. It was when I started thinking of myself that things got bad.”

  James pursed his lips. “That philosophy will make most people use you and spit you out. There is no end to human selfishness, Aunt Im.”

  “I know, my darling. Robert would have gone away with Mia. You’d be divorced, and you’d feel disgust but relief as well. I’d have suffered, but Robert would still have cared for me. Mia would be alive, and their child would be alive.”

  “And he would have realized that he missed you,” James said. “And that Mia could never have made him happy. And maybe even that he was too bloody old to be a father. But would you have realized that he isn’t worth your love?”

  Her eyes became lost for a moment. “In a strange way he is, though. I know you don’t understand it, but he is.”

  “Right.” He scoffed. “I guess I don’t see it.”

  “Amor gignit amorem, James. It is the truth.”

  Love begets love. The motto of a family that had had scant love in it, except for the woman sitting before him.

  “What are you doing here?” Imogen asked softly.

  “I wanted to see you.”

  She tapped the table with her plump hand. “No, I mean in England. That young woman needs you.”

  “It’s complicated, Aunt Im.”

  She smiled and brushed the hair away from his forehead. “No, my darling. It isn’t.”

  That afternoon, Caitlin arrived at her brother’s flat with a golden little puppy, and she held on to James, her cheek against his. “I’m so happy you went to see Aunt Im. You’re the best ever.”

  “Nice when you admit that,” he said. “And what on earth …?”

  She held the puppy with its fat belly up. It snarled, showing tiny teeth. “It’s Percy. For Percival.”

  “And where do you plan to keep him?”

  “With me, silly.” She opened her coat pocket and dropped the puppy into it. “See? It’s portable.”

  Percy was given the newspaper James had neglected to read and proceeded to tear it into pieces as it rolle
d on the carpet.

  “He’s going to pee all over,” James said.

  He carved the lamb he had roasted, while Caitlin prepared a salad. “The pee doesn’t even smell, at his age. I’ll take him out before he poos all over.”

  “I should hope so.”

  "I don't think Lee has ever felt loved," Caitlin said as a way of response.

  James had kept several details of what had happened between him and Lee to himself, such as the attempted theft of Mia's diamonds by "Vivien." Caitlin would believe Lee to be a woman on the run from an unjust but complex charge of murder, changing her name as she went; a woman who had tried to help him solve the Diego problem, although he had blurred some of those details as well.

  “That came a bit out of nowhere,” James observed.

  "You need to tell her."

  "Tell her what?"

  "That you love her."

  He snorted in fond condescension. "You're so young. As if saying three stupid words could solve the problems of a lifetime."

  "You're the one who sounds like a child now." Caitlin mimicked him, “ ‘Stupid words, bleh.' "

  "I think I taught you to respect your elders. In any case, aren't actions supposed to speak louder than words?"

  "Some people need to hear stupid words."

  "Then they're stupid people. And Lee is as far from stupid as the next galaxy is from us."

  "Well, here is my perspective,” Caitlin said, staring earnestly at him. “Light the way for her."

  James wouldn’t leave the lamb alone, although it was already in slices. "What are you talking about?"

  "She's in the dark. Light the way for her. She needs to understand that you want to be with her, and then she'll be with you."

  "She has a very sick husband."

  "Tell her you love her, and she will find a way."

  "Kill him, you mean?"

  "Don't be an ass. Tell her you love her."

  "Maybe I'll pick up a card that says it. I'll sign it xoxoxo."

  Caitlin looked at him with something like compassion. Or pity. "You have a problem, James. You need to face it sometime. You hate feelings. You only like action. Probably because of your—”

  “If you say my lonely childhood with our parents …”

  “—lonely childhood feeling unloved.”

  “Christ. She went there.”

  “You ought to know that you can show Lee all day long that you love her, and she will just think you're being noble, like she is."

  James gave a cynical smile. "Should I show her I'm an absolute shit to everyone else? Maybe then …?”

  "You should say it."

  "Sounds like you’re in the mood to watch a Disney movie tonight.”

  "See what you do? You have a problem, James. You think it's all her, but it's you."

  “I think Percy just pooped.”

  “Stop, he didn’t!”

  “I can smell something awful.”

  Caitlin laughed and ran to the puppy. “So can I.” She grabbed her coat as she passed by him. “Cowardice.”

  Cowardice? No one could call him a coward, James thought as he put the food on the table and poured himself some wine.

  Could they?

  But when the screen of his phone lit up, he had to admit the grab he made for it, tripping over the newspaper on the floor, was a little desperate. It was only Attie, wishing them a good evening. He texted a few words back.

  Dinner was tasty, but they had a little too much champagne and far too much plum pudding. They’d open the presents the next morning. After helping him clean up, Caitlin left him in the living room and went to her bedroom to answer texts and make calls.

  James avoided his phone and sat on the sofa. He should turn on the TV: it would be full of Christmas specials of some sort. There might be something good, or at least amusing. Percy was on his lap, half asleep. Hopefully he wouldn’t pee.

  Reaching for the guitar next to him, James plucked a few cords. The notes started forming a song and he played it; he even softly sang it.

  “Wish You Were Here?” Caitlin asked, jumping onto the sofa. “Uh-oh.”

  “A song written by Roger Waters for his friend Syd Barrett.”

  Caitlin’s expression was ironic. “Sure.”

  “What about this one?” James started strumming I Will Survive.

  She grabbed his face. “Tell her, Jamie.” Kissing him, she took Percy and went to bed.

  My romantic little sister, James thought. I hope real life never catches up to you.

  The phone screen lit up again, but James didn’t pick it up. At least not for a while. When it was time to go to bed, he looked at it: no messages, but a red circle indicated several emails waiting to be read. There were far too many to deal with, but most were Christmas greetings, invitations, ecards.

  Only one of the emails interested him: it was from Paxton. I have the information you asked for. Interesting. Call me at any time to discuss.

  Any time was underlined, so it could be now, only around six in the afternoon in Greensboro on the 24th of December. It was a working day, and Paxton picked up his phone quickly.

  "Carter Paxton."

  "It's James."

  "Hello, dear. How is grand old London?"

  "Cold and busy. Lots of people trying to get places, as usual. One day they'll fall off the edge of the world."

  Paxton chuckled. "You’re missed around here."

  "I miss y’all too. You said you got results?"

  "Can you believe it? They arrived like Christmas presents. You were right to ask for an extremely thorough examination of the fingerprints on that poker. And, James, if I may use a very rude word: it's a clusterfuck."

  "Whose prints?"

  "This is the thing — that poker was wiped and then covered in blood. But we did recover a good partial fingerprint from that rather ornate handle, where the cleaning didn't reach."

  James already suspected the answer, but he nevertheless asked, "Whose?"

  There was a pause. "I'm afraid it's Cora's."

  For a moment, James didn't say anything. It would be a tragedy, if an eight-year-old child had hit a man on the head with a fire poker several times. A child might have felt so anxious and afraid that she had found no other way to live than to brutally murder a grown man.

  "But there's more," Paxton went on.

  "Tell me."

  "Two partial prints for April Keane too."

  James sat up. "Not old ones?"

  "No, etched in Keane's blood. You see what I mean by clusterfuck. Every woman in that house touched the murder weapon. And Lee touched it last, after wiping the other prints. Lee set herself up as the scapegoat."

  As the sacrifice, James thought.

  ELEVEN

  "Lynn, are you going to do this?" Maddy asked.

  "Yes!" Lee answered from the kitchen.

  "I'm getting nervous!" Maddy said, appearing at the door in her bathrobe, with tissue paper tucked around the collar.

  "It's five o'clock, Maddy," Lee pointed out as she opened the oven and slid the chicken inside. "Your dinner doesn't start till eight."

  Her sister-in-law pulled a bag of potato chips toward her and ripped it open. "I'm starving already." She stuck a few chips in her mouth and added, "There will be traffic to Greensboro today, Lynn. We won't make it there in the usual half hour."

  Lee peered inside the pot where water boiled and threw carrots and potatoes inside. "All right, I'm ready."

  It was difficult to keep up with Maddy's constant anxiety about when things ought to be done. Normally they had to be done right away or she would start fretting and let everyone know it. She never stopped warning Lee that Billy was going to run out of medication, even if the prescriptions had just been filled and they wouldn't get another one from the doctor until the bottles were nearly empty.

  "Then he'll start having problems, and you don't want to see that," Maddy would say. "You don’t want to see him when he turns all purple."

  As Mad
dy sat on the closed toilet, facing the mirror, Lee covered the bathroom sink with a wide tray and laid out the tubes and pots of make-up. She felt a painful twitch inside when she thought of another scene just like that, a few months before: Luz doing her face for an event in Mexico to which she hadn’t been invited.

  Life went on, leaving everything behind, especially the dead, and pulling you along. It was Maddy who sat there now, and she had only just stopped blaming Lee for disappearing.

  "It ain't only money, Lynn," Maddy had said, perhaps a hundred times, because she couldn't deny that Lee's money had helped keep them afloat. "That ain't love. That's you paying to get rid of trouble. That's not what your vows were."

  The "trouble" — Billy — would be sitting right there as Maddy relentlessly attacked Lee. And most days Billy was very tired, his face as pale as his blond hair, his blue eyes sunk deep inside their sockets as his head rested on the back of the sofa.

  "She couldn't come," he would say sometimes, interrupting his sister's tirades.

  "And might be going away again, for all we know — to jail!" Maddy would shake her head. "We may be poor as mice, Lynn, but we have been honest all our lives.”

  Two messages had been painted outside: KILLER and MURDERER. Maddy had certainly shouted and complained about them. They had painted the house only ten months ago! And how would they get that horrible word off the driveway?

  When Maddy was away, Lee paid to have the messages removed. Maddy had complained that it was winter, and the paint would take long to dry and not be perfect.

  Just as she was calming down, she had found a dead racoon inside the letterbox, and had started again.

  Since then, things had quieted down. It was strange, but apart from those three incidents, most people had accepted Lee’s return. They seemed to be giving her the benefit of the doubt. Some glared as she passed, but many more greeted her as they had always done.

  And Maddy was something like family. As Lee carefully patted foundation onto her sister-in-law’s face, she reflected that it would be difficult for them to hate each other. Maddy was five years older than Billy; a lifetime ago she would bring "the kids" chocolate or candy when she came home from work, would braid Lee’s hair and talk about Ross, her boyfriend, and her dreams for the future.