Authors: Barbara Doherty
Roger drove back to Montgomery Street, parked in the private car park then made his way to the elevator on the ground floor of the Jefferson building, rode all the way up to the fourteenth floor where the doors slid open right in front of his secretary’s desk. She looked good, as usual, well-groomed, well dressed, her make up impeccable. Just like the day he had hired her. It had nothing to do with how efficient she had proved she could be, it was her long legs and the way her smart shirts always had an extra button undone that he really admired.
Nora looked up, distracted by the sound of the elevator door and Roger nodded in her direction. She stood up from the desk and followed him as he walked into his office, holding a plastic box from Pop’s Sandwich Shop and a serviette.
“Salty beef and salad.” She smiled handing him his lunch, her impossibly white teeth showing through burgundy lips.
“What would I do without you, Nora?” He sat himself at the desk. “Anything else before I tuck into this?”
Nora stood in front of him, arms crossed over her chest, hips squeezed in a tight black skirt. “I don’t suppose you had a chance to watch the news while you were out?”
Roger picked up half the sandwich. “No, I didn’t. Why?”
“William Blaise was found dead this morning. In his house.”
“You’re fucking kidding me.” He couldn’t think of much else to say, the sandwich back in its box. “What happened?”
“Freak accident apparently. Crushed by a marble crucifix he kept in the house.”
“Freak. No kidding. I better make a couple o’ phone calls.”
Nora nodded and went for the door. “Enjoy that. When you get to it.”
Roger grabbed the remote control on his desk and switched on the television on the far end wall of the room searching for the news, for someone to pronounce the name William Blaise —the poor jerk.
Looking through the news channels, his mind travelled back to that November afternoon last year, when Jessica told him she was going to rent Blaise’s apartment, and with the memory, the sickening feeling he had been living with for the past couple of months resurfaced.
There had been many moments ever since then, when getting away with what he had done did not seem possible, moments when being found out and punished seemed inevitable. Blaise was the one man who could connect him to Kaitlyn Lynch, the one who had stopped with him at the Windsor Hotel that night. Him becoming Jessica’s landlord was bad enough, but the thought of the two of them dating, talking about each other, Blaise seeing pictures of her dead sister, remembering, telling her that yes, Roger must have known Kaitlyn, I was there when he went to meet her this one time... That was too much to bear.
Denying he knew the man was all Roger could think of doing. He was well aware of the fact that this was a feeble shield against what could have happened if Jessica found out her editor had been fucking her sister, if she found out he had been lying about it all this time. And now
Elysa: New York Underground
was out and Roger’s name was in the acknowledgement page, forever tying him to Blaise, black on white. It was only a matter of time before that shabby looking detective put two and two together.
He hadn’t slept well over it.
But today, the only person he had real reasons to fear had disappeared forever, taking any compromising memory of that one short stop at the Windsor Hotel in the grave with him and he couldn’t care less how it had happened. All that mattered was that he was dead. Gone. Everything was under control now. Nothing was ever going to go wrong again. His brief affair with Kaitlyn Lynch had been a private one and Roger could not think of another soul who’d be able to put the two of them together anymore.
Roger switched the TV off just as the ABC7 channel was about to return to the piece about Blaise’ death.
He twirled on his swivel chair so that he was now facing the wall-to-wall window in his office. From here he could admire the whole district all the way down to the Bay. He loved that, he loved sitting at his desk with that view in front of him; he could pretend to be a king appraising his empire. All he could see he owned, everything belonged to him —the houses, the buildings, the businesses, the cable cars and the people inside them, the dogs and their shit on the sidewalks, the fishermen, the trees, the hills, the sky and the sun rising above it all. Everything there for him to take and use, abuse. Everything. The whole empire. His.
He turned back to his desk and started eating his sandwich.
29 January 2001
DAYS HAD started merging into one. The apartment was constantly in the dark, the blinds all closed, the curtains all drawn. Still and silent.
The phone had been ringing but she had not picked it up, could not hear the answering machine. Maybe Lisa had called. Maybe Roger. She didn’t care anymore.
Let them come for me, let them drag me out of bed.
When was the last time she had eaten? She could not remember. The last four days had been spent mostly between the bed and the toilet. It all seemed disturbingly familiar, as if she had run in a great big circle over the past few months only to find herself at the starting point again instead of the finishing line.
Jessica was curled up under the duvet. She opened her eyes and looked at the digital clock on the bedside table —five seventeen, probably morning, possibly afternoon. Her mouth was dried up, her head pounding. She groped for a glass of water she thought she’d left by the clock but found nothing, inspected the rest of the surface in the dark, exploring with her fingertips. And then she felt it, clearly and solid under her fingers, the CD she had forgotten about.
Jessica switched on the lamp and waited for her eyes to get used to the artificial light holding the plastic case in her hand then she stared at the white cover, the yellow and orange circle under the title, let the memory of the first and last time she had listed to this album come back to her.
This is the sound of my soul.
Can you see me?
Could she see him again? Would she feel close to him if she played his music? Jessica pushed the duvet away and dragged herself to the small stereo on her chest of drawers, popped the CD in and laid back in bed, switched the light off again. The first time Jessica had listened to Preisner she’d believed William’s sadness was something she could comprehend, she’d thought their misery came from the same place. Now she was certain that the kind of anguish he had carried was always going to be unimaginable to her.
She didn’t know the extent of what William had been through and she would never be able to find out, but what she imagined made her feel nauseous, helpless and angry. It made her sick, not only because of the nature of what had been done to him, but because reflecting on it now made her see William in a different light, made her think of him as nothing other than damaged instead of perverse.
Was it really a surprise that this man had looked for refuge in his relationship with his sister? Was it so wrong, considering the things he had been forced to experience? Jessica herself had been unable to overcome her father’s alcoholism for years. Her chaotic family life had prevented her from making friends, it had pushed her towards the only person who knew what was happening behind closed doors. And William had done exactly the same. He had tried to cope, to find an oasis of hope.
But however much she thought she could accept him now, she had already let him go without letting him know she could. Worse still, she had let him go accusing him of something she was now sure he had done.
Now it was too late.
As the music kept filling the darkened room, Jessica recalled being eight-years-old, playing in her grandmother’s garden with the next door’s kitten. It was dark brown, she remembered perfectly, almost black, with a white spot on her nose and emerald eyes. It had been a very hot day and Jessica had been playing underneath her grandmother’s apple tree, just as she’d been told. She didn’t know why, but that afternoon she’d thought it would be a good idea to lift the kitten onto the highest branch she could reach, just to watch it panic for a while and then be the one to save it. But after she’d struggled to balance on a large terracotta pot to lift the cat up onto the tree, things did not go the way Jessica had planned. The cat did panic —its pupils fully dilated, claws digging into the branch— but instead of waiting for Jessica to pick it up, it just threw itself off the branch, twirling into the air as it fell. Jessica remembered shutting her eyes at that point and opening them after a few seconds to find the animal in a very strange position on the grass, its front legs erect, its hind legs flat against the ground, paws facing up. Its back had broken. Jessica recalled that same feeling of nausea gripping her stomach, looking down at the poor thing meowing up at her in confusion; that same feeling of helplessness, wanting to help the animal while knowing she could do absolutely nothing to fix things. The kitten had to be put down and it had been her fault. Completely. And in the same way, she was responsible for William’s death, she had caused it and she could not take it back.
But this time she had to try. She could not live with the impact of what had happened to him. She had to do something about it.
Jessica let the music play till the end of the CD, then walked to the window and pulled the curtain open. It had been a few days since she’d look out at the view last. The evening traffic moved slowly along the road beyond the communal gardens outside. It was still afternoon.
Maybe, just maybe she could put things right.
She walked to the phone and dialed the number. She waited for a few rings then heard the click of the receiver at the other end.
“Hi... Detective Brown... It’s Jessica Lynch... Yes, hi. Is there any way I could meet you? Even for a few minutes? I need to speak to you.”
19 October 2000
ROGER WITHER was in Crocker Amazon the day everything went horribly wrong.
He drove to the upper end of Dublin Street and parked his car there, where the street crossed Russia Avenue, just in case Jessica came home early.
He looked at the car clock —he had time. He knew she wouldn’t be back for at least another couple of hours. He also knew Kaitlyn had moved in with her for a while and he wanted to see her.
Kailyn had not returned his calls since the night at the Windsor Hotel. It was obvious she did not want to see him anymore, but he hoped he might be able to change her mind. He missed her naked body. He missed her lips. He missed the way she stared into is eyes while they fucked. She made him feel powerful and sexy. He had to try.
Kaitlyn came to open the door wearing just a pair of joggers and a loose white t-shirt with a deep neckline. Her nipples stuck out hard through the thin fabric, made him want to pinch them, twist them, pull and bite them. Jesus, she was already turning him on.
“Roger?” She looked surprised and didn’t smile at him. “What are you doing here?”
“I just want to talk, promise. Can I come in?”
Her eyes narrowed. “How the hell do you know where I live?”
“You told me, how else? Remember? Last time we went to the Gironda?”
He was lying, she had never told him but he could not tell her he knew where she lived because it was where her sister lived.
The last time they had met at the Gironda they had ended up drinking quite a lot; Roger had missed a meeting but it had been worth it. He still masturbated thinking about the blowjob Kaitlyn had given him in his shower that afternoon, back at his place. Hopefully she’d been drunk enough to forget details of their conversation.
She smiled. “I guess I must have. So... You wanna talk, uh?”
“I was a dick the other night. I wanted to apologise.”
Katilyn studied him holding the door half closed, weighing things up. “Just a coffee,” she finally conceded. “Then you’re out.”
“Just a coffee. Fine by me.”
As they walked in through the sitting room, Roger noticed a framed picture of Kaitlyn with her sister, both of them tanned and beautiful, Kaitlyn pouting her red lips.
“That’s my sister,” she told him walking to the kitchen, past the breakfast bar. “Jessica. I think I told you she’s an author. Have you heard of her? Later than Never?”
Roger was suddenly feeling unwell. What the hell was he doing here? There were hundreds of women out there up for sex with no strings attached and he had to obsess over the one woman he had lied to from the beginning.
“No, haven’t heard of her. I don’t read much fiction.”
Yes, any second now he was going to throw up. He could still get out. He’d never have to see her again. She’d never know who Roger really was or if she ever did find out, if he left right now, they might even be able to laugh about it in a few years. It still wasn’t too late.
But then Kaitlyn bent over the breakfast bar, elbows on the counter, asking about sugar, and his eyes caught the shape of her breasts through the deep neckline of her t-shirt. And just like that, he was starting to feel better. After all, all he wanted from this woman was sex, he had no intention of marrying her. He didn’t need to worry about her family.
Kaitlyn joined Roger on the other side of the breakfast bar and passed him a mug of instant coffee.
“So,” she smiled. “You were saying you’re a dick.”
“Totally. I don’t know what came over me the other night. I was hungry, tired...”
“Horny.”
“Yeah, I guess. But I can make it up to you.”
“Oh yes? Where are the flowers? Where’s the chocolates? You don’t look very sorry to me.”
She was enjoying this, he could tell. She giggled, bit her lip, looked him straight in the eye. She was so incredibly sexy. Everything about her. Incredible.
“I am sorry. Believe me. I am really really sorry.”
Roger left his mug on the counter and kissed her lips, again and again until she finally kissed him back; he licked her lips and she opened her mouth for him, twisted her tongue around his.
That precise moment, that split second, right there was when things started to go horribly wrong.
Roger pushed himself against her, his hands underneath her t-shirt, squeezing her naked breasts, his tongue all over her neck, her shoulders, never mind how stiff she felt under his fingers, never mind how much she protested. He could hear her saying
no, get off me, what are you doing, stop, stop it,
and the more she struggled the more he wanted her. He pushed her against the wall between the kitchen and the sofa, lifted her t-shirt to lick her breasts, but as he tried to pull down her trousers a sharp blow on the side of his head stopped him. Roger momentarily lost his balance and staggered to his left, leaving Kaitlyn enough time to cover herself and take a couple of steps away from him. She was shaking, her cheeks flushed, the receiver of the cordless phone she had just used to hit him still firmly in her hand.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” She barked.
“C’mon Kaitlyn. You want this just as much as I do. You always do.”
“I wanted to have a coffee, you piece of shit. Now I want you to get the fuck out of here, just get the fuck out.”
It was clear she didn’t want to have any fun with him anymore, not now. But she was so sexy, even like that, even with her eyes filled with anger and fear in her voice. So incredibly sexy. So instead of moving away, Roger moved closer to her, grabbed the back of her hair with one hand, her wrist with the other, squeezing until the phone she was still holding fell on the floor with a loud clash. His erection was pressing hard against his trousers.
“Just let me do this to you, then I will leave and you will never see me again.”
Kaitlyn walked awkwardly backwards, both her hands over his trying to loosen the grip on her hair. She had started to cry and even that turned him own. Christ. It was something he had never experienced before, something he didn’t know he had in him.
He kept pushing her backwards, walking through a doorway by the side of the kitchen, until he reached a bed, threw her on it and started undoing his zip. That’s when the little bitch started shouting.
Roger tried to muffle her cries with his hand at first, while pushing himself inside her as hard as he could, but the sound coming out of her mouth seemed still too loud in the small bedroom and it seemed to go on for minutes, so long Roger started worrying about the neighbours, about passers by. So he grabbed one of the pillows from the bed and pressed it hard against her face, still pushing inside her.
She will stop now
, he thought,
the little bitch will stop screaming
. But she kept trying to make noises, kept struggling under his body with such effort, he had to keep pushing the pillow harder against her face, now with both hands. Then suddenly she stopped.
When Roger lifted the pillow away, Kaitlyn was staring at the ceiling with her mouth open but she was not blinking or breathing anymore.
At first, he just looked at her, his brain completely drained of any thoughts, his erection now floppy between his legs. It was like being at the movies, one step removed from what was happening because it was happening to someone else. He felt numb. Then he thought of a few passages from a manuscript he had been reading at the beginning of the week. It was a crime novel in which the main character had to cover up a murder. The situation was so similar Roger wondered whether it was possible he had subconsciously recreated it. Sex encounter gone wrong, a dead body left on the bed, a main character having to make it look like a suicide to avoid a prison sentence.