Pity and a Shame

Chapter 18

Carol turned off the road onto the dirt track and slowed as her lights picked up a red reflection ahead in the trees. He was here, she thought, but was he alone? She thought of the woman driving the car earlier in the day and felt embarrassed that perhaps she had been replaced already and was about to make a bigger fool of herself.

The car crept slowly over the dry ground, snapping little twigs as Carol braked to a stop and killed her lights. She waited, watching the doorway but no one came out; unlike previous visits there was no cheerful greeting from her lover. She opened the door and stepped carefully onto the rutted track, closing it again and walking steadily toward the shack.

Inside, Mickey watched Carol's tentative approach, through a split in the wall boards. He shifted his weight to keep Gwen from making a sound, her eyes wide and shining in the dim light. His hand covered her mouth and his body covered hers. Carol reached the door and peered into the dark interior.

"Jake? Jake are you in there?" She placed a hand on the frame and stepped inside. "Jake?"

"Hi Carol." Mickey leaped up from on top of Gwen and grabbed her by the arm, hauling her down onto the mattress.

"RUN!" Gwen shouted as soon as her mouth was free, but Mickey reached back and slammed her against the face sending her rolling into the corner, whimpering.

"Jake! What—" Carol felt his hand clamp on her throat and she suddenly experienced the ultimate terror. She thrashed and kicked, but he was too strong and his fingers were threatening to burst through her skin.

Gwen shook her head and sat up blinking against the darkness. She could see Mickey's shape on top of the other woman, his shoulders hunched and his weight pressing down, and she could hear the gurgle of the woman's laboured breathing.

"Mickey! For god's sake, stop!" She hurled herself at him, knocking him off the woman who shredded the air with a hoarse gasp as her throat was freed. Gwen pounded against his head with her fists and in their struggle she accidentally knelt on his broken fingers.

"Aaargh! Ooh, shit! Get off! Get off!" He roared in pain as she knelt harder.

Gwen felt around and found the empty vodka bottle and with a flash of déjà vu, she crowned Mickey on the side of the head and stayed kneeling until she felt him sag beneath her. Carol lay on the floor beside the mattress holding her throat and coughing violently. She rolled back in fear as Gwen rose up, still holding the bottle, and came toward her.

"You okay?" Carol couldn't answer, her throat was swollen and sore, and so she nodded with exaggeration in the dim light of the shack. "Let's get you up and out of here before he wakes up."

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Wegman, Doc Butler and Brian sat huddled around Brian's desk in the sheriff's office, poring over reports, evidence bags and tablets of personal notes that each had been scribbling furiously as their meeting progressed. A chill wind buffeted against the office window, pointing out the leaks Brian had complained about since taking the job. Some papers blew off the sill, and he got up to retrieve them.

"What you say is interesting, Doc," Wegman offered. "But I think it's a stretch and it doesn't change much as far as solving this damn thing."

"I'm still toying with the idea that somehow the blood under the body in the house came at a different time than the splatter from the pipe wounds. If I'm right, Paynter was on the floor once already that night; maybe from the cut on his forehead."

"Which means," Wegman said skeptically, "he got up, went to the barn, got stabbed, went back to the house and got beaten to death with a pipe." He looked around to Brian and asked if they could get some more coffee sent up.

"But my point is," Doc pressed, "either the killer hung around quite a while, and I say that because the two blood samples happened at different times, or... the killer found him on the floor in the house."

"You think there were two people involved in Paynter's death?" Brian asked as he waited on the line to order coffee.

Doc shrugged. "Who knows, it's just a theory."

Gilly entered the office and set the large pot of coffee on the desk without a word; she and Wegman exchanged civil glances but didn't speak.

"A whole pot, that's great. Thanks, Gilly." Brian dug into his pocket for some money and held it out, unsure of the amount.

"This one's on the house, sheriff. We want our law enforcement people to solve these crimes and it's the least we can do." She smiled at the doctor and turned to leave.

"Gilly?" Wegman stood up from the desk and went toward her. "Can I have a moment?"

She took a quick look at the others and asked, "Am I a suspect here?"

He shook his head sadly. "No. No of course not. I- I just wanted a word is all." She nodded and they both stepped out into the hall, closing the office door.

"What's that about?" Doc asked.

"Old business. Nothin' to do with us." Brian poured two coffees and sat back down, poking through the reports. "I like your idea of two killers, Doc. It opens up more of a possibility that the two killings are connected." Doc sipped his coffee and began coughing. "Hey! You okay?"

He nodded and took out an old hanky and wiped his mouth. As he tucked it away, Brian caught a glimpse of a red stain. "You sure you're alright, Doc?"

"I'm the doctor, I should know," he said gruffly. Explain what you mean." He coughed again and took another gulp of coffee.

"I don't have an explanation. It's just a gut feeling."

Wegman returned and, looking a little sheepish, grabbed a fresh coffee and sat back down in front of the desk. "So where are we?" He asked.

"Brian likes the idea of two killers."

Wegman rocked his head unconvinced. "It's not impossible. I got these reports from customs and immigration from the first investigation. As you recall, we traced the post cards to a Gwen Armitage in Germany. The story our contacts over there got was that she arrived with Paynter but left with another guy... only name known – Mickey.

A woman matching her description landed in Canada about three weeks before the killing. The prints we lifted from the motel and from the bottle at Gough's belong to Gwen Armitage. My problem now is to find out how and if she's connected to the motel manager's murder."

"Why just 'matching' her description? Didn't she have I.D.?"

"Yes, not in the name of Gwen Armitage, but I think we can assume it's her. We also tracked down the guy that located Paynter when he inherited the farm." He shuffled through some papers, "An L.T. Winslow. He told us that he interviewed Gwen in Germany but gave her the slip because he thought she was taking too much interest in Paynter's sudden good fortune."

They both stopped talking while Doc went through another coughing bout.

"Maybe you should call it a night, Doc. Go get some rest."

"I'll be resting plenty soon enough. Let's just move on here." He stood and went to the washroom, returning a moment later with a box of tissues.

"So then you think maybe Gwen found him here and popped him?"

"She could have, but like Doc says, he was beaten and stabbed in two different locations; the house and the barn."

"So?"

"The first blow, the one to the head was enough to render him unconscious. We think that was caused by the bottle – the one with her prints. If Doc were right, she would have had to wait until he woke up, somehow get him out to the barn and stab him, then get him back inside and beat the shit out of his head. I don't see that as a woman's approach. Paynter was no flyweight and besides, why?"

"Okay then. Enter the second killer. He arrives, finds Paynter waking up from the blow from the bottle or already awake, gets him into the barn for some reason and etcetera, etcetera."

"Fine theory, but who? Why?"

"The companion from Germany, this Mickey guy?" Doc ventured, shrugging.

They drank their coffees in silence.