Over My Dead Body!
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Excerpt from “Persistence Can Be Fatal”
“I have it now, the words captured, the scenes so clear in my head. Doc Whelan doesn’t know what he’s talking about. I’m fine, right as rain, with a script to prove it. I see the protagonist, or is it the villain? Only I know for sure. Keep them guessing, right? But the fade in is cool. Listen to this. Margaret? Are you awake?”
His wife pretended to be asleep, snoring lightly, keeping her breath even. Rafe could drive her mad with his plots and possibilities, none of them likely to bear fruit, except in his own, driven mind. If her old friend Dr. James Whelan had any sense, he’d feed Rafe some special pills for his occasional angina and end her misery. But she could hardly ask. She couldn’t even hint at the idea. Margaret let out a small sigh and turned over, away from the light. If she got up and left the room, he’d just follow her.
“Well, I guess maybe you can hear me even if you don’t know it,” Rafe said, undeterred. “It begins in a subway. Late at night. Listen:
FADE IN:INT. SUBWAY — NIGHT
A MAN in a long coat races up several levels of darkened subwaysteps, past wide brightly-lighted corridors leading to tunnels. No oneelse is around.At the last landing he stops and looks down. The SOUND OF APIANO, a melody distinct but far away. In the empty space it hasa hollow reverberation.He is in shadow, very still, listening.A loud, piercing SIREN breaks in. He turns and leaps up the lastflight of stairs and out through a gate into the street.
“Exciting, right? Some producer’s going to love it, I tell you. It gets even better. What I felt — saw is a better word, in my head — is how the guy is afraid, but not afraid, all at the same time. He doesn’t want to be caught, but he’s not sorry about what he’s done. Only no one will know that right away. What he’s done, I mean. That’s tension. Suspense. You gotta use words that create suspense. No one knows what’s going on. Except maybe the detective that shows up, only he’s got troubles of his own. I know, if you were awake you’d say ‘don’t we all, Rafe darling?’ but in my plot it’s a key ingredient. He’s not unhappy, this detective, but he’s alone. It gnaws at him. Yeah, that’s a good word, it gnaws at him. So I introduce him next, before the crime’s been discovered. He’s on his way to work on the subway. Same one the killer used, only he doesn’t find that out till later, either. All he knows is he wants some coffee and a bagel. Here’s that part:
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Excerpt from “Matching Pair”
The wind blew open the shop door. Trenner swore under his breath and went to close it, while the woman at the counter continued to stare at the row of rings displayed under the glass.
“This one,” she said to him when he came back and stood in front of her.
“Yes, a good choice,” he agreed, and took out the tray to remove the small sapphire.
“And that one, too, please.”
For a moment the man hesitated. “That’s a wedding ring. I usually sell them as part of a matching set.” The woman looked at him and smiled politely.
“I’m aware of that,” she said softly, “but I only want the one.”
“Certainly,” he responded, annoyed, taking out the sapphire and a single gold band and placing them in a dark blue velvet box. To his surprise she handed him cash for her purchases.
“I prefer completed transactions,” the woman said, reading his look. “Nothing lingers, that way.” At the door she fumbled a moment with her umbrella — rain had come in with the wind. Then she was gone.
Trenner watched her cross the street. She walked with sharp little steps, the same way his wife had always done. He shook his head and replaced the trays under the counter.
He’d been at 14 George Street for six years, and still felt the same satisfaction every time he surveyed his shop. Not a bad alternative for early retirement. More hours, sure, but he would never again have to sit down in a gray cubicle and follow someone else’s orders. In his small shop he met all kinds of people, and no two days were the same. Forty-seven and a contented man, that’s what he told old friends who stopped by, and they agreed that he looked the part.
When he opened the newspaper the next morning he headed straight for the sports page, as usual. He almost missed the small headline, tucked away at the back of the local section. But there she was. In the photo, one they’d gotten from her mother, it said, her hair was tied back, and she was smiling and looked so much younger, so that he wondered at first, for a fraction of a second. But no, it was her. Strangled by parties unknown. He sighed and went on to read the results of the playoff from the night before, a live game that they’d televised too early for him to catch.
In the late afternoon, just when he was about to close up, the steel grate pulled halfway across the front window, the shop door opened. He glanced at the two men who walked in, one on the short side with wild, gray hair and one much younger, tall, dressed in an expensive suit.
“Mr. Trenner — Michael Trenner? Good. I’m Lieutenant Parish — Maker Parish — Puritan name if there ever was one, eh? More’s the pity.” The older man showed identification. “That’s Detective Sergeant Halliwell,” he added, indicating the second man who had begun to wander slowly around, studying the gemstones laid out in the cases. “We’re just checking all the jewelry shops in the area. Do you recognize these?”
For a moment Trenner stared at the lieutenant, and then looked at the rings the lieutenant held up in a plastic evidence bag. He gave a quick nod.
“Thought you guys might come around. I saw her in the paper. Though it doesn’t do to get involved if you can help it, I say.”
“We hear that a lot. Hey, Sapir.” The other man stopped moving through the store and came over to them.
“When I’m interviewing anyone, here’s what you need to do. First, listen to what they say. Second, write down every word. Third, pay attention to detail. Fourth, and last, and most importantly, listen to what your instincts are telling you.”
“Detective Sergeant Halliwell is learning the ropes,” Parish said. Halliwell nodded and smiled in agreement. “He’s used to how they do things in L.A. Very relaxed system. Like the movies. Not the same as New York, I keep reminding him. I’m letting him help out in this investigation, and he might have a few questions of his own later on, if you don’t mind.”
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Book categories: Crime and Short Stories