Page 34 of The Accomplice
I still felt really bad about telling a lie to the police officer last week. I hadn’t meant to. I was just so upset and freaking out and I just wanted him to go away. But even after I’d asked Danny about it, I still felt awful.
I decided to ask him about it again the next day. Told him I felt guilty. Was it a crime to lie to a cop ? I wanted to call the precinct and speak to him, get this all straightened out. He told me there was no need. He went to his laptop, found the local news website and clicked on a story. I read it and felt better. The police were carrying out routine checks on the registered owners of certain types of panel trucks. It was believed the Sandman might have used a vehicle similar.
Danny said he didn’t want to get involved in that case. He didn’t own a van, not really. There was a van registered to one of the companies he owned, but he wasn’t even sure they still had it. He invests in a lot of small businesses and flips them for profit from time to time. He said there would be no point in wasting the police’s time over it when really what the cops needed to do was go out and find the actual killer. I said I agreed with him. There was no point now, and I felt a lot better about the whole thing.
Things between Danny and I were great in the days after the cop’s visit. He even came home early a couple of times and we cooked together, had some wine and more than a few laughs. It was easy and fun and warm. Like the early days, when we just started going out.
Until last night. He didn’t get home until after three in the morning. Showered in our bathroom and came to bed with his hair wet. I pretended to be asleep. He got up and was out of the house before I woke this morning. Probably wanted to avoid the inevitable argument.
When he got home later I decided not to be that nagging wife and just mentioned, casually, that he was working so hard and he looked a little tired. That’s all I said. But I saw that flicker of irritation passing over his features nonetheless.
After dinner he seemed more like my Danny. I guess maybe he was just tired and hungry. He insisted I put my feet up with a glass of white wine while he loaded the dishwasher. When I was settled on the couch, glass in hand, he came over and put a ring box on the coffee table in front of me.
He said he loved me and he would never stop showing me how much I meant to him. Inside were two rings. One was a rose gold ring with red stones, the other was silver with a smoky gemstone in the center. I tried them on. The silver one was a little tight, but it fit. They were gorgeous. He knows my taste so well. I told him he doesn’t have to keep buying me jewelry, that what I really wanted was him. Danny time. We kissed, and he went back into the kitchen to finish cleaning up.
I turned on the TV and found our favorite movie was already playing on TCM.
I made him watch it when we were dating and he loved it just as much as I did. It has kind of become our thing. My favorite movies arePretty Woman,Dirty Dancing,Beaches(I cry every time) and this one. Because it scares me to hell.
He came back into the lounge, saw the wine and the movie playing and said he was sorry, but he had to go out and meet a client. Said he’d just finished a project, but he was already planning for the next one. He leaned over the couch, kissed me on the cheek. I told him I didn’t mind. It was okay.
It wasn’t okay.
He put on his coat as I settled in to watchThe Night of the Hunter, with Robert Mitchum.
As he passed by the couch, Daniel glanced at the screen, and sang in his husky baritone, ‘Leeaaannning, leeeaaaning, leaning on the everlasting arms …’
In the movie, Mitchum plays a pastor and serial killer who finds out the proceeds of a bank robbery are hidden somewhere on the property of the robber’s widow. Mitchum befriends and marries the widow so he can find the money. He murders his new bride with a switchblade, then discovers that one of the kids has hidden the money in their ragdoll. Lilian Gish plays a tough old lady who takes in the orphaned children to protect them from the murderous pastor.
It’s my favorite scene. Dark, past midnight. Mitchum sitting on a tree stump in the garden, singing that old Christian hymn, ‘leaning on the everlasting arms …’, while Gish sits in silhouette on a rocking chair, behind the porch screen, a shotgun cradled in her arms. To show she is not afraid, she actually joins in the song. Until one of the children approaches with a candle, lighting up the porch screen and obscuring Mitchum’s menacing figure with the glare. When Gish leans forward and blows out the candle, Mitchum has vanished into the night.
Ever since I first saw that movie, I couldn’t get the song out of my head. Here was Mitchum, a stone-cold killer, singing in such a beautiful baritone voice. And a hymn, no less. He was someone who sent people into the everlasting arms, via his switchblade. He was so badass, evil and unafraid that he sat outside that house – singing. It gave me the chills every damn time.
I didn’t hear the front door close. Didn’t hear the garage door open or the sound of Daniel gunning the engine on that sports car of his. I just saw the reflected red glow on the TV. Turning around, I looked through the window, watched his tail lights disappear down the lane like two great red eyes, receding into the night.
I watched the movie, fell asleep on the couch for an hour or so and my phone woke me up.
A few days ago, I’d read all about the Sandman case. I was curious after the cop’s visit, and now my phone sent me an alert when there were new articles. I clicked on the alert. There were two news stories.
The Sandman had killed two women last night in their apartment. The police were appealing for witnesses. Second news story was more on the Sandman’s previous victim. Margaret Sharpe. There was a picture of her in a red and white checkered summer dress, wearing vivid red lipstick, her hair all curled up in a fifties kind of style. She was smiling.
I dropped my phone.
Picked it up and pinched the image of Margaret Sharpe with my fingers, enlarging the picture.
She wore a pair of silver earrings shaped like a rose.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
BLOCH
Lake said he had a car, but it was in the shop for repair.
Normally Bloch wasn’t much for conversation. She liked cars and had modified her modest family Jeep to the extent that it had largely become a different vehicle. Mainly this involved reinforcing the chassis, the drive shaft and all of the wheel components to cope with a newly installed V6 pushrod engine with two superchargers. The bodywork she left alone, so that when she put her foot down your jaw hit the floor in shock around the same time your spine fused to the seat.
‘What kind of car do you drive ?’ asked Bloch.
‘Oh, a blue one,’ said Lake.
