Theresa Monsour (28 page)

MURPHY STARED AT the photos. “Think there's a match?”

Erik frowned. “If there is, I can't see it.”

They sat across from each other at Murphy's kitchen table Friday night. He was in his stocking feet, jeans and a sweater. She was dressed in a tee shirt, sweats and a pair of slippers. The photos were spread out in front of them. All the pictures were printed on computer paper. A dozen of the sheets were the photos Murphy had taken of Trip's truck tires from different angles. One was a photo of the tire track found at Moose Lake State Park. “I don't know,” she said. She picked up the photo of the tire track and held it by the edges in her right hand. “It's hard to read this thing. That's the problem. You sure you can't weasel a copy of the cast?”

“I'm lucky I got what I got.”

“Who e-mailed it to you?”

“Winter.”

“No way,” she said. “How'd you get him to cough it up?”

“Told him I needed it for the autopsy report, which I do.”

“Sure you do,” she said dryly. “What about the fingerprints?”

“I'm working on it,” he said.

“Good.” She picked up one of her photos with her left hand and held it next to Erik's photo.

He reached across the table and touched her left ring finger with his fingertips. “Why haven't you gotten rid of that thing?”

She dropped both pictures on the table. “
That thing?
My wedding band?” She gripped it instinctively with her right thumb and forefinger. Twisted it back and forth but didn't try to take it off.

“Yeah,” he said. “It bothers me. Makes me feel like I'm chasing after a married woman.”

“You are,” she said. The oven beeped. She got up from the table, pulled an oven mitt off the counter and slipped it over her right hand. She went to the stove. Bent over and opened the oven door. She pulled the oven rack toward her with the mitt.

“Has Jack called since the blowup?”

“No,” she said. “I would have told you.”

“Then what's going on?”

She checked the thermometer on the roast. “Almost ready.” She pushed the rack back in, shut the oven door and stood up. “Nothing's going on.”

“Do you have a lawyer yet?”

She leaned her back against the counter and sighed. “Know what? I'm not up for this conversation right now.”

“You're never up for it. Don't play with me, Paris.” He paused and then said it again. The words she had trouble saying to him: “I love you.”

She opened her mouth but had no idea what was going to come out. Not those three words. Something else. A knock at the door. Relieved, she pulled off the mitt, threw it on the counter, walked to the door. “That's gotta be the liquor store.”

She pulled open the door and took a step back. “Jack!”

Erik dropped the photo, pushed his chair away from the table and stood up. Turned around. Saw Jack standing in the doorway. Jack looked at him and walked through the door into the kitchen. He didn't shut the door behind him and a wave of cold air followed him into the galley.

“Speak of the devil,” said Erik.

Jack looked at his wife and at Erik and then back at his wife. “Figured you two would be together on a Friday night. Smells good. What's for dinner?”

“You're not invited,” Erik said. He walked away from the table and stepped in front of Jack. The two men stood a yard apart, facing each other. She smelled alcohol on Jack's breath and saw his eyes were bloodshot. She was afraid for Erik. She was afraid for both men.

“This isn't your house,” Jack said. He looked over Erik's shoulder at Murphy. “And that sure as hell isn't your wife.”

Murphy slipped between them. Jack was at her left shoulder and Erik at her right. She raised a palm toward each of them. “Back off.”

Erik looked past her at Jack. “She's not yours. Not anymore. You dumped her. That makes her a free woman.”

“Bullshit.” Jack wrapped his right hand around her left wrist and held it up. “What's this, asshole? Looks like a wedding band to me.”

“We were talking about losing that,” said Erik. He looked at Murphy. “Weren't we?”

Murphy pulled her wrist out of Jack's hand. Looked from one man to the other. Each was red in the face. Ready to explode. She took a couple of steps back so she was at their sides but not between them anymore. She didn't want to get flattened if fists started flying. She used the calm, low voice she reserved for hysterical crime victims and pumped-up junkies. “This isn't going to happen. Not tonight in my kitchen.”

“Tell him, Paris,” Erik said. He addressed his words to her but kept glaring at Jack. “Tell him how we were talking
about losing that ring and finding you a lawyer and making plans for the future. Tell him.”

“I don't believe that,” Jack said. “She doesn't give a shit about you. You don't have a future with her.”

Erik reached into his right pants pocket and pulled out his key to Murphy's houseboat. Walked up to Jack and held the key in front of his face. An exorcist armed with a crucifix. “Oh yeah? Look into the future. We're moving in together.”

Jack snatched the key out of Erik's hand and tossed it over his shoulder. It went through the open kitchen door and landed outside on the dock. “There's your future! Get out, you piece of shit!”

Erik charged toward Jack. Murphy grabbed his left arm to stop him but he pushed her hand off him. He shoved Jack backward through the kitchen door. Jack tripped over the threshold but regained his footing on the deck. Erik followed him outside, stepped up to him and cocked his right arm back. He went for Jack's face. Jack deflected Erik's fist away from him with his left arm and took a swing at Erik with his right. Jack's fist slammed into the left side of Erik's face. Erik went down on his back, sprawled in the middle of the deck. Jack stood over him, fists raised and ready for another punch.

Murphy ran outside. “Stop it!” She crouched down next to Erik; he was up on one elbow. “Stay down,” she said, pressing his chest down with both her hands.

He pushed her hands off him. “Bullshit.” He stood up and went after Jack again. Took another right swing and nailed Jack in the left eye before Jack could block him. Jack stumbled backward but didn't go down. Their brawl was working its way to the end of the dock. Murphy stayed with them, fearful one of them would end up in the dark water. Tripod was barking next door. She was sure a neighbor was going to call the cops. Her own address would end up on a police report about a domestic call. Both men went down, rolling around close to the edge. Jack delivered another blow to Erik's face, hitting his nose.

A voice boomed out of the night air: “What the fuck is going on here?” Duncan was walking down the dock, straight for Jack and Erik. He could see the two men fighting, their tangled figures illuminated by the streetlights that dotted the shoreline and by the deck lights on the boats.

Murphy had no idea what he was doing there, but she was happy to see him. Another set of hands to break up the fight. “Duncan,” she blurted. “They're going to kill each other.”

“Not on my watch,” Duncan said. Jack was on top of Erik and had his right arm pulled back to deliver another punch. Duncan bent over and grabbed Jack's right wrist. Erik's nose was bleeding. “Get off him, Jack. You've made your point.” Jack tried to pull his arm out of Duncan's grip but Duncan was too strong, and that surprised Murphy. “No,” Duncan said.

Jack looked down at Erik with contempt. “Fine,” he said. Duncan let go of his wrist. Jack rolled off Erik and stood up. Duncan put his right hand on Jack's shoulder and started walking him off the dock and toward shore.

Erik crawled to his feet and wiped blood from his upper lip with the back of his right hand. Murphy was standing at Erik's side, but couldn't stop looking at Jack as Duncan led him away. A gust of wind made her shiver and wrap her arms around herself. “Let's go back inside,” she said, and pulled Erik by the elbow toward the boat. “Get some ice on that nose.”

Duncan and Jack stopped next to Jack's Beemer in the parking lot. Duncan folded his arms over his chest. “How drunk are you?”

Jack shoved his hands in his jacket pockets and stared at the ground. “Not drunk enough.” He looked up at Duncan and smiled grimly. “A couple of shots after work.”

“Doesn't take much when you're already wound up,” Duncan said.

Jack leaned his back against the side of his car and stared across the river at the lights twinkling downtown. A view he and his wife had enjoyed while in her bed on the
boat. It angered him that Erik had made love to her in the same bed. Taken in that same view of downtown. “I can't believe she slept with that jerk.”

“You can fix it,” said Duncan. “But fists ain't the way to do it.”

“Too late to fix it. I already told her I wanted out. I don't even know why I came back.”

Duncan realized he was wrong, that Jack had left her and not the other way around. It made him feel even worse about what he'd said to her. He stumbled to find words for Jack while wrestling with his own guilt. “You came back because you still want her.”

“Maybe if that scumbag hadn't been here we could have talked it through. But seeing him with her pisses me off all over again.”

“Cool off. Give it a few days and give her a call. Apologize. They love it when you apologize.”

Jack sputtered. “Apologize? For what? I'm not the one who fucked around. I don't care if it was one time. Might as well be a hundred.”

So Murphy had slipped once—probably in a weak moment when that asshole Mason was ready to leap on it—and now her husband was hanging her for it. Duncan thought Jack should give her another chance; he would if he was married to her. “Just think about it. Sleep on it.”

“Sorry you got roped into this. It isn't your problem.” Jack touched his left eye; he'd have a shiner. “What are you doing here?”

“I've got to talk to her about a case. Put a steak on that eye when you get home.”

“Thanks, Doc.”

“Want me to follow you home?”

Jack shook his head. “I'm sober.” He dug his keys out of his jacket pocket. Started talking as much to himself as to Duncan. “She hasn't been the same since the summer. Since that maniac banged her up and then killed himself in front of her. It's like that scar on her forehead is more than skin deep.”

“It is.” Duncan suspected Jack didn't know the whole story and he wasn't going to be the one to tell him. “She's been through a lot. Probably still going through it. She needs you to help her.”

“I don't know if I can,” Jack said in a low voice. “I wish she'd quit that horseshit job. Who in the hell is nuts enough to like police work, especially homicide?” Jack stopped himself. Mumbled to Duncan, “Sorry. No offense.”

“None taken. We're all a little crazy up there, but especially my corner of the asylum.” He slapped Jack on the back. “Go home. No bar stops. Straight home.”

Jack opened the driver's side of his car, slid inside, put his hand on the door. “Thanks.” He slammed it shut.

Duncan watched him pull away and walked back toward the dock. He felt pity for Jack and disdain for Erik. He didn't want to think about what he felt for Murphy; it would complicate everything. Besides, he figured all she felt for him was dislike. Duncan padded down the dock. Saw a key on the boards in front of Murphy's boat. Figured it was hers. He picked it up and shoved it in his jacket pocket. The door was still wide open. Duncan walked through it and shut it behind him. He opened his mouth to announce his presence and heard voices upstairs. Heated talk between Murphy and Erik. He turned to leave but changed his mind. Erik could still be revved up from the fight and he wanted to make sure Murphy was okay. Duncan stood in the galley and waited for someone to come down.

Murphy: “And what was that crap with the key?” Erik: “What do you mean?”

Murphy: “Waving it in his face like that. You could see he was already losing it.”

Duncan slipped his right hand into his jacket pocket and pulled out the key. Studied it. Guessed it was the key they were talking about. He put it on the kitchen counter. Leaned his back against the counter and kept listening.

Erik: “You're taking Jack's side in this. He's the one who barged in.”

Murphy: “You and Jack are both assholes. Duncan is the only hero in all this. He kept you idiots from rolling right into the fucking river.”

Erik: “Duncan again. Maybe you should dump me and invite him to move in.”

Duncan smiled to himself. Murphy didn't hate him; she liked him.

Murphy: “Shut up about Yo-Yo. Here. Lie back until the bleeding stops. Keep the ice on it.” The smoke alarm in the kitchen went off.

Erik: “Something's burning.”

Murphy: “Shit. The roast.”