Shut Your Eyes Tight

Chapter 71

For all the reasons I have written

He was unhappy with the details of the final solution, its crude departure from the elegant simplicity of a razor-sharp blade, a carefully discriminating blade. But he could see no clearer way to the end of the road. He was appalled by the imprecision of it all, the abandonment of the fine distinctions that were his forte, but had come to view it as unavoidable. The collateral casualties would simply be a necessary evil. He took what solace he could in reminding himself that his planned action was the very definition-the very heart and soul-of a just war. What he was about to do was undeniably necessary, and if an action was necessary, then its unavoidable consequences were justified. The deaths of innocent children could be regarded as regrettable. But who was to say they were innocent? No one at Mapleshade was truly innocent. One could argue that they weren’t even children. They might not be adults legally, but they weren’t children, either. Not in any normal sense of the term.

So the day had arrived; the event was upon him; the opportunity, not taken, would not come again. Discipline and objectivity must be his watchwords. It was no time for flinching. He must hang on to the reality of the thing.

Edward Vallory had seen that reality with perfect clarity.

The hero of The Spanish Gardener didn’t flinch.

Now it was his turn to deliver the final blow to the whores and liars, the bits and pieces of the devil.

“She’s a nice little piece.” A revealing phrase. Think of the question it raises. A piece of what?

Voice of the snake. Slithering mouth. Sweat on the lips.

“Onto the heads of these serpents I shall bring down my sword of fire, and not one will slither away.

“Into the slime of their hearts I shall drive my stake of fire, and not one will continue to beat.

“Thus shall the sickening offspring of Eve be slain, and their abominations put to an end.

“For all the reasons I have written.”

Chapter 72

One more layer

“What about that Zen thing you’re always saying about how the problem isn’t coming up with the wrong answers, it’s coming up with the wrong questions?”

Gurney and Hardwick were driving through the northern Catskill foothills toward Tambury, and Hardwick had been quiet for a while. But now there was something in his tone that implied he had more to say. “Maybe we shouldn’t be asking how Hector got the murder weapon from the cottage into the woods. Because, according to the video, he didn’t. So maybe that’s, like, Fact Number One that we need to accept.”

Gurney felt an odd tingle of anticipation on the back of his neck. “What do you think the right question is?”

“Suppose we just asked, how could the machete have gotten to where it was found?”

“Okay. That’s a more open-minded version of it, but I don’t see-”

“And how did her blood get on it?”

“What?”

Hardwick paused to blow his nose with his customary enthusiasm. He didn’t speak until he’d replaced his handkerchief in his pocket. “We’re assuming it’s the murder weapon because Jillian’s blood is on it. Is that a safe assumption? If there was some other way…”

“I went down that road already with you, and we got nowhere.”

Hardwick shrugged, unconvinced.

Gurney looked across at him. “How else could her blood get on it? And if the machete didn’t come from the cottage, where did it come from?”

“And when?”

“When?”

Hardwick sniffled, pulled out his handkerchief again, and wiped his nose. “Do you trust the video?”

“I spoke to the video company, and I spoke to the lab people who analyzed it. They tell me the video is accurate.”

“If that’s true, the machete couldn’t have come from the cottage between the murder and the time it was found. Period. So it wasn’t the murder weapon. Period. And the goddamn blood must have gotten on it another way.”

Gurney could feel an almost physical rearrangement of his thoughts taking place. He knew that Hardwick was right. “If the killer went to the trouble of putting the blood on it,” he said, half to himself, “that would create a new set of questions-not just how and when, but more important, why?”

Why indeed would the killer bother to construct so complex a deception? Theoretically, the purpose of any past action, if it proceeded according to plan, can be deciphered from its results. So what exactly, Gurney asked himself, were the results of the machete being placed where it was with Jillian’s blood on it?

He answered his own question aloud. “To begin with, it was found quickly and easily. And everyone jumped to the immediate conclusion that it was the murder weapon. Which aborted any further search for a possible weapon. The scent trail connecting the cottage to the machete seemed conclusive and seemed to prove that Flores had escaped by that route. The disappearance of Kiki Muller reinforced the idea that Flores had left the area, presumably in her company.”

“And now…?” asked Hardwick.

“And now there’s no reason to believe any of it. In fact, the whole crime scenario adopted by BCI seems to have been crafted by Flores.” He paused, thinking through a final implication. “Jesus.”

“What is it?”

“The reason Flores murdered Kiki and buried her in her own backyard…”

“So it would look like she’d run off with him?”

“Yes. And in that light it makes Kiki’s murder look like the coldest, most pragmatic execution imaginable.”

Hardwick appeared troubled. “If it was so fucking pragmatic, why such a grizzly method?”

“Maybe it’s another example of the killer’s dual motivation: practical advantage plus raging pathology.”

“Plus a talent for creating bullshit for people to spread around the neighborhood.”

“What kind of bullshit?”

Hardwick was obviously excited. “Think about it. This whole case has been full of juicy stories, from the very beginning. You remember the old-lady neighbor-Miriam, Marian, whatever, with the Airedale?”

“Marian Eliot.”

“Right, Marian Eliot, with all her Hector stories-Hector the star of the Cinderella story, Hector the star of the Frankenstein story. And if you read the neighborhood interview transcripts, you saw the Hector the Latin Lover story and Hector the Jealous Fag story. Along the way you even added your own: Hector the Avenger of Past Wrongs story.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m not saying. I’m asking.”

“Asking what?”