The Piper

FORTY-SIX




When Olivia made it down to the hotel lobby, there was an airport shuttle in the circle drive out front, discharging a tired looking woman in a charcoal gray dress. When the driver tried to wave her away, Olivia opened her wallet and offered him everything she had in cash – sixty-eight dollars and thirty-nine cents. He took all of it, even the change. When she asked him to drive fast because it was an emergency, he said he’d do his best. As far as Olivia was concerned, his best was slow, and she chewed the inside of her lip and twisted her hands as he drove.

The police were there ahead of her. One patrol car, lights flashing. Parked on the curb out front. Hugh’s rental car was in the drive.

The shuttle driver eased to the curb and looked at Olivia over one shoulder, then handed back the cash.

‘Good luck, ma’am.’

‘Thanks,’ Olivia said. Then she was out on the curb and running up the driveway, noting as her stomach sank that every single light was on in the house. It was always like that, all the lights on, when the bad things happened. She was beginning to read the signs.

The front door was wide open and Olivia ran into the living room, stopping when she saw the uniformed cop on the stairs. His gun was drawn and he was crouched in the protocol firing position.

‘Stay right there, ma’am. Don’t move.’

‘But—’

‘I mean it. Don’t move.’

He was in his thirties, with brown hair, and the spooked look in his eyes made Olivia think he might well fire his gun. In the distance, she heard sirens.

‘Who are you, ma’am, and what are you doing here?’

‘I’m Olivia James, and this is my house.’

‘I’m going to need to see identification. We’ve had a report of intruders.’

‘Mike, I could use your help up here.’ A man, upstairs, another cop. Sounding panicked, sounding like trouble.

‘I’m the one who made the call. Look, my husband was here, Hugh James? We were talking on the phone and he said . . . he said there was someone in the house, and then the phone went dead. Is he here? I saw his car out in the drive, and I’m really worried that something happened to him.’

‘Can you describe him, ma’am?’

‘Five nine, slender, thick dark graying hair – likely wearing a charcoal blazer and loafers. Come on, you . . .’

‘Yes, ma’am. We’ve found him.’ The officer straightened from his crouch and came down the stairs, watching her. He did not holster his gun. ‘I’m going to need to see that ID.’

Olivia’s fingers were trembling and it was hard to get the driver’s license out of the plastic slot, and Olivia finally handed him her entire wallet. He studied the picture on the license, the name, and the address that matched the house. The officer holstered his gun, and Olivia took a breath.

‘You’ve found him,’ Olivia said.

The officer pointed to the couch. ‘I’m going to ask you to sit down, please, ma’am, we’ve got an ambulance coming—’

She ran past him, heard him shout something to his partner. She scrambled up the steps, noting that two of the spindles on the railing banister were splintered, one entirely broken off. Olivia recognized Hugh’s shoe as she turned the corner to the landing, a brown loafer, on its side against the woodwork. And Hugh’s Blackberry, up against the wall as if it had been kicked away.

There was another police officer in the hallway, and he was shouting something at her, but there was so much noise in her head she could not make out the words. And he could not move, he was holding Hugh by the legs, trying to relieve the pressure on Hugh’s neck as he dangled, hung from supporting struts on the attic fan with a long, red leather belt.

Olivia ran for the stepladder in the bathroom, thinking how handy it was to have it right when she needed it, and she held Hugh’s legs while the officer climbed and cut Hugh down. She could hardly hold Hugh when he dropped, but there were three of them now, one of the officers had him by the shoulders and it was awkward but they caught him and did not let him fall. Olivia worked the belt off Hugh’s neck, one of the officers started CPR, and there were more sirens and more men thundering up the stairs, and Olivia held Hugh’s hand, limp now but still warm, and turned away from the wide eyes, still hemorrhaging blood.

More paramedics arrived, shouldering Olivia aside, and she stood and watched them working. It was hard not to hope, but she knew as soon as she’d seen all the lights on inside the house. Hugh was gone. Just like everyone else.

She was aware when the paramedics gave up, she could feel it, sense it from the things they said, the way they slowed, the way they avoided her eyes. She walked to the end of the hall and picked up Hugh’s Blackberry. It was set on record. She slipped it into the pocket of her jeans and sat down suddenly, legs splayed out in front of her, like a child.

‘Ma’am? Ma’am, are you okay?’

Olivia pulled her legs to her chest and rested her head on her knees. The nausea was sudden and intense. She breathed slowly, and squeezed her eyes shut tight, and tried not to vomit.

A paramedic guided her down the stairs, arguing over his shoulder with someone about whether or not to take her to an emergency room before Detective Withers arrived. No one asked Olivia’s opinion, which was just as well. She didn’t have one.

She sat obediently on the living room couch, puzzling over Hugh’s last words about Teddy until Donnie Withers had a uniformed officer come and take her away.