‘I’m listening.’
‘When Victoria left, Rick obviously had another visitor. He, or she, may have been watching him. There are too many prearranged elements for this attack to have been random. Rick was chosen, but right now, we don’t know why. The sooner we have the answer to that, the better.’
‘We’ve checked out the wife’s alibi and it’s rock solid. She was at home with the children and Rick’s mother when Rick was done in.’
‘As I said, Mark, the killer didn’t arrive at this juncture overnight. When you start digging, take into account all the elements you’ve seen, and don’t necessarily restrict your search to murder. Often, there are signposts early in an offender’s cycle. We need to build up a picture, and right now all we have are fragments of something a whole lot bigger.’
I
AS I MENTIONED, the new man in my life is married. He hangs on my every word, utterly attentive, but then again, they all are when their needs are aroused.
He could be the one. Love can be transient, and my survival is on the line. This is life or death for me. If I choose unwisely, I’ll pay a high price.
When he was younger, he used to paint, abstract mainly, oils on large canvas. He says he was angry back then. Later, when the anger of youth faded, he became disillusioned, doubting his craft. I’ve seen it before, creativity limited by fear, or by living with those who fail to understand you. I know his wife. She has a role in all this. He says, when he looks at the art work he did back then, that it’s as if it belongs to someone else. I detect a note of regret behind his words and that intrigues me too.
I have a weakness for men with an appreciation of artistic endeavours. You see, there is always a hook that goes beyond physical appeal. Part of it is his manner, solid without being forceful, projecting a form of knowingness, almost as if he had lived on the earth before. I am drawn to that increasingly, surprised by it, not having noticed it before now. With fresh desire, there is often obsession and fear. The last time he kissed me, I bit him hard on the lips. They bled, and I tasted him. Afterwards, when he had come inside me, he slept like a baby. The afterwards is a test too. Sometimes they act entitled, or the adoration changes and you are like leftover food on a plate, discarded and unattractive. The very thing they wanted to devour becomes despicable. There was a time when I allowed this type of rejection to hurt me. Now I don’t give them that satisfaction. It is best to learn this early on. Life is too short to waste your time on dogs.
But my new man is lovely. When he woke, he kissed my forehead, checking that I was okay. We made love again, and after he fell back to sleep, I took one of my photographs. Not of him, of course. I only do self-portraits.
I locked the bathroom door behind me. My skin was still slightly flushed from having been with him. After showering, I put on my sleeveless black dress. It was simple and modest, but tight and shapely. I closed the clasp of my pearl necklace and stood back. The large mirror above the wash-basin took up most of the wall, with two smaller side panels. I posed with my camera facing one of the panels: the larger reflection held my profile, and a small panel captured the back of my head.
The bathroom, with its small blue and white tiles, reminded me of a water fountain I’d once seen in a travel book, the white ceramic basin simple in comparison. It is important to get the balance right, the intricate mingled with the plain, the light with the dark.
The reason I like that photograph is the knowingness in my eye. I pressed the camera button like a marksman taking a shot. I had a knife in my bag too. Does that surprise you? You can’t be too careful.
There is another detail about the photograph that I like: as I held the camera to my left eye, I pointed the tip of the blade below my right in absolute alignment to the centre of the pupil. It gave a perfect focal point.
When I left the bathroom, my new man was sitting up, the bedclothes covering his lower body. He didn’t ask what had delayed me, not wanting to waste time on trivia. I wondered – Does he already know there is something strange about me?
‘Did you have a nice sleep?’ I asked.
‘Yes, but I woke alone. It’s a big bed. Why don’t you come back in?’
I pointed to my fully clothed body.
‘Don’t mind that – I’ll enjoy undressing you.’
I smiled. ‘What if I told you I had a knife in my bag? Should I bring that into the bed too?’
He looked startled. ‘Do you feel the need for protection?’ he asked, his voice calm. I liked that too.
‘I feel safe around you,’ I said, more to flatter him than anything else. I still haven’t fully worked him out. Some people are more complicated than others.
‘You know,’ he said, ‘part of me likes a sense of fear.’