The Killing Hour

‘Panicked about what? Why didn’t you go to the police?’


Her dress was shredded above her chest as if she’d been repeatedly clawed by a big cat. There were several cuts over her chest that looked like tiny canals, and a red sea was welling up over the edges. Her face was smeared with dirt and her eyes were full of desperation. She had to be desperate to jump into the first car that came along. Her blonde hair was matted with twigs and leaves, stained with soil and blood that in the weak light of my car looked like oil. There was a line of blood on her leg. She wore a bandanna necklace that had been a gag. When she closed the door the interior light blinked off and we were plunged into darkness. Monday’s darkness.

‘You’ve …’ was all she could say before breaking into loud sobs. She collapsed with her forehead pressed to my arm. Her skin felt like wet clay. She was shuddering, choking on her sobs and the beginnings of small words. I was half out of my seatbelt when she pulled away and doubled her efforts to speak.

‘You’ve … got …’

I put my hands on her shoulders and told her to take a deep breath.

‘You should have gone straight to the police,’ Jo says.

‘I didn’t have the option.’

‘Sure you did.’

I can see how she would think that. You can either choose to do nothing or choose to do something, and either way it’s the wrong thing. ‘She wasn’t the one in trouble.’

‘Jesus, Charlie, are you saying you were with both of these women from the news?’

‘Look, it’s not like I chose any of this.’

It was dawning on me that the fluid on Luciana’s chest was actual blood. Like that B negative or O positive stuff that drips out of dead people. It gave her credibility, so when she pointed out my side window with hands that were bleeding and shaking and told me her friend Kathy was out there being held by a crazed lunatic I had no reason not to believe her. There was no time to get the police. I moved the car so I was out of sight of the trees. I twisted my body and pocketed my keys then told her to stay where she was. She asked if I had a weapon. All I had was whatever was in the boot of my car. That turned out to be a car jack, a spare wheel, a bike rack, a tyre iron, and no shotgun. I settled for the tyre iron. It was cold and heavy and boosted my confidence.

The night was twenty degrees but each of them cold as I strode from the car. I wanted to be Action Man but I felt more like the actor nobody recognised in an old Star Trek episode – Crewman Random who went away with Captain Kirk but never came back.

Monday was twelve minutes old when I stepped into the paddock. It was about to become longer. Elastic hours. Even now, sitting opposite Jo, they’re still stretching.





4


All Landry can do as the two detectives talk to him is nod and nod even though he hardly hears them. His mind is elsewhere, not with the words but with the pictures. He closes his eyes and he can see both women. The pictures are exposed perfectly and full of vibrant and violent colours. They’re real Kodak moments.

He realises he’s just been asked a question and nods slowly, wondering what he’s just answered. The detective who has spoken turns away, and within seconds the other follows suit. Alone, he turns his back to the house and leans against his car. The air is cool but his skin still feels hot.

The sun is falling from the sky and nighttime is nearly here. He can hear a dozen lawnmowers closing out the day in the distance. Music is booming from a neighbour’s house, the sort of generic pop every teenager is recording these days for every other teenager. He remembers a time when he used to love suburbia, but now it’s just another body count. The neighbours have gathered on their front lawns to watch the show. They’re thinking the circus has just come to town. And it’s free. They’re inviting family and friends over. With neighbours like this, murder will always stay in fashion.