Sasha had been born a year after their marriage. He would watch Nicole feeding her, her nightdress unbuttoned, the curve of her breast visible above their daughter’s head, and the urge to tell her about Selina Lee would rise within him. But such horrifying revelations would curdle her milk, he’d think, and the longing would fade until it became a dreamlike sequence gathering dust.
‘I’d nothing to hide, Nicole,’ he pleaded. ‘Nothing. You must listen to me. I know how it sounds but I was innocent. Completely exonerated. Please come home and let me explain what it was like then. And now I’m living in another nightmare. Just when I think it won’t get any worse, it does. It’s that journalist – she’s trying to destroy me – us…’ Excusing is losing… excusing is losing… he was unable to stop and Nicole was unable to hear him.
The beginning had been good. Sex and fun and much laughter got them through the first six months of playing house. Karl blasted rock and shuddered under the power of a pneumatic drill. He bought albums by little-known bands and wrote about them. Finally, to his astonishment, one of his reviews was published in Cannonade. A second one followed soon afterwards. The thrill of seeing his name in print in a magazine he had been reading since he was eleven was spine-tingling. Selina wasn’t interested. The numerous auditions she attended had finally paid off and she had landed a small role in a television soap being filmed in Phoenix. She played the role of the ‘other woman’ on the soap, Finchley Creek, causing havoc in what had been a stable marriage until she sashayed into it. Her future role was still in the hands of the scriptwriter Jago Wells and Selina was determined that he would grow her character.
Initially, Karl believed her excuses when she rang claiming she was too tired to ride her Harley back to Winding Falls and would stay overnight in a girlfriend’s condo. His suspicions grew when her overnight stays in Phoenix increased but the truth only emerged when he arrived back from the construction site one evening and found her making enchiladas in the kitchen. She was wearing a see-through top and nothing else. The top swung loosely over her hips as she turned into his arms but, even as he lifted her on to the table and she linked her strong legs around his waist, he was aware of being manipulated. It was a brief and spontaneous coming together, over in minutes. The enchiladas were still warm when they sat down to eat.
The air in the cabin was humid. He opened a window to allow the night breeze to cool the room and heard a shuffling movement outside. Javelinas, he thought. He had become accustomed to the boar-like animals shuffling past the cabin, often knocking over the bins in their search for food.
Selina advised him to ignore them. Her voice slurred. She had been drinking steadily throughout the meal, finishing a bottle of wine and changing to tequila. At first, when she mentioned Jago Wells, Karl thought she was talking about her role on the soap. As he listened more carefully, he realised she had been with Jago on those nights when she stayed in Phoenix. Jago had ended their relationship that afternoon and Selina, repentant and drunk, wanted absolution from Karl.
He listened to her faltering confession and wondered if she would remember any of it in the morning. He understood the highs of false courage, the reckless abandon of caution, and the comfort of amnesia the following day. He held tightly to that knowledge when the urge to take the bottle from Selina and pour a measure for himself was dangerously tempting.
He demanded to know why she was lying on the sofa with him when it was obvious she preferred the casting couch on Finchley Creek. She scratched his face, then sobbed apologies, pleaded with him to forgive her.
He pushed her from him and left the cabin, rode his Harley up Longspur Peak. The sky was black, slashed with stars. He watched them shoot through the glistening firmament until his blood cooled. He would leave tomorrow. He had had enough of the dizzying sun, the breathless heat and scorched riverbeds. Enough of Selina Lee. He wanted wind with a promise of rain and the pulse of New York energising him.
When he returned to the cabin, the rubbish bin had been upended. The javelinas had vanished and leftover food was strewn across the porch. He straightened the bin and entered the cabin. What remained in the bottle of tequila had formed a pool on the wooden floorboards. A broken glass lay beside it. The see-through top he had pulled so urgently over Selina’s head a few hours earlier was also on the floor, the delicate fabric rent from neck to hem. She was lying naked beside it. Blood seeped from her hair, smeared her face, oozed from her mouth. He noticed bruising on her neck, a stab wound on her shoulder. He felt her pulse to check if she was still alive, then covered her with a rug and waited for the emergency services to arrive.
He was arrested on the spot. He had no alibi. If anyone had noticed him on Larkspur Peak, they would only remember a black-clad figure with a visor over his face, riding through the night in a fury.
His skin was removed from under Selina’s fingernails, his semen identified. He refused to sign a statement admitting guilt. The cops were tough, determined to get a confession from him.
‘Avoid his head,’ the bigger of the two said when they came into his cell. The beating they gave him was swift and brutal. Winding Falls was a small, closed town. Neighbours knew each other and Selina’s parents were pillars of the community. Barney sent his lawyer to look after him when he was charged with rape and assault. A burly man with a pockmarked face and an attitude that suggested he was immune to clients protesting their innocence. A guilty plea would work in Karl’s favour, he said. No one, not even Barney, believed in his innocence.
When Selina recovered consciousness and was able to remember the events of that night, she informed the police that Karl was innocent. His only crime had been to leave the back door unlocked when he rushed from the cabin.
Her assailant’s features had been distorted under a black nylon stocking. He carried a baseball bat and stunned her before she could retaliate. She remembered the smell of drink on his breath. The stench of rum would never leave her nostrils. He had planned to kill her. He told her so as he raped her and repeated it before he stabbed her. No trace of an Irish accent. He was still talking when she lost consciousness. She had no memory of his escape or Karl’s return. He must have heard the Harley and fled from the cabin, taking the condom he had used with him and knocking over the bin as he ran.
The test results when Karl was checked for alcohol and drugs had been negative. He had also grown a beard when he started working with Barney’s crew and, although the nylon stocking had disguised Selina’s assailant, the material was fine enough for her to know he was clean-shaven.