Mr Borden: ‘No.’
John: ‘I wouldn’t mind biscuits for my room.’
I nodded, went to the scullery and got what was asked, plated shortbreads and took them to the guestroom. The men talked, and I could hear their low voices carry up the stairs.
‘Been to the farm lately?’
‘I got the chance a few weekends ago.’
‘The girls go with you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Good to get them that fresh air.’
‘Yes.’
‘Might you consider moving to the Hill? Away from the thicker smoke down here?’
‘Things are fine here on this side of Fall River, thank you, John. I’m sure they’ve grown strong lungs over the years.’
‘Of course.’
When I’d finished up for the night, washed up in the scullery, I went to Mr Borden, in the room alone at that point. ‘I’m done for the night. Is there anythin’ you’ll need?’
He smoothed his hands on his legs, stretched out his fingers. ‘No.’
I noticed a grey feather on his elbow. ‘Mr Borden, ya’ve somethin’ on ya.’ I pointed and he looked, picked it off and held the feather between his fingers.
‘I thought I got them all.’ He then stared at me, like a boy in trouble.
‘Once there are feathers . . .’
‘Yes, yes. They stick around.’ He looked back at the feather. ‘Perhaps I shouldn’t have done it.’
The birds, the axe. He knew I knew. I got a sick feeling. ‘I’m sure ya had yer reasons, Mr Borden.’
‘I’ll have to explain.’
‘Daddy always told me nothin’ was ever too late.’
He nodded. I left him there, went up the back stairs, heard Mrs Borden in her bedroom weep a little. I thought of stopping to help her, but she’d made me so mad. I left her alone, kept going to my room. I got in and locked the door behind me, felt the need to do that. I sat on the bed, changed into my nightie. The day I’d had. I didn’t care to face another here. I turned my lamp off, huddled down into bed, listened to the night, to the house.
TWELVE
BENJAMIN
4 August 1892
I HID IN the crawl space all afternoon, heard the rise and fall of voices from the street, felt my skin bubble then melt from the heat. I heard the police walk in and out of the barn like lost children.
‘Did we check the loft?’
‘Yes, when we first arrived.’
‘They said she mentioned pears . . .’
‘I found a pear core outside, but not in here.’
‘Chief wants us to find the weapon.’
‘What makes him think the killer didn’t take it with him? Where do you suppose one hides something like that around here?’
‘Beats me. I’m still trying to understand how no one heard anything. Not a scream, not a thing.’
‘Sounds odd, if you ask me.’
Their inexperience was almost quaint. I wanted to tell them, ‘You would be surprised at how little noise can be made at the end of a life.’
‘Should we take one more look around?’ an officer asked.
‘Sure. We’re not going to find anything, but sure.’
The officers were lazy. They limp-scuttled the ground floor of the barn, picked up piles of cloth or wood before throwing them down and declaring, ‘Nothing spectacular here.’ They left. I got that electric-feel across the skin, the type that made me want to jump down, run out to the officers and tell them, ‘You want to see something amazing? Look at this axe head I found.’ I was bored from stillness. I wanted them to try to take the axe head from me, touch me in some way. As soon as a finger lay on me, my jaw would lash towards them. I would take a bite of flesh and I would hit them. I wanted to do these things because I could no longer do them to Andrew.
Pigeons walked across the roof. A cloud moved overhead, darkened light. I lay and I thought. How was I going to get my money so I could go back south, finish off Papa? I would have to have words with John, like someone had had words with Andrew.
After a time, footsteps filled the barn. I rolled myself to the crawl space ledge, peered an eye. John stood there, a pear in hand, and said in a lowered voice, ‘Benjamin, you in here?’
I propped onto elbows. ‘Yes.’
John came further into the barn, looked up. ‘How long you been there?’
‘A while.’
‘Has anyone seen you? Did Lizzie see you?’
‘No one saw me. Things got hectic.’
John took a bite of the pear, sharp crunch of flesh. ‘Tell me, when did you decide to kill Abby?’
The way he accused me like that, like I’d break our agreement. ‘I didn’t.’
He laughed. ‘I never suspected you a modest fellow.’ He laughed at me some more, riled a snarl lip from me. He took a bite from the pear, coughed. I would’ve liked him to choke.
‘There was someone else in the house.’
John stilled himself. ‘Did you get a look at him?’
‘I thought you knew who it was.’
‘No.’ John went to the barn door, poked his head out, came back in. ‘I only ever wanted you to deal with Andrew.’
‘Someone got to them first,’ I said.
‘You know I requested everything to be discreet. There are police everywhere.’
I swung my legs over the ledge, sat up as best I could, hunched back and head. ‘I stayed true to my word.’
‘Really? Because we have two dead bodies in there . . .’
‘See what I found.’ I held up the bloodied axe head, the piece of skull.
John paled. ‘The hell?’
‘I found the axe in here under a blanket. And this.’
‘Put that away.’ John waved his arm, like drowning.
‘Abby’s head? Don’t you want to take a closer look?’
John wiped his eyes. ‘If you didn’t do it, who did?’
‘Am I going to get paid?’
He looked at me, rotten core. ‘I beg yours?’
‘I was promised payment.’
John pointed a finger. ‘You’ve a nerve, you pitiful thug.’
‘Fair is fair, John. There are a lot of police out there. I could show them what I have.’
‘No one would believe you! They’d think you did it.’
‘We’ve been seen together.’
‘Is this a threat?’
‘Yes.’ I smiled, showed teeth.
There were two loud voices coming closer to the barn. I swung my legs, rolled myself to the wall, flattened out of sight. The barn door opened.
‘Hello, officers,’ John said. Grimy politeness.
‘Mr Morse. Didn’t expect to see you here,’ the first officer said.
‘Simply wanting to stay out of your way.’ He bit pear.
‘We’re here to have another search around the barn,’ the second officer said.
‘Is that necessary?’
‘Yes. It’s part of a crime scene.’
There was the sound of metal moving, of things being lifted and dropped.
‘A lot of farming equipment here,’ the second officer said.
‘Andrew kept the family supplies here,’ John said.
‘They’re farmers?’
‘Andrew owns farm land over in Swansea. A hobbyist, you might say.’
‘Why not keep the tools over there?’
‘I suppose Andrew liked to work around the house too.’
‘An elderly man labouring?’
‘He had help, of course.’
Objects were moved around.
‘Do you know if anyone had any malice towards Mr Borden? Perhaps the help?’
‘You’d have to ask Miss Lizzie. I rarely visit enough to know.’