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And, incidentally, by way of interest, I read in the Globe yesterday that Alexandra Gainsborough—that agent who turned down the opus—passed away. An accident of some sort. Two days ago she was vibrant and mighty, she had the power to realize or kill dreams, and today she herself is dead. I sent condolences, of course. It’s funny how things work out sometimes. Yours, Leo
Ummmmmmmm what
“It’s my job to stop anyone who isn’t a resident or with a resident and ask their business, Miss Kincaid. I haven’t stopped anyone aside from your friends and Mrs. Weinbaum’s granddaughter for more than a week.”
“Chocolates, wine, cheese…” “Wow! I’m on my way—” “You can’t, I’m going out…” “Oh. Where?” “Don’t you think it’s weird? There was no card.” “No, that’s not weird…people forget to include a card all the time.” “I guess.” “You’ll probably realise who it is in a couple of days.” I give myself an internal shake. “You’re right. It’s only that I feel rude not thanking someone… What are you doing?”
Y'all. This isn't normal.
“So this is your little sister?” “Was my little sister. Gerry died about a month after than photo was taken.” I tell him about the accident. “God, how awful. I’m sorry, Freddie.” I look at the photo, wondering what Geraldine would have thought of Cain.
I tell him about Gerry on the way out to the car, my tomboyish, smart- aleck sister. “Of course, most of us have changed a bit since we were eleven, so maybe she would have been different if she lived.”
“No—it was just where I ran out of bus money. I grew up in Charlotte, North Carolina.” “And you had a stepfather, so your own father—” “He died.” Cain takes a sip from his wineglass. “When I was about six. He had a heart attack.”
“And your stepfather?” “Mom married him when I was eight. He was great at first. Took me to games, played ball with me. He wanted a large family—was always telling me what we’d do when my brothers and sisters came along.” Cain pauses. “But they didn’t come along—he and Mom tried but they couldn’t get pregnant. He started to drink. He blamed Mom first and then me.”
Some may find a tendency to stalk people a negative trait, but on Marigold it is somehow alluring. Who knew a hint of psychosis could be so attractive?
Not yours, buddy!
Marigold screws up her nose, but she agrees. “I think Whit’s mom is suing the hospital for negligence—because the stitch broke.”
What?????
“How about I leave you my number?” I’m concerned that if there is a mistake the waitress might end up being asked to pay for any shortfall. “If there is a problem, then you can call me, and we can sort it out.” She takes the number but assures me it will be unnecessary. “Sometimes folks do this sort of thing…pay it forward, or pay for a stranger or whatever meme is doing the rounds. I wouldn’t worry about it.”
Marigold? Leo?
We can hear music as we climb the stairs. “That’ll be Lucas,” Marigold says. “Lucas?” “My flatmate. Come on, I’ll introduce you.” She unlocks the door and waves us into the apartment which is pulsing with heavy metal played
Lucas smiles. “You’re real funny, Anastas.” His face falls. “It’s cold!”
“I really like Whit,” I hedge. “But here is something very Dennis the Menace about him.”
Agreed
“Do you think it was a coincidence that Marigold walked into Jake’s?” “Don’t you?” Cain doesn’t reply, curses, and breaks into a run as we approach the Jeep. “Hey, what are you doing?” There’s a man bent near the rear passenger-side of the jeep. He’s tall, wearing a knit cap pulled down over his brow, and he reeks. Cain stops. “Boo?” The man straightens. “I reckoned it was your car. That’s Abel’s jalopy, I thought.” “What are you doing here, Boo?” “Looks like someone stuck a knife into your tyre. A big knife. Maybe they twisted it.”
I’m pretty sure Boo is harmless; he’s just angry with me at the moment.” “Why?” “He blames me for Isaac dying.” Cain rubs his jaw. “He’s not—Isaac used to say Boo was troubled.”
“Does she know?” Boo pounds on the Jeep as he shouts into the window. “Does she know what you did? Bet you didn’t tell her. Does she know what you did, Abel?” “Boo, calm down, man.” “You’ll do it again. He paid me to do it again…and I did. Below the ribs and towards the spine.”
Obviously alluding to whit and isaac?
It’s one of the old ladies from downstairs. She’s holding a doctor’s bag. “Mrs. Weinbaum.” “Actually it’s Dr. Weinbaum…but since Jerry died, I like to be Mrs. He always wanted me to be Mrs… He didn’t harp on about it, but when you’re married to a man for fifty-three years, you know.” She smiles sadly. “Gladys Jackson says she saw you walking in with a gentleman who might be in need of sutures.”
Why on earth is Cain not insured? Is he crazy? I know many self-employed people are not insured, but there are writers’ associations and the like that offer insurance.
That's a good question too because he is also successful. Which I know in america doesn't necessarily help nor make it less expensive
It’s possible he simply let it lapse, I suppose, or he has some preexisting condition that means they won’t cover him, or he’s broke. Are you trying to let the reader know he’s broke? Maybe you are. I suppose he’s a writer…most of us are broke for large periods of our lives.
I sit there for a while, studying the beautiful man in my bed. I know there is something he’s not telling me.
Can't trust a beautiful man
“Jarod Stills and Liam McKenny from Zackheim and Associates.” “You’re solicitors?” “Attorneys. We’d like to speak with Mr. McLeod if that’s possible.”
They stand and introduce themselves to Cain. “We have been retained by the estate of Dr. Elias Weinbaum to represent Mrs. Irma Weinbaum from time to time as the need arises,” Jarod Stills informs us.
“To put it frankly, Mr. McLeod, we’re here to ask you if you are going to take action, and perhaps to persuade you to deal with the matter via settlement instead.” “Take action? Why would I? Dr. Weinbaum helped me.” Jarod Stills sighs. “I’m afraid, Mr. McLeod, that Irma Weinbaum is not, nor has ever been, a doctor.”
Lmao
“Isaac Harmon was wanted for murder.”
“Isaac Harmon was wanted for the murder of a young woman in Virginia about twenty years ago. He disappeared before the police could apprehend him and remained on America’s most wanted list until the body of a homeless man found on the banks of the Charles River was identified as him.”
Two days later the body of Shaun Jacobs, sometimes known as Boo, is found on the banks of the Charles River. His throat had been cut. I read about it in the Boston Globe on a Thursday morning. I call Cain’s number with my eyes still glued to the article. He doesn’t pick up, and I leave a message.
“Lauren’s with the Rag,” he says by way of explanation. “This is her current assignment apparently.” “Caroline Palfrey worked for the Rag,” I say, distracted momentarily by the fact.
The detectives are standing by Joe’s desk when I arrive in the foyer. They begin by flashing their badges, introducing themselves as Detectives David Walker and Justine Dwyer. Walker is about fifty, buzz-cut grey hair, tall, broad, and bearded. Even in plainclothes he looks like he’s wearing a uniform. His partner is a brunette, and there’s an edge of style
Walker’s smile is not quite hidden by his facial hair. “I mean, there are not many folks who’d be comfortable having a man like Cain McLeod spending the night, whether or not he was concussed.” I assume he’s trying to goad me, so I don’t give him the satisfaction of a response. Walker continues. “I mean, you’ve only known him a month, and the man did serve seven years.” “Serve?” I’m confused now. Dwyer glances sideways at her partner. I know they are noting my reaction. “Cain McLeod served seven years for murder.”
Bum bum bummmmmm
“You know Cain McLeod is not his real name—” “Yes, we do. Abel Manners changed his name to Cain McLeod when he was released.” “You didn’t know?” Detective Dwyer sounds almost sympathetic. I pull myself together. “It didn’t come up.”
Whit answers for me. “They told her that Cain’s been in prison. That he’s a murderer.” Both Marigold and I turn to Whit aghast. “What?” Marigold speaks first. “That’s not funny, Whit.” “You knew?” I gasp. “How?” “One of the FBI guys told me after I was stabbed… They have some crazy theory that Cain killed Caroline and then came after me.”
“You weren’t going to, either.” Whit shrugs. “Anyway, he’s served his time.” I sit down. “What exactly did the FBI tell you, Whit?” Whit falls onto the couch beside me. “Cain was convicted of murder in the first degree. He served nearly eight years. Got out about seven years ago, changed his name, and wrote a novel.”
Talking of which, I came across another crime scene yesterday. I don’t know if it was the mask and anonymity it affords, but I was feeling bold, and so I grabbed some pictures of the body for you. I must have got there only moments after the police—they hadn’t even got the crime scene tape up. Anyway, the victim seems to have been partially disemboweled. All that dark area is blood. I imagine it took him a few minutes to die, and judging by the smearing in the blood, he struggled. I know you don’t generally write such graphic scenes, but this novel might call for a little extra realism…and
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Ummmmmmmmm WHATTTTTT
Dear Miss Tigone, Thank you for contacting the authorities with your concerns regarding the man you know as Leo Johnson with whom you have been corresponding, and who has been progressively commenting and advising on the manuscript of your novel. The images you attached, which you say Leo Johnson sent you yesterday, do indeed evidence an unusual and alarming access to a real and recent victim, whose body, according to our forensic experts, seems to have been reported to police only after these images were taken. The older images you sent of other crime scenes also relate to recent unsolved
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I fucking knew ittttttttt
and with a view to the urgency of establishing the parameters of Ms. Tigone’s cooperation, to enable you to identify and locate Leo Johnson, we confirm the following agreements and arrangements arising out of the meeting between your agents and our client. Ms. Tigone will continue to correspond with Leo Johnson, with the aim of establishing his identity and location without revealing that he is under suspicion for any criminal act. She will attempt to obtain from Leo Johnson an image of himself as well as a physical address. To this end Ms. Tigone will continue to send Leo Johnson chapters of
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Yours faithfully, Peter Kent Abercrombie, Kent and Associates
“A record—they call it a record.” He stops and looks at me silently as if he’s trying to see something in my face. “Freddie, when I was fifteen, I killed my stepfather.”
Wow
His eyes flicker. “It was self-defence, Freddie. They didn’t believe me, but it was.” “Was this why you ran away?” “No. This was after I came back.” “Why didn’t they believe you?” “My stepfather was a policeman. I was a delinquent kid.”
On another day I would have wondered more about my mysterious benefactor, but today they’re only cakes.
Why are you so stupid, Freddie ?
He called it a ‘teddy bear’—said it was the only thing that would keep away anything that went bump in the night. I didn’t stop sleeping with a teddy bear when I got home. I feel my stepfather’s grip loosen as he tries to pull down my jeans, and I remember the knife. I can reach it with my free hand. I twist and swing.” Cain shifts slightly, flinching unconsciously as it replays. “He pulls back…makes a kind of gurgling sound. And I don’t know where the knife has gone. And then he falls, and I see that the knife is in his neck and there’s blood everywhere.” “He’s dead?”
“How could anyone think it was not self-defence?” “Because I’d hidden a knife under my pillow. And he was a decorated cop.” The darkness has lifted a little from Cain’s face. His hand feels warm again. “I was sixteen by the time it all got to trial. I was convicted—served two years in a juvenile facility and was transferred to adult prison on my eighteenth birthday.”
“I served another five years before I was paroled. In that time, I finished school and studied literature through UNC. When I got out, I worked whatever job I could get and wrote a novel.” He holds my gaze as well as my hand. “Freddie, I didn’t mean to deceive you, any of you, but this is not the kind of thing you tell people if you can avoid it.”
I request pineapple and jalapeños on the vegetarian.
My favvvvv. Plus green olives :p
Cain and I sit up eating cupcakes and talking.
They are from Leo aren't they
“You’re assuming he hasn’t killed anyone before Caroline Palfrey.” “He didn’t kill Caroline Palfrey. He didn’t even know her.” “So it’s just a coincidence that her grandfather was the trial judge who sentenced Abel Manners?”
“Caroline Palfrey’s grandfather was Judge Andrew Keaton, who sentenced Abel Manners to ten years—seven without parole.” Justine’s eyes are fixed on me as she watches intently for my reaction.
“That alibi being us—Whit and Marigold and me?”
Did the doctor that gave the phone number have something to do with this??? is whit involved?
moment. “Honestly, Freddie. You’ll be back by five—basically a day at the office.” He opens the basket so I can peer in. “I made cookies.” I can smell the veracity of his claim…or at least that there are cookies. I relent. “I’ll fetch my coat.”
Storm still there?
I’m not sure if I should be offended…but I’m not. I’m delighted. And what a wonderful twist! But why should I be surprised. You are, after all, Hannah Tigone and I am Your Leo
Nightmareeeeeeeee
