Jack needed to get Evie out of the house before Astrid returned. But how? They sat opposite each other in the kitchen, with her drinking the coffee he’d made while he sipped on a glass of water and wished it was stronger.
Don’t worry. I’ll have something later to celebrate.
How would he tempt her out and retrieve her cell? He didn’t have time earlier, when he put his number into her contacts, to access her email and delete the message she’d sent him containing the copy of the book.
Evie smiled at him. ‘I need to read some new books, proper ones I can hold in my hands. I mean, I like reading eBooks on the phone or the computer, but nothing beats feeling the paper in your fingers and staring at a real cover. Do you know what I mean, Jack?’
Her enthusiasm made him feel giddy. ‘Absolutely, Evie, absolutely.’
‘Great.’ She finished her drink and stood. ‘Can I turn on your TV? I want to see if there’s anything new about Adam or the murders.’
‘Sure. It’s in the living room.’
She grinned at him and left the kitchen. He watched her go as he formulated a different plan. He followed her as she switched on the set and an advert for breakfast cereal sprang into life. It featured a song he recognised, but couldn’t remember the band as cartoon elves and dragons jumped around on the screen as they ate something containing a year’s worth of sugar.
Evie grimaced. ‘This is terrible, really, really terrible.’
He sat opposite her. ‘You don’t like that breakfast cereal?’
She twisted her cheeks. ‘No, it’s not that. I’ve never eaten that crap. It always annoys me when bands or singers sell their music to advertising companies for shit like this.’
‘I guess they have to make money some way.’
Evie shook her head. ‘Songs carry emotional information, and some transport us back to a poignant event in our lives. I understand why a corporation would want to hitch a ride on the spell these songs cast and encourage us to buy soft drinks, underwear or breakfast cereals while we’re in the trance. But artists who take money for ads poison and pervert their art. It reduces them to the level of a jingle, a word that describes the sound of change in your pocket, which is what the music becomes. Remember, when you sell your art for commercials, you’re selling your audience as well.’
‘I suppose so.’ He didn’t really care.
She turned to him. ‘I mean, imagine you write a book or a set of books, and then someone comes along and wants to turn them into a TV show or a movie. No matter how faithful they say they’ll be to your material, it won’t be the same because it won’t be what you wrote.’
‘But it would allow you to spread your work, your creations, to a wider audience. That must be good, surely?’
‘For your bank balance, yeah, that’s about it. If I wanted to write for television or the movies, I’d produce scripts, wouldn’t I, not novels.’
She doesn’t deserve to have her name on this book. Just listen to the nonsense coming from her mouth.
‘It would be nice to have the choice, though, don’t you think?’
Evie slumped into the chair and her eyes sank into her cheeks. ‘I guess I’ll never find out now.’
Now. This was his chance. ‘Would you like to see the comments the publisher made about your book?’
She sprang from the seat. ‘Have you got them?’
‘Yes, but not here. I printed them at the bookshop. I could take you there to read them if you like.’
He waited for her to say ‘Why can’t you print them here?’ or ‘Why can’t I read them straight from the email?’, but she didn’t say either of those things or find any other reason to stay in the house.
She grabbed her jacket and grinned at him. ‘What are we waiting for?’
Darkness engulfed the road when Jack opened the bookshop. He flicked on the light and considered what to do next. All the way there in the car, she’d gone on and on about how if agents or publishers didn’t want her book, she’d publish A Dark Heart in the Garden of Delights independently. She followed him inside and he locked the door. The last thing he needed was someone to stumble in as he was killing her.
And he had to kill her. Just deleting the emails wouldn’t work.
But how am I going to do it and make it look like an accident?
She gazed at him as he led her to the back of the shop, stepping over a leaflet for the upcoming school reunion.
‘I’m not sure about the title, though. What do you think, Jack?’
He opened the fridge he kept behind the desk. ‘Do you want a drink, Evie?’
Her shoulders shivered as she removed a hardback copy of Lee Child’s Killing Floor from a shelf creaking under the weight of books stacked there.
‘Do you have a beer? Now I’ve got my freedom again, I’m desperate to catch up for lost time.’
He nodded. ‘There are a few bottles of Belgian lager a customer sent me from abroad at the back of the fridge. It might be a bit strong for you, though.’ They’d been there since he’d hit the wagon three years ago.
She waved the Reacher novel at him. ‘Nonsense, Jack. Pour it into a glass while I peruse your stock.’
Evie returned the hardback to where she’d found it and wandered through the shop, stretching out her arms and running her hands over every book she could. He got the bottles of beer and put them onto the desk near his computer. As she flicked through various volumes, Jack grabbed glasses from the shelf above his head, and then emptied the alcohol into them. Then he removed the phial of pills he’d brought from home, drugs which were illegal to buy in the US, but were easy to purchase on his trip to Eastern Europe two years ago. He’d bought them for his insomnia and never used them, until now.
He made sure Evie was engrossed in a book, crushed the pill between his fingers and dropped the Rohypnol into her beer. It fizzled, and then vanished into the liquid to be completely invisible when she returned carrying a paperback copy of Milkman by Anna Burns.
‘I’ve been dying to read this for ages. How much is it?’
The joy in her eyes made his heart tremble as he handed her the drink.
‘Have it for nothing, Evie. It’s the least I can do.’
If she hadn’t been holding on to the glass, he thought she might have thrown her arms around his neck.
‘Thank you, Jack. You’ve done so much for me. How can I ever repay you?’
His lips crawled together into a crooked smile as she downed half the beer.
I don’t know how long it takes to kick in. And then what do I do with the body?
He could dump her in the woods or somewhere remote, but that would mean getting her there without anyone seeing him, and someone would find her eventually. And the police would know he was the last person to see her alive. It would be the same if he buried her somewhere, plus that Astrid woman was bound to ask too many questions. No, he needed another solution. And quick.
‘There’s no need to thank me, Evie. It’s been my pleasure.’ He sipped at his beer. ‘I only wish I could have helped you more with the publishers. And you shouldn’t change the name of the novel; it’s perfect.’
Her hand trembled and she nearly dropped the book. She swayed to one side, and he caught her before she fell. Jack took the paperback and drink from her and placed them onto the shelf behind her. It wouldn’t be long now.
‘Wow, that’s strong stuff.’
‘Perhaps you need some rest. It’s been a tiring day.’
Her eyes glazed over as she shook her head. ‘No, I’ll be fine. I want to look through more of your books.’ She steadied herself on a pile of encyclopaedias as she glanced across the shop. He still hadn’t figured out what to do with her when she gave him the solution. ‘You should be careful, though, with all these volumes packed together; it’s a right firetrap.’
It was the last thing she said before she collapsed into his arms.
A fire. It’s perfect. And I’ll collect on the insurance for the stock.
But how to make it look like an accident and explain his absence? He considered the options as he dragged Evie to the rear of the shop and placed her next to a pile of old newspapers. Then he reached into her pocket, took her phone, and found the matches and cigarettes.
Perfect.
He went back and retrieved her glass and knew how it would work. Jack emptied her beer into the sink and washed the glass. Then he got his drink and poured it over the papers. He left both the empty bottles on the desk, but wiped his fingerprints from them. Then he took her matches and cigarettes.
I didn’t even know she smoked.
Jack removed one cigarette and replaced the packet in her pocket. He was about to put the ciggy into his mouth to light it until he realised how stupid that would be.
My DNA would be all over it, you idiot.
So, how could he light it? He had the matches and the cigarette. He stared at Evie, prone on the floor, watching her slow breathing and hearing the low moan crawling from her lungs. He had no qualms about what he was about to do, and it didn’t surprise him. The thought of two million dollars and a new life would do that to you.
He struck the match against the box and watched it burst into life. The smell made him giddy as he stuck the cigarette into the flickering spark. Jack held it there until the end of it burnt into a dark shade, and then placed it next to Evie’s hand. Then he discarded the still-burning match into the beer-stained magazines. He watched the flame dance across the paper and smiled. There was one last thing for him to do before he left.
He placed the shop and car keys on the desk and imagined what he’d tell the police.
I stepped out for my nightly walk, Detective, and left Evie in the house. She said she needed some rest, and I could see she was upset about her brother and what happened outside the hotel. I guess she took my keys and the car and went to the bookshop.
Why would she do that, Mr Kennedy?
He’d shrug and look baffled.
I don’t know, Detective. Perhaps you should speak to the people who were treating Evie at the Tranquil Waters Rest Home. I’m sure they’ll have a better understanding of her state of mind than anyone.
He didn’t glance back as he left and abandoned his lifetime’s work, but he already felt the heat growing behind him. As he got outside and slipped into the dark spot in the alley next door, he looked at his phone and read the email from Conway.
Yes, being at her house would be the perfect alibi. He knew it was earlier than she said, but he didn’t care. He was on top of the world, and tonight, for the first time, perhaps he’d be the dominant one.