Peter Robinson - Not Safe After Dark

That Tuesday Heidi did not seem to be in her usual good spirits.

‘What’s wrong?’ Calvin asked, after he had suspected her of counting cracks in the ceiling while they made love.

‘Nothing,’ she said.

‘Come on. I can tell there’s something bothering you.’

‘I told you, it’s nothing. Leave it.’

‘Maybe I can help.’

Heidi turned, propped herself on her elbow and looked at him. ‘I don’t think I can go on,’ she said after a pause.

Calvin felt his chest tighten, his heart race. ‘What do you mean?’

‘This. You and me. I don’t think I can go on.’

‘But why?’

‘It’s not that I don’t like you, Calvin.’ She stroked his cheek. ‘It’s just… oh, everything, the lies, the guilt. Joe and I had a really long talk the other night.’

‘For God’s sake, Heidi, you didn’t tell him…?’

‘No. No, of course not. What sort of a fool do you think I am? No, we just… well, he realized he’d been neglecting me, and I realized I missed him more than I thought. We decided… you know… to try to make a go of things.’

‘Make a go of things?’

‘Yes.’ She smiled. ‘We’re going to start with a trip to Mexico. A sort of second honeymoon. We’re going for New Year.’

‘B-but…’

‘Oh, Calvin. Don’t be upset. Please don’t be upset. You had fun while it lasted, didn’t you?’

‘Yes, but… but I thought…’

‘You thought what?’

‘I mean, just now, even when you knew this, you… we…’ He shook his head.

‘Was that so unfair of me, Calvin? Just to have you one last time? Was that too selfish of me?’

‘It’s not that.’

‘Then what?’

‘It just seems so sudden, so abrupt, that’s all.’ Calvin sat on the edge of the bed and reached for his clothes.

‘But you knew it had to end one day.’

‘I sort of hoped that when you and Joe split up, we might… you know…’

‘Oh, Calvin, that’s sweet. That’s too sweet.’

‘I gather you didn’t?’

Heidi lay back on the pillow. ‘I never thought, really, not beyond the next time. I’ve hurt you, haven’t I?’

‘It’s all right. I’ll mend.’

‘I’m sorry, Calvin.’

‘Don’t worry about it. I’ll go now.’

‘You’ll be careful? Make sure no one sees you?’

‘I’ll be careful.’

Calvin bent over to give her a goodnight kiss, as he always did. She turned her head and offered him her cheek. He kissed it lightly and found it surprisingly cool, then he went downstairs and sneaked out of the back door. He thought of making a lot of noise, but Calvin wasn’t the type to draw too much attention to himself.

He was OK to drive, he told himself as he headed out of the nearest bar – to which he had gone as soon as he’d left Heidi’s – he’d only had two pints and a shot of whisky, and he felt in control. Sad, hurt, but in control.

The city crews had been through the neighbourhood and the roads were pretty clear. He headed down Roncesvalles towards Lakeshore and the Gardiner, noting how quiet the roads were. Hardly surprising, as it was going on for half past one on a cold, miserable Tuesday evening.

It was all over with Heidi. He couldn’t believe it, couldn’t believe the callous way she had treated him. How could she? He had even fantasized a real life for them: restaurants, theatres, musicals, weekends together. Now this.

Almost home. He stopped at a red light. Nobody around. Lights from TV sets in a couple of windows. Christmas trees. Lights.

As he neared the next set of traffic lights, he saw someone come out of a bar alone and start to cross just as the lights were changing. It was Charlie. There was no mistaking that expensive leather jacket, the hand-tooled cowboy boots. He was clearly a bit pissed, not falling down drunk, but definitely unsteady. And unobservant. Calvin was driving slowly enough to stop, but something, he couldn’t say what, some demon, some inner compulsion, seemed to take control of him. A quick glance to make sure there were no other cars visible ahead or behind, nobody on the street in seeing distance, and almost unbidden his foot pressed down on the gas pedal as if it was made of lead.

Charlie knew something was wrong, saw it coming at the last moment, but was too late to do anything about it. Calvin saw the horrified expression on his face, even fancied he saw recognition there, too, then the car hit him with a satisfying, meaty smack and threw him away from the car. Calvin felt the shuddering bump and crunch as he ran over the body. No stopping now. He sped off and turned the first corner, heading into the maze of residential streets that would eventually take him home, heart in his mouth, blood pulsing hard through his veins, but alive, alive at last.

Calvin didn’t sleep at all that night and spent the next day in terror of the knock upon his door. The newspaper reported Charlie’s death and asked anyone who might have seen anything to contact them. Calvin was almost certain that no one had seen him, but there was still room for doubt, and that doubt bred fear. If the police came to check out his car, they would see the damage Charlie’s body had caused to the radiator and the headlight. They could probably even match paint chips from the body to his car; he had seen them do it on TV.

So terrified was he that he almost forgot to phone in his picks. Almost. At four-thirty he picked up the phone with trembling hands and dialled the administrator’s number. Just as the answering machine cut in, Mother’s stick banged on the floor above. He automatically held the phone at arm’s length and put his hand over the mouthpiece, even though there wasn’t a real person on the other end, and shouted up that he was busy and would be with her in a few moments. When he got back to the phone, he was just in time to hear the familiar beep. He began: ‘Giants, Broncos, Bills, Jets, Rams, Bears…’

The journey to Fort Myers on Thursday morning was a nightmare for Calvin. Not because of the weather, though the flight was delayed more than an hour and the wings had to be de-iced. Not even because of Mother, despite the fact that she never stopped complaining for one moment until the plane took off, when she immediately fell asleep. No, it was because he expected to be arrested at every stage of the journey. At the check-in he noticed two airline officials huddled to one side talking, and occasionally they seemed to be looking in his direction. Sweat beaded on his forehead. But nothing happened. Next, at US Immigration, just when he expected the firm hand on his shoulder, the hushed ‘Please step this way, Mr Bly,’ the immigration officer wished him and Mother happy holidays after barely a glance at their passports.

Could getting away with murder really be that easy? Calvin wondered when he disembarked at Fort Myers and found no policemen waiting for him, only Frank and Vicky in the crowd waving, ready to drive him and Mother back to the condo. Nothing had happened. Nobody had come for him. He must have got away with it.

Though the locals thought the weather cold and farmers were worried about the citrus crop, Calvin found it comfortable enough to sit out on the deck. As he poured himself a Jack Daniels and looked out over the long strip of beach to the blue-green sea, Charlie’s murder began to seem distant and unreal. After a few hours and three or four bourbons, he could almost believe it hadn’t happened, that it had merely been a bad dream, and the following morning he imagined that when he got back to Toronto and walked into the bar they would all be waiting there, as usual, including Charlie, flashing his winnings.

In the late afternoon Florida sun, how easy it was to believe that snowy Tuesday night in Toronto had never happened.