Питер Мэй - A Silent Death

‘Who’s there?’ she asks sharply, the steel in her voice belying the apprehension fluttering in her breast and the fear that has started to crawl in her belly.

Cleland stood stock-still in the open doorway, assessing the small middle-aged woman in black sitting beyond the computer screens. He canted his head to one side, mentally stripping away the awful blouse and jog pants, the pudding-bowl haircut, and somehow saw something sensuous in the fullness of her lips, an almost Asian slant in her almond eyes. In another world, he thought, she could perhaps have been beautiful. And maybe once she was. Or perhaps it was just a trick of the light.

The last rays of sunlight lay in lengthening stripes across the whitewashed walls of the square opposite the house, and reflected in a soft pink light falling through the gaps in the shutters. Otherwise the room simmered in late evening gloom, the heat of the day thickening the air so that it was almost tangible.

His eyes flickered towards the guide dog standing watching him cautiously from the far side of the room. No danger, he thought, from that old boy. He returned his gaze to the little lady in the chair by the window. Blind, the girl in the square had said. The eyes that stared at him from across the room lacked any animation and he knew that the child had not been wrong. He sighed.

‘Hello, Ana,’ he said. ‘I suppose you’ve probably heard about me.’

Nothing. Not a flicker. He frowned.

‘Ana?’

‘Who’s there?’ she said again, a quiver of barely controlled hysteria in her voice now.

A single clap of his hands resounded in the silence of the room. But it brought not the least response, and he whistled softly to himself. She was deaf, too. Blind and deaf.

Cleland was not accustomed to feelings of empathy. He never placed himself in others’ shoes, wondering what it might be like to be them. But for the first time since a distant childhood that he had long since banished from memory, he recalled standing in the playground being physically and verbally abused by his peers. Closing his eyes and ears to it all, as if somehow that could make it go away. Letting the pain wash over him like water, so that it would pass more quickly. Retreating into himself, a safe place where he was invulnerable, a place where he could hide until it was time to come out again and exact revenge.

Only Ana, he realized as he stared at her, could never come out again. She was trapped in there, locked away for ever. She could never exact revenge. And even if she could, from whom would she seek that retribution? God? Fate? How unfair was that? It occurred to him then, with something almost like shock, that for the first and only time in his life he was feeling sorry for someone else.

Which brought a further sigh. For he knew that no matter what he might feel in this moment it would not stop him from doing what he had come to do.

He took several steps towards her to look at the computer screen that faced him. Then he rounded the desk to peer at the screen which faced Ana. He recognized the patterns of raised dots as braille, and marvelled at this technology that would allow him to penetrate her darkness and speak to her silence.

Her head was slightly raised as he walked around her, turning to track his movements, like some feral animal following his scent. And he realized that’s probably exactly what she was doing. He returned to the screen with the winking cursor and sat down in front of it. Nobody had typed on it since Mackenzie earlier in the afternoon.

— Ana, it has been my great pleasure to meet you. However, I must drag your niece away. We have a meeting soon at Marviña, and she is yet to take me for something to eat.

Cleland knew instinctively that these were the words of the Scot with whom he had fought on the boat at the marina. Hadn’t Cleland himself been standing in a doorway out there in the street when Mackenzie left with the bitch?

He scrolled quickly back and scanned Cristina’s account of her visit to the hospital with Nuri, her conversation with Paco. And he smiled. Such a tight little family. All gathering themselves before him to facilitate his feasting from that dish best served cold.

‘What do you want!’ Ana’s voice raised itself to an almost hysterical pitch, sudden and startling in the silence of the room.

He scrolled back to the cursor and typed.

— Hello.

He was aware of some faint vibration alerting her to text on her screen. Trembling fingers lifted to read the dots that had raised themselves there. He watched as she recoiled in fear and confusion.

‘Sergio?’ she said, more in hope than in any real expectation that it might be him.

— Try again.

‘Who are you?’ Full-blown hysteria now. And he enjoyed her fear.

— I think, perhaps, your niece might have mentioned me. She and her colleagues are having such trouble finding me.

The blood drained from Ana’s face, leaving it ghostly pale. She said, ‘Cristina is not responsible for that young woman’s death. You shot her.’

She was unprepared for the force of the open hand that slapped hard across her face and very nearly knocked her from her chair. She cried out, as much in fear as in pain. Then more dots were raised on her screen.

— She made me do it! And you are going to help me make her pay for that.

The smell of barbecued meat filled the tiny apartment. Sliding glass doors to the balcony at the rear of the block were open, and the chatter of swallows dipping and diving in the warm night air outside was nearly deafening. The room itself resounded to the blare of a television whose volume was set far too high.

Antonio was in the kitchen. Lucas sat at the table amidst a pile of books and jotters, his head tilted into an open palm, a pen twirling absently in his other hand, his eyes drawn towards a cartoon flickering on the TV screen.

Mackenzie followed Cristina into the apartment as she strode across the living room to switch off the television. With only the birds now for competition, she shouted, ‘For God’s sake, what’s wrong with you people? Are you deaf? If the neighbours report us again we’ll be asked to leave.’

Antonio appeared in his bare feet at the kitchen door wearing a T-shirt and jeans. His smile was less than welcoming. ‘And how was your day, darling?’ He nodded at Mackenzie.

Cristina released her belt with its empty holster and let it fall on to the settee. ‘What are you cooking?’

It sounded more like an accusation than a question.

Antonio stuck his jaw out defensively. ‘I thought you might be pleased, not having to make dinner for once.’ His head tilted in Mackenzie’s direction. ‘Only I didn’t know we were going to have company.’

Cristina sniffed the air. ‘What is it?’

‘Barbecued ribs.’

She looked at him in astonishment. ‘You prepared them yourself?’

His look turned sheepish, but still defensive. ‘I bought them at Mercadona. Oven-ready. They take just twenty minutes.’

‘Jesus, Antonio! We can’t afford to go buying pre-packaged food. It’s crazy expensive.’

‘It’s a treat,’ he said. ‘Just this once. I got commission on a sale today.’ Then, deflecting further argument, he nodded towards Lucas. ‘You’d be better off paying more attention to your son. He came home with his report card today.’

‘Is it bad?’

But Antonio had already turned back into the kitchen. He called over his shoulder, ‘Take a look for yourself.’

Cristina brushed past the embarrassed Mackenzie and found the report card half-buried under her son’s books. The boy assiduously avoided her eye as she scrutinized it.