He told me one last story. He used his aged ruined voice like an old man’s hand to pick the lock on his past. It was a winter night and the chilly night breeze brought my garments to life. I held up my bloodstained knife into the moonlight and wished. I wished for it to have never happened. The knife presented a crimson murderous face. Mine.
The life before me - painfully kept talking. I closed my eyes to stop my tears from spilling. A lump had formed in my throat. I wanted to scream; yet I could not. I looked at him once again as he whispered his final words:
“Not me James, not me…it was Jo….”
Phillip was gone without finishing his story. But the clues were laid; the killer was out there. The death of my father will be avenged. Slowly I knelt over his motionless body. His eyes were blank and drained of his essence. I examined him and was taken aback at the sight of his chest. My knife had fulfilled its initial purpose. Red fluid did not cease to stop flowing from his wound. I bent my head in silence and shame. My voice dropped to a hoarse whisper –
“Sorry, Phillip did not know.”
With that I stood and walked away.
-- א — א --
“James stop staring off into space and eat your breakfast. I don’t know what’s come over you lately… unless you’re still upset over your father…” Mother’s face fell as she mumbled an excuse and went upstairs.
She had not spent a single tear since dad had gone and was very jumpy at the mention of his name. This was very unsettling, but I forced this out of my mind and shovelled in my food. I needed a plan, one that will work. Phillip had given me a clue to my father’s murderer, Jo… I thought hard and long at the various possibilities.
There was uncle Jo, but he had spent an entire night at my dad’s grave. No it was not uncle. Phillip had not finished the name. It was merely the first syllable.
At this thought more suspects came to mind. There was, Joseph dad’s business partner, Joalquin who was one of dad’s friend, Dad’s old mate John and Jodare one of dad’s new friends that helped him out with the machines at work…
Ring Ring Ring Ring…The phone broke into my thoughts. I rushed to the phone and picked it up.
“Hello,” I said. A familiar gruff voice replied –
“Hello, may I speak with Joanne?” Not knowing my mother’s state of mind I replied negatively-
“She’s not available at the moment. May I know who is calling and take a message?”
“Yes. Tell her its Johnson speaking and I wanted to tell her Phillip was found dead down by the river, I was wondering if she already knew about this or not. Police are associating the two deaths as suicidal and … she has got nothing to worry about.” My heart skipped a beat and the lump had returned to my throat. I was shaking. I did not have the strength to reply. “Did you get that down boy? Just make sure the message is passed on to her. Good bye.” – beep beeeep beeep.
I put the receiver back onto its hook and sunk into the nearest chair. Murder is a vicious thing, I thought to myself, once its committed it follows you everywhere.
“Are you okay James, who was that on the phone.”
I didn’t realise that mother was on her way down the stairs. I wiped my tears away and sat up. She came into the hall wearing a pair of jeans and a green shirt. Her hair was piled onto her head in the usual birds nest style and her feet were kept warm by her slippers.
“That was Johnson mother, he wanted to tell you that Phillip was found dead down by the river,” I took a deep breath and continued, “ He was also wondering if you already knew about this or not. He also mentioned something about the police associating the two deaths as suicidal and that there is nothing to worry about.”
“Is that all?” her face was pale. I nodded my head and watched her reach out for her purse and car keys. “I’m going out for the day. Order pizza if you want and don’t wander out to much.” With that she locked the door behind her. I could hear the car tyres on the gravel outside as she drove away for the night.
Since she had gone I took out a pad and pencil and scribbled all the leads I had. I was left with a page of messy thoughts:
Suspects:
Phillip
Joseph
Joalquin
John
Jodare
I spent the next two minutes imagining who could have done this from my list. When a new name into my head – Johnson. I added this name to my list and re-contemplated my ideas.
Joseph couldn’t have been the murderer; he was out of the country. Dad was complaining about it to mom all the time about him taking a 5-month holiday to tour Europe. Dad was always confiding in mom asking for her help and advice. I wiped a single tear and refocused at the work in hand.
John was definitely out. Him and dad had been friends for a long time; he was even here as soon as he found out about dad with red eyes comforting us - although it ended up being me who had comforted him.
Jodare was much unknown and was returning to France next week. He wasn’t a probable murderer either. He didn’t know his way around town without some one’s help. My instinct told me it was either Joalquin or Johnson. My bet went more towards Johnson. There was something weird about him. His attitude had changed since my father’s death. He was more involved with my mother and always talking to her. It had to be him.
-- א — א --
It was 10 o’clock when I had left the house. I had driven over in my dad’s green sedan. The area was unfamiliar to me as I searched for Johnson’s house – 21 secant close. Pulling over I went walking down the road towards 21. The street was deserted. Good, I thought to myself.
The house was of a modern construction. A flat roof, double garage and a small garden. Modern living I thought. I walked up the paved path and rang his doorbell. It was quite a few moments before he opened the door.
“Oh, hi James. What are you doing out so late.” His voice was nervous and defensive. I ignored his comment and replied smoothly.
“Can I come in, its important?” Johnson looked apprehensive, but my aggressive look bore into him and he stepped aside. He raised his voice unusually as he spoke to the closing door.
“WHY DON’T YOU SIT IN THE LOUNGE JAMES.”
Brushing aside the obscure invitation, I walked into his lounge and turned around and faced the foyer. I had my hand on the hilt of my knife as Johnson walked in and stood dumbfounded. His eyes showed fear. I swung my knife in a dangerous manner. Johnson’s eyes widened as he backed out into his foyer. I followed.
“It was you wasn’t it you’re the one that killed my father. You caused so much pain and I’m going to make you pay.” My hands were shaking in an alarming manner. “I should have known it was you. You were always jealous of my dad’s love for mother. You wanted her so bad you wrecked all our lives. Didn’t you?” I held his collar. The knife was a millimetre from his breast when a familiar voice full of sorrow screamed.
“Mother?” My heart was pounding in my throat. “Mother what are you doing here with dad’s murderer?”
“I... I… I was escaping from my guilty conscience… you see it was me who… who killed him.”
“What... You mean... You mean… YOU killed father?” I was shocked. My knife fell onto the tiles with a clink and clank. A deadly silence followed. I slowly backed away from my mother – Joanne…
“But why mother but why? We were happy he gave you, everything you wanted?”
“No he didn’t, he gave me his troubles, his burdens, his sorrow and his pains and now even his debts.” Her voice was full of spite and loathing. By now Johnson was by her side and supporting her slender frame. I regained my posture. I did not belong here.
“I swear by my fathers grave, you are not and will not be my mother. I shall live in peace with Grandma Helen, AND I hope to NEVER see you again.” With that I left, without turning back. Only the voice of my mothers last words were burned in my mind like a scar that I will never forget through my journey of existence.
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