trunk. We can use it to carry him.” Focused on her plan, she ran behind the car.
Crouching beside Roger, Irene lifted his wrist. She pressed her fingersinto his skin, seeking a rhythm in the limp tendons, clinging to him as if he had thrown his arm out to save her from drowning in a cold, dark sea. Did she want Roger Merlin to live? No, she did not. But that was entirely different from wanting him to die.
She could not find a pulse.
Chapter 7
The Other Side
The night was still dark. It felt as if it had been dark for years, as if the sun was never going to rise again. Using a candle, Irene found an aluminum pail and the pump outside the back door. She heated water on the stove in the small kitchen area, then dipped her dirty hands into the water and scrubbed them with a rag as hard as she could. When she finished, she gave the cloth to Simone, but Simone let it drop to the floor and held out her hands like a child. Irene took one in her own. It was cold and unyielding. She thought of Roger lying in the grass. Retrieving the letter opener from her pocket, she used it to scrape the blood from beneath Simone’s fingernails, while Simone’s tears dropped silently into the cooling water.
——
Irene was lying on a cot at the back of the bungalow. She was not awake, nor was she asleep, but somehow she had managed to detach herself from consciousness. She did not know how long she had been drifting or where she had gone, but she wanted to stay there, as far away as she could get from the events of the night. She tried to remain in this suspended place but was drawn out by the smell of coffee, her body betraying her as her stomach growled with craving. She stood. Her neck and back were sore from tension. Stretching, she walked to the coal stove, where a percolator simmered. She poured a cup of coffee and looked around the curtained room, at Roger’s desk, at the loose pages of his memoir. His life’s story interrupted, brought to an end in a way he could not have conceived. The coffee was gritty and too strong, but she relished it.
She found Simone sitting on the top step of the porch. The bungalow faced an unkempt field that was flanked by tall, leafy trees. The sky was hazy with morning mist, as the muffled rim of sunrise emerged over the horizon. Although Simone was gazing toward the front of the car, where Roger still lay, his body was not visible in the tall, sodden grass.
Irene wanted to offer solace, but she could think of nothing to say that would be of comfort. She could not imagine how Simone must feel, terrorized by her husband for so many years, and now faced with this. Finally, she asked, “Were you able to sleep?”
“I don’t want to talk about this.”
Irene sat down. “I understand.”
“What do we do now?”
“We have to leave Shanghai.”
“It will be too suspicious if I go away the day after he dies.” Simone sounded so defeated. Was it because Roger was dead, or because she was afraid that now she would never get back to Cambodia?
“Not if no one knows,” Irene said.
Simone fingered the torn hem of her skirt. “We’re going to have to leave him out here, aren’t we?”
The mist was dissolving, and the morning began to brighten. Ireneappraised Simone’s haggard expression and was sure that her own face was equally revealing. Even if they changed out of their muddy clothes and made themselves presentable, it did not seem that they could disguise their role in Roger’s death. She said, “If we go to the police, there will be questioning. You have every reason to want him dead. Good reasons, but that won’t matter. You’ll be one of the top suspects. There could be a trial, and you know what Shanghai is like. The government will take great pleasure in tormenting you. Roger’s put you through enough already. Besides, we don’t have time for all that. If we leave him here, it could take days, even weeks for him to be found.”
“Still, to buy a ticket to Cambodia on the day
Crouching beside Roger, Irene lifted his wrist. She pressed her fingersinto his skin, seeking a rhythm in the limp tendons, clinging to him as if he had thrown his arm out to save her from drowning in a cold, dark sea. Did she want Roger Merlin to live? No, she did not. But that was entirely different from wanting him to die.
She could not find a pulse.
Chapter 7
The Other Side
The night was still dark. It felt as if it had been dark for years, as if the sun was never going to rise again. Using a candle, Irene found an aluminum pail and the pump outside the back door. She heated water on the stove in the small kitchen area, then dipped her dirty hands into the water and scrubbed them with a rag as hard as she could. When she finished, she gave the cloth to Simone, but Simone let it drop to the floor and held out her hands like a child. Irene took one in her own. It was cold and unyielding. She thought of Roger lying in the grass. Retrieving the letter opener from her pocket, she used it to scrape the blood from beneath Simone’s fingernails, while Simone’s tears dropped silently into the cooling water.
——
Irene was lying on a cot at the back of the bungalow. She was not awake, nor was she asleep, but somehow she had managed to detach herself from consciousness. She did not know how long she had been drifting or where she had gone, but she wanted to stay there, as far away as she could get from the events of the night. She tried to remain in this suspended place but was drawn out by the smell of coffee, her body betraying her as her stomach growled with craving. She stood. Her neck and back were sore from tension. Stretching, she walked to the coal stove, where a percolator simmered. She poured a cup of coffee and looked around the curtained room, at Roger’s desk, at the loose pages of his memoir. His life’s story interrupted, brought to an end in a way he could not have conceived. The coffee was gritty and too strong, but she relished it.
She found Simone sitting on the top step of the porch. The bungalow faced an unkempt field that was flanked by tall, leafy trees. The sky was hazy with morning mist, as the muffled rim of sunrise emerged over the horizon. Although Simone was gazing toward the front of the car, where Roger still lay, his body was not visible in the tall, sodden grass.
Irene wanted to offer solace, but she could think of nothing to say that would be of comfort. She could not imagine how Simone must feel, terrorized by her husband for so many years, and now faced with this. Finally, she asked, “Were you able to sleep?”
“I don’t want to talk about this.”
Irene sat down. “I understand.”
“What do we do now?”
“We have to leave Shanghai.”
“It will be too suspicious if I go away the day after he dies.” Simone sounded so defeated. Was it because Roger was dead, or because she was afraid that now she would never get back to Cambodia?
“Not if no one knows,” Irene said.
Simone fingered the torn hem of her skirt. “We’re going to have to leave him out here, aren’t we?”
The mist was dissolving, and the morning began to brighten. Ireneappraised Simone’s haggard expression and was sure that her own face was equally revealing. Even if they changed out of their muddy clothes and made themselves presentable, it did not seem that they could disguise their role in Roger’s death. She said, “If we go to the police, there will be questioning. You have every reason to want him dead. Good reasons, but that won’t matter. You’ll be one of the top suspects. There could be a trial, and you know what Shanghai is like. The government will take great pleasure in tormenting you. Roger’s put you through enough already. Besides, we don’t have time for all that. If we leave him here, it could take days, even weeks for him to be found.”
“Still, to buy a ticket to Cambodia on the day
Similar Books
