Read Online Death Spiral by James W. Nichol - Free Book Online

afternoon. He’s the one you should get in touch with.”
    “How long ago was this?”
    “Oh, two months. Three, maybe.”
    “Do you know his first name, where he lives?”
    “He’s a farmer, he is, I remember that much.”
    “And did you ever see anyone else in Mr. Cruikshank’s house? I mean anyone who wasn’t a family member?”
    Mary looked a little surprised. “Why?”
    “It would be someone else I could talk to.”
    “It was just always himself, Ducky.”
    “No younger person then? Some young woman?”
    Mary seemed to be growing nervous again. “No.”
    Wilf got up. “I appreciate this. You’ve been very helpful. There’s only one other thing. Since McLauchlin and McLauchlin is Mr. Cruikshank’s executor, of course we’re responsible for his estate until we can pass it on to his legal heirs. Which means we have to secure his house and all his property. So if you don’t mind I’ll have to collect your key to his house. It’s just the law.”
    Mary seemed taken back by this and a little dubious. “It is?”
    “Yes, it is. But before you hand it over you could call Constable Andrew Creighton down at the police station. He’ll confirm what I’m saying. Just to put your mind at rest.”
    Mary looked up at Wilf. She seemed to be considering the call and then she turned to her mother. “Well, it’s not like I’ll be needing that key anymore, is it?”
    “No, it isn’t,” Wilf said.
    * * *
    Wilf managed to park the car safely back in his father’s garage but the familiar weight he’d felt earlier that evening had suddenly descended on his shoulders again.
    He walked slowly into the house and turned on the light in the study. The first thing he saw in the flare of light was the Nuremberg transcripts and a thought suddenly struck him that the whole war was somehow contained in that little room. All the mad dreams. The feverish expectations. The Nazi mirage of a new civilization of appalling grandeur. And all the pain.
    Wilf picked up a sheaf of transcripts. He was surprised to feel tears in his eyes. It had been a long day. He sat down and let the transcripts fall to the floor. He felt for Mary’s key. It was still safely in his pocket. His spirits lifted.
    He’d known what Frank Cruikshank was up to the moment Mary said he’d asked to borrow her key. He’d wanted to make a copy of it. But where? If he’d been smart, he would have taken it out of town.
    Wilf tried to recapture an image of Frank Cruikshank rushing past him in the store but all he could see was Adrienne. She was standing close to him in the crush of clothes, her small face perfectly still in the warm perfumed air. And now he did reach out and touch her cheek. Her neck. Trailing his hand over her blouse, trying to feel the coolness of the material, the rise of her hidden breasts. She of the fathomless violet eyes. She, who seemed to be waiting.
    And so was he. After nearly two years of forced abstinence. Waiting for a miracle to happen, to feel a sudden, familiar tightness electrify his stomach, the delicious push of blood.
    He rested his head back against the chair. He was unbuttoning her blouse. Slipping his hand inside. Her skin felt warm. Her dark nipples.
    It wasn’t happening. His body was refusing to respond. Distracted by trauma. Confused by steel plates and pins and god knows what.
    Wilf left the study and struggled up the stairs. He went into the bathroom, swallowed his pain pills and chased them down with a sleeping pill and then took one more. He walked into the bedroom, pulled off his clothes and sprawled out on the bed. Downstairs the grandfather clock was striking twelve. He lay there and listened.
    He’d have to stay away from women. That was all he could do. If he didn’t want to cause a scene. Embarrass himself.
    It was hopeless.
    He began to drift. Sleeping pills as big and fluffy as pillows were floating through his mind. No panic in his chest now though. No shadows in any room. He wondered why he hadn’t