13 Drops of Blood (5 page)

“Before we get started,” McKean said, “I’d like to inform you that today’s conversation will be kept on file.” He pulled a small recording device from his pocket and turned it on. Tape started rolling.

No digital recordings here, George thought. He correctly assumed that tape was favored because it was harder to manipulate.

McKean said, “We record everything for continuity reasons, and to ensure the protection of both parties. We’d like to remind you that anything you say can, and will be, used against you in a court of law. You have the right to remain silent, which means you don’t have to answer our questions. I’d prefer it if you did, of course. It makes things a whole lot easier on my end, but the choice is yours. Do you understand what I’m telling you?”

“Yes,” George said. His voice sounded steady.

“Good.”

“Are you okay? Can I get you something, a glass of water maybe?

“Sure. Water would be great.”

McKean knocked on the little window located in the center of the door. The door opened and McKean stepped out of the cell, returning a few seconds later with a small paper cup filled with lukewarm water. He handed the cup to George, and said, “For the record, can you tell us what your name is?”

“My name is George Lewis.”

“Address?”

George took a sip of water. “765 Batter Avenue, Oshawa, Ontario.”

“How old are you Mr. Lewis?”

“I’m thirty-three.”

“Do you have a job?”

“Yes, I work at the harbor, the docks.”

“Oh yeah? What do you do there?”

“I load trucks.”

“Were you working today?”

“Yes, but just in the morning. I had the afternoon off.”

Very nonchalantly, Martin nodded and said, “What time did your shift start?”

George smirked, realizing only then that McKean had begun digging for information.
So this is how the big boys roll
, he thought.
They interrogate you soft and gentle like, so you don’t know they’re doing it.
This was a shocking revelation. It was so different than the cops he had seen on television that he wondered why anyone would have scripted anything different.

George smiled. “Do I get to make a phone call? In the movies people are always getting one call and using it to phone their lawyers.”

Martin lifted an eyebrow. “Do you have a lawyer?”

George leaned his back against the padded wall and ran his fingers through his hair, thinking about his brother-in-law Dan.

Dan was a lawyer; worked in real estate mostly. He was also a big mouth know-it-all that had a part-time gig as an asshole. The idea of getting Dan involved made George feel sick.

“No,” he said, admittedly.

“That’s what I thought,” Martin said. “Believe it or not, most people don’t have a law firm on speed-dial. If you need to make a call or two for some reason, just let us know. We’re not unreasonable. We’re trying to help you here, Mr. Lewis. Understand? Do you need to make a phone call?”

“Not really, I suppose… but maybe later.”

“Okay. Let us know and we’ll work something out. No problem.”

“Thanks. Can I have a cigarette?”

“Sorry. No smoking allowed.”

“Come on, please?”

“Sorry.”

George pursed his lips together. Of course smoking was forbidden; it was a government building for crying out loud. He said, “I understand that smoking is a no-no, honest. But I’d like a cigarette anyhow, okay? You want to know why? Because I’m going to make things really easy for you guys. I’ll give you a full confession if you give me a smoke. Sound like a deal?”

“A full confession?” Martin said. “Do you have something to confess, Mr. Lewis?”

“My cigarette?”

“Smoking is
not
allowed. We don’t make the rules, Mr. Lewis. We just follow them.”

“Fine. Have it your way.”

“My way is that you cooperate, so we can get this ugliness behind us.”

George shrugged. “Whatever.”

McKean waited a few seconds, then he hit a button on the recorder. A little red light turned dark and the tape stopped rolling.

He said, “Off the record… let me tell you something, George. I’m telling you this, not so you’ll feel threatened, or in jeopardy, but so you’ll understand. By law we can keep you here for a long while, George. If we have reason to believe that you’re dangerous, or thinking about becoming a fugitive, we can keep you here for a very,
very,
long time. But if you’re smart, which I think you are, you can be out of here really soon. Helpful people tend to get along better than others, get it?”

He switched the recorder on.

Martin said, “Can you tell us what time you left home today, Mr. Lewis?”

George looked at the floor. He was done talking.

McKean, slightly swaying from character, said, “Should I remind you that we have thirty-two witnesses?”

“Unless I can have a smoke to help calm my nerves, you’re going to need thirty-two witnesses.”

After a bout of silence, Detective Martin stood up and knocked on the window. The door opened and Martin disappeared. A moment later he returned with a cigarette, an ashtray, and a book of matches.

He placed the items on the padded bench and said, “I’m not giving you a cigarette, Mr. Lewis. However, you’re a grown man and you’re old enough to make your own decisions.”

“Thank you.”

McKean looked annoyed. He didn’t enjoy bending the rules, not even a little. It made him feel like a bad cop. “Are you going to talk to us?”

“You bet.” George took the cigarette, leaving behind the matches and the ashtray. “I was coming into Toronto from Oshawa,” he said, tucking the cigarette behind his ear. “I was alone. I got on the six fifty five. Like usual, a thousand people got off the train and nobody got on. The train, as you might know, brings commuters from Toronto to Oshawa in the evening time, and it returns to Toronto near empty.”

“Of course,” Detective Martin said. “Rush hour… everybody’s going home.”

“Exactly.”

McKean asked, “Why were you going into Toronto on a Tuesday night?”

“I met a girl a few weeks ago.”

“Name?”

“Kelly something. She’s a real cutie. We hit it off and swapped digits and I wanted to see her again. My wife and I are divorced… well… separated. We’ve been apart for more than a year. If it wasn’t for my little boy I’d probably never see her again.” George looked at his knees. His eyes stayed there for the longest time. His shoulders were slumped and his hands were clasped together, almost prayer like.

“You were alone?”

No response.

“Mr. Lewis? On the train, you were alone?”

In time, George said, “I was alone, sitting near a window. My car was empty and I didn’t have anything to read. There were a few newspapers lying around, like always, but I read most of them at work. I didn’t have much to do… except look out the window. It’s a nice trip most days. The train runs along Lake Ontario and the sun shines off the water. During the summertime you can see the girls sunbathing. Well, it took about ten minutes for the train to get rolling. And I’m sitting there, not thinking about much. Just looking out the window and watching the buildings roll by.” George swallowed uneasily. His fingers tightened and the muscles beneath his shirt bulged. His eyes drifted; he was a man lost in thought. “Then I saw the strangest thing.”

The room grew quiet and stayed that way.

Detective Martin began feeling uneasy. “Well, Mr. Lewis… don’t keep us waiting now. What did you see?”

George looked up, almost startled by the voice.

“A man,” he said, with a solemn tone. “At least I thought it was a man. I don’t now. He was standing in a field, close to the tracks. He was alone, wearing a suit and a tie. Black suit, black tie, white shirt. He had a little crown of white hair wrapped around his head and his face was all wrinkled. His eyes were gray but they were brilliant, too. Just brilliant. They were so bright they seemed to be sparkling.” George almost laughed. “Now… I’m in a train, remember. I’m moving fast. So for me to notice his eyes…” George trailed off.

McKean cleared his throat, and said, “Is the man doing something that catches your attention?”

“Not yet.”

McKean nods. “Okay.”

Martin said, “How old do you think he is, roughly?”

George looked up and grinned. “A hundred and fifty.”

Martin’s eyes widened with shock. “A hundred and fifty years old?”

“Yeah, he was at least that. He was older than any man I’d ever seen. I’d tell you he was two hundred but you’d think I’d lost my mind.” George put a hand to his mouth and nibbled on his nail. “I didn’t think much of the guy at first,” he said, talking through his fingers. “Why would I, right? Yeah, well, after five minutes or so the train stopped. A couple people got aboard and sat near the door.”

“What did they look like?”

“Who, the people that got on? They were nobody, just teenagers. Two boys: sixteen, maybe seventeen. They kept to themselves. They don’t matter. Trust me, they weren’t a part of this.”

Martin nodded his head, trying to understand. He didn’t like the sound of that last sentence:
They weren’t a part of this
. For some reason that sounded bad to him. It sat in the air like dialog from a bad movie.

A part of this
––

What the hell did that mean, anyway?

George cleared his throat. “We started rolling again. After a few minutes I’m looking out the window, watching the world roll by, and I see him again.”

“Who did you see?” Martin asked, with his voice sounding slightly uneasy.

McKean glanced at his partner oddly, but said nothing.

“The old man in the black suit, of course. Who do you think? He’s standing at the shoreline, right near the water. And he’s looking at the train, watching us go.”

McKean, holding back a grin, used a voice that was best suited for small children. “Am I missing something here?

“Nope.”

“It was the same man?”

“Yep.”

“And the train was moving.”

“That’s what I said.”

“You know that’s impossible, right Mr. Lewis?”

“Yeah. It’s impossible, all right. I know. And that’s exactly what I tell myself. I tell myself that it’s impossible, that it’s not the same guy. That it has to be someone different. And at a hundred miles an hour I make myself believe it. I’m no fool, and I’m not getting a good look at this guy. Within seconds he’s in and out of my line of vision, so it has to be someone different, right? Some other two-hundred-year-old-man standing near the tracks in a black suit…

“Well the train stops. I guess we’re at the Ajax station now. The two kids by the door get off; nobody gets on. I’m alone again. We start rolling and I’m looking out the window, you know? I’m watching. Part of me is hoping to see him again because… well… because it’s interesting. Another part of me––the part that’s getting worried––is praying that I don’t see anything. I know the odds are slim, but I don’t want imaginary friends standing at the edge of the tracks. I don’t want to live in the nuthouse.”

McKean shifted his recorder from one hand to the other.

Martin kept his eyes glued on the suspect.

“Sure enough, the train gets rolling and I’ve got my face up to the window. I’m actually leaning my head on the glass at this point. I don’t care. I want to see what’s out there and I don’t want to miss him––if he’s there, which, of course, he’s not going to be… right?
Wrong.
After a few minutes I see him again. Same black suit, same black tie, same white shirt. He’s standing next to one of those old buildings with the graffiti on it. To be honest with you, I can’t believe it… I really can’t believe it. But it’s him, all right. Three times I see him. But at this point I’m still thinking it has to be three separate people because it
can’t
be the same guy, it just
can’t
be. I’m in a train, for crying out loud. There’s no way it can be the same man and I know it. Well, I watch him for as long as I can, trying to burn his image into my head just in case I see him again. But can you imagine? Jesus rode a bicycle… can you imagine seeing the old guy a
forth
time? He’d have to be a ghost, wouldn’t he?

“Well, we’re moving at a good speed, not as fast as before but we’re zipping along… and I can still see him. He’s getting farther away all the time but he’s still there, standing by the tracks, and do you know what happens? Can you guess? He
waves
at me. The son-of-a-bitch waves, as if to say, ‘
Yeah George! It’s me! You see me and I see you, now what are you going to do about it?
’ Well I don’t mind telling you that I got scared. Right then and there––for the first time in years, I got scared. His eyes were glistening and his hand was swinging back and forth and he had a smile that looked more like a scream than anything else, like he was wearing the goddamn thing wrong, somehow. So why wouldn’t I be afraid? Huh? I don’t mind saying, I damn near dropped a bucket of shit in my pants.”

The two officers didn’t speak, nor did they exchange a glance. They just listened, nodding their heads like good cops do. There would be time for talking later, plenty of time.

George let a few seconds roll by, waiting for a response that didn’t come. Then he said, “The train stops again. This time a dozen people got aboard. I’m not looking at any of them. Oh no, I’m looking out the window. The train starts moving. It went under a bridge and along two or three subdivisions and sure enough, I see him again. Four times, now––
four!
Only this time we’re not racing along the track at a hundred miles an hour, we’re going slow, like… twenty miles an hour, slow. And he’s looking at me. And his eyes
are
sparkling, like he has little flames inside his eyelids. His eyes are huge and gray and sparkling and I
know
they’re focused on me! I know it. And the man’s not alone. Oh no. Not this time. This time he has a little boy with him. The boy is five or six. The old man has a hand wrapped around the kid’s wrist and he’s holding him up so his feet aren’t quite touching the ground. The kid’s arm is extended in a way that looks terrible, it has to be hurting him, and, and…”