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“Did you really think either one of us would want to go anywhere near your pathetic rape-hungry little dick?”
Eddie makes pained, barnyard animal sounds as Heath stabs the blade right into the flesh of his now flaccid penis.
I close my eyes tightly so as not to see the horror show unfolding before me.
Throughout our whole marriage, Eddie’s kept a gun in the bedside table, a Glock to protect us from intruders, to theoretically hold them off until the authorities can come save us. He’s never once used it.
“How you must suspend your disbelief to convince yourself that I wouldn’t slice you up like a cow to slaughter for all you’ve done to her.” Heath opens the drawer in the table like he lives here and pulls out the Glock as if it were his gun. He clucks his tongue while Eddie gurgles on his own blood. “You must have had some understanding of how much I loved her?” He holds the Glock to Eddie’s temple and grits his teeth as he leans into him, spitting, “Apologize to Kat for being such a sad sack of shit.”
Eddie whines.
“Before I shoot your fucking dick off, you worthless scum.”
Eddie makes noises. His eyes are wild with horror, and I can smell the acrid fear as it pours off him.
“Too late,” Heath says. He drags the gun down Eddie’s face and shoves it into his mouth. “Blow the gun, you disgusting piece of shit. Pretend it’s my cock.”
I hear Eddie’s teeth chatter against the barrel. He’s too scared to play along.
Heath pulls the trigger. Stone cold, no flinching.
Warm crimson blood splashes against my face and white nightgown, staining the room in countless spatters on our marital bed sheets. An extraordinary arc of red alights and spans across the white curtains.
Chapter 19
Heath
I hadn’t thought about how Kat would react when I shot her husband. Perhaps I should have shielded her from the trauma, but I meant for Eddie’s murder to be retribution. He hurt her. I hurt him. There’s no in-between.
She covers her mouth with her hands but doesn’t scream or cry. It could be shock or maybe his death is a relief to her. Either way, I’ve had years of practice adjusting to this type of thing, while I can’t imagine there have been many murders in Montauk over the last five years.
“Kat, I know you to be iron-stomached, a fish-gutting scientist. Try to look at this through that lens. Blood is blood, be it the frogs or your late husband’s. There’s a lot to be done. Can you take instructions?”
She nods into her hands, then lowers them from her mouth. I begin to roll Eddie’s corpse in the bed sheets and comforter before the blood soaks through the mattress. Kat jumps up to move out of my way.
“I can take care of all of this. Pull down those curtains and take off your nightgown. Is that bar restaurant, The Point, still open all night?”
“I think so,” Kat says as she throws her spattered nightgown onto the pile that was once her husband.
“Go there and get some take-out, a burger and fries, and make sure the staff sees you,” I say.
She yanks down the nearly transparent curtains and tosses them my way.
“I’m not hungry, Heath,” she tells me.
Bless her heart.
“It’s to establish an alibi for you while I dump this body,” I say.
“Oh, right.” She nods.
With my phone to my ear, I ring Fratelli’s destroyer, a hitman feared across all five boroughs, the notorious Donovan Taglioni.
“Tag, it’s Heath Cliffton. I’m out at Wainscott Hollow on the sound. I need a boat. Untraceable. No witnesses.”
He offers to help, and I insist on doing it myself. If Fratelli taught me anything, it's that there is no such thing as friendship and no one you can trust but yourself. I work alone.
“Twenty minutes is perfect. I’ve got a B500 laser pointer in blue that I’ll shine out into the water.”
“Are you going to dump him in the ocean?” Kat asks. She seems relatively calm and collected as she steps into a pair of jeans and pulls on a white blouse.
“I’m going to do whatever needs to be done. It’s better you don’t know. You’ve already seen enough. Reset the alarm system because I disabled it. Go straight there and back. Get them to notice you, but don’t talk to anyone.”
Kat looks irresistible in her jeans, her hair tousled, her cheeks flushed to the point that I’ve half a mind to strip her down and start all over again. But instead, I use my adrenaline to heft the dead weight over my shoulder and walk toward the door.
“If you notice anything more with blood stains, burn it in the fireplace until it’s completely gone. If there’s any on the rug, soak it in hydrogen peroxide and then rub it with a white bar of soap.”
