The Butcher’s Girl

Crime Fiction by Miriam Ivo Cruz

August 16th, 8:33 AM. Washta County Precinct, Iowa. Detective Jeffrey Lauchman, Miss Mary-Anne Gill. Start of Interview.” The detective reclined in his chair. “So, Gill.” He eyed her. “Where do we begin?”

There were scratches, and hand-prints there. A face, too, in the room’s great mirror. But Mary-Anne Gill, whose seat faced the image, avoided it. Tapping her foot, picking at her nails, she was intent on a brown spot of mould on the drywall ceiling.

She blinked confused, sleep was still a cloud over her.

“Tell me about the night of the 12th.”

Her voice came from far away, “Sure,” slow, small, and woolly. “It was just Bobby and me, that day. Rob was out. Working, yeah? It was laundry day, and — wasn’t it just awful hot? You can just dry your stuff outside when it’s like that. While I was at it, I left the basin ready with water and soap for Rob’s boots, before heading in.”

“I want to ask-”

“-And Bobby was giving trouble,” she continued undisturbed. “Poor baby had something,…some ear infection was cryin’ up a storm.” The girl flinched, “I was going nuts, sir. So, I went over to Mrs Nelson’s — my neighbour. She helps me out, sometimes, but I’m always scared she’ll tell me off… The first-” 

“No. Stop.” Lauchman straightened himself. From behind the mirror’s face he felt his peers’ judgement. “When did you go to Mrs Nelson’s?” 

Gill fiddled with her shoe, setting her right foot on the edge of her chair. “At… Eight? Quarter to?”

“For how long?”

“Only, like, fifteen, twenty minutes.”

“… Good,” he confirmed with his papers. “That’s in line with her statement-“

Oh.” She perked up. “Does that- You guys talked to her?”

“-that you stayed inside otherwise. Miss Gill, as you continue I’d appreciate it if stuck closer to the matter at hand. Only the relevant information.”

“Relevant?” Gill fumbled. “You asked me to tell you about that night. And I ain’t said any lies.”

“Not saying you have. But your statement starts hours before Robert, the suspect, is even home. Do you understand?” 

Gill stared back, peeved. Lauchman doubted she was involved. But, a job was a job. 

“What time did he get home?”

“‘Bout midnight.” she was curt.

“Hm. How was your evening, then.”

“I- He came in, skipped dinner, and went to bed.” 

“And what did you do?”

“Nothing relevant.” 

Lauchman sighed. “I see.”

Gill turned away. The detective observed her. A pettish thing as all others he’d sat across in nine years in that room. They, with their angst-taut muscles; booming, hissing, yapping. Too physical, too reactive. In them, there was something crude and only human-like, he often felt, watching them. After every interview, he washed his hands to his elbows under boiling water.

She bent over her foot again, soothing the bony ankle her tennis shoe had chaffed raw. Her blonde, matted hair toppled forward, displaying the forceful line of her spine. Prodding vertebrae writhed like on a newborn mammal, swathed in pink gossamer  skin. 

Back against the chair’s plastic rest, she knotted her hands between her thighs. 

“So, you spoke to Mrs Nelson?”

That was all she cared about, he realized.

“What did she say?” Gill asked with her wide girl eyes.

And Lauchman saw it all: how small her world was. He saw, in the dirt on the soles of her sneakers, the mind-dulling ocean of corn that encircled her home. He saw in the faint stains on her clothes, the utter isolation. He could see her now, locked home all day like a nun or a dog, the utter isolation.  

He saw the fragility of her body and of her little world; but to her, its enormity. He knew how to get to her, now.

Lauchman leaned forwards, affecting interest. “You two must be close, huh?”

“Not close, close,” she hesitated, “but… I’m glad to have ’er near.”

“Not many people around that area of Washta, huh?”

 “Not at all… You know, I was so lost when I had Bobby. Baby kept whining and I felt so…” Like a bird settling on a branch, Gill’s cheek rested on her shoulder. “So precious and so little, Bobby was. I just wanted to keep her safe. Mrs Nelson was the closest person I could ask for help. She asked me why I hadn’t gone see a doctor and, truth is, I hadn’t even thought of it. Got so embarrassed, I only told her I couldn’t drive. Boy, the way she chewed me out!” Gill laughed, blushing. “But she still said I could come back to her for help… Well, that night, the 12th, she gave me some ear-drops for baby.”

“And they did the trick?”

“Yea-huh.” She yawned.

“Good. Then you finally rested a bit?”

“Ah- no. After I laid ’er down, I made Rob’s dinner. Some fatback and greens, one of his favourites. Then, I could sit down.”

“Sounds like you were needing it,” Lauchman nodded empathetically, “what time was this?” He clicked his pen down.

“Yeah, gosh — just eleven— I was real tired… Feet… Head… Them weighing down dead. And the night was hot like the devil. The way I was sweating? My skin got glued to the couch’s skin, couldn’t tell myself from the leather, couldn’t move, just watched whatever was on TV for hours. Until Rob pulled up.”

“What time?” He tried again, now she seemed more willing.

 “Ten, well, so to speak, eight after midnight.”

That grabbed his attention. 

“What were you watching? Something fun?”

“Can’t have. Completely forgotten it.”

To alarm her, Lauchman frowned and tilted his head.

“…Something wrong?” She asked, worried.

“Well, I guess I’m just… Perplexed. ‘For hours,’ you watched ‘whatever’ on television. But know exactly when Robert got home.” 

Gill leaned closer, lured by her own mystery. 

“I think,” Lauchman spoke gently, “you were watching out, scared of Robert coming home.”

She stared, unblinking. And he had her. He was so pleased he’d gotten her. He was sure. But her chair screeched as she lurched backwards, suddenly straightening, stretching her back, towering over the hunched detective. 

“Of course not.” She said.

Her stillness unnerved him, in its lengthened state. She recalled an animal, a rabbit, long and still when it hangs limp on the butcher’s window. The room’s aseptic light dulled Gill’s gaze, which didn’t look but sagged down, inert, over Lauchman. 

The detective straightened himself anxiously. But when he levelled with her, her eyes softened.

“Of course not,” she repeated. And that deathly gaze was like an illusion.

“But you had him on your mind.”

“I said as much.”

“Were you preparing? For him. That night?”

“I always am.”

And she’d dodged him. It was like the rabbit lived, after all. Coiled in the corner of its cage, suddenly caught by a pair of hands, it unwound its body to that length, not surrendering, but slipping away.

Lauchman felt uneasy, being so evaded, and it took him a moment to gather himself, and think of a different approach. Waiting,Gill contemplated the mirror.

“Gill.” Lauchman wanted to be direct, now. “You know why you’re here, today.”

She nodded, though musing distantly over herself. “A woman’s died.”

“Ms Pérez,” Lauchman nodded, too. “On the morning of the 13th, her co-workers found her at J.W. Meat’s packing house.”

It had been noon when he’d arrived. Heat suffocated the steel wear-house with the scent of decomposition. It clung to him.

“Her body was in a-” Lauchman watched Gill watch herself. “A-” Skin red, dry, blue below the eye. She made a sorry picture. “-Brutal state.”

“Márcia.”

“You knew her?”

“Rob talked about her.”

“Often?”

“He ain’t done it.” 

“He talked often?” Lauchman pressed on.

“It’s normal, no? They worked right by and by on the meat-line.”

Lauchman looked over his notepad. “When did you start noticing tension between them?”

“I couldn’t notice nothing, could I?” Gill pulled her hair back, and fanned herself. “Never met her.”

“What? Not at Sioux Park?”

“Happened so.” She released her hair and sighed. “Can we open up the door? It’s so stuffy in here…” She whined.

“I’ll-” Lauchman was busy flipping through his files. “-Turn on the fan…”

“Thanks.” 

When the fan switched on, some pages threatened to sweep across the room.

“Ogh- There…” He’d found the testimonies. “Can you tell me about that day?”

Gill sighed. “Well, J.W. gathered up everyone for a little picnic. Probably to make up for some internet fuss, working conditions, the usual, but whatever, it was nice for us: the camping park, the lake nearby. Really nice.”

“How was Robert that day?”

Gill settled back in her seat, pensively folding and twisting her shirt’s hem. “…He was sad.”

“Sad? Why?”

She pursed her lips. “Where are you from?”

Lauchman hesitated. “Delaware.”

“So you know. Midwesterners make up like a tribe. Rob tried his luck with the men ‘round the grill, fetching beer, talking football, cracking jokes, but… they didn’t want him there.” She shrugged. “It’s how it is, being from outside. So we sat at the edge of the picnic area, and — it’s funny — I swear we were the only table speaking English out there. The Mexican — and such — workers were all grouped up on the outs. But then one of their kids came over.”

“Arturo. Márcia’s son.”

“Real tall, seemed grown-up. He pointed to the chair where our bags were on, but I couldn’t tell what he was saying, it wasn’t english. Then he grabbed it, and, really, it looked like he trynna steal.”

“That’s what Robert thought?”

“Yeah. He got defensive, ‘course, and started ah- arguing, calling names, and the boy went away. But it all left him feeling… Some typa way.”

“What do you mean?”

“Uhm…” Gill played with the ring on her finger. “He was takin’ it hard.”

What exactly?”

“They keep- pushing them together… Ah-” Gill wiped her brow. “I don’t know. Just all of it. That day, he just wanted to be the big family man, that day, one of the guys, something… Show off a bit to me. But there we were, on the outside, where they were, and her, earning the same, and he works hard! You can’t get nowhere. Can’t get nowhere good, can you?”

“You think he resented Mrs Pérez for making it?”

“Making it?” Gill looked around herself. “You think she made it? Sitting next to us? I think he was embarrassed that we were sitting by them.”

“But it’s why he reacted against her? Because he felt insecure?”

“Well. It’s not just- it’s not his fault. She was already edgy ‘bout her kid.”

“How did it happen.”

“I said I didn’t see. She came up hollering, from behind me, and I had to look after Bobby. Loud noises make her upset. I took her to the edge of the woods, and it was shady there, but she had on the sweetest little hat, with a piglet on the front, and a string,” Gill traced a line from ear to ear, “I’d tied up in a bow. Her eyes, so sweet and doe-y, with long white lashes that I swear at night, when she’s lying on my chest trying to stay awake, I swear I hear ‘em blinking. Like little fairy wings. I hate to see ‘em frightened. So, when she started turning red when the shouting got going and she got clawing my shirt, I covered her with the hat’s brim.” Gill cupped her ears and closed her eyes. “She calmed down a bit. I kissed her cheeks, her nose, and eyelids until she giggled. Hmm. She still smells like a baby.” 

Gill opened her eyes. 

“When I looked back, Rob was coming. Mary, pack up. Pack up our things, Mary, we’re leaving. He jerked the back of my head, and pulled me away by my collar.”

She’d lulled Lauchman into the intimacy of her dream-like reality. Now, he was startled to wake.

“So. Y- You didn’t see when Robert grabbed and pulled Miss Pérez? 

No.”

“When she hit her head and passed out?”

Gill flinched but shook her head. “I only saw her boy… kneeled over her, calling for help… For his mamma…”

Lauchman watched her troubled gaze before continuing. “What did he say? Robert. Afterwards.”

“Nothing.”

The detective frowned. 

Gill bit the inside of her cheek. “Nothing for the rest of the day. Next morning? He was joking around, being real sweet with me and baby.”

“You didn’t find that strange.”

“Well, I- He said it was just an argument between co-workers. And she didn’t come after us, so, figured it must not have been anything real.”

“You understand she didn’t press charges because of her legal status, here, in America.”

“Legal?”

He stared at her, tediously. “-And not because of the nature of the crime.”

“Not a real crime though. There was no…” she gestured to him, the room, the investigation’s file. “None of this.”

“It’ll still be used in the case against him.” 

She went silent.

Lauchman continued: “It proves antagonism, violent history, so forth.” 

Again, no reply. 

“Gill, I’d like-“

“No.”

“No?”

“I’m not speaking more.”

Miss Gill.”

She squirmed, and cried out “Don’t I get a lawyer? I want someone!” She was frightened.

Lauchman tensed up. The invisible gazes beyond the glass mirror weighed him again. Order. They, the room demanded order, and for him to be its handler. He couldn’t lose it, couldn’t lose her. 

He straightened his glasses, though his hands shook.

“Gill, Gill, It’s alright. We can get you an attorney.”

She hushed.

Watching her — allay her breath; set her palms, cautiously, on the table — Lauchman’s pulse rose. He couldn’t stay seated.

“It’s natural,” he said with trembling casualty, pouring himself a drink from the stand by the mirror. “We expect this…” The water trickled into his glass. “… As the case gets more serious.”

Her head spun, and fingers curled like claws against her flesh. But he was the circus showman. He was electric.

“What do you mean?”

“Let’s just say,” he sat down again, “the investigation against your partner is…” He teased her, fanning through the thick case file, with glimpses of reports, statements, photos, and notes. “Well, going strong.” He gave her a moment to consider it. “Proceedings should st-”

“Wait.”

Her gaze flickered low, grazing the ground beneath her lashes.

“I’ll stay.”

Pleased, Lauchman took up his pen.

“I’ll speak.”

“Then tell me. Is Robert violent?”

She folded her hands anxiously over herself. “…He’s a good man.” Her eyes glistened, red with fright. Or was it puppy-love? “He saved me, you know?”

“He saved you.”

Hm.”

“Tell me about that.”

She nodded, playing with the ring on her finger again. “I was living with my parents when we met…” She turned it round and round and round.

Lauchman tried to be patient, but after waiting some time for her to speak he started clicking his pen like a groom clicks his tongue to hurry his mare along.

“When was this?”

“Four years ago.” she replied.

“2015? You were… Eighteen.”

“Just.” Gill flushed. “Sunday, it was… Blazing hot. After service Da had me waiting tables at his road-side diner. And, uh-“ Gill inhaled slowly, but cringed, and her exhale came out tittering. “You know? Back then I used to save all my tips for a car? But I’d never have saved enough, of course,” she cackled, “I’d never have got outta there.”

“Gill, I don’t understand. He saved you?”

“R- Rob- was a trucker, then,” she blathered as fast as her tongue and lungs allowed, like she wanted to rid herself of the words. “Went all around, in his truck, sometimes stopping by Da’s diner ’cause we were just off the highway? So when it got slow it’d just be us. Da and me. But I’d catch him looking, ahm, when it got slow… But Rob stopped by and I got him looking, got his eye, thank goodness, ‘cause before, I thought I was stuck in Georgia for life, doing was I was told, dressing whatever- dress Da approved Ma get, and- You see?”

“No, I don’t understand. What does that prove, here?”

“He-” her fiddling with the ring became forceful. Wrenching it tighter, screwing it deeper, her finger turned a rare red. Lauchman grimaced.

“He?”

“He- I-” She whimpered or sneered or giggled. “No, I can’t. I don’t want to say it.”

“You have to.”

Tears boiled behind her eyes. She shook her head wildly.

Lauchman exasperated. “Well, Gill, no one else is going to defend him.”

***

In the corner, the fan droned weakly. Fluorescent lights hummed, above. In the distance, a door slammed and men laughed.

For a time no one spoke. 

Gill combed through the damp roots of her hair and flinched. Bringing her ringed finger before herself, Lauchman saw her awe at the colours it’d turned: purple, and a pale, sick green. She enfolded it, softly, in her shirt’s hem.

Her voice was subdued when she began.

“Da liked me to wear these sweet white dresses to church.” She said. “Liked to button me into them, as if I were a little girl.” A pulse passed in silence. “I’s wearing one of ‘em, the first night I was with Rob. Special, so he’d take it off. I let him see-” Gill drew a shaky breath, “the marks all over me. And he was disgusted. He scrunched up his nose, turned me from side to side like he does a chunk of ham at the butchers” She chuckled feebly. “In the end, he pulled me in his arms… He liked me. Liked me all the more for them.”

Lauchman flinched.

“At- the time did… Did you find his attention alarming?”

Gill eyed her ring. “I felt-” her voice cracked “Aahm- precious. Loved. I was some little somet’ he kept safe. It was the best… Best thing ever happen to me. He saved me, saved me.”

Wincing, and with some effort, Gill tore the ring from her swollen finger. She palmed it and exhaled. Her hand fell slack against her thigh, exposing the soft plump of her belly. Lauchman stared. Pink marks stretched shyly around it. He held his breath.

A silent dread came over him.

It was all kinda crazy after that.” Gill sniffed. “Took off… Psh- two months later? Got us a house here in Iowa, planning on getting married, but I got pregnant…” massaging her bruised finger, her focus drifted. “We’re saving, for that… Now… But is it like?”

“Sorry?”

“Is it like to happen? You think you’re getting Rob?”

And it was a mistake. Lauchman knew it was a mistake to care, to feel responsible. But he asked:

“What will you do if Rob is incarcerated?”

She took pause. “Would they take Bobby away from me?”

“Well-”

Her spent eyes widened.

“I-I can’t lose my little girl, my friend…”

“There are services that’ll help-“

She pursed her lips and shook her head. Covering her mouth, she looked down, very still. “The boy.”

“The- boy?”

“The son. Her son.”

Lauchman frowned.

The boy was sitting numbly in a corner of his mother’s house when they’d met. Quiet, despite the frenzy, despite the smell of fresh laundry and food that still lived there. Grief and paperwork, two burdens on him.

“Arturo.”

“Did he call you? When his mamma didn’t come home?”

“-No…” He answered.

Gill squirmed.

She… Sometimes worked double shifts in the evening, so he wasn’t expecting her back before going to bed.” Lauchman couldn’t say why he’d told her this. It didn’t feel right.

“So he was alone a lot?”

“I suppose he was.”

“… What did he eat?”

“I don’t- whatever was around, I guess?”

“What if they ran out?”

“Gill, I don’t know”

“You can’t. You can’t run out… Who’s looking after him now?”

“I cannot share that with you.”

“But he’s being taken care of?”

Her concern should’ve been repellant. Yet, the mother moved him.

“…Yes, he is.”

“Okay,” Gill exhaled, “as long as that,” shifting back in her seat. “But- must’ve been hard. Doing it by herself…” Gill pinched her eyes shut. She mumbled to herself “…Could I?…Maybe if- no… There just wouldn’t be enough for all of us…” It was an aching sound. “We’d have to move back. With Da and Ma.”

Lauchman shifted in his seat. The room felt oppressively hot. The pits and back of his checkered shirt must be sweat-through.

“Is that safe?”

Gill tapped her heel against the chair’s leg. “Da can get mad. But. Nothing never got taken up — by the law and such. Nothing real. Like this. So I could go back.”

That word, again. Real. His hands needed something to do, so Lauchman noted and circled it twice.

“But your mother? Would she help?”

 Gill snorted

Was she like-“

“No.” she disdained. “She was like- She was dead. Just went about, like his pet… Hated that. Hated her,” she finished, muttering to herself.

“So she did nothing.”

Gill turned away. She rattled her knuckles against the chair’s metal frames. It sounded painful.

“What’s Ma gotta do with anything? We should talk ’bout Rob.”

“Tell me about Robert’s temper, then.”

“It’s not like he- he acts like that at home.”

“Like your father? Or like at Sioux? Never?”

Gill tsked. 

“Have you ever had to protect Bobby from him?”

“If I thought we weren’t living right I’d get us out of there. I know Rob.”

“Do you trust him?” 

“I can manage him. Just like the other day. I was telling him if I wanted I could leave.”

“You- When was this?”

“It was late. Was when me and Bobby were coming back from Mrs Nelson’s and Rob was waiting in the kitchen, mad. He was all like, Oh, I been working all day, I’m hungry, where you been? AndI got scuttling, putting Bobby in her chair, heating up leftovers, but he kept going. You see this dump we living in? S’all I get back, then on with her, too.”

“Her?”

“Márcia. Ah! She, fighting to get here. Us, though? Stewing in this… hole… So I-” Gill crossed her arms. Her grip left quick white marks on her skin. “-Put his plate down, and told him he’s the one done plopped us here.”

Listening, Lauchman felt morbid. Like he was witnessing a little dog facing a grizzly bear.

“He asked me if I thought I could do better. Think where you’d be without me.” Gill flushed.

“So you said you would leave.”

I could leave.” She swallowed dry, and spread her scrawny elbows like fresh wings on the table. A bit of thrill in her chary gesture. “She’s on her own, no? And I’m no worse than she. Could be as good as you, and get a job, a house…Only-” She halted, for a moment fell into a tentative silence. “If it were just Bobby and me, I’d take us to the city, instead… Go to- coffee shops… movies, oh, parks. Could learn to drive, have road trips…”

Her voice was feathery, and the fantasy dissipated quickly. Still, her disappointment seemed to surprise her. She embraced herself.

“Did you mean it?”

“No. He knew I didn’t. But- he got quiet.” Gill rubbed her arms, uncomfortably, “After a minute, He asked: You’d take Bobby away from me? And how’d the kid grow, then? Without a proper home. I’d be like her, then. Alone with some brat, working some dirty job. Getting- screwed over by everyone. Getting called slut. You want that? And who’d care for you, alone?” She clenched her jaw, uneasily. “Whose gonna feel sorry for you, Rob? People would laugh. Couldn’t keep his own family, couldn’t even do what she did. And then, just by the stove, I- I started crying. And he always comes over, always hugs, kisses me, says he wants none o’ that for us. But he left the kitchen.” Gill’s head whizzed over her shoulder, as stunned now as if he’d walked off again.

“What happened afterwards?”

“Nothing. He just locked himself in our bedroom, all night… Next morning took off before I was up.”

“When was this?”

A loud sound outside the room startled her.

“The night before the 12th?” Lauchman pressed.

“Yes.” She replied.

Lauchman tapped his pen on the notebook. He kept looking at that word, “real,” and thought of the boy. Arturo was still in his school jersey, when Lauchman spoke with him, his well-worn sneakers respectfully left at the door. His face was transparent. He’d only asked why.

Nothing…” he echoed her, before inhaling sharply. “What’s ‘real,’ Gill?”

“Sorry, what?”

“When do things become ‘real,’ Gill? Fights, bruises, attacks?” When did kindling turn to fire?

She burrowed her mouth in her hand. “I just wanted him- here to… See us. We’re lucky, us. Wasn’t really- Wasn’t about her.” She finished, muffled.

“Then what is it about?”

Gill kept her gaze low, and Lauchman’s head ached. The room’s numb white walls, white lights, and the old fan, slowing, droning deep and dully, drained him, demanding from Lauchman the order it dissolved because it was a nothing space; passive, just a hunger to be, the room drunk up the girl, when Lauchman pulled and spilt her inside, let her saturate the air and the mind till he forgot if he was chasing victim, butcher, fellow, chaser, forgot himself except the fact he was tired. Gill was tired. Gill said nothing.

Lauchman sighed at a loss, wiping the sweat-slick back of his neck. He flipped his notebook to an earlier page. It read: “00:08, Robert arrives home.”

“When we left off,”

“You’re annoyed.”

“-You were watching TV, at eight past midnight. And saw Robert coming.”

“ Yes, I… heard his wheels on the gravel. Saw’s headlights. And ripped off the couch.”

“To protect yourself?”

“No, I… Wanted him home. I ran to throw on this pretty night dress. Shiny, white like it’s something nice… Ran to welcome him in. But got waiting for ages.”

“Why is that?”

“He- He does always take a time. At the meat-house, it’s awful, they cram ’em, people, hogs, smell, taste… So he likes the fresh air at night. But he was taking forever.”

“That worried you.” 

She nodded. “I went out. Sir, have you seen those birds, on TV, mucked with oil? Rob was crouching, pitch-black knees and elbows like ’em, struggling with his boot-laces.” 

The boots, again, the detective thought. 

“I said nothing,” Gill continued. “Best was not to look him in the face, neither. Helped him — quiet — he went in — quiet too — then I put his boots to soak.”

Lauchman recalled finding a pair of large rubber boots, days earlier, drying upside down on their porch. White, impeccable as new; they reeked of bleach.

“Why did you clean them?”

Her answer was simple. “Cause the blood and grime on them.”

Lauchman stared. “The pigs?”

“‘Course”

“Course”

Gill started. “W- Well they stopped doing it themselves at the plant! Can’t get Rob fired off the health-code-whatever…”

“So, you always clean them?”

“Every day. Make us sick if I didn’t.” His scepticism put her on edge. “Once Bobby got this rash-” 

“How do you do it?”

“Uhm- I soak ’em, overnight — loosens up the gunk. Then I go in with bleach, a brush, whatever gets ’em clean.”

“The next morning?

“Yeah.” Lauchman took note. “-But sometimes straight off at night.”

“Like on the 12th.”

“What?”

“That’s what your Neighbour told us.” 

Gill stiffened. “Mrs Nelson?”

Lauchman frowned down at her transcript. “She went over… Circa 1:30 AM. Saw the lights were on, thought the kid might be worse, and went over. But found you, I quote, ‘scrubbing that man’s boots like a crazy woman. Soiled, head to toe.’”

Gill didn’t deny it.

“Why the hurry to clean his boots?”

When Gill broke her silence, her voice was taut as twine. “She… Did you call her up? Or she spoke against us of her own?”

“Is this speaking against you? Why the hurry, Gill?”

Gill looked away. The fan was dead, and the room’s air was stale like morning breath. Condensed moisture trailed down the mirror. She wiped her red face. Some sadness, anger, some shame welled, rank, with the tears in her eyes.

She muttered. “House’s a dump…”

“Gill?”

“…When I followed inside…” Her start was tentative, but her tone well-measured. “…There was a smell a’sick inside. A’sweat, metal, cud, stuck to the halls, the paper on the walls… And Rob didn’t even eat the food I put out for him. He picked and tore at the meat. Squeezed the fat… I went looking for him. Smelled him before I entered our room.”

The air thickened around them.

“Rob was slumped like a dead hog in bed. I went to him. Grease and all ’em filthy things on his skin, and I let him hide and cry against my neck, my sweet clean dress… I did want him. Missing home, kissing me. But…” Gill grimaced. “His tongue tasted rancid like something spoiling.”

Lauchman grimaced. He was out of water. The jar was empty, too.

“And he’s heavy-“ she exhaled. “Dragging you- over you, and he’s strong. Very strong. But then… he had that bruise…” Gill reached forwards and traced its oblong shape on Lauchman’s cheek, who dared not move. Her line was very accurate.

She pulled back.

A bigger one on his stomach,” she gestured on herself. “To the side.”

Terror and excitement stirred beneath her placid features. Gill looked at the detective and nodded: 

“Márcia must have kicked him.”

Lauchman stilled. She paused to think.

“Bet that surprised him,” she continued. “Scrambled away grunting, wide, stupid-eyed. Oh, furious. Must’ve- lunged at her. Stomped her down… He’s enormous on you. All flesh and jowl when you look up… Enormous.”

Rob’s breath heaved into the muggy room; his dripping sweat coated Lauchman’s back. Removing his glasses, he wiped his face. He’d listened, smothered, enraptured by her admission. 

He carried on slowly. “Cracked- chest, hips. Skin, badly flayed… bowls… It was a brutal killing. Laborious…”

“It’s how they do the pigs.”

The question rose naturally. How did she know? Gill, with fixed eyes, and tensely warped mouth waited for it. But Lauchman asked instead:

“Why did he do it?”

She blinked. “Because- he’s a butcher. Only knows the one way of killing.”

At noon, the precinct emptied. Outside the room, the building dissolved. Silence oppressed within.

Gill shifted in her seat. She fanned herself, and her breathing mixed with nauseous gagging. Lauchman watched her overwhelm.

“…I kissed his forehead when he was done. When he huffed down in bed by me I curled up ‘gainst him. Like a dog.” Gill flinched back, startled. Then added, more kindly, with a worried tilt of the head, “like a good dog.”

She broke into a cry.

I- Is it likuh? Bgh- Bobby gh-“

Lauchman shrunk from her dreadful, inarticulate sounds. 

He looked for guidance over his shoulder, behind the mirror, but found his reflection instead. Saw what they must see. Hunched and shapely, the room’s short-sighted champ. Absurd. He might have laughed if behind him Gill weren’t lost. Her head drooped, and face was hidden. Her arms wrapped around her belly, and her fits warped her, curled her inwards. She was the bony lines of her body. Some tallow-skinned creature.

Lauchman turned away, pathetically. 

He leaned over the recorder. “End of interview… Detective Jeffrey Lauchman, Miss Mary-Anne Gill. Washta County Precinct, Iowa, 16th August, 12:08PM,” and tapped the device off.

Lauchman walked to Gill and placed a hand on her back. 

“Come on. Come on, let’s go outside.”

She stood, shakily. He lead her out. The door clicked shut behind them. Outside a woman cried.

---

Bio: Miriam Ivo Cruz is a Portuguese-American writer who grew up in Lisbon. In 2017 she won an international prize, APNLJFC, for her short crime story “The Price of Money,” which has since been published in the prize’s anthology. Since, she’s earned a Bachelor’s in English with Creative Writing at Northeastern University in London, where she founded the University’s newspaper, The Waterfront. Her lyrical essay ‘Halls so Softly Worn’ is being published by Voices de La Luna this year. Next year she’ll study at Cambridge University, but is focusing, now, on creative projects.

You can find her at her website HERE.

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