“Hello, husband.” The reply was even warmer than the air around him.
He hung his coat on the wooden rail that stood near the doorway, before walking past the staircase and into the kitchen, which sat at the back of the house. There she stood, hair tied up into a tall bunch that sat on the top of her head, a smile on her face as she gave a casual stir to a bubbling saucepan, the sleeves of her vibrantly coloured blouse hanging loosely from the middle of her arms, where she’d carefully rolled them back. “That smells good,” he announced, leaning in the doorway.
She turned, smiling, the long slender opal stones that hung from her necklace bouncing against themselves as she did. “How was your day?”
Joseph sighed.
“Oh, like that is it?” She turned to smile at him, all his worries chased away in that moment.
“We got a new case,” he started.
“A big one?”
“A murder, down at the docks.”
“Oh.” Her head dipped, the tone of her voice lowering in sadness.
Guilt washed over Joseph and he quickly tried to walk it back. “I don’t think he was a particularly good person,” he offered.
“It’s okay,” she smiled back at him. “You don’t have to explain it to me. It’s okay to feel sad when someone dies.”
“I know,” he lied. After all, keeping Dziko from sadness or any kind of negative emotion was his main role in life.
“Why did you say he was a bad person?”
Joseph thought for a second. He hadn’t exactly said that, but of course it had been the implication. “I just said he wasn’t good.”
“So, was he bad, or was he just nondescript?” she asked, that smile now firmly placed on her face as she enjoyed toying with him.
“I…” Joseph floundered.
“Oh, look at you.” She placed the spoon with which she had been stirring the food down on the kitchen side and walked over to him, placing her hands on either side of his face and staring into his eyes. He looked down. Embarrassed. Ashamed. Not worthy of her gaze. “Don’t let this,” she placed a kiss on his forehead, “get in the way of these.” She kissed his lips. “Speak.”
Joseph breathed in, composing himself. “It’s just that everyone we’ve spoken to had only bad things to say about him.”
“Like what?” Dziko returned to her idle stirring.
“That he was a bit of a rogue. A womaniser. Loved himself a little bit.”
“Loving yourself isn’t a crime.”
“No, no. It’s not,” he agreed. “But some people can overdo it.”
“Some people can underdo it.”
He knew that was meant for him. The words stung. She nodded for him to carry on with his story.
“He may have taken it too far. Getting involved with other men’s wives.”
“Well, that is a bad thing. Unless everyone’s in agreement, of course.”
Joseph blushed. “I don’t think they were,” he stammered.
“No, I doubt it. That’s a little bit enlightened, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” he said sharply. “And he was a bit of a bully. At least to one of the people he worked with.”
“Bullies aren’t good. Maybe you’re right. Maybe he was a bad person. So do you think maybe this person he bullied had enough and fought back?”
“I don’t know.” Jospeh remembered how Harry had been a nervous wreck when they’d spoken to him. But he didn’t look like a killer. Not by any stretch of the imagination. More overwhelmed or scared. “No,” he found himself saying. “The young lad who said he bullied him, I don’t think he had it in him. I know he didn’t.”
“Interesting,” Dziko purred, and Joseph had to agree, because it begged the question: what was Harry scared of? “So maybe the bullying wasn’t that bad?”
“Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe someone else was on the receiving end.”
“Or maybe he’s being painted to be something he wasn’t.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, do you always believe everything people tell you when you’re investigating?”
“Of course not. But this is a bit different. This isn’t just one person; this is just about everyone.”
“Just about?”
Joseph thought about Cyril and what he’d had to say about Gerald. He must have thought for too long because Dziko had stopped stirring again, looking at him as she spoke. “There was someone who didn’t just have bad things to say about him?”
“Yes. One chap.”
