EPT"Mr Stone?" she asked me.
"Call me Jack, Mrs...?" I replied, spotting the gold band on her finger.
"Desrow. Cherry Desrow. I'm Marc's wife. I've come to see you about him. You're a private investigator, right? And an old high school buddy of Marc's." Her lips trembled slightly as she spoke.
"That's right." I tried to lighten the mood. "Cherry by nature as well as by name?" I asked, catching the scent of cherry blossoms wafting through the air.
"That's what Marc used to tell me."
"Last time we spoke on the phone, Marc told me about the beautiful girl he was going to marry, but I don't think his words did you justice. His only complaint was you weren't a gamer like him, but I've never met a girl who was." She tried to smile, but it came out more of a grimace.
"Why don't you sit down and tell me what you came to see me about." We sat.
"I'm afraid I have some bad news to share with you. You see, Marc's... crossed over."
I took her meaning. It stung, but I said nothing. I just nodded and waited for her to continue.
"The official verdict is that he did it to himself. But I just can't believe it. I'm sure someone else was responsible, and I want your help in bringing that person to justice, Mr Stone."
"Sure, I'll do whatever I can for Marc. You better start at the beginning."
She lost the losing battle she had been fighting against tears. I rose and gave her a friendly hug and held her gently as she sobbed. Her body felt as good against me as it had looked in my doorway, but I thought of Marc and gently disengaged her.
"I'm sorry Mr Stone, I don't think I'm up to it just at the moment." She sniffed. "I'll come back tomorrow afternoon."
"Same time as today?"
"Okay."
"Right. I'll be here. You take it easy."
Without another word she disappeared back into the storm.
I sat back down at the desk and made a phone call. Detective Dwight Bleichert of the Melbourne police was another old buddy of mine. I brought him up to speed about my interview with Cherry. He dug up the file and returned the favour.
"Listen, our guys' first impression was a self-inflicted wound. But there's official verdict yet and the case is still under investigation. We're not satisfied yet that Marc didn't have some help. His wife found him in the study, right after it happened, and rang it in." That's all he was able, or willing, to share with me. But it was enough to get me started. A minute later I was battling the storm myself. Despite gloves, hat and a long coat I was still soaked to the skin by the time I made it to my battered old Merc.
It was a long drive across the city in the stormy darkness, but finally I reached the Desrows' street. Their house was a nice piece of Art Deco on a small plot. I liked houses like that. What they lacked in privacy and personal space they made up for with character. The lights were on inside. The Desrow house wasn't my destination, however. I knocked on the door of the neighbouring property, another fine example of the breed, and was greeted by an elderly lady. I told her my name and occupation and asked if she wouldn't mind answering some questions about the couple next door. She ushered me in, delighted to find someone actually willing to listen to her.
"How long have they lived next door to you?" I asked her.
"Oh, about two years."
"They ever cause any trouble?"
"Oh no, no trouble. Well, they used to row every now and then, you know how young couples are. But they settled down and haven't heard any arguments for a while now. They seemed happy as anything. They were inseparable."
"What sort of thing did they argue about?"
"I'm not really sure. I couldn't quite understand what they were saying."
"You couldn't hear the words well enough?"
"Yes, that was it!"
"Are you sure it wasn't about money."
"Well, I'm quite sure it wasn't about money."
"I thought you said you couldn't hear them."
She grew flustered. "Well, I'm sure it wasn't about money. It's not like I eavesdrop on people you know. What does it matter what they rowed about anyhow?"
I didn't pay her any mind. The wheels in my mind were turning, and I thanked the old woman for her time and her coffee and left.
Cherry was in. She seemed surprised but happy to see me and this time she embraced me. "I'm so glad for your help, Jack, be able to feel like I'm not alone in this, after all." she breathed, pressing close. "It's hard to be alone." I gently slipped out of her grasp and looked at her hard.
"Cherry, I spoke with the police today. They told me you found Marc in the study yourself, soon after it happened. Do you mind if I take a look around?"
"Sure, go ahead." There was a hint of a nervous tremor in her voice.
"Lead the way." I smiled.
She paused at the study door and took a deep breath, as if steeling herself for what was to come. She threw the door open. Seated in front of a computer was a hideous caricature of a man.
Obese and apish, Marc Desrow little resembled the man he had once been. He looked at me, but there was no flare of recognition in his gaze. He beamed excitedly at me, like a small child addressing his father. "I beat Idra!" he cackled. "All-in for the win!" He repeated the phrase, this time in a passionate whisper "All-in for the win!" and began to chant it, rocking back and forth in the chair.
I seized Cherry's wrist. "You did this to him!" I told her.
"Me?" her expression was horrified.
"Yeah you. And you thought that I, an old friend of Marc's, would pull up enough red herrings and objections to move the suspicion off you. There was no official verdict, you just told me that hoping I wouldn't be able to find out the truth."
"Truth? What truth? I don't know what you're talking about!" she cried.
"Your neighbours know you used to fight. I can guess what about. Marc used to be a top Brood War player, he could mix it up with the Koreans even. You don't get that good without putting in hours, lots of them. But you weren't a gamer, he told me so himself. You wouldn't understand his need to practise hours upon hours every day. You weren't willing to put up with it. The old woman next door heard you fighting, about something she couldn't understand either, and there are precious few gamers on a pension. So you drove him to StarCraft II. It was less mechanically demanding and strategically dumbed down, so he could get away with practising less. You'd even play together, since it wasn't so hard, if he would return the favour for you. But his obsessive nature took hold and he played the vile game so much it corrupted him. Now he's a vegetable!"
"You can't prove any of this!"
I stalked over to the second PC and flicked on the monitor. The screen displayed a StarCraft II rank page. The ID read CherryCherie123.
She gaped at me, speechless. She began to shake, then with an effort she composed herself. "What are you going to do?"
I reached inside my jacket and pulled out a .45. I pointed the pistol at her. The gun felt heavier than a broken heart in my gloved hand. "You asked me to help bring the person responsible to justice."
Her eyes went wider than I thought possible. "Please!" she begged.
I turned and shot Marc in the temple. He slumped in the chair, lifeless. "I told you I'd do whatever I could for Marc." I threw the gun at her, and reflexively she caught it. Her eyes grew wider still as she realised what I had done. She aimed at me and pulled the trigger but the gun merely clicked. "Only loaded with one cartridge, Cherie." I told her and strode out of that accursed room. "I was kinder to you than you were to him!" I yelled over my shoulder, "And by the way, the police will be here soon!" Outside it was raining harder than ever.
