The Killing House

33

‘ Hold on,’ Corrigan screamed, jerking against his restraints. The dining-room chair tipped back. Its arms banged against the table’s underside and the chair rocked forward. ‘ For the love of Christ just hold on a moment and let me explain! ’

Fletcher rested the tip of the cleaver against the plate. ‘Why does Mr Jenner employ a surgeon?’

‘Former surgeon. I’m a former surgeon.’ Corrigan’s breathing came hard and fast. ‘He employs me to treat people he doesn’t want to bring to the hospital. That’s all I do, I swear to God. Whatever beef you’ve got with him, it isn’t with me, so let’s just — ’

‘What, exactly, is Mr Jenner’s business?’

‘It’s none of mine,’ Corrigan said. ‘I don’t ask questions, I just take care of the medical end of things. He called and told me to come here, and I did. Timmy was already here and tied up to the bed, that’s the God’s honest truth. Jenner told me to give him the antibiotics, and I did.’

‘And Demerol.’

‘Yes. Yes, I did. Timmy was going through heroin withdrawal. Jenner wanted him to sleep, so I sedated him with Demerol. Jenner tied him up because he didn’t want Timmy getting his hands on it.’

‘Dosage?’

‘A hundred milligrammes every two to three hours.’

‘IM injection or slow IV push?’

‘Push,’ Corrigan said. ‘Who are you?’

‘Who supplies the medicine, you or Jenner?’

‘Jenner. I tell him what I need and he gets it for me.’

‘And you’re saying Mr Jenner does not own this home.’

‘That’s right.’

‘Who does?’

‘I don’t know, I swear to Christ — ’

‘I think you do,’ Fletcher said. ‘And I think if I apply the right amount of pressure, you’ll tell me.’

‘How many times do I have to say it? I. Don’t. Know. ’

Fletcher pulled out Corrigan’s chair at an angle, exposing the man’s right hand.

‘ You’re asking the wrong man,’ Corrigan howled, squeezing the chair’s armrest. ‘ I’m just a hired hand, I swear to God I’m telling you the truth. ’

Fletcher rested the blade against the man’s wrist and said, ‘Then tell me the name of the man and woman who own this house.’

‘ I don’t know! I don’t know! ’

Fletcher brought up the cleaver.

The veins in the man’s neck stood out like cords of rope as he screamed: ‘ I’M TELLING YOU THE TRUTH, I SWEAR TO GOD, JESUS IN HEAVEN, I DON’T KNOW WHAT JENNER DOES FOR A LIVING OR WHO OWNS THIS HOUSE OR WHO’S COMING OVER TO DINNER, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD PLEASE DON’T HURT ME!’

Fletcher placed the cleaver on the table.

‘What time are your dinner guests arriving?’

Corrigan struggled to catch his breath. ‘They’re not my guests,’ he said. ‘I have no idea what time they’re coming.’

Fletcher suspected that was a lie. He suspected that every word Corrigan had spoken was a lie. Given the number of times the man had consulted the grandfather clock, Corrigan was expecting Jenner and/or tonight’s guests to be arriving shortly — perhaps within minutes. The man was stalling to save his life.

Fletcher picked up the iPhone and placed it on the doctor’s dinner plate.

‘What are you doing?’

‘We’re going to have a conference call with your employer,’ Fletcher said.