Shooting in the Dark

him.
    ‘The devil uses money to shove us around. But he can only do that if we continue to make money the centre of our lives.’
    Miriam shook her head. ‘My boss,’ she said, ‘the one who owns the café; he drives a maroon Jag. Inga went in it once and he put his hand up her skirt, but she said it was worth it. She liked the smell of the leather.’
    ‘When I hear things like that,’ I told her, ‘there’s an Old Testament prophet rises up inside me who’d like to strike both of them dead.’
    It was then that she said I was as crazy as a two-bob watch. She was quiet for a moment, and then she shook her head and said it with a laugh.
    I didn’t think it was funny. I still don’t.
    I looked it up in the dictionary. Australian slang, apparently. Harking back to the days before decimalization, when a bob was a shilling. So a two-bob watch would be a watch that you bought for about ten pence. Something cheap, something totally useless.
    I explained to Miriam why I thought chastisement was in order, and she agreed with me. It could have taken many forms, but in the end we thought that physical punishment was the way forward.
    She lay over the end of the bed and I gave her ten good wallops with the hairbrush.
    Afterwards we had sex.
    I am not a two-bob watch.
    I am a watcher. I am the watchman.
    There is only one of the two sisters left. The blind one. And I do believe she has got herself a minder. But that’s all right. I’ve always been a fair man. As a blind woman she has, of course, a built-in disadvantage. She is handicapped in relation to me. But if she has a minder, then her handicap is nullified. We are equal. She has herself and her riches and her minder, and I have my fortitude and my God.
    This has been my life. I have remained awake for the purpose of devotion; through long years I have kept my vigil. There was a period when it seemed that my vigil was in vain. But I kept the faith, and now it is beginning to pay off.
    I am not by nature a violent man. I am a watchman, and by virtue of my watch I am drawn to strike the balance. A good man was lost, and should I stand idly by while others profit from his death?
    Last night I told Miriam how I used to pray as a child and about crying myself to sleep at night. I didn’t mention the bed-wetting. I told her how my mother was worried because she thought I was left-handed. My teacher, too; they all thought I was left-handed. If I’d been left-handed, there would have been something wrong with me. I would have been different to the rest.
    That was the first time I remember witnessing joy in the eyes of other people, when they finally decided that I was ambidextrous. If they’d thought I was normal, righthanded, and then discovered that I was ambidextrous, it wouldn’t have been such a joyful occasion. Just something to remark about. But because they’d thought I was handicapped, and then discovered that I was superhuman, they thought it was a miracle.
    And maybe it was.
     
    Suxamethonium. The name of the drug I used. A pleasant-sounding word, don’t you think? Suxamethonium.
    Isabel was by far the more predictable of the two sisters. I calculated how she would react when I turned up on her doorstep. A long training as a student of psychology helped, but my observations of her over the past months had convinced me that she would go along with my little scheme.
    ‘Good morning,’ I said. ‘Mrs Reeves, isn’t it? I’ve abducted your sister, Angeles Falco, and I’m here to discuss the terms of her release.’ I smiled at her. I watched her mouth fall open and the dawning realization that one of her worst nightmares was taking place.
    I stepped forward, over the threshold, and the woman moved to one side to accommodate me. Someone else would have slammed the door in my face and immediately rung the police. But not Isabel Reeves. Shock had the effect of paralysing her.
    When she’d recovered a little, she wanted to ring her sister to make sure I wasn’t lying. I let her do that. She dialled the number and started when her sister’s mobile began ringing in my pocket. I took it out and pushed the talk button. ‘I’m sorry,’ I said into the mouthpiece, ‘Angeles Falco can’t come to the phone just now.’ Isabel Reeves put her own mobile down on the sideboard and looked at me with vacant eyes. She was in a no-win situation.
    She was pale; her hand kept flitting to her mouth and then fluttering by her side. She was perspiring and from time