Fear Itself by Duffy Prendergast Page A

rabbit. His face bore a snide expression, much like the one he wore when he pulled his ridiculous and transparent stunt: Amber in the next room. I could not find it in my heart to forgive him for such a crude assault on my intelligence.
    He wore the same type of inexpensive white shirt and if not the same, a replica from a closet filled with many in a series of plain inexpensive suits, grey with a simple thin black tie absent a clip, and on his feet a pair of shiny black military style low-quarters.
    “Have a seat.” I pointed to a chair and he walked over to it and waited until I was seated before declining to sit himself choosing instead to tower over me.
    “No thanks.” He said, “This will only take a minute.”
    “Have you brought Amber along for the ride?”
    He laughed and his face blushed with embarrassment. “No, she was not available.” He retrieved a package of cigarettes from his shirt pocket and leveraged a single white stick from the pack with the shake of his wrist. He pursed it between his lips and lit a match.
    “I prefer that you don’t smoke in my house.” I smiled, this time in earnest. My stomach was still threatening to evict my breakfast, but I felt the need to establish to this want-to-be Dick Tracy that I would not be bullied. I had too much at stake.
    He kept his cigarette in his mouth but waved the match about until the flame was extinguished. “I’ll get right to the point. Your wife was poisoned and I think you did it.” His eyes seemed to gauge me, scanning me for a giveaway.
    “Then you think wrong.” I felt my throat swell at the blunt of his words and I resented my body for it’s’ betrayal.
    “Your daughter, Sarah, right?” He pulled the cigarette from his mouth and pointed to a school photograph sitting atop the mantle,
    “Is she yours?” he said as he walked over to the picture to have a closer look.
    “Who else’s would she be?”
    “What I mean is, did you get your wife pregnant, or did the doctor work some kind of magic?” He feigned an attempt at a conjuring wave of his hands.
    “No. I got her pregnant the old fashioned way; missionary style.” I felt my face flush.
    “Did you ever wonder how your wife got pregnant after all those years of trying? I mean, does that sound likely?”
    “Just lucky I guess. Persistence. We fucked round the clock you know.”
    “Sure you did.” He smiled. “She was a pretty girl, your wife.” He sighed as though it brought him pain to ask the next question. He forced a grimace, “Is it possible that Sarah’s father is someone other than you?”
    “Fuck you.”
    “What?” He stepped toward me as if to intimidate me but I stood instead and stepped toward him and poked my finger into his chest.
    “Fuck you! Fuck you for asking such a question.” I gave him a little shove. “Sarah is my flesh and blood. Don’t you go trying to make this into something it’s not! The deceitful- husband approach didn’t pan out, so you’re working on the unfaithful-wife/jealous husband argument? Go fuck yourself. Sarah is my daughter.” I could feel the heat of my own breath as it reflected off of his face.
    “Really?” He flared his eyebrows and cocked his head. “I got somebody who says that the kid is not yours. Uncle Henry says that he’s the proud papa.” He seemed to take sincere joy in his revelation, as though he’d solved the case.
    “Then maybe he killed Catherine. Arrest him! Is Uncle Henry in the next room? …like Amber I mean?”
    “No, unlike Amber, though, this guy is real.” He put the cigarette back into his mouth. “Never had a clue about ole Uncle Henry?” he smirked as he struck a match and lit his cigarette.
    I stepped backwards and sat back down in my chair. My knees had grown weak.
    “I don’t know an Uncle Henry.” His attempts were getting more pathetic with every pass. Sarah was my flesh and blood. The resemblance was undeniable. My wife had said so on many occasions. The good detective was