by Hy Conrad
A similar search of Crystal’s page did not show any coconuts or palm trees, just a recently posted quote from Kahlil Gibran, musing about love and disappointment.
Callie and Oliver came to the same conclusion. They, Blackburn’s people, had got Josiah time off and paid for him to go away until they could be sure that no one was sniffing around. Maybe a week. Maybe two. They had probably advised him not to say where he was, just in case. But they had not prevented him from posting selfies. And they had not arranged for Crystal to get time off or to pay for her to join him. That may have been a mistake on their part, although, Callie knew, Buddy McFee rarely made mistakes.
Oliver was the one who crafted the Facebook message to Crystal. “You don’t know me, but I have news about Joss, if you’re interested. Let me know.” Callie wasn’t sure about the wording. Did he really need to say, “You don’t know me”? Oliver explained that it was better to acknowledge the intrusion than not, making the message sound less ominous than a straight, “I have news about Joss.”
Callie was still voicing her second thoughts when the reply came. “Who are you? What do you know?” Oliver asked Crystal to switch over to texts, for privacy, and supplied his cell number. It was an agonizing five minutes before Crystal’s text arrived. Twelve more texts, six from each side, led the way to one long phone call and the promise of a meeting.
Crystal told them that she had not heard from Joss and hadn’t even been aware of his departure from town. His phone now went instantly into voicemail and his only communication was a message in which he assured her that he was fine and that his absence was somehow work-related. He would explain later, he said, if he was allowed to. She just had to trust him.
Crystal’s mind had gone in a number of far flung directions. Was Joss in trouble? Was he working on a special case, maybe with the FBI, which had always been his dream job? Was he lying to her, placating her with some nonsense about work while he had just run off on vacation, perhaps with the Mexican waitress at the Cantina Grille who was always flirting with him?
Oliver was honest with Crystal, up to a point. He identified himself as the publisher of the Austin Free Press – Crystal knew the paper; she liked the crossword; she seemed impressed – and while he hadn’t personally been in touch with Joss, Oliver did have some information that he felt Crystal deserved to know.
It was still Sunday afternoon, just a few hours after Callie had ordered her Bloody Mary. On the phone, Crystal volunteered to come into the Free Press offices on Monday morning. Callie shook her head and Oliver agreed. This was urgent, he told Crystal, and couldn’t wait until tomorrow.
They settled on Crystal’s apartment in SoCo, the South Congress neighborhood. Oliver said he would bring along a female co-worker, just to put Crystal at ease, and he encouraged her to have a friend join her as well. Callie shook her head and Oliver replied with a helplessly raised eyebrow. What else could he say? They were both relieved when Crystal said that it wouldn’t be necessary. Whatever they had to tell her, she would prefer to hear it alone.
Crystal Shields lived on the ground floor of a long, three-story building with a fake brick exterior and parking spaces in front of a narrow, neglected scrap of a lawn. Angry, big-dog barks greeted them as they walked up the broken concrete path. Callie let Oliver take the lead.
They heard Crystal’s voice before they saw her. “Brutus, no! Bad boy. Stop it.” Surprisingly enough, Brutus did stop. “Don’t worry. He’s harmless.” When the door opened, they found a large brown Doberman with docked ears, sitting obedient and attentive, directly behind Crystal. “Sorry about that. I’m not really a dog person, but Joss bought him and trained him. Said I needed the protection, so I guess I’m kind of stuck, now that Joss is being such an ass. Do you know anyone who wants a trained Doberman? That would serve him right, wouldn’t it? Just give him away.”
She was softer than Callie had imagined from the highly posed selfies. More open and vulnerable, with a warm, wide smile. “Oh, I’m so sorry. The first thing you hear out of my mouth. What you must think. Y’all come in. And don’t worry about Brutus. He’s a sweetheart.”
She offered them sweet tea, which Oliver refused but Callie accepted, having been taught to accept hospitality. It was the polite thing. As Crystal went into the kitchen and poured out two glasses from a gallon jug of Milo’s, added ice, came back and settled into a chair across from the sectional sofa, the three of them made small talk – the weather and dogs and hair. She asked if Callie’s red hair was natural, then offered up some suggestions of what she could do with it.
When a conversational lull arrived, Oliver took out his iPhone and asked Crystal if he could record their conversation. At first, she was reluctant, but after all, as they explained, they were reporters and might use whatever she told them and it wouldn’t it be better to have her words recorded so that they couldn’t make things up? Also, she could tell them to stop at any time if it got uncomfortable. So, okay. Sure. She even felt a little flattered.
Oliver opened his voice memo app, pressed record and placed the phone on a side table, close enough to Crystal but out of her line of sight. It was his experience that after the first few minutes, people often forgot they were being recorded. He started right in. “Do you know why Josiah left town? Without telling you or anyone else?”
“Shitty bastard,” Crystal said then covered her mouth. “Sorry.”
“That’s okay,” Callie said. “He probably deserves it.”
“He didn’t even tell the guys at work. Just took some personal days and they let him. He didn’t even tell his mother, but maybe he did. That bitch lies to me all the time.”
“We think we know what happened,” Oliver said. “Josiah left on Thursday, April 13. When did you last see him?”
“The night before.” She had obviously given this some thought. “Joss’s shift ended at midnight. He knows I don’t get to bed until late, so sometimes he drops by.”
“And he dropped by that night?” Oliver waited and watched as the big dog settled down on the rug beside his owner. Crystal scratched him behind the ears and nodded yes. “Did he talk about what happened at work?”
“You mean the dead girl?”
“Yes, the dead girl,” Callie said, trying not to lean toward the phone. “Her name was Briana Crawley.”
“Yeah, of course, he talked about it. It was all he could talk about. I mean it’s not every day, right?”
Callie suppressed her excitement. There had always been a chance that, in the small window between the event and the containment, that Trooper Jackson had told someone, someone outside the department. “What did he say?”
From all her years listening to politicians, Callie knew that certain people like to have conversations and certain ones like to tell stories. Crystal was a storyteller. They let her start at the beginning – from her long, difficult day at work where one client had insisted on an after-dinner appointment and then was never happy, to her attempt to get to bed early, to her trying to ignore Joss when he banged on her door and wouldn’t go away. She hadn’t given him a key because he’d never ever asked for one and she considered that to be a telling sign about their relationship, etc., etc. Callie hoped there was enough room on Oliver’s phone.
Neither one wanted to interrupt Crystal’s flow, to accidentally remind her that this was an interview, not a story. It finally paid off when Crystal described Joss describing the man in the field with the dead girl and the shovel. Joss was used to traffic stops and the occasional car chase, but he’d never seen anything like this.
“Apparently, he’s some very rich, important guy. Joss recognized the name right away. But he couldn’t have been that important.”
Callie asked, “Why not?”
Crystal snorted. “Because I never saw him on the news. If he was someone important getting arrested, he’d be all over the news, right?”
“Did Joss tell you his name?” asked Oliver. It was the million-dollar question.
“S
ure, he told me. But I didn’t recognize it.”
Oliver managed to keep an even tone. “Do you remember the name?”
Crystal gave it a moment’s thought. “No. Sorry.” If he was really famous, I would have heard of him, right? Some big businessman.”
“Do you remember what kind of business?”
“Sorry. Is his name supposed to be a secret? Is Joss going to get in trouble for telling me?”
“No, not at all,” said Callie. She leaned across the coffee table. “If I mention the man’s name, do you think you’d remember it?”
“I might,” Crystal allowed. “It was an odd name, I think.”
“Good. Was his name… Hey!”
Oliver had grabbed her by the sleeve and was leaning her away from the phone. “Can I talk to you?” he whispered.
“In a minute,” Callie said, not wanting to lose her momentum. “We’re so close.”
But before she could turn back to Crystal, she was being dragged her to her feet and led into the kitchen. “Sorry. We’ll be back in a sec. Keep trying to think of that name.” Oliver had already maneuvered her around the little island and back to the far corner. “What?” she snarled.
“You can’t give her the name,” Oliver snarled back.
“I’m trying to help her remember.”
“We can’t plant the name. His lawyers will ask for the tape. They’ll have a field day.”
“We can edit it, make it look like she remembered.”
“Are you crazy?” He was nearly apoplectic. “We can’t edit it. They’ll ask for the original. Besides, it’s not right. Besides, they’ll interview her and she’ll tell the truth.”
“So, we give her a choice of four or five names. She can pick out his name, like a line-up.”
“That doesn’t sound right either.”
“Why not? It’s like a police line-up. Look, we both know he’s the guy.”
Their discussion was interrupted by a chirpy ringtone from the other room. Callie knew it wasn’t hers. “Is that yours?” Oliver listened, but the chirp had already stopped.
By the time they got back, Crystal was on her phone. “Joss, baby!” At the sound of the name, Brutus perked up his ears. “Where the hell are you? – No, I’m not mad. Well, I should be. How could you just disappear like that?” She covered the phone and mouthed, “It’s Joss,” then stepped away toward the front door. Callie could barely make out a male voice doing most of the talking.
“Uh-huh. – Uh-huh. – Oh, wow. – You’re kidding.” Nearly a minute passed. “That’s amazing. No, you had no choice. I just wish you could have told me then. I was worried sick. And mad, too.” Crystal continued to listen. “Uh-huh.”
Callie was inching forward now and was unprepared for Crystal’s raucous scream of delight. “Ahhh! Yeah, of course I wanna come. A free trip to Mexico? Are you kidding? – Oh, Marie can take my clients. Or I’ll just cancel. Who cares?” She covered the phone again. “Joss wants me to come to Mexico. He misses me. Isn’t that sweet? Do you want to talk to him? I’m sure he remembers the name.”
Before Callie could think of anything to say, Joss was speaking. “Yeah, I have company,” Crystal answered. “You jealous? No, no, don’t be.” She tittered. “It’s just a couple reporters. – Yes, I said reporters. Two of them. About that murder.”
She listened again and lost her smile. “Okay. Okay. Well, how was I to know? – No, I didn’t say. I don’t even know who that is. – Who? – Okay. Jeez. Whatever you say.” She lowered the phone. “Joss says you have to go. I’m so sorry. He says I can’t talk to you. It’s all classified.”
“No, no.” Oliver clasped his hands together, pleading his case. “Crystal, a girl was murdered. And someone’s covering it up.”
She laughed. “Oh, no. I know it looks that way, but it only looks that way. You don’t know the story. If you knew… Unfortunately, I can’t tell you. Joss can’t either.”
“Crystal!” The voice on the other end was finally audible. “Crystal! Kick them out now!” Brutus’ ears perked up again and he let out a little yelp. “Is that Brutus?” Brutus answered with a bigger yelp, wagging his stump of a tail. “Hey, boy. Good boy.”
“Crystal, he’s lying to you.” Callie kept her voice low. “The man’s name is Keagan Blackburn. He’s a bad guy, believe me. If he didn’t kill her, he certainly knows who did.”
“Crystal!” They could all hear Josiah’s voice. “Put me on speaker.” Crystal did as she was told. “Who the hell are you?”
Oliver raised his voice. “Officer Jackson, hello. That girl you found in the field. We’re trying to find her killer. I’m sure you want to find her killer, too.”
“That man is not her killer,” said the voice on the speaker.
“Then who was he?” Callie asked. “Help us out.”
“Crystal, don’t say another thing. Kick them out now.” Crystal looked confused, apparently torn between not saying a thing and kicking them out. “Brutus!” The Doberman heard his name again and got to his feet. “Brutus, alert!”
The animal obeyed, tensing every muscle, baring his teeth and showing them to the two strangers standing halfway across the room. There was a low, almost inaudible growl in his throat.
“He’s doing it,” Crystal informed her boyfriend then turned to her guests. “I’m so sorry, guys. But you’re going to have to go.”
“Get the hell out,” shouted Trooper Josiah Jackson from somewhere in Mexico. “Or I’ll say the word. I will. You have three seconds to leave. One…”
“Don’t forget that,” Crystal said, pointing to Oliver’s iPhone on the side table. Callie picked it up but didn’t turn it off.
“Two.”
Callie and Oliver were safely outside with the door slammed shut by the time Joss got to three. The word for “attack” never came.
Halfway down the concrete path, Oliver looked back to see Callie kneeling below the living room window, holding his phone up. “Jeez.” Oliver rushed back in a hunched-over waddle, grabbed her arm and pulled her away.
“They’re still on speaker,” Callie whispered.
Oliver kept pulling. “What do you want? You want her to open the door and let the dog out?”
Callie resisted. “She’s not paying attention to the window. If they start talking about Blackburn… If they mention his name…”
“What’s wrong with you?” He pulled harder, leading her slowly back to the car. “First off, you can’t record someone without their permission.”
“In Texas you can, if you’re one of the parties in the conversation.” After years of listening to her father, Callie knew a few things.
“We’re not a party in the conversation.” Oliver clicked his key ring and kept pulling.
“We were a few seconds ago. It’s the same conversation, right?”
Oliver let go of her arm. “You know, you’re more like him than you’re willing to admit.”
“More like who?”
“You know who.”
The comparison was enough to make Callie abandon her plan. Storming around to the passenger side, she yanked open the door. “That’s a horrible thing to say.”
CHAPTER 13
At some point on Monday morning, Callie had the presence of mind to call in sick – a stomach thing, she said. She didn’t talk to Oliver but left a message, saying she didn’t want to infect anyone and would try to get a little work done from home.
During her stay at State and Yolanda’s, she had made a point of never joining the family for dinner. She figured it would be an imposition since she didn’t cook, not even scrambled eggs, and didn’t want to impose. But yesterday, after the debacle with Crystal, she arrived home just in time for the traditional Sunday dinner and finally allowed State to persuade her to join them. It felt like a better choice than being alone.
Nothing big went wrong, but almost everything small did. Her five-year-old nephews were at their brattiest, carping about the food, vying loudly for attention and throwing
peas at each other when they thought no one was watching. This combination forced Callie to make a few under-the-breath comments, apparently within earshot of Yolanda, who responded with several of her own about Callie’s self-destructive life. Callie’s way of coping was to pour herself yet another glass of Chardonnay – a mistake, but a necessary one – which only gave Yolanda more to mumble about.
The meal was over by 7:30, late for the children but early for Callie, who then retreated to her room, where she found a romantic comedy that she’d probably already seen and unearthed a hidden bottle of warm Chablis packed in her luggage. The rom-com was fun but predictable and she found herself trying not to think about Oliver.
Had she been right or had he? Getting Crystal to say Blackburn’s name on tape would have been huge. They could have told the truth in print, that Crystal had recognized the name, one gleaned from an unnamed source. It wasn’t great journalism, but she doubted they could be sued for it. That possibility had been taken away by her boss’s squeamish response at just the wrong moment. Part of the blame was hers, she realized, for having alerted Blackburn in the first place. And a big portion had to be reserved for Gil and her father, who must have swooped in as soon as they realized Trooper Jackson might have a loose end that needed tying up.
Another serving of Chablis wound up in her toothbrush glass. Callie vaguely remembered spending her last moments of consciousness sneaking the empty wine bottle into the bottom of the recycling bin in the garage then unfolding the sofa bed and measuring out her pills.
For once, she slept through the night but woke with a cotton-filled mouth and a throbbing head. The house was mercifully empty. For the next hour, the only intrusion was a call from Oliver, which she had no intention of answering or returning.
With the trooper angle sidelined, Callie promised herself to spend the rest of the day working on the MySugar connection. But first… She wondered if there might be an open bottle of white wine in the fridge, maybe on a high shelf, out of reach of the kids. Indeed, there was. She poured the remains into a tall water glass, then disposed of the bottle in the bottom of the recycling bin in the garage, next to the one from last night.
