Murder on the Rocks

by Clara Nipper

  “Hell yes!” Sophie said. Then she rummaged in a bookshelf and brought out Roget’s Thesaurus. She pulled up an ottoman and sat, popped her fingers and sighed happily. “All righty, let’s begin again,” Sophie said, shuffling the book’s pages.

  “No.” I crossed my arms over my chest. Even my flattop felt extra-bristly and angry.

  “Why are you so red?” Sophie was as bright and frisky as a newborn lamb.

  “Fuck you!” I said, my lips still clamped around my cig.

  “Defensive,” Sophie pronounced, reaching around me to type the word with one finger.

  I shuddered, surrendering. “Is all that true?”

  “Yes, absolutely,” Sophie said, studying the word incorrigible in Roget’s.

  I blinked. My eyes hurt. I felt pulled to the bottom of a hopeless lake. “Then I’ll never find anyone.” Sophie stopped after typing bossy and gazed at me.

  “No, you’re right.” I felt gray with sadness. “I’m a complete shit and I’ll always be alone and I’ll hurt anyone who gets close. Type that!” Sophie stared at me. “Type it!” I thundered. She typed: funny and passionate.

  We paused in silence for a few seconds, the energy draining and the mood shifting. “Who would love me?” I asked. I threw my dry cigarette to the floor. I rubbed my Zippo and replaced it in my pocket. I stared at the facts on the screen. “Who would love me?” I repeated faintly. I turned the chair toward Sophie whose face was an impassive mask. “Do you know anyone who could love someone like that?” I jerked my thumb at the computer.

  She shook her head silently, her eyes large and dark and scared. I pulled the ottoman close between my legs. “Do you?” I whispered.

  “Absolutely not,” Sophie whispered back.

  “I didn’t think so.” I nuzzled her hair.

  With a gasp, Sophie burst out crying. “Stop. Don’t. Have mercy on me, Jill. Have mercy. I can’t.” Tears flowed down her face in a stream, collected at her chin and dropped to the floor. Precious fluid, I thought incoherently.

  “Okay, okay, okay…” I said, “I won’t. Of course not. No. Sh, baby. Sh. Don’t worry.”

  “Jill…” Sophie sobbed, “please understand.”

  “Sh, Sophie, I do. I do.” I hugged her to me and felt rotten for creating the quakes she was going through as I held fast. When she calmed, I broke our embrace and handed her some tissues from the box on the desk. “Sophie…it’s clear I need to change.”

  Sophie, wiping her nose, stared at me, her face washed clean. “I know about you.”

  “Oh, yeah? This ought to be good.”

  “You’re not tough at all. This is a self-destructive façade.”

  “A what?”

  “You avoid love because it’s hard. Crime is clean. But let me tell you, it won’t nourish your soul and give you the big O and hold you and bring you coffee.”

  “And you will?” I fondled my Zippo.

  “Absolutely not. So really, what’s your problem? Are you really a love-starved but terrified loner? Please tell me you’re not that cliché.”

  “Well.” I swallowed a lump of cotton lodged in my throat. “I’ve never talked about this before.” I stared at my feet. Marny would want me to take this risk, I thought.

  “Do you want to tell me?” Sophie asked with such a tone that all my locks unlatched.

  “Yes.” I felt sodden with anguish. “Yes.”

  Then I must’ve left my body for several minutes because Sophie prompted me by saying, “Do you want to tell me now or another time?”

  I couldn’t look at her. “Now,” I whispered. “My job is…my job is me. It’s not like being a mortgage banker, car salesman or…a hair stylist. I have no set schedule. I’m never off-duty, you get it? Let’s say we get together and it’s all good and then you start calling me and saying, ‘When are you coming home?’ And the answer always is and always will be, when the work is done. I can’t promise you a goddamn thing. Whomever I’m with, she comes second. Always. I wouldn’t treat a dog that way. That’s why I’ve never gotten one.” I clicked my Zippo until Sophie put her hand gently on mine. I still didn’t look up. “You know, when someone has been drinking and he’s killed, if there’s blood spilled, you can smell the alcohol at the scene?”

  “No, I didn’t know that.”

  “To count how many times a vic was stabbed, count the cast-off spray streaks, and add one.”

  I heard Sophie suck in her breath. I knew I was rambling, but she had opened Pandora’s murder book now. Too late to stop. “I can’t sleep anymore. But if I do sleep, I see dead people in my dreams. There’s nothing that can erase what I’ve seen and I can never forget.”

  Sophie moved closer to kneel at my feet, but she didn’t try to meet my eyes.

  “One of my first cases was a baby. A baby! He had roasted alive on a floor furnace because his little walker got stuck in the grate and his parents weren’t around. When we found his parents, they were felony addicts. All of us in the department chipped in for a headstone.” I saw movement and I sneaked a look at Sophie. She had covered her ears with both hands.

  “One of my last cases with Kendall was an abducted woman kept locked twenty-four seven under a couple’s waterbed. They got picked up for drug possession and she starved to death chained in that box. It was high summer and the meter reader smelled her body. She had melted into the wood floor.” I choked. “The ME’s office had to shovel her remains into a body bag. Crime scene clean up couldn’t do much, it had soaked so deep. The city just tore down the house.”

  Sophie’s shoulders were shaking.

  “I’m afraid all the time. I don’t remember what it’s like not to be. Animals only kill for necessity. Humans kill because they want to. I never know what’s behind the door, under the house, in the attic, in that car I’m chasing. If a cop tells you he isn’t scared, run away, don’t walk. Because he’s either lying or crazy. And I can’t let any of this affect my job. I’ve just gotta stuff it and keep moving. Keep working. Because I’m bringing justice. I know that sounds corny, but when you tell a grieving family that you got him, there’s nothing sweeter in life. When you’re in court and you get that guilty verdict, there’s nothing better. Nothing. And all this,” I gestured around my head, “is something that not even the best love,” I smiled tenderly, “can help or heal.”

  “But other detectives have spouses and families.” Sophie wiped her eyes.

  I shrugged. “I don’t know what to tell you. They’re better than I am.”

  Sophie caressed my boot, still staring at the floor. “I don’t believe that.”

  “That’s the fantasy that will get your heart broken.”

  “I’ve been heartbroken before and here I am, at your feet. Aren’t some things, some people worth the risk?”

  I sat in silence for a long time. Finally, I whispered, “That’s why I’m telling you the truth.” My Zip was uncharacteristically still. Sophie nodded. I caressed her hair.

  “I think homicide cops are born, not made. It’s a calling, like being a doctor or a teacher. If you’re meant to be one, it will find you, regardless of where you are.”

  “Not like a mortgage banker?” Sophie laughed dryly.

  “Right. Murder happens because people allow emotions to cloud their judgment and logic. What is love but emotion? I can’t do that.”

  “Not even for me?”

  “No.” I sighed shakily, clutching my Zippo. Hard, clean, well-defined metal edges and easy machinery. “I should’ve been a fireman. Everyone hates a cop, but loves a fireman.”

  Sophie snorted and dared a glance at me. “That’s not why you do this.”

  I closed my eyes. I felt Sophie embrace me. She put her lips against my ear. “Please trust me. I can handle it. But I can’t prove that to you unless you let me. Please.”

  I pushed her away. My eyes felt swollen, my heart hollow. But Sophie with her tear-stained face and red nose, looked luminous.

  We stared at each other until I cleared the
clog in my throat. “I would never ask you otherwise, but…” I shocked myself at what I was about to say. “Would you consider….baby steps?” I blurted before I could stop myself.

  “Baby steps?” Sophie sniffled, blowing her nose.

  “Baby steps.” I took her hand as gently as if it were an injured and skittish wild animal’s paw. “Just one tiny step. And then if that’s okay, one more. But nothing big, nothing fast, nothing guaranteed.”

  “Baby steps?” Sophie repeated, her voice blooming.

  “Baby steps.”

  “Let me think about it,” Sophie said and surprised me by blushing.

  “Yes, yes, you think. Take all the time you want. Whatever you need is all right. Just think and we’ll talk again. I’ll change; I promise,” I babbled euphorically.

  My phone rang. Perryman.

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  Perryman wanted me to meet her at her house, but I wasn’t sure where she was. I heard gunshots. Could be hunters or Perryman. I parked half a mile away and approached through the woods. My hands were frigid and quickly losing feeling and dexterity. I passed the burn pit and took photos of it. Jonathan ran by, his bell jingling merrily. He ran halfway up a pine tree, jumped down, and rubbed against my legs. He obviously loved snow and ice. I caressed him while watching the house. My finger accidentally caught on his collar. The pet cam! My hands were rapidly going numb from the bitter cold, but I checked Jonathan’s collar and it snapped open easily. I tucked the collar with the attached camera into my parka pocket, and the bell tinkled a final time as I patted it inside my coat. Jonathan, seemingly happy and surprised to be collar-free, took off, his bright orange tail straight up and his muscular body zooming joyfully toward a pin oak.

  “Rogers?” Perryman called from a distance. I saw her approaching me. When she finally got within ten yards, she smirked and said, “You know, don’t you? Here we are, the coup de grace.”

  “I don’t speak Spanish. Just plain talk is all I need.”

  “You’re dead.”

  “Perryman, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I came because you called.” I played goofy and stupid. “Sure is a sweet cat you have.” I gestured behind me at the trees. “He likes the weather, huh? So what you know good? More news about Rick?”

  “Nope,” Perryman said. I saw her gun was dangling loosely from her right hand.

  “Relax, Dana. I’m not sure why I’m here. Just be cool. Everything is fine.”

  “Ardell?” Perryman said.

  “I don’t know who that is. Another cat?”

  “I cannot believe that anyone would trust him over me! You know he’s an ex con. And when an ex con waives his rights, you know he’s going to lie his ass off. His second page has to be measured in pounds, not pages!”

  “Calm down. If you want to explain what you’re talking about, start at the beginning,” I said.

  “Ardell wanted to fuck me! He tried to rape me and I told him I was going to file charges on him, so anything he says is just revenge.”

  “Just tell me everything from the start. I’m not going to hurt you. I didn’t even bring my gun.” A bluff, but I didn’t want to shoot her.

  “Stupid decision.” She raised her pistol, and in that split second, I dove for a snow bank. The bullet grazed my calf. From being riddled with past bullet scars, I knew it would take a while to start hurting, so I cowered in the snow drift realizing that almost no bulletproof vests were made of snow. I crab-crawled to a thicket of trees.

  “Sheriff, you need to turn yourself in! I cannot guarantee your safety!” I fumbled for my gun, but my hands were completely numb and I couldn’t get it out of the holster.

  Perryman laughed. “Always the superior cop, even on your knees.”

  “Jim’s office is issuing a warrant for you right now. He’s scheduling a press conference. Make it easy on yourself.” It was another bluff, of course. But that was a big part of law enforcement.

  “Did they tell you I’m the fall guy? The DA Jim and his pal, my nasty ass predecessor, Sheriff Stanley, were best buddies from way back when Jesus was a boy.”

  I didn’t believe this conspiracy fantasy for a second, but I also knew the corruption of the DA’s office, so anything was possible. “Yes, I know. But if you hadn’t killed Wanda, they wouldn’t have anything on you!”

  Perryman replied by sending another bullet singing by my head. She wasn’t sure exactly where I was so that spoiled her accuracy. My hand twitched for wanting my Zippo or my gun. I kept trying to warm my hands enough to get a grip on my Glock, but my fingers were like blocks of wood.

  “They want to appoint some pet of theirs to have a stranglehold of control on the entire county!”

  “Yeah, the world is wrong. It’s unjust and unfair, and fuck God in the eyeball!” I shouted. “But why kill me?”

  Perryman punctuated her answer with shots. “Because.” Shot. “You.” Shot. “Deserve.” Shot. “It.” Shot.

  I didn’t want to die, but I couldn’t disagree with her. As a cop, I liked deciding and dispensing justice, and Perryman did too. She had tried and convicted me. She would never be able to trap Jesus Jim or Sheriff Stanley in the woods for a manhunt, so here I was, the next best thing. The most dangerous, and exciting, game.

  “Come out, you coward!” Perryman yelled. “We can just talk.”

  “Like you talked Wanda into her grave?” I shouted. I regretted saying that. There was no point. I would be better served by my own silence. Bullets tore through the trees. I fumbled with my radio and even with wooden fingers, was able to press the button and I requested SWAT.

  “I can hear you, dummy. They can’t help you because I’m loaded for bear. You’ll be a red spot in the snow before they can even gear up.” I heard Perryman’s boots crunching, looking for me. “Come on out, tough guy. Face me!”

  Face her? I had already peed my britches a little. When I had been hit with gunshot in the past, it was accidental, collateral damage. I had never been specifically hunted.

  When she got close enough to see my trail of blood, I knew I couldn’t outrun her, so I dropped to my knees and leaned my head back. “Here I am, Perryman.” My legs were shaking and my hands trembling. I thought of Sophie. My car. My home. My job. All the meals I would never eat, all the drinks I wouldn’t drink, all the laughter I would miss, the sunsets, the seasons, the holidays. I had never been to Hawaii. Death scenes are never grand enough. These ordinary woods with brush piles and birds singing in the branches would be my last vision on earth. Shouldn’t it be finer than this? More momentous? Tears sprang to my eyes and oozed down my face.

  “Come on, Perryman,” I choked out in a hoarse whisper. “What do you have to gain by killing me?” My leg was beginning to throb.

  “The question is: what do I have to lose? Nothing. And you’ve been begging for this for years, haven’t you?” Perryman approached and cocked the Glock.

  I nodded, my face wet, my chin trembling, my eyes closed.

  “Well, here it comes at last,” Perryman said. The gun dry clicked. “Fuck!”

  I opened my eyes. Perryman needed to reload. I lunged for her weapon and felt the blow like an explosion as she hit me in the face with the pistol, knocking me on my ass in the snow. The surprise and shock of not being killed was so great, I huddled on all fours and vomited.

  “Look at you. You’re pathetic,” Perryman said and turned to finish reloading.

  In two seconds, I spat, scooped snow over my mess, put a handful of clean snow into my mouth, and stood. Perryman’s back was to me, and so I launched myself into the air and tackled her—wresting the Glock from her loosened grip first thing. My hands were awkward, but I was able to keep the gun in a clumsy hold. I had knocked the wind out of her so I held Perryman down with my knee in her back as I put her gun in my waistband and took ten times as long as I should have to zip-tie her wrists together. But I had a hundred pounds on Perryman and she couldn’t move.

  “Should’ve finished the job,” I sa
id into her ear. “You never,” I grunted as I lifted her to her knees, “turn your back,” I jerked her, stumbling, to her feet, “on your enemy.”

  “You’re making a terrible mistake!” Perryman said. “You don’t know anything! Let me go this instant and I’ll do all I can to help you.”

  “And this,” I fished an old bandana out of my coat pocket, balled it up, and stuffed it in her mouth, “is for your own safety.” I pulled her, walking toward the car. “Because you haven’t been Mirandized, and if I have to listen to one more second of your blah blah, I’ll kill you.”

  We walked without speaking the half mile through the ice and trees to Sophie’s car.

  I drove slowly through the ice toward the jail, Perryman a stoic, bound and gagged statue next to me. The flesh wound on my leg throbbed, but due to the cold, it had clotted.

  “What about this weather?” I asked with a grin.

  Perryman blew out the gag with a grunt, and it lay in a wet wad in her lap. “I’ll die before I let you take me to jail.”

  I braked for dramatic effect, but the car fishtailed and swerved into the curb. The car behind us honked long and hard, clipping the taillight of Sophie’s car as it passed, the driver flipping me off. “You satisfied that’s what you want?” I said, my eyes narrowed. Perryman tugged the cuffs binding her wrists behind her. Then she faced forward without answering.

  When we arrived at the jail, Perryman wouldn’t go inside. I ensured she was totally secure with no chance of escape, and I went to the booking desk to request assistance. I could see Sophie’s car from the desk, so I kept watch on it.

  “You look like fuck pie,” Deputy Cooter said.

  “I’ll have a slice of that,” said Britney, the booking officer.

  “A la mode?” I said.

  “Natch.”

  “All this is makin’ me hungry.” Cooter rubbed his belly. “I’m having to eat my wife’s cookin’ because ain’t nothing open. I’d kill for a fried onion burger.”

  “I need someone to help me bring in a defendant. And I need a cell in protective custody, not with the general population.”