The Perfect Block

by Blake Pierce

  “Beggars can’t be choosers,” Kat said, chuckling to herself as they entered her cramped office. Jessie realized that was the first time she’d ever seen NRD Chief of Security Katherine Gentry laugh.

  “Are you developing a sense of humor all of a sudden?” she asked, smirking.

  “I’ve always had one,” Kat replied, as she sat down and motioned for Jessie to sit in the chair across the desk from her. “I just like to hide it from civilians—keeps them on edge.”

  “Whoa, does this mean I’ve entered the vaunted Gentry circle of trust?” Jessie asked in her best Bambi voice, crossing her legs elaborately as she sat down.

  “When you’ve had my back during a firefight in Helmand Province, you’re in the circle of trust. For now, I’m putting you in the oval of ‘not totally irredeemable.’”

  “I’ll take it,” Jessie announced with faux pride.

  She saw Kat force back the smile that was starting to play at her lips.

  “All right, enough idle chitchat, Professor. Do you want to know where we stand with your gentleman caller, security-wise, or not?”

  “First, I am not a professor. Having a master’s is not the same thing, just in case it comes up down at the local hard-ass bar or something. And second, yes, I would very much like to know where we stand in terms of preventing one serial killer from passing information about me to another serial killer.”

  “Well, we’re pretty sure that’s not happening,” Kat assured her. “He knows where all our old recording equipment is. But we’ve added extra hidden cameras and mics to his cell when he’s showering so he doesn’t know when we’re watching or listening.”

  “You mean you did it when he was off chatting about me with Cortez?”

  “Exactly. As you know, that thirty-minute period is the only time he’s not in his cell each week. So while they’re having Big Boy Jessie Talk Time, we also do a full search of the cell to make sure there’s no contraband, that he hasn’t found a way to slip messages through some tiny hole in the floor or that he hasn’t somehow gotten Wi-Fi access in there; that sort of thing. Even the newspapers he’s allowed to read are burned when we remove them from his cell.”

  “And?”

  “Nothing,” Kat said. “The place is clean as a whistle. As best we can tell, there is no way for him to communicate with anyone on the outside, which means your secrets are safe from dear old dad.”

  “Why, despite all that, do I not feel reassured?”

  “Because,” Kat answered, her voice now straightforward and serious, “you’re a normal person. And any normal person who found out her serial killer father was looking for her would be freaked out, no matter how confident she was that he couldn’t find her. It would be strange if you weren’t unsettled.”

  “Any suggestions for how to remedy that?” Jessie asked.

  “I do have one,” Kat said reluctantly. “But it’s a little unusual.”

  “I’m intrigued,” Jessie said, raising her eyebrows. “Please continue.”

  “Okay, but if this idea is just too weird, feel free to tell me,” she began. “I’ve eaten boiled rats and pulled shrapnel from a fellow soldier’s butt crack so I’m not overly sensitive.”

  “Noted.”

  “I know that the last time we talked you mentioned you were thinking of moving out of your friend’s apartment and getting a place of your own. It just so happens that my lease in picturesque City of Industry is up at the end of the month and I was thinking of moving to a community that didn’t have a skyline of factory smokestacks and billboards for strip clubs. You have any interest in having a roommate, specifically one who is expert rated with a service weapon, knows multiple forms of martial arts, and can rig an effective booby trap in under sixty seconds?”

  Jessie was quiet for a second, pondering the possibility. Kat apparently misinterpreted the silence and jumped back in.

  “Never mind, it’s a stupid idea. I just—”

  “No, sorry,” Jessie interrupted. “It’s not stupid. I was just thinking about the logistics.”

  “What logistics?” Kat asked, looking relieved.

  “Well, I’ve only been looking at one-bedroom apartments so this reboots my whole mind-set, you know? I’m just playing with the options in my head.”

  “So you don’t think it’s a crazy idea?”

  “I’m not saying it’s not crazy,” Jessie admitted. “I am saying I can’t think of any reasons at this exact moment that it definitely is crazy. Can I sit with it for a bit?”

  “Of course. I should have waited until after to bring it up anyway. You should be focusing on meeting with Crutchfield. We can discuss it later… or never.”

  “Let’s go with later,” Jessie suggested. “But for now, I think I should set my attention on what’s about to happen. Is he in his cell now?”

  “He is. You want to head over?”

  Jessie nodded. Kat got up and they walked down the hallway to the security door that led to the resident cells area. As they did, she went over the rules again.

  “I know you’ve probably committed all this to memory. But as it’s been a while since you were here, let me just refresh you a little. Remember, don’t approach the inmate. Definitely don’t touch the glass barrier. Normally, I would say don’t share any personal information. I realize we’re kind of past that in your case, but still, try to show some discretion. The less he knows about you, the less he can mess with you. Lastly, do you remember the red button?”

  “Of course,” Jessie said. “My security blanket of sorts.”

  “That’s right. Keep the key fob remote I’ll give you in your hand, hidden from his sight. If things get too intense, push the button and it will alert me that you want out without him realizing he’d gotten to you.”

  “I’ll take it,” Jessie said. “But you do know he’s likely aware of the button and that if you suddenly jump in, he’ll know that I’ve probably pushed it.”

  “I know. But it’s the best option we’ve got right now.”

  The security door buzzed as they reached it and Kat pulled it open. Someone inside must have seen them approaching. They stepped in and Jessie looked around. The security station looked the same as it had the last time she was here six weeks earlier. It was configured like a hospital nurses’ station, with a long, central desk covered in a bank of computer monitors. Surrounding the station were multiple doors leading to resident cells.

  There were four officers situated at the security station. Two were doing paperwork of some kind. A third was restocking a cabinet. And then there was Cortez, Bolton Crutchfield’s shower chaperone. He looked up from the monitor he’d been studying and gave Jessie a big smile.

  Officer Ernie Cortez was a massive human. A Hispanic man in his mid-thirties, Cortez was easily six-foot-six and well over 250 pounds. His genial expression couldn’t hide the fact that if he wanted to do some physical damage, it wouldn’t take much.

  “Look who it is,” he said happily, “my favorite Vogue Chick. How’s it going, Jessie?”

  Vogue Chick was the pet name Cortez had given her the first time he’d met her. Apparently he considered her model material.

  “Good, Cortez. I hear you’ve been spending a lot of quality time with Crutchfield lately.”

  “What?” he asked, looking taken aback.

  “The shower,” Kat prompted.

  “Oh yeah,” Cortez said. “I pulled the short straw on that one. That guy’s a real chatterbox when he’s naked.”

  “Say anything especially interesting?” Jessie asked. “Maybe about me?”

  “He’s mentioned you on occasion. He read about that thing with your husband in the paper and wanted to know if you were okay. Sounded almost genuine.”

  “You guys don’t cut out the articles about me before you gave him the papers?” Jessie asked, surprised.

  “It’s not like we go through them before handing them over,” Cortez said slightly defensively. “How could we have known you’d be plastered all
over them?”

  “Fair point,” Jessie said, relenting. “So that was it, just asking about my well-being?”

  “Mostly,” Cortez. “It’s not like he’s describing having dreams about you or something. Get over yourself, Vogue Chick.”

  “No, that’s you, Cortez,” Kat teased.

  “Well,” Cortez said, unperturbed, “now that you mention it, since Mr. Vogue Chick is out of the picture these days, maybe you’re looking for a little companionship?”

  Jessie just stared at him.

  “Too soon?” he asked before cackling at his own cleverness.

  “All right, enough flirting, you too,” Kat said. “Let’s get serious. Jessie, are you prepared to enter the cell?”

  Jessie nodded.

  “I need a verbal ‘yes’ for the record.”

  “Yes,” Jessie said, the lightness she’d felt a moment earlier completely evaporating.

  “Okay, last bit of business. Sign this form releasing the Department State Hospital-Metropolitan, Non-Rehabilitative Division from any liability should an incident with the inmate occur.”

  Jessie signed it.

  “Here’s your key fob,” Kat said, handing over the small piece of plastic. “Are you ready to get reacquainted with one of the most dangerous people on the face of planet Earth?”

  Before Jessie could answer the door buzzed. Kat held it open for her to enter. She took one last big gulp and stepped inside.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Despite having been in the cell multiple times, Jessie still felt a surge of adrenaline course through her body, making her fingertips tingle. She breathed out slowly, reminding herself that everything in the world was essentially the same as it had been ten seconds prior.

  You can handle this.

  She forced herself not to dwell on the fact that she was entering the same confined space as a man who had butchered nineteen people, and those were just the ones the authorities could verify. Some law enforcement officials thought the true number might be more than double that.

  Don’t fixate on the past. That gives him the advantage. Stay in the moment.

  She forced herself to concentrate on the details of the room. It was divided into two sections, separated by a thick glass wall. On Jessie’s side were a small desk and chair with a pad of paper and a pencil. On the other side of the glass was the secure portion of the cell, which was dimly lit.

  It was sparsely furnished, consisting of a narrow metal bed attached to the wall, hovering three feet above the ground. A thin mattress was connected to the bed frame and a small rubber pillow rested at the head. There were no sheets.

  In the back right corner of the cell was a toilet, with a curved sliding plastic door to provide some minimal privacy. Next to it, also attached to the wall, was a tiny metal sink. Beside that was a combination chair and desk, with the far end of the desk actually melded into the wall so the thing couldn’t be moved. This was where Crutchfield sat.

  He was facing away from her and had given no indication that he was aware that Jessie had entered the room. He was dressed in his own set of scrubs, only his were a bright, aqua blue shade. His blond hair was shorn tight against his skull, which was bony and almost alien-looking from the back.

  Jessie sat down at the desk and waited a moment to see if he’d speak. After a good thirty seconds of silence, she took the initiative.

  “Hello, Mr. Crutchfield. It’s been a while.”

  He still didn’t respond so she tried again.

  “Mr. Crutchfield?”

  Still no reaction. Crutchfield sat at his desk, facing away from Jessie, unresponsive. She glanced over at Kat, who had stationed herself in the corner of the room.

  “He’s pouting,” she explained, “since you haven’t been here in a while.”

  “Is that true?” Jessie asked.

  “Can you blame me?” Crutchfield finally said, in the languorous, gentlemanly southern drawl she’d never quite been able to associate with the man who’d committed all those crimes.

  “What do you mean?” she asked innocently, though she suspected she knew what he was getting at.

  Crutchfield stood up and turned to face her. As she was on every other visit, Jessie found herself stunned that such an unimposing-looking man was capable of such horrific violence. Bolton Crutchfield was about five-foot-eight and barely 150 pounds.

  He was soft-looking despite his smallish-frame, with a doughy appearance. His face was appealing in a boring, unmemorable sort of way. He was pale, with a soft chin and crooked teeth. She knew he was thirty-five, but he looked boyish, almost half a decade younger. Only his wolfish brown eyes suggested something more menacing underneath the mild façade.

  “I thought I was useful to you, Miss Jessie,” Crutchfield said mournfully. “I let you know your suspicions about your husband were not without merit. I warned you that your dear old daddy was interested in your whereabouts; all that in return for little more than a bit of chitchat. And yet you toss me aside like so much rubbish. No visits, no calls, not even a postcard. It’s hurtful.”

  Jessie wasn’t sure if he was serious or faux offended and decided to proceed without making any assumptions.

  “My understanding is that you aren’t permitted to receive calls or mail, Mr. Crutchfield.”

  “True, but visits are permitted,” he noted. “And you had made several in the past, if you’ll recall. I guess once I served my purpose I was no longer of any value to you.”

  Jessie weighed her next words carefully. Crutchfield liked to play games and she was increasingly confident that he was merely acting the role of the jilted man. But his teasing manner could turn vicious on a dime. And it usually happened when he thought someone was trying to work him. In the past, she’d always had the most success with him when she was at least partially honest. She decided to try a bit of that now.

  “Truthfully, Mr. Crutchfield, I’ve been a little reticent to come back. Since we last saw each other, my husband tried to kill me and did in fact injure me pretty seriously. I’ve been recovering ever since. In fact, I was only recently cleared to walk without a cane. So the idea of traipsing all the way here wasn’t especially appealing.”

  She noticed him sigh almost imperceptibly and knew she hadn’t gone far enough. He wanted more and if he was going to give her any information, she’d have to spill it.

  “And there’s something else,” she continued, noticing his previously glazed eyes suddenly come into focus.

  “Pray tell,” he said, feigning disinterest but well aware that he wasn’t pulling it off.

  “Well, I just wasn’t sure I could manage it. Coming back here, looking in the face of the man who pulled the blinders off my eyes—it’s a painful thing. I spent a long time with my husband and couldn’t see what he really was. You saw the truth without ever actually meeting him. I knew seeing you again would remind me of my failure. It’s not exactly something I was looking forward to.”

  “Is that all?” he asked, knowing it wasn’t.

  “Of course not,” she admitted. “I got your message. I know my father is looking for me. I know you spoke to him about me. It’s very…unsettling. I wasn’t sure I was up for coming back. So I stayed away. I hope you can understand that.”

  “I can, Miss Jessie,” he said, his voice warm for the first time since she’d entered the room. “And I know this is a lot for you to process. I believe that you needed some time to make sense of it. But can I be frank with you, my dear?”

  “I wouldn’t have it any other way,” she said, sounding convincing even if she wasn’t sure he believed it.

  “Good. We both know that you’re only here because you need something from me. Otherwise you’d never step foot in this place again.”

  “What is it you think I need?” Jessie challenged.

  “You want information on your father, something that can help you find him before he finds you.”

  “How could he possibly find me?” she asked.

  “Throu
gh me, of course. I know your new name. I know the city you live in. I could probably find your current address if I was interested.”

  “You don’t have access to the outside world, Mr. Crutchfield,” she reminded him. “There’s no way for you to communicate with him.”

  He smiled ever so slightly before responding.

  “You’re not that naïve, Miss Jessie,” he said, sounding almost pitying. “Deep down you know that I could snap my fingers and he’d show up at your door. It’s only my amusement with your antics and my intermittent affection for your coltish curiosity that have prevented that from happening so far. So it would behoove you to keep on my good side, don’t you think?”

  Jessie stared at him. He stared back, unblinking. He was most likely bluffing, another tactic to mess with her head. But she couldn’t take that chance and he knew it.

  “How would I go about that, keeping on your good side?” she finally said.

  “How lovely of you to ask,” he exclaimed, clapping his hands. “I have a small favor to request of you.”

  “Mr. Crutchfield, even if I believed you, I’m not going to be held hostage and do you a favor just so you won’t say something. That’s a form of blackmail and it’s not how I plan to live my life. For me to even consider doing you a favor, I’d need something in return.”

  “This is getting delicious,” Crutchfield said, rubbing his hands together excitedly. “What are you looking for?”

  “How about my father’s current location? City? State? Region of the country?” she asked.

  “Oh, don’t be silly, Miss Jessie,” he said dismissively. “That would spoil all the fun. But maybe I can offer you something else.”

  “What’s that?”

  “A clue to help you with the case you’re currently working on, perhaps?”

  How does he know I’m working on a case? How does he even know I have a job? Have Kat’s security measures already failed?

  Jessie forced a plastic smile on her face to hide her shock.

  “You seem to think you know a lot about what’s happening in my life, Mr. Crutchfield,” she said as casually as she could under the circumstances. “How is that?”