by Max Parrott
Jasmine glanced out at the rain, frowning. "It wouldn't be, except I don't have a car."
"Right! Well then, how about I just come by and collect you? Luffy can come too."
And so Jasmine and Luffy found themselves standing out on the covered second floor landing of their apartment building a few minutes later, staring out at the parking lot as it began to flood. The gutters were working overtime, ejecting torrents of water. The sidewalks were running over, the sewer drains were inundated. The lower sections of the parking area were starting to fill in, turning to temporary ponds where cigarette butts and dead leaves congregated and swirled around. Day had suddenly turned to twilight, the sun all but smothered by the heavy cloud cover. Everything existed under a gloomy grayness.
Before too long, the headlights of a police cruiser cut through the foggy wall of rain. Despite the place's reputation, it wasn't common to see a cop car at Lockwood Village. But a few people who had been loitering outside their doors, watching the storm, suddenly decided to retreat inside and lock themselves away.
The cruiser stopped just outside Jasmine's building, stabbing its cones of light out across the drowned parking lot. The windshield wipers swished back and forth at manic speed; the engine growled, its sound somehow amplified in the cold, wet air.
"Got your umbrella?" Luffy asked. "We're about to get wet."
In truth, Jasmine didn't own an umbrella. It was one of those little things that was easy to forget when you moved to a new place, like a ladle or a toothbrush holder. So the two of them were forced to run across the parking lot, splashing through puddles. The water was cool and sharp with the scent of ozone. The grass seemed to glow a brighter shade of green around them, as though picking up the charged quality of the air and emitting it.
It was actually rather fun, and Jasmine was laughing as she yanked open the door of the police cruiser and hopped into the back seat with Luffy.
Barrett cranked his head around to smile at her. "Would you believe the weather report has us down for a fifteen percent chance right now? Funny, huh?"
He faced forward and took the car out of park, driving slowly around the looping drive and heading out toward the road.
Jasmine's eyes were open this time as they headed for the station. But today there was little to see. A few lit up storefronts, restaurants and bars where people gathered. Other than that, it was all gray, empty sidewalks and wind-lashed trees, releasing some of their fresh green leaves before a ripping torrent of wind. By the time they reached the station, though, the brief deluge had trailed off into a light sprinkle.
Instead of visiting that tiny interrogation room again, Barrett brought her to his very own desk. He had a decent sized cubicle in a fairly desirable location, less than ten steps from the coffee pot. But he seemed to lord over the space with the air of a humble diplomat. He had stuck up a few photos of a pretty young woman and an infant. His wife and kid, Jasmine presumed. Other than that, he hadn't put much of a personal touch on the place. He had also brought in a couple of chairs so that other people could visit him in his space. Jasmine sat in one now and Luffy, after giving Barrett a wary look, climbed into the other one. He curled up and began licking the rain out of his long fur.
"Like an oversized cat," Barrett observed with a smile.
Luffy stopped licking for a second. "And you look like a giant donut. What's your point?"
Of course, Barrett didn't hear. He had already turned to his computer and was clicking through a few windows, closing things out, opening other things. There seemed to be no rhyme or reason to what he was doing. It was just nervous fidgeting. Finally, he switched off the monitor and kicked at the floor, causing his chair to swivel around to face Jasmine.
"So, here's the rub," he said. "And this is gonna sound mighty strange... but I guess you're used to hearing strange things by now, maybe."
"I suppose so," Jasmine replied.
"What is this guy getting at?" Luffy asked.
"Picture this," Barrett said. "The other day... the day after Oliver was found, the chief of police here calls me into his office. Good guy, the chief. Name of Roger Sutton. You'd like him. Anyway, he sits me down, shares some fatherly advice. Stuff about how the world works, and how we all have an obligation to try and make things better. At first I have no idea what he's trying to say to me, but then he says, 'Luke, you've been working here for long enough. You've never disappointed me, and you've got all the makings of a great cop.' And then he gives me the case."
"We're calling it a case now?" Jasmine asked.
Barrett nodded. "Roger agrees with me. It looks really fishy. Until we exhaust all possible sources of evidence and find nothing, we're treating it as a murder case."
"So, how far have you gotten?" Jasmine asked. She realized after the words already left her mouth that it was a presumptuous phrase. As Luffy had said, this wasn't Blackwood Cove.
But Barrett seemed to like it. The words made him smile.
"That's what I'm talking about," he said. "You go after the truth, no matter what. You don't care about fake crap like boundaries and rules, you only care about what's universally right."
"I wouldn't say that," Jasmine said with a nervous laugh.
"Yeah, you should see her at school," Luffy added. "She's never even been late to class once."
Barrett shrugged. "My point is... Well, Roger told me to dig deep. He told me to do everything I could to find the truth. And if the truth is that Oliver killed himself, or that he just fell off the tower on accident, then so be it. He gave me permission to use any means available to me. Look... I'm not a great detective. I've read more mystery novels than I could count, but I've never been able to correctly guess the killer. Not once. So what I'm saying is..."
"You want my help," said Jasmine.
He nodded. "Just to be clear, you can say no. I won't hold it against you."
"Gee, how thoughtful of you," she said woefully. This was it, she knew; the chance that stubborn part of her mind had been waiting for. The chance to get involved. But it was one thing to pine for it, and another to actually experience it.
"You can do it," Barrett said. "I know you can."
"Don't be so sure. Blackwood Cove... well, I had a lot of help."
"You'll have a lot of help here, too."
"And at that rest area, well, I guess I didn't have much help at all. I figured that one out on my own, just about. But it was a matter of necessity. I knew I was stuck there with a killer, so I had to figure out who it was. But here... I dunno."
"You're feeling the pressure. That's perfectly natural, Jasmine. You've got a string of successes under your belt, and now they're adding all this weight to your shoulders. But that's a good sign."
She shook her head. "How could it possibly be good?"
"Whatever fear or anxiety you're feeling, it's a sign that you really do care. This is important to you. And that's how I know you aren't going to fail. Now look at me, look into my eyes, and tell me honestly if this is an opportunity you want to pass up."
She stared at him and took a deep breath. The answer was clear; she just had to be brave enough to admit it to herself.
"I'll do it," she said.
Barrett's smile couldn't have been much wider without the top of his head falling off.
"Awesome!" he said. "Now, you understand, this is kind of off the books. Off the record, you know. We aren't going to be able to pay you or anything."
Jasmine felt giddy, and guilty because of it. But more giddy than guilty, in the end.
"I didn't get paid for what I did in Blackwood Cove," she said. "I never even thought about that. I just wanted to help out."
Her words were true, and she knew it. But she couldn't help feeling like a bit of a jerk, like she was patting herself on the back for how noble and selfless she was. She was really starting to rub herself the wrong way. This morning, she hadn't even been able to look at herself in the mirror. Somewhere inside her, she was sad about what had happened to Oliver. De
eply, painfully sad. But of what she felt when she thought of him was shame. It seemed wrong to be so excited.
Barrett seemed unfazed, however. She supposed he was used to it. You didn't become a cop just because you wanted to make your community a safer place. Some part of you had to enjoy the work, and the work occasionally got dirty, even in a small town. Did he ever feel shame? Did he ever have that sense of being dirty, of being covered in filth, that Jasmine had been living with ever since Oliver had died?
"First things first, I need to apprise you of the current situation," he said.
Opening a drawer in his desk, he drew out a folder. The tab at the top read BRIDGES, OLIVER. It was the case file, and Jasmine saw that it was hopelessly thin. When Barrett opened it, a single sheet of paper fluttered out and landed on the floor. Barrett apologized and dove for it, crumpling the edges with his clumsy fingers.
"Here we have a list of names," said Barrett. "These are people whom we've tried to contact for interviews, but for one reason or another they were unable to comply. Keep in mind that they aren't suspects, just people who we'd like to talk to. Or I guess you could say they're people I'd like you to talk to. They might not respond to the police, but they might respond to a nice young woman with a cute puppy dog."
Jasmine looked over the list, and was surprised by some of the names. The first two made her eyes widen, and the third took her breath away completely.
Lyle Bridges
Sandra Bridges
Joe Sanderson (drifter?)
Alan Keller, Language and Linguistics professor
Jasmine looked up from the list with a litany of questions running through her mind. She had to slow her brain down and pick one out at a time; otherwise they would all try and flood out at once.
"I assume Sandra is Oliver's mom?" she asked.
Barrett nodded. "Neither of his parents have returned my calls. That's understandable, right? Their son just died. But if this is a murder investigation, it seems to me like time is of the essence. I'd really like to know what they know. If Oliver had an enemy to speak of, I think they would be the ones to know."
"What about Joe?" she asked, which was the question at the forefront of her mind.
Barrett shrugged. "He's a drifter who came into New Market not too long ago. I've had a few complaints called in about him. Nothing major. Some loitering, or sleeping where he shouldn't be sleeping."
"Why is he on the list?" Jasmine asked.
"Someone called in a tip yesterday. They claimed to work at Pineapple but didn't give a name. But they said I should check this Sanderson guy out."
"Did they say why?"
Barrett shook his head. "They just hung up when I tried asking. I've been trying to track him down. No luck so far. Hard to nail down a guy with no address, I guess. I'll find him eventually, but maybe you'll have better luck."
"Maybe," Jasmine said, hoping Barrett wouldn't hear how fast her heart was beating. Though it seemed like he couldn't possibly not hear, it was so loud in her ears.
"As far as this Keller guy goes," Barrett went on, reaching over to tap the appropriate spot on the page Jasmine was holding, "he's the only one of Oliver's professors who hasn't talked to me yet. I'm sure he doesn't know anything, but in these kinds of cases we have to turn over every rock to make sure we don't miss anything. Especially in this case."
"What do you mean?" Jasmine asked.
Barrett fidgeted in his chair, wincing. "I hope you don't think I'm some kind of amateur, Jasmine. After this long, I should have a nice, fat case file full of potential leads. But I challenge anyone to find a lead here. As far as anyone can tell me, Oliver Bridges was loved by everyone who knew him. He never got angry, and he never angered anyone else. The only thing I can see that might have got him killed was his sense of right and wrong. Did you know he was on the student council?"
"He just got the position recently," Jasmine said.
Barrett nodded. "And apparently he's been going crazy with it. Trying to fix a lot of small issues at Wildwood that have been overlooked for years in favor of larger concerns. At least that's what I heard from talking to a few other professors. Could be he stepped on the wrong set of toes at some point, but hey; he was elected, so obviously the student body wanted someone like him to take charge."
"I know someone whose toes he might have stepped on," Luffy put it.
Jasmine nodded. She was thinking the same thing. She was thinking of a name that was not on Barrett's list.
"So you want me to talk to these people?" she asked.
"If you can. Whatever you find out, you can relay to me. I'll be conducting my own investigation, and no one will know we're working together. Sound good?"
Jasmine nodded. It wasn't too dissimilar to the arrangement she and Lustbader had been in Blackwood Cove. Except back then, she had a signed note from the Sheriff, and his outspoken support. Here, she was pretty much on her own. The cops wouldn't mess with her, but they wouldn't help her either.
She took a deep breath, letting her eyes close for a moment.
"Can I get a copy of this sheet?" she asked.
"Take it," Barrett replied, waving a hand. "I can print out another one off my computer if I need to."
"Okay." She folded the sheet and stuck it in her pocket. "I just need one favor from you, if you think you can swing it."
Barrett sat back, relaxing in his chair. "Hit me with it."
She told him what she had in mind.
"I'll see what I can do," he replied. "Good luck, Jasmine."
That seemed to be her cue to leave. So she stood up, shook hands with Barrett and made her own way out.
Chapter 6
On Tuesday morning, Jasmine showed up at Wildwood at her own leisure. She hadn't bothered setting an alarm the night before and finally got out of bed at a quarter past eight. However, she didn't wait around. She packed a quick breakfast away in her backpack, which had been emptied of all school materials. Text books, writing supplies. Everything was gone other than a single small notebook and a pen, along with another item she didn't know whether she would need; a secret weapon. The bag felt oddly light as she lifted it onto her shoulders and tightened the straps.
She took the six-mile journey at a light jog, hardly ever breaking below a nine-minute mile. She and Luffy shared few words; both of them were content to soak in the surroundings, becoming lost in their own thoughts. But whereas Luffy was probably imagining what it would be like to chase the chipmunks and squirrels, Jasmine was trying to plot out the course of her investigation.
Try as she might, there seemed to be no obvious way to connect to the web. She didn't know where Joe was, and the guy didn't even have a cell phone for her to call. She felt weird about approaching Oliver's parents, and she thought they were probably at home anyway rather than at the restaurant, which would make things more awkward.
So she decided to start with the easiest targets, the people whose whereabouts were known to her, and who were used to her presence.
As she reached the edge of the college grounds and slowed to a walk, she pulled out her phone and sent Charles a text; Meet me at lunch. We need to talk.
By then the rain was starting to fall again, a cold sprinkling down the back of her sweaty neck. Jasmine stowed her phone and picked up the pace, entering the gym just in time to hear a sudden lashing of rain behind her as another springtime deluge began, hammering the metal roof of the building with the sound of a thousand snare drums. The sound was repeated a minute later as she turned on a shower full blast and stepped into it.
Today, she had come prepared. Before starting her run she had stopped in at the local discount store and picked up a cheap umbrella, which she deployed as she stepped out of the gym building. Luffy crowded next to her, trying to catch the rain that dripped from the edge of the umbrella between his jaws.
"You're a dork," Jasmine said.
"But you love me," he replied. "So, what's first on the agenda? Who are we talking to?"
"Barr
ett's list is nice," she said, "but I'm not going to just take his word for it that he talked to everyone else already. I need to hear what Dean DuPont has to say."
"He has a lot to say, and none of it's very interesting. I almost fell asleep during that talk he gave. A lot of people were crying, but I dunno... I got the feeling he was lying through his teeth the whole time. You really think he cared about Oliver?"
"No," she replied. "He just cares about Wildwood. And its reputation. Which is why he's going to answer every single one of my questions."
"Sheesh. Remind me again not to murder anyone when you're around. You'd sniff me out in about ten seconds."
"Please don't become a criminal, Luffy. You'd be terrible at it."
"Terrible?" he asked in a huff. "You should have seen that kid last time we were at the park. He dropped half his sandwich on the ground and it was gone in less than half a second, like a magic trick. By the time his mom even thought to look for it, we were fifty feet away."
"I never saw that," Jasmine said.
"Exactly. Master criminal, here. As far as you know, I might have killed ten guys by now and you'd never know it."
"Sure, Luffy. Sure."
He pranced along proudly for a moment, then gave her a guilty look.
"By the way, you never did eat that second egg roll off your plate last week," he said. "You looked so confused when it suddenly wasn't there. Like you thought you were going crazy, or something."
"That was you?" she asked.
"My bad. But are you really surprised? It had chicken in it, Jasmine. Chicken."
He had timed his confession well. They were just entering the main building. There weren't many people in the hall, but there were enough that she didn't dare respond.
The clock tower wasn't the only tower at Wildwood. There was another one, shorter and less regal, situated at the back of the building. It had no real title, and was usually just called the North Tower due to its location. That was where the Dean's office was, and had been for all the many decades of the school's operation.
The first floor of the North Tower was home to a small fleet of secretaries. They were old women, but they were the type of old women who never seemed to get any older. They were eternal, typing away at their keyboards, doing whatever work it was that they did all day. Jasmine hadn't the faintest idea, but the stern looks on the women’s faces made it seem like it was the most vital thing in the world, the thread that was keeping this whole flimsy operation from crumbling around them.
