Six John Jordan Mysteries

by Michael Lister

  “While in a locked room by herself,” he added.

  “Exactly,” I said.

  “Oh, shit,” he said.

  “Exactly,” I said.

  “Was there anybody in the room when you went in?”

  I shook my head. “The only places to hide are the bathroom and under the desk,” I said. “I checked both.”

  “And?”

  “And there was a killer, but I failed to mention it until now,” I said, the sarcasm in my voice harsh and angry.

  “Jeez,” he said.

  “Sorry,” I said. “I just... I’m sorry.”

  He nodded. “I know I ask stupid questions,” he said. “But I’m lost. I don’t even know where to begin.”

  I nodded my understanding without saying anything.

  “So,” he said, “tell me where to begin.”

  “With the parents,” I said. “Their statements. And any physical evidence gathered off them or from the scene.”

  He looked as though I were speaking a language he didn’t understand. “You suspect them?” he said at last.

  “Of course, “ I said. “You know the drill, it could be anyone, but statistically they’re far more likely to have done it than anyone else. Plus, they were the only ones—that we know of anyway—who were in there alone with her.”

  He fell quiet for a long time.

  When I let my weary eyes fall shut, I pictured Nicole sitting at the end of the table coloring with the passion of an artist, her small fingers curled around the crayon. Is she your girlfriend? Chips don’t have chocolate. You’re silly. We’ll pray for you, Chaplain JJ.

  “They were treated as victims—grieving parents, not suspects,” he said. “They weren’t checked for evidence. Hell, we didn’t even make them give statements.”

  Suddenly, I no longer had the strength to hold my head up, and it fell into my hands.

  “Maybe I need a new job,” he said.

  “Have you considered the Boulder Police Department?” I said.

  A former football coach at Pottersville high school, Pete had no previous investigative experience. Like many locals, he saw the building of the prison in our area as the best job opportunity he was likely to ever have. His only qualifications for the job were a losing season and a county commissioner cousin.

  “But she was like a zombie,” he said. He then shook his head and sat in silence for a long time before saying, “My case is over before it began. Is there anything I can do?”

  “You can still get a statement from them,” I said.

  “The governor issued them a personal apology for not protecting their daughter while they were our guests,” he said.

  “Still has to be done,” I said. “But you could start with the inmates.”

  “What inmates?”

  “The ones who went out in the hall that night during the time Nicole was in my office,” I said. “We know only Bobby Earl and Bunny went in the door from the sanctuary, but what about the hallway door?”

  “It was locked,” he said.

  We were quiet a moment, then he lowered his voice and said, “We found a stack of hundred dollar bills near the body.”

  “What?” I asked, the surprise obvious in my voice. Money wasn’t something you saw much of in prison.

  “Yeah,” he said. “They were under your desk. It looks like they may’ve been knocked off along with a greeting card and some papers during the struggle.”

  “I don’t see how,” I said. “I don’t keep hundreds on my desk.”

  “You think someone was paid to kill her?” he asked.

  “Then decided to do it for free and left the money?” I asked.

  “Maybe they just didn’t see it. It appeared to have been in an envelope. Some of the bills still were. It was a lot of money.”

  I was silent a moment, thinking about what he had said and its implications.

  “We’re pretty much finished here,” he said. “If you want to go, you can.”

  “Have you taken Coel’s statement?” I asked.

  “It’s next,” he said. “You wanna sit in on it?”

  “Yes, I do,” I said.

  “Why?” he asked.

  “Because,” I said, “he was the only one in the whole building who could see both of my office doors at the same time.”

  10

  Before Fortner could begin his interview, Edward Stone barged in and began firing questions at Coel. In stark contrast to his normal immaculate appearance, he looked ragged and unkempt, on edge. His eyes were bloodshot beneath drooping lids, and his countenance was that of an old and weary man.

  “How the hell could you let this happen?” he asked.

  Coel spun around, eyes widening, mouth dropping open, face reddening, and started to say something, but stopped himself, shook his head and sighed heavily.

  Fortner had just turned on the recording equipment and he let it continue to run.

  “You were responsible for her safety,” Stone continued.

  Having gathered himself, Coel sat perfectly still, his rigid composure the result of many years of military discipline. With great restraint, he seemed to be showing Stone the respect a senior officer was entitled. Swallowing hard, he didn’t say anything, just simmered in silence, but I could tell Stone’s words were fanning his smoldering anger into flames.

  The wall behind Coel was filled with various plaques, all of which were engraved with the FDC logo and small employee nameplates. I saw my name on the Employee of the Year plaque and wondered how long it would be before it was on the Deceased plaque. I thought about death often. Probably because for most of my adult life I’ve been surrounded by it. You can’t conduct murder investigations and funeral services without being reminded of just how short life is, how quickly death comes.

  For me, the contemplation of my mortality is not morbid, not an obsession with death, but a call to life. Living with a sense of the brevity of my existence and a heightened awareness of the fragility of life reminds me to live each day to its fullest, to learn, become, and experience all I can, to truly live before I die. As far as we know, in the carnival of life we only get to ride once. The problem is, I’ve yet to figure out how to live that way on any kind of consistent basis. As with most things, my intentions far exceed my actions.

  Nicole’s ride had been far too short, and I grieved inside for the child who would never grow up, never be a boy-crazy adolescent, or a passionate young woman, a wife or a mother, never know the unspeakable joy and exquisite pain the seasons of life bring.

  I became aware of Stone continuing to pour his wrath and rage all over Coel.

  “Our number one priority is public safety,” Stone yelled.

  Finally, Coel had had enough. Casting off restraint, he slammed his hands on the table and jumped up. “So why the hell did you let a child into the institution?” Coel shot back. “What were you thinking? I’ve got to live with this the rest of my life. But I wasn’t the one who put her at risk.”

  None of us could believe what had happened, and we were all looking for someone to blame—anyone, though deep down we all knew we were each responsible in our own way.

  “By not doing your job you most certainly did,” Stone said. “It wasn’t going in that got her killed. It was not being adequately protected.” Stone jerked his head around at Fortner and saw me for the first time. To Fortner, he said, “Get this over with and get him out of here.” To me, “I want to see you in my office when y’all are done.”

  I nodded.

  When he had stormed out of the room, Fortner looked at Coel. “You need a minute before we do this?”

  He shook his head. “He should’ve never let her in,” he said. “That’s my statement. And that’s all I’m saying without my lawyer.”

  “What?” Fortner said. “Come on. I’m just trying to find out what happened.”

  “It sounds like y’all’re lookin’ for someone to hang this on,” Coel said.

  Fortner continued to plead and
reason with him, but he refused to reconsider. Finally, I stood up and switched off both recording devices. “Okay,” I said. “No statements. Nothing official, just some information off the record. How about just answering a few simple questions?”

  “Like what?” he said.

  “Like who were the inmates who went to the bathroom or the water fountain or into the hallway for any reason while Nicole was in my office?”

  He nodded slowly. “I want y’all to find who killed her. Hell, I’d like to find the bastard myself, but I’m not gonna take the fall for somethin’ that was Stone’s fault.”

  I nodded.

  He studied me for a long moment, then nodded to himself as if agreeing with himself about some internal decision we were not privy to.

  “Abdul Muhammin,” he said. “I remember him because I couldn’t believe he was attending a Christian service, and it was the first time I’d ever seen him without his koofi.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “I thought that was strange, too.”

  “He’s a chapel clerk, isn’t he?”

  I nodded.

  “You need to ask him about it,” he said.

  “Plan to,” I said. “Who else?”

  “Paul Register,” he said.

  “The one they call Chester the molester?” Fortner shouted. “Good God. How could you let him out there with her?”

  “She wasn’t out there,” he yelled. “She was inside a locked room with her mother. And I was standing at the sanctuary door watching. But the point is, she should have never been inside here in the first place.”

  “We all agree on that,” I said. “Who else?”

  “Cedric Porter,” he said.

  “Inmate from public works?” Fortner asked. “I thought he was an atheist. Does he come to church?”

  “I’ve never seen him there before,” I said.

  “Probably just came to see Bunny like the rest of ’em,” Coel said. “Hell, a lot of them stayed in the bathroom during most of the sermon.”

  “Why’d you let ’em?” Fortner asked.

  “Because I was by myself,” he said. “They pulled Whitfield to help get education back to the dorms. At the sanctuary door, I could see the hallway, the sanctuary, and both office doors.”

  “Sorry,” Fortner said. “You did good. You were in a no-win situation.”

  Obviously grateful for what Pete had said, Coel looked at him for a long moment, then slowly nodded his head, a grave expression on his face.

  “Any other inmates come or go?” I asked.

  “Dexter Freeman,” he said. “Y’all know him?”

  “I do,” I said. “I’ve worked with both him and Register.”

  “They’re both in on sex charges,” Fortner said.

  I nodded, then looked back at Coel. “Did you ever leave your position at the door?”

  He shook his head.

  “Not even for a moment?” I asked.

  “One time,” he said. “Bunny opened your office door and motioned for me to come over.”

  “Which door?” I asked.

  “The one in the sanctuary,” he said. “I walked over and she asked me how to place an outside call. I told her, then went back to where I was. But I saw her and the little girl at that point and they were fine.”

  “And no one else came or went?” I asked.

  He shook his head.

  “What about staff?”

  “Well, let’s see,” he said. “There was you.”

  “I know I was there,” I said, and I heard a harsh sarcasm in my voice that reminded me that Stone wasn’t the only one on edge. “I meant anyone else.”

  “And Theo Malcolm.”

  “The school teacher?” Pete asked in surprise, his eyebrows and glasses shooting up again.

  He looked over at me.

  “Yeah,” Coel said. “He must’ve stopped by after his class, on his way out or somethin’. He didn’t stay too long.”

  “What the hell was he doin’ there?” Pete asked.

  Coel shrugged.

  “I wondered the same thing,” I said. “As far as I know, he’s never been in the chapel before. And he was in a big hurry to get out. He nearly knocked me down on his way to the door.”

  “He didn’t stay long,” Coel repeated. “At least, I don’t think he did. I didn’t actually see him leave.”

  “Could he have killed her?” Fortner asked.

  I shrugged. “We’ve got to talk to him. He was coming from the back when I saw him.”

  “I never saw him close to your office door,” Coel said.

  “And Officer Whitfield came in at the end,” I said.

  “Oh, that’s right,” he said. “I forgot. He got back just in time for the... well, you know.”

  “So,” Pete said, “you got any idea who did it?”

  “No,” he said, “but Stone might as well have. He’s the one who tied her to a stake like bait down there with all the predators.”

  11

  When Edward Stone welcomed me into his office, something he had never done, he closed the door, something he had often done. He then invited me to take a seat and offered me coffee, something he never did, and when I declined, he frowned deeply, something he often did.

  “I assume your father and Inspector Fortner have both asked for your help,” he said.

  I didn’t respond. He had warned me not to investigate after the last case I had worked.

  “It’s okay,” he said. “I’m about to do the same thing. We need your help on this one. You’re a good investigator, you have a unique position that allows you to move about between both the inmates and the staff comfortably, and you are respected by both groups.”

  “What was she doing in here?” I asked, my voice raw and accusatory. “How could you have let her? Why would the people who’re supposed to be her parents even want to—”

  “They weren’t supposed to be her parents,” he said. “They were her parents. She was loved and cared for by—”

  “People who used her race to further their cause? People who subjected her to the fatal dangers of prison to gain greater acceptance from the large black population?”

  He shook his head. “You of all people should understand ministry,” he said. “You do anything for God.”

  “For God?” I asked in shock. “Bobby Earl’s ego is his God.”

  He winced, the furrow between his eyes deepening into dark crevices, and I could tell that my words had seemed blasphemous to him.

  “Bobby Earl serves the same God I do,” he said. “And there’s nothing we wouldn’t do for him.”

  “Including offering up your child?” I asked.

  I knew it was a low blow before I said it, but I didn’t realize how low I was for saying it until I saw the anguish in his eyes. Though I was unaware of any of the details, I knew he had lost a son as a child and I wanted to wound him for what he—what I—had allowed to happen to Nicole. The outrage I felt at his culpability in Nicole’s death filled me with a self-righteous indignation that made me thoughtless and cruel, and, gripped by a familiar guilt, I cringed to come face to face with the man I had so often told myself I no longer was.

  He took a deep breath and sat more upright in his chair. As he straightened the vest of his dark suit, the bony fingers of his hands shook. He always wore a three-piece suit, and I had never seen him take off his coat. His suits weren’t expensive or particularly nice, but they didn’t have to be. The way he held himself, the way they fit him, made them look as though they were—at least until today. Today his suit looked cheap and ill-fitted for his narrow frame, as if in the course of one night he had shrunk somehow.

  “Why not?” he asked. “Abraham did.”

  “God wasn’t asking for Isaac’s blood, but for Abraham’s love. In the story God provides a lamb.”

  “That reminds me,” he said, opening the center drawer of his desk and withdrawing a page from a coloring book. “This is for you. It was found in your office near... ah, her body. They g
athered it with the rest of the evidence.”

  Tears stung the edges of my eyes as I took the wrinkled picture from him. The color-crayon image, made blurry by my tears, was of Jesus just as Nicole had promised. It was her rendition of the portrait that hung in the Sunday School rooms of my youth: Jesus, his dark eyes intense, his long dark hair flowing, with a lamb draped across his shoulders. In the bottom corner in red that glistened like blood as one of my tears fell on it, it read: To: Chaplin JJ. From: Nicole.

  Images of Jesus praying alone in the Garden of Gethsemane flashed in my mind. I heard his trembling voice begging for his life, and the cold, cruel silence that followed. Where was God then? Where was God now?

  Where are you?

  “I realize you have a job to protect,” I said. “One that would be in jeopardy if central office finds out what really happened, but why did you let an ex-offender and a minor into the institution without proper background checks and safety procedures?”

  “So you know,” he said, shrinking in his chair without any outward movement.

  I nodded, waiting, watching, measuring his response.

  “You’re right, I did all that, but there’s a good reason. I’ve known Bobby Earl for many years. He’s conducted services in all my institutions.”

  “And he’s related to—”

  “The regional director,” he said.

  “Your boss?”

  His nonverbal admission was a few small nods of his head.

  I waited for a moment, but instead of saying anything, he took off his glasses, withdrew a silk handkerchief from his inside coat pocket, and slowly wiped them with it. Without his large glasses to cover much of it, I could see more of his face. His skin was dark—not quite the blued-black of a Nigerian, but very black, and shiny, and far more lined than I remembered.

  “But your enthusiastic endorsement of him led me to believe that you two—”

  “He was incarcerated at Lake Butler when I was the assistant warden there,” he said. “I’ve never seen such a dramatic change in anyone. He made a believer out of me. He’s the real deal.”