A Killer's Secret

by Stanley Gray

  Chapter 16

  “That dude was weird.” Alan said.

  He sat behind his desk again. The blinds were open, revealing an expressionless black sky and the vaguely ominous silhouette of the vintage courthouse. A slight breeze swept in, whistling on its way. It had been a bitch, opening the old window, but they’d both been hot after cleaning up after the impromptu birthday party,

  Dale nodded. He took a sip from his coke. He slouched in the metal chair. His posture seemed defeated, deflated, as if the weight of recent events were pulling him down into a gelatinous morass of negative emotions.

  Alan could certainly relate.

  “How did this whole thing come about? Did someone call you?” Alan asked. He tried to keep his voice even. Despite the fact that his colleague appeared distracted by the wicked feelings bubbling towards the surface of the cauldron of his dejected soul, Alan retained a keen awareness of the man’s intelligence. Dale was a scrapper. Built from the old-school, the man possessed what the kids these days seemed to call grit. Alan hadn’t yet dropped the bombshell, and he wasn’t even sure if he would, at this point. He was using this conversation as a basis for determination.

  “Honestly?” Dale asked, looking up. His eyes looked sad. “I have no fucking clue.” he said. Dale took a breath. He got up, tossing his soda into the garbage. He missed, and bent down to pick it up and plop it back into the can. He walked into the other room, returning shortly with a new beverage. The man’s meaty fingers shook as he tried unsuccessfully to open it. Dale concentrated a little too hard on the task, and got it done the second time around.

  “Someone presenting themselves as Lars Haugen called me around…10. Just before that, someone else called and said you’d be late today.” Dale said. He took a moment to look up and lock eyes with Alan. Alan gulped. “I didn’t have much time to verify any credentials or look into anything. I’d honestly forgotten it was close to your birthday, and I felt a little guilty about that, the forgetting.” Dale took a sip. “Anyway, so, this Lars or whatever calls, offers to throw a surprise party, and I have to assume the credible story checks out. I mean, it sounded a little sketchy, but not too horrible where it rang a bunch of alarm bells.”

  Dale chuckled. Drank again. “After doing this shit for so long, everything sounds sketchy, you know?” he said.

  Alan nodded. He took a drink, sipping through the pink straw inserted into the thermos. The drinking made Dale nervous, so Alan was at least making pains to try and hide it. They both knew what it was he was consuming, but an unspoken truce seemed to have been agreed to. As long as his boss didn’t do it flagrantly, right in his face, Dale wouldn’t speak on it.

  “So, anyway. That’s what happened.” Another sip. “Happy fuckin’ birthday.” Dale said. He gave a low, cynical chuckle. Shook his head.

  Alan turned his attention to the blank computer screen. Reaching out, he pressed a button on the thin black monitor, and his face became awash in the distinct artificial glow of electronic light. He perused the words that danced across the screen as he navigated to the mysterious realm of the interwebs. “Let’s just see if there really is a Lars Haugen.” Alan said, biting his lower lip.

  “There isn’t.” Dale said. The words came out so softly, if was almost as if the man hadn’t spoken at all.

  “What?” Alan asked. He blanched. He stared at the former Green Beret. He felt angry. Violated. Somehow, all he could think of in that moment was the fact that he’d been upstaged. His secret had been stolen. He clenched his mouth shut and waited.

  Alan was getting sick and fucking tired of waiting.

  “What?” he finally repeated. As time dawdled, loitering on the corner begging for nickels, Alan felt himself growing sorry for this man. He’d been hurled into a strange and inhospitable world, just the same as Alan. It wasn’t easy. It was the very antithesis of easy, and Alan knew the other guy needed a supporting hand, not smart-ass comments and harsh retorts.

  “I checked. While you were in there cleaning, I took a smoke break, looked on my phone.” Dale said.

  “Did…you have reason…to suspect…”

  “Like you said, the guy was weird.” Dale said. He didn’t look up.

  “Well, there is that.” Alan responded. He allowed the conversation to collapse on itself for a moment. They each retreated into their own thoughts. Alan drank more liquor.

  He felt vaguely concerned that he was now imbibing massive quantities of alcohol without being phased. Then, he smiled. If that were the least of his worries, he would be a happy drunk, indeed.

  “So, what did you find?” Alan asked, after the quiet had stretched past the point of practicality.

  “Well, it’s more about what I didn’t find. I couldn’t do a fucking expansive background check.” Dale said. He gave the SAC a menacing look.

  Alan held his hands up, palms outward. “Uh, hey, man. I’m on your side.” he said.

  Alan cleared his throat. “The…Lars…he told me he’s not Lars.”

  Dale snorted. Nodded imperceptibly.

  “Want to hear something even better?” Alan asked. His heart raced. His chest felt tight. His hands felt suddenly hot. Alan looked back at the window, as if to make sure someone weren’t there, quietly monitoring their conversation.

  Dale nodded. He leaned forward, eyes shining, face aglow with eagerness and excitement. He moved his lips and bounced his leg, waiting for the news.

  Alan seized the opportunity. He wanted to make the most of the opportunity. He liked it, the attention, the spotlight. Even if it were just a small, relatively insignificant moment in the back room of a nondescript government building way out in the middle of nowhere. He watched Dale, mind trying to return to his macabre crimes as the time slipped by. Feeling that there is a definite shelf life for tense anticipation, and that the time was near expiration, Alan spoke the words. He smiled as he said them, trying to enhance the delivery. “The…guy, he said that, well…”

  Dale groaned. “Just say it already!”

  “He implied he wasn’t human.” Alan said.

  Dale stood. It was one of those quick, fluid movements that startled Alan, because the fat man shouldn’t be able to move so rapidly and gracefully. Dale began to laugh. He wiped a hand over his face. He began to walk back and forth, his movements jerky. “Now is NOT the time, man.” he said. “You have to be fuckin’ kidding me. Don’t be fucking shittin’ me, man.”

  “I’m not.” Alan said.

  Dale returned to his seat. The finders of the thin tree’s shadow traced the stubble on his nascent beard. The shadows seemed to move in closer, as if they, too, wanted to be in on the secret.

  “Seriously.” Alan said.

  Dale chuckled. He looked away. After a moment, he focused. “So, what did…this…Jesus. Jesus.” Dale took a breath. “I need to take up smoking again.” he said. He laughed, a small, cynical laugh that was without mirth. “What did the guy say?” he asked.

  “He asked me about the crash. He wanted to know…if we’d withheld any evidence.” Alan said.

  “What?” Dale asked.

  “Really. He wanted to know if we’d found anything, if we’d kept anything.”

  “I don’t fuckin’ believe you.” Dale asserted.

  “Look, man, I’m tellin’ you this happened. You callin’ me a liar?” Alan said. The words felt hollow, foreign, coming form him. Despite all that was going on, he couldn’t help but wonder why contractions made people sound so different.

  “But…why? I mean, did the guy elaborate? What do you mean, he implied he wasn’t human? What the fuck?” Dale asked.

  “Look, I don’t know. It’s not like we had a fucking pow-wow. It wasn’t the damn Potsdam Conference. He was in here for maybe, what, three minutes? In the middle of what was supposed to be my surprise fucking birthday party? I mean, we had a simple confab.” Alan said.

  Dale smiled. He nodded his head at something.

  “What?” Alan asked, his voice a bit high. He felt defen
sive.

  “Confab?” he said, raising an eyebrow.

  “Why not? Give me a damn break, dude.” Alan responded. He slurped from his straw.

  “Okay. So, what did he say? Did it rise to the level of obstruction? I mean, could we use this as leverage? A break?” Dale shivered with excitement. His eyes gleamed in the darkness.

  “Dale, I don’t think we would be able to find this non-existent character, even if we wanted to.”

  “So, what? Tell me what happened, then we can discuss. You can’t just drop this fuckin’ incredible bombshell on me, then leave me hanging.” Dale said.

  Alan shrugged. Nodded. “Yeah. Okay.” He gulped. Took another sip. He’d practically inhaled a fifth of hard liquor, and barely felt buzzed. He could probably be classified as a hybrid vehicle soon. If they ran some tests on him at this point, his blood would probably be closer to ethanol than anything extracted from a human body.

  “So, yeah. Okay.” Alan took a breath. “Fuck it. Let’s just do it. The guy came in, he told me he wasn’t really Lars. He asked a little about the investigation, wanted to make sure nothing had been taken from the crash site. He didn’t really lead on as to what he was getting at. He just asked if anything had been taken. Right? Okay. Yeah… So, I asked him, since he’d said he wasn’t Lars, I asked him a bit about who he was. You know? And, he mentioned something about…not being male or female. I asked him if the others, in the lobby, if they were like him, and he answered in the affirmative.” Alan said.

  “And he answered in the affirmative.” Dale said, mocking his boss.

  “Shut the fuck up.” Alan said. He shot the other man a look.

  Dale erased the mischief and humor from his face. He returned to a solemn silence. They sat immersed in their own thoughts for a minute or two. The cheap analog clock above the door ticked.

  “So, where do we go from here?” Dale asked.

  “We’ve been asking that a lot, huh?” Alan said. He scratched at his chin and looked off into the distance, thinking.

  “You know what.” Alan said clapping his hands. The sound reverberated violently through the small space. Dale looked up. He watched the SAC. “This is where you’re supposed to say, what?” Alan said.

  “What?” Dale asked.

  “Thanks. So, we’ve been chasing this thing from behind from the very beginning. Maybe we need to be proactive. That’s a word we hear a lot in our bi-annual trainings, right? Proactive this, proactive that. Well, let’s be fucking proactive. Let’s take it to them. Whoever they are. I’m going to see if that CNN guy, what’s his name?” Alan snapped his fingers and looked up at the ceiling.

  “Noro.” Dale said.

  “Noro! Thank you. I’m going to see if that CNN schmuck Noro is still in town, and I’m going to try to set up a little meet-and-greet. We’ll do our thing, talk and schmooze, whatever.” Alan said, smug satisfaction etched into the edifice of his smile.

  “Are you going to have a confab?” Dale asked, grinning.

  Alan shook his head. “Yeah. We might have a fucking confab. We might conspire to eat you alive.”

  Dale nodded. “Okay. I like it. But, what good could the journalist be?”

  “Well, if the press is snooping around, we might be able to get more people to actually speak up. It’s harder to murder all the witnesses when cameras are everywhere. I would assume, anyway. They have Freedom of Information, all that good stuff. Plus, these bumpkin cops aren’t going to talk to me? A fed? A pasty white little hipster silver-spoon fed? And, I’m not even a cool fed. I’m with the NASA OFFICE OF THE INSPECTOR GENERAL.” Alan chuckled at himself in a self-deprecating manner.

  “If anyone might scare these asshole cops down here, it would probably be CNN. Who knows what kinds of shady shit they’re doing? People want to be heroes. They want their fifteen minutes. I bet people’s greed will be a far better motivator for finding any surveillance tapes.” Alan said.

  “Well, sounds good. But, if that were the case…” Dale left the obvious remain unspoken. It hung in the air between them like some buzzing, annoyingly insistent gnat.

  “Yeah. I mean, who know? Maybe people already have spoken to them. Maybe Noro already has some of the tapes, if they exist. But, you know what? We’ve underestimated the people here from the beginning. We came in with out degrees and security clearances, all cool and hip, straight from so-cal, thinking we were so superior to the people here. You know what I mean? It takes a little time, for people in small, rural towns to begin trusting you. Human nature is still human nature, but it’s different. Greed here looks different than in Manhattan or L.A. Little Johnny might want to take little Jane to the dance. Aunt Jamie might want to get her teeth fixed. You see? We came in and started off on the wrong foot. The CNN people…”

  Dale silently ceded the point, frowning. “Okay. So, you want to set up a confab.” He laughed. “Sorry, had to throw it in there, boss. I like it. I mean, they, Noro, he’s going to want something, probably. He won’t want to just cooperate because it’s the decent fucking thing to do.” Dale said.

  “So? I’m the head of the law enforcement agency that currently has jurisdiction.” Alan said. “He can get me on the record, which is something they want to do. This works both ways. I have access to information and sources they don’t.” Alan smiled. He got up. The pacing this time seemed measured, slow and deliberate. Alan felt in control again, and he liked it.

  “Jordan is going to hate having you on camera.” Dale said.

  Alan stopped abruptly. He stared daggers into the man’s back. The force of his gaze was such that Dale turned to look at him. “Sorry.” Alan said. He resumed his march to nowhere. His pace picked up, however.

  “Yeah. I guess, AFTER I talk with Noro, have a fucking confab with him, I better get on a conference call with Devin. Fuck!” Alan said. He sat down again. Took an angry sip. His thermos was almost empty. He slapped the thing off of his desk. A small spew of liquid flew out as it descended towards the floor.

  “Sheesh. We have been really off our game lately.” he said.

  “Well, boss, I don’t mean anything by it, but it’s late.” Dale said. He put his arms of the edges of his seat and made as if he were about to get up.

  “Hey. Stay.” Alan said. Alan scratched his chin again. “Did you look into the whole Google thing?”

  “No, boss. I really haven’t. Between sudden crowds of weird tourists and journalists, strange surprise birthday parties from…whoever the fuck they were and taking care of you, Mr. Confab, I haven’t had a whole lot of fucking time. Sir.” Dale said.

  Alan nodded. He grimaced and waved the man away. “Do it tomorrow.” he ordered the man’s back.

  Chapter 17

  The floor made a bad bed.

  Alan had slept in the office. Too much of a craven to go home and face the monster in his home, he’d decided in the midst of his fatigue and restlessness that he wanted to stay hunkered down near his desk. Nimble fingers working through the night, Alan felt his eyes straining as he stared at the screen in front of him. Breaking for intermittent rounds of pacing, he mumbled to himself when the silence became overbearing. He’d drank until he felt too sleepy to concentrate any longer.

  Cans of alcohol littered the carpeted floor. He’d stumbled out of the building briefly around 1 A.M. to go to a nearby bar. They hadn’t been thrilled about the prospect of just selling him a case of The Abyss, one of their more popular brews, but he’d waved a wad of cash and made it happen. After displaying the cache of cash he had access to, several of the local women sauntered over and made half-hearted attempts to flirt with him. He knew they weren’t interested in him.

  Besides, he had a love life.

  Alan Grunke could live without ever seriously engaging with another woman in his life. Between Xenobia the alien from Crimea-what-the-fuck and Sharon the stalker, he’d had enough of the feminine persuasion for a while. His only goal at the moment was to somehow gracefully extricate himself from the strange harem he see
med to be developing.

  He heard the birds. They sang, their calls shrill and melodic as they swept through the brisk and chilly morning air. Alan hadn’t closed the window, and he shivered. He realized belatedly that he felt cold. Standing, stretching as he did so, a groan escaping his lips, Alan shut the window. His fingers felt sore, tired from overuse. His mind seemed to be a dumpster. His clothing probably smelled like one. All he wanted to do was to fall into a deep and lasting slumber. The room began to warm almost immediately.

  Now that he wasn’t frigid, Alan meandered into the open area just outside his office. He cast a lingering, guilty look at Dale’s desk. He felt an inimical stab of regret, for having violated the man’s trust and space. But, he reminded himself, it was necessary. If Dale discovered what he had done, or why, there could be no expectation of loyalty of friendship. The man would do whatever was necessary.

  With those dark thoughts clouding his sleep-deprived brain, he began making coffee. He muttered to himself as he did so.

  As it brewed, he went to the bathroom. For some reason, the office bathroom had a small shower, and in the cupboard above the sink, amidst the spider webs and discarded, only slightly used Q-tips which hadn’t aged particularly well, there sat a convenient travel-sized container of mouthwash. Alan hesitated. He was tired. But, he wasn’t that tired. He checked for some sort of expiration date. Finding none, he twisted the black lid, having to exert a little effort to get it to give. Opening it, he placed it several inches from his nose, trying to sniff. When no noisome blast of ogre’s death breath assaulted him, he moved the container closer. Closer. Finally, when it was just under his nostrils, and he still couldn’t detect even the faintest of unpleasant odors, he pulled the proverbial trigger and took a swig.

  At the last minute, thinking he might be able to file the information away for handy future reference, he checked to see if the mouthwash contained alcohol. You never know when you’re going to be hard-up, Alan thought.