by Kylie Dodson
Jordan dropped back in his chair, the gravity of things sinking in. "Come on. I--I said I was sorry. What do--What more can I do?"
Jennifer drummed her nails on the steel table. She looked at Blake as if trying to read his mind. It was all part of the act.
She pulled out her chair and flipped it backwards, then retook her seat, resting her arms on the back of the chair. "Tell you what, Jordan. Today is your lucky day. I can take a hit pretty well, but you knocked me out in one shot. That's fairly impressive. I'll have to remember that I go down easy when I've had a bit to drink. Not to mention the fact that you caught me off guard--I applaud you. There aren't too many who can do that."
Blake looked on in silence. She knew this was the moment he'd been looking for. She could tell he was trying to get a read on how she operated, but couldn't. It was what made her so good at her job.
She slow clapped her hands. "Bravo. And because of that, I'm going to let you go."
"You are?" Jordan asked. The distrust in his voice was palpable.
She nodded. "But you're going to do something for me."
"OK?"
"You're going to be my little snitch--Oh, sorry. My little informant."
"That's it?"
Jennifer smirked and cracked her knuckles. "Oh, no." She pointed at the bruise around her eye. "We're going to be twins."
Jordan’s head dropped. He didn't like the idea of being punched in the face, but the idea of a long stay in jail was even worse.
He let out a long sigh. "OK. I'll do it."
Blake slammed a photo on the table. It was wholly unnecessary. Especially now that Jordan was cooperating.
"Take a look at that," Blake said.
Jordan looked down at the eight-by-ten glossy photo in front of him. Kimberly Gamble lay, lifeless, on the concrete of the same alley that Jordan had jumped Jennifer in. The marks on her arms weren't noticeable in the photo, but Jordan could definitely tell that the girl was dead.
The bartender's whole demeanor shrank as he fell back against the chair. "That's..."
"Kimberly Meredith Gamble," Blake said.
Jennifer watched Jordan. His reactions were not at all like those of someone who would mean ill-intent. At least, unless, otherwise provoked. He might have been the kind of guy who would force himself on a woman--which was enough to make Jennifer both leery of and angry at him--but he wasn't a killer.
"This happened last night, Jordan," she said. "Did you see anything or anyone acting suspicious at the club? Any kinds of behaviors or arguments that stood out to you?"
"I...I can't look at this anymore," Jordan said.
Jennifer motioned for Blake to take the photo back. The journalist did as instructed. This was no time for him to continue the good cop, bad cop routine. Jordan's clear sense of guilt meant he would do anything Jennifer asked of him.
"Jordan?" Jennifer asked.
"It was a packed house, last night. There were so many people. Unless she was right in front of me, I wouldn't have even seen Kim. But, there was this one guy. I didn't serve him but, there was something about him that made me uncomfortable. Made everyone uncomfortable."
"Uncomfortable how?"
"Like, I needed to wash my hands then take a shower."
"Can you describe him?"
Jordan closed his eyes, as if trying to imagine the man in question. "He was bald, I think. He had on a hoodie. But those things don't cover up everything, you know? So I could, sort of, see between his eyebrows and his hairline. Or, what would have been a hairline. His eyes were...Like a snake's eyes. I mean not really, but that's what they reminded me of. Like, the pupil was small. He just looked crazed. And he kept talking to himself. Most people tried to steer clear of the guy. Oh--And his hoodie was dirty. Like, oil stains and food."
"Was he homeless?" Blake asked.
"I don't know."
"That's surprising," Blake added. "That a place like Riptide would let someone who looked like that in."
"People like to dress up to go out. But the only dress code there is shoes, shirt, and pants."
"And that's assuming he didn't get in through a back door," Jennifer said, making a mental note to herself. "Either way, this guy sounds like he would have definitely stood out."
"Oh, yeah," Jordan said, almost shuddering at the memory of the individual. "And he would definitely give you the creeps. He did for me,"
"Gave you the creeps?" Blake asked. "Now that's ironic coming from a guy who jumps women at night."
Jennifer started to say something, but held it back. She wasn't used to people helping her with fights. Whether they were her own or in general. And she certainly wasn't used to people who'd written scathing articles about her, suddenly coming to her aid. She didn’t need it. But the concern that Blake was showing for her was something she found herself appreciating more and more.
"Would you recognize this guy if you saw him again?" she asked.
"Totally. Definitely. For sure. Anyone would recognize him even if they'd never seen him before," Jordan said.
Jennifer glanced at Blake who only shrugged. The description Jordan gave was unfamiliar to him. Whoever Jordan was talking about, Blake never saw him.
She paused for a moment then pulled out a small set of keys. She walked to Jordan's side of the table and unlocked his handcuffs. The steel binds clanged to the table and Jordan immediately massaged his wrists.
Jennifer placed her card on the table. "You're going to call me if he comes back."
Jordan picked up the card with a nod of his head.
"That's the first part of the deal. I hope you're ready for part two."
Jordan squeezed his eyes shut and grimaced as he prepared for what he was sure was going to be an extremely hard punch to the face.
"Here's what I want to know," Blake interrupted, giving Jordan a momentary reprieve.
"Maybe you didn't kill Kimberly Gamble. But you did assault Detective Case, here."
"I told you, I didn't know she was a cop."
"Be that as it may. You assaulted her. Which means that you were waiting to assault someone in that alley. Someone you mistook Detective Case for. A woman. Who? Why?"
Jordan turned to Jennifer, wondering if he had to answer. Her eyebrows went up, waiting for his reply. The fact that she hadn't gotten a reason for her black eye had not been lost to her. It just wasn't as pertinent as a murder.
"I thought that..." Jordan let out another sigh. His answer wasn't going to do him any favors. "I thought she was this lady who owed me money."
"You assaulted a woman over money?" Blake asked.
"Not a real woman. I mean, she was a real woman, but she was, you know. A lesbian." he said his last words quietly.
"I'm not seeing why that makes it OK," Blake said.
"But, she was a boxer, too. And she was really good. I've seen her box dudes twice my size. I didn't think I could really hurt her, but I had to take her by surprise just in case."
"So once you knocked her out and saw that it was Detective Case, you ran." Blake glanced at Jennifer, a sly smile starting to form.
She could tell he was imagining her as a lesbian boxer. His battle with his own smirk was apparent to her. And what growing appreciation she had for him was lessening by the second.
***
Jennifer sat alone in a small conference room, staring at a whiteboard. There was still a lot of empty space on it. She read through the dates and times that were written in black, both riddles, and the three photos taped to it the whiteboard: The girl from the dumpster, the woman from the crane, and Kimberly Gamble.
All victims were women, but only two were accompanied by nearby riddles.
"What's the common connection?" she muttered.
Jennifer rose from the table and moved the photo of Kimberly to another side of the board. Then she drew a black line, separating the two cases. She didn't know if they all connected, but for that moment, she felt it pertinent to treat them as separate.
Knuckles rap
ped on the open door. "You OK?" Taggart asked.
Jennifer didn't bother turning around. "I'm fine. Just wracking my brain when it's too early for it."
"You always do stress before it's time to really stress," he told her.
Jennifer scratched her head. She knew he was right. She had always had a strong urge to solve a crime before it even happened. And anything longer than twenty-four hours made her feel like a failure.
"If I can't figure it out, then she won't--" She stopped herself before more could be revealed. Her mind went back to her dream. No one knew about her nightmare. Not even Cassidy Rain. And Jennifer wanted to keep it that way. "She won't get justice. None of them will." She turned to him. "And the worst part is, there's probably another woman out there, right now, waiting to be found. Or worse, becoming a victim while I sit here staring at eight-by-ten glossies."
Taggart stepped into the room, hands in his pockets. He stared at the photos. "I know the feeling. It's in my top five worst parts about this job. Serving justice after it was needed. So many of these scum suckers get away with things. It doesn't matter if we catch them and lock them up. They still got away with it."
"Isn't that the opposite of getting away with things? That we lock them up?" she asked.
"For some. Not for me. Locking them up doesn't get a family its kid or parents back. There's still a deceased loved one while a killer is still alive." He wasn't always serious, but
Taggart did have his moments. This was one of them. The playful teasing that Taggart and Jennifer usually did was gone. At least, for the moment.
"I may stress, but you've always been an eye for an eye," Jennifer said.
"If not for this badge, I'd have been a superhero vigilante."
She smiled at the levity. It was well needed.
"You need any help with anything?" he asked.
"No. I want--I need...to work this thing on my own."
"Or with Rivers?" His light teasing had returned.
Jennifer scoffed. "Yeah. Or with Rivers."
"Well, since I can't help with this, maybe..." He lightly brushed her hair behind her ear.
The feeling caused a shiver through her body. And even though it would have made for a nice distraction, she calmly moved his hand aside."No. I think that--and I'll probably regret it--but I think that the last time, should be the last time."
Taggart dropped his hand and put it back in his pocket as he clicked his tongue to the roof of his mouth. "That's too bad. That was the one ace up my sleeve."
She smiled at him, knowing it was true.
"Oh well. Easy come easy go."
Her fist plunged into his shoulder. "Jerk."
He laughed and backed away before she could do further damage. "Seriously, Case. Cop to cop. If you ever need help, I got your back. Whether it's an investigation or with Rivers."
"I appreciate that."
Taggart smiled once more then made his way to the door.
"Well, actually..." Jennifer said. "Would you take a look at this riddle?"
Taggart walked back to the whiteboard and looked over the second riddle from the construction site. "'I had eyes but could not see The reel stripped down my love's hand, The system left strand-dead Past its time.' I mean, 'strand-dead', though that's probably too on the nose. The word 'reel' sticks out like a sore thumb, though. Why use that spelling unless it's about movies or film reels?"
"Well, the first girl was found at a drive-in. And if what you think is true, it narrows it down to theaters and the few studios that are in town."
"Narrows it down?" Taggart asked.
"The next victim."
"Yeesh," Taggart said. "I hate to hear that."
"I hate to say it."
"I'll think on the riddle a little more. But you should probably go home and get some sleep."
"Yeah. Thanks."
Taggart made his way to the door while Jennifer put her focus back on the whiteboard.
”Oh, wait a minute," Taggart said with a snap of his fingers. "What about the old projector plant? Where they used to make the old reel-to-reel movie projectors? It's supposed to be torn down soon."
Jennifer's brow furrowed as a particular question entered her mind. One that would never occur to her under normal circumstances. "Who's got that contract? To tear it down, I mean."
"I think I read Driscoll. Yeah, Driscoll Construction."
CHAPTER 16
"Why do these things always happen in abandoned places?" Jennifer asked herself as she put her car in park and turned off the headlights.
The parking lot of the old projector factory was a display of potholes and weeds. It reminded her of every post-apocalyptic movie she'd ever seen. All that was left to complete the look with wild people in repurposed sports apparel.
She let her mind wander a bit more on the topic while she got out of the car and made her way to the front door.
The basic looking wood door remained attached to the frame by only one hinge. And even that hinge looked like it was missing all but one screw. An errant gust of wind could have knocked it down. She was cautious in opening it. If there was someone--especially a killer--in the place, she didn't want to alert him or her to her presence.
Inside, she slowly made her way along the concrete floor. Her flashlight shone on machine fixtures that were still bolted down, but any projectors that were in the middle of production were long since gone. She didn't know if that was by looters after the place had lost its doors, or if the company had sold off or destroyed them. Whichever the case, whoever cleaned out the place was thorough. If she hadn't known what the place was for, she would have no clue what type of business it was or used to be.
Something moved out of the corner of her eye. Jennifer spun toward it just in time to see someone running for the door.
"Hey!" She sprinted after the fleeing figure. It was the second time in as many days she'd found herself running someone down. "Stop!"
The door burst open, finally falling free from its last hinge, and fell with a clomp.
Jennifer's foot stomped on the door as she flew out into the empty parking lot. And it was indeed empty. She shone her light left then right, but there was no sign of anyone. Only her car.
She looked back inside the empty building. There wasn't that much to it and it wasn't all that big. There was no sign of a body nor was there a sign of any riddle. She noted the place as a dead end. No pun intended.
***
The Shops at Columbus Circle was one of the trendier spots in the city. And since it was all indoors, shoppers, self-proclaimed wine connoisseurs and diners didn't have to worry about vehicle traffic. Just people out and about, enjoying their night.
Jennifer walked slowly, letting the other pedestrians go around her with their paper bags filled with overpriced clothing or accessories. She liked meandering along the tiled floor, passing by the various stores and smelling the perfumes for sale or the baked goods. It helped her clear her head without muddying things up the way alcohol could. It was the people and their carefree laissez-faire way of living that appealed to her. Eating and laughing like bad things weren't happening around them could help her relax.
She thought on everything that had happened up to that point: Captain McGhee wanting her to stay away from high-profile cases. Blake Rivers being assigned to her as a ride-along. A serial killer on the loose with possibly a second killer running around out there. And to top it all off, there was the internal conflict she had about Blake. She shouldn't have felt any gratitude toward him, much less any sort of attraction.
She shook her head. Even without a drink, she was getting muddied thoughts.
Murmuring to herself, she went over the case. "OK, I've got riddles and I've got Nathan Driscoll. And then there's the creepy guy that Jordan mentioned. Where does this lead?"
She activated her phone, hoping Jordan might have called her.
Zero notifications.
A happy couple walked past her. Both of them appeared to be quite tipsy
. They reminded her of the life she had passed up. There were plenty of officers that had family lives in addition to their jobs. Jennifer just never thought the two were compatible. She was uncomfortable with the idea of a worried husband--always concerned about whether or not she would make it home. She didn't think that was fair.
She looked over her shoulder to see the couple share a tender kiss.
Then again, being alone didn't seem fair either. It was why she sought out the more temporary kind of relations. The kind where there was no worrying, no one to share responsibilities with...like the one she had with Taggart. The very one she just ended.
The welcome sight of Detective Jamal Snell's name popping up on her screen got
Jennifer back on track. She raised the phone to her ear. "Hey," she said. "What's going?"
"I just got a call from a guy named Jordan asking for you? We've really got to do something about our phone numbers being so similar."
"What did he say?"
"He said something about a creepy guy at the bar."
"Thanks." Jennifer practically threw her phone back in her pocket and spun around, rushing back to her car.
***
Jennifer could have turned the windshield blue and red lights on to let people know her car was a law enforcement vehicle, but she skipped that part as she weaved in and out of traffic.
Her mind was already thinking about how to approach the so-called creepy guy. She knew that she was going into a public space. One that had the potential to be very crowded.
Gun out was not much of an option. There was the possibility that creepy guy--if guilty of murdering Kimberly Gamble--could see her and run. Jennifer was an excellent shot but panicked citizens could step in the way of her bullet. That possibility wasn't worth the risk. She was going to have to play this one in a calmer way.
Mr. Investigation appeared on her phone and Jennifer answered. "What is it, Rivers?"
"And a good evening to you, too, Detective Case. What's with the attitude?"
