by Kylie Dodson
"I don't have an attitude."
"Well then what do you call a greeting like that? No hello. No good evening, Rivers. Not even a what's up?"
"Did you need something?" she asked with a sense of urgency, hoping he would get to the point of the phone call.
"What are you doing?"
"Following a lead at Riptide. I don't have time for a social call."
"A lead? Do you need backup? I can be there in ten minutes."
"I'm fine, Rivers. I can handle it."
"But I can--"
"Good night, Blake."
"Hey, that's the second time you've called me Blake--"
Jennifer ended the call before the conversation could continue further. He was right...that was the second time she'd called him Blake. To an outsider, that wouldn't mean much, but for Jennifer Case, it meant a certain kind of respect. One that stemmed from a feeling she found herself continuously trying to push down.
"I don't have time for this," she muttered.
***
It must have been a slow night for Riptide. The line she had seen when she was last there was non-existent now.
Four valets stood around the roll-out key cabinet, gabbing away like they were on a break. Even the two doormen-slash-bouncers looked up and down the street, bored.
Jennifer looked at the clock on her dashboard. It was eleven-thirty-seven. Places like these usually had a crowd by eleven. Maybe this is a good thing, she thought as she got out of her car, figuring the creepy guy would be easier to spot with a smaller crowd.
Inside, she found that the dance club section held a decent number of people. Less than a partier would be accustomed to. But a little more than a socially anxious person--finally convinced to go out--would be comfortable with. Whatever the reason for the slow night, Jennifer was sure the owner and the manager would not be too happy with the profits for the evening.
She scanned the bar on the other side of the dancing patrons. There was no sign of Jordan. She switched gears to see if she could recognize creepy guy. But there was no one who fit the description Jordan had given.
A few women looked at her and started whispering to each other. Jennifer had little doubt that they were ridiculing her choice of dress. The navy blue dress shirt and black slacks wasn't exactly club attire. And her black tennis shoes were most assuredly a dance floor faux pas. Her entire ensemble was a far cry from what she'd worn as a patron. But she wasn't there as a patron.
Jennifer smirked and held out her badge just at her hip. The two women turned white and slowly turned away from her. She didn't have time to put up with people who tried to judge her, but sometimes a little gesture of superiority felt good.
The door to the dining section of Riptide closed behind her and just as she had in the dance hall, Jennifer scanned the room. There was no dancing in there, just people eating at tables.
Jennifer was surprised to see the dining section looking sparse. She reasoned it was just one of those stay-in type of nights.
She shifted her focus to the bar where Jordan was just serving a patron.
Jennifer strolled up to the corner of the bar and rapped her knuckles on the granite bar top. "Hi, Jordan."
The long-haired bartender looked up at her and instantly changed his posture from tall and confident to meek and insecure.
"How's the eye?" she asked.
His hand went up to touch the spot she'd hit him in. There was no sign of a bruise but there was an indication of heavy concealer. Whoever did the job of covering it up was pretty good at it.
"It hurts, how do you think it feels?" he asked.
Jennifer pointed to the bruise he gave her. "Oh, I have a pretty good idea."
Jordan sank back in defeat.
"You called a colleague of mine. You mentioned your guy being here?" she asked.
Jordan leaned in, not wanting anyone to notice him. "You see that table directly behind me? At the other end of the bar. Look two tables to my right of that."
Jennifer did as instructed and found a lone individual, sitting with no food or drink. The figure was hunched over, hood pulled over his head.
"You sure that's him?" she asked.
"Oh yeah. A few people have complained, but he hasn't done anything wrong. Not yet, anyway."
"He order anything?"
"Nope. And everyone is too creeped out to ask him to leave."
Jennifer straightened away from the bar and made her way toward the hooded creepy guy. She got within five steps of the creepy guy, and was immediately repulsed by the strong smell of onions and body odor. The guy smelled like he hadn't had a shower in a week. And the hoodie probably wasn't helping.
She took her badge out, ready to identify herself. "Excuse me, sir?"
The creepy guy's head jerked toward her and he locked eyes with her. Jordan was right: snake-like eyes, and he was clearly bald. She could tell that even with the hood on. He reminded her of Nosferatu in some strange way. No fangs or white looking eyes. It was his hooked nose and the insane look in his eyes. If there was ever a visual type for a murderer, this guy was it.
"I'm Detective--"
"Twelve and sixty-five," the creepy guy said.
"What?"
Before she could take another step, the man launched himself off the stool he sat on and rushed toward the door. Fortunately for her, he had a limp and was easy to catch.
Unfortunately, her instincts overrode her skills of observation. Instead of catching him and grabbing him by the arm, Jennifer launched herself forward, tackling the man to the ground. If the smell had been bad at five feet, Jennifer Case was now at ground zero.
***
The scented candle in the interrogation room only masked about twenty-five percent of the rank smell coming off of the creepy guy. And now that she was in a more confined space with him, Jennifer was sure she could catch a whiff of urine.
She glanced down at her shirt and grimaced. She had laid on top of the guy after she tackled him. Jennifer made a mental note to trash her ensemble when she got home.
"Twelve and sixty-five," he said.
"Sir, that's the fourth time you've said that tonight. I just need to know your name."
"Name? They called me Pluckus."
"Pluckus?" she asked, feeling it sounded like a fake name. "OK, Pluckus. Do you know why you're here?"
He looked up at her from the other side of the table and grinned. "Well, you see, when a man and a woman get together--"
Jennifer held up her hand. "I...I get it. I mean, do you know why you're in a police station? Why I brought you here?"
"Twelve and sixty-five."
"What does that mean?"
"It's the exact number necessary."
"Necessary for what?" She sighed. "Never mind."
Jennifer pulled out her phone and walked out of the room.
***
"It sounds to me like a general psychosis," Cassidy Rain said to Jennifer on the other end of the line. "It's probably nothing that couldn't be medicated."
"I knew something was off about him."
"High levels of drug use happens to many who live on the street. Of course, the drug use probably started before the vagrancy. I would have to speak to or at least hear the man to be sure."
"Trust me," Jennifer said. "You don't want to be near this guy."
"I'll take your word for it, Detective. I'm sorry I couldn't be of more help."
"It's fine. That actually tells me a lot. Sorry to wake you, Cass."
"Not at all. I have a late bedtime. Good night, Detective."
Jennifer placed her phone back in her pocket and stepped back into the interrogation room. Inside she found Pluckus flicking his tongue at the candle.
"Sir?"
Pluckus looked at her lasciviously. Had he been any other suspect or perp, Jennifer would have just been annoyed. But coming from Pluckus with his hooked nose and horrible smell, she just felt violated. And the worst part was, it probably had nothing to do with her.
"Tastes like lico
rice," he said.
"I'll keep that in mind," she replied. "Pluckus, I'm going to get right to the point. Have you killed anyone lately?"
Pluckus rose from the candle and turned to her, clasping his hands together. "Twelve and sixty-five makes the world go round. He rubbed his fingers together in the national hand sign for money. “Rich like him, now.”
Jennifer sat on the words for a moment, trying to ponder what they meant. Was it a riddle that could fit with the serial killings? It was probably just the inane ramblings of a horribly drug-addled brain. Still, the mention of rich made her think of money. And the word him led her mind back to Nathan Driscoll. But while Driscoll currently held the closest suspect position, it didn't mean he was guilty. And Driscoll wasn't the only wealthy person in town. The only thing Pluckus said that didn't make sense was twelve and sixty-five.
Jennifer suddenly felt her eyelids getting heavy. The fact was Pluckus probably had nothing to do with Kimberly Gamble's death. And certainly nothing to do with the serial killings. She did think it was strange that he was in the dining room of Riptide twice in one week. And Jordan did say that no one wanted to get near him. That meant no one would have taken any food orders from him. If he was really homeless, surely he would have wanted to eat something at the club.
She rubbed at her eyes. She wasn't going to get the answers she needed. Not that night, anyway. She may have not had any formal charges to place on Pluckus but she still had questions for him. It wasn't exactly legal for her to place him under arrest. Not without any charges. But she could keep him in holding. A notion that she was sure, based on his appearance, Pluckus wouldn't mind. A roof over the head was better than a night in the street.
She'd continue her questions in the morning.
CHAPTER 17
Detectives Jamal Snell and Amber Harrison watched as Blake Rivers paced around the back of the conference room, fuming over Jennifer's actions the night before.
"You had no idea who you were dealing with," Blake said. "I mean, Jordan could have been lying. He may have tried something."
"Well, he didn't." Jennifer said, tired of the nagging.
"Yeah, just your luck. And this Pluckus guy? He could have had a weapon. He could have--" He stopped pacing and turned to her. "Case, he could have done something really, really bad to you."
Jennifer rolled her eyes. She knew what he meant by that, but the fact that Pluckus ran from her gave her little reason to have any fear of the guy. "Would it make you feel any better if I said thanks for being concerned?"
"It would make me feel better if you had let me back you up."
"Well, I didn't need the backup, Detective Rivers, so...Now, can I do my job?"
Blake put his hands on his hips and huffed. It was clear that he wasn't done scolding her. But he complied, anyway.
"Thank you." Jennifer returned her attention to the whiteboard. A few new additions had been made alongside the photos of the victims and the riddles.
"Still not much to go on," Jamal said. "Even with Pluckus and the bartender."
"Who are probably not even a suspects, anymore," Amber added.
"I want to leave Jordan on the list," Jennifer said. "I'm ninety-nine percent positive he's no killer. A punk, maybe. An assaulter, definitely. But not a killer."
"You sure you want to leave a guy like that running around?" Amber asked.
"I don't like it, but he seems to have his ear to the ground. It's good to have a street informant."
"But aren't street informants usually just low rank drug dealers and con-artists?" Blake asked.
"That stuff makes for good TV and movies," Jennifer said, looking over the board.
"Pawn shop owners are probably the best. Besides, Jordan knows I've got my eye on him. He's not going to do anything wrong for a long time. If at all." She pointed at one of the riddles. "This second riddle looks like it has something to do with movies. So I checked out the old projection manufacturing plant."
"Let me guess: you did that alone last night, too," Blake said.
"Yes, Rivers, I did that alone, last night, too. Should I have called you for backup before taking a shower, alone, last night, as well?"
Blake remained silent, much to Jennifer's relief. She had realized as soon as the words left her mouth that they could have opened up a whole new topic of discussion.
"I just want to help," Blake muttered.
"And now you can. Because whether I like it or not, it looks like it's needed."
Blake looked at Amber and Jamal then back to Jennifer. It was as if he was waiting for extra permission. When Jennifer nodded, he stepped toward the whiteboard and looked over everything on it. "'I had eyes but could not see The reel stripped down my love's hand, The system left strand-dead Past its time'. Looks like it has something to do with movies."
"We covered that," Jennifer told him, ready to order him back to the other side of the room.
"The word 'reel'. I keep coming back to that. And 'Past its time'. I'm thinking old movies, so--"
"Like i said a second ago--projector plant. Checked."
"So that's out." Blake thought for a moment. "Hey, there's a shop I know of. It's the only one in town. One of the few that still deals in film reel to digital conversion."
"I know that place," Jamal said.
"But they don't just convert media," Blake went on. "The place actually duplicates old reels to new ones. You know, for people who consider themselves traditionalists. Or those self-prescribed elitists who just think film is superior. It's a very expensive service because it's so specialized. I had to use it once for--"
"OK. That's more than I've got," Jennifer said. "Jamal, you say you know where the place is? You and Amber go there, see what you can find. Question the employees, too. Tell them the riddle. They may have other ideas in case that location doesn't pan out."
"What are you going to do?" Amber asked.
"Me and Mr. Investigation, here, are going to try Driscoll one more time."
"I get the feeling that one's a dead end," Jamal said. "The riddles don't fit."
"One of them did. It led us right to his construction site. And the other was found on that same site. Plus there's a certain follow-the-money notion that I'm getting."
"There's a lot of millionaires in town, Case," Blake said. "Besides, we didn't have any luck with Driscoll last time."
Jennifer glanced outside of the conference room and spotted Cassidy Rain sauntering up to the desk of another officer. Her white pencil skirt and bubble gum pink button-up shirt hugged her form. The top button was undone and Cassidy slid on top of the officer's desk. If Cassidy were a man doing that to a woman, he'd get slapped with a harassment accusation. But there wasn't a man in uniform who would make an accusation against her. And Cassidy didn't try the same tactic with the women, so she could get away with it all day, every day.
The precinct psychiatrist gingerly moved her hair to one side of her head. It was a classic flirtatious move. One that always worked when all else failed. It wouldn't be long before that officer was in her office, revealing his feelings and mental state about the job. Probably even professing his love for her.
The whole scene gave Jennifer an idea. "You're right, Rivers."
"I am?" Blake asked, surprised. "I mean, naturally."
"We didn't have any luck last time." Jennifer popped the top button on her shirt and took the ponytail out of her hair to shake it all down. "I was right on my first encounter with him. Mr. Driscoll just takes a certain kind of handling."
***
Jennifer and Blake got back in the car. Jennifer's demeanor was one of disappointment and slight embarrassment.
"I probably shouldn't say it," Blake started. "But, I told you so."
"Rivers..."
"Look, let's be objective about this. I thought Driscoll was a sure thing, until recently."
Jennifer glared at him.
"I know. I know. But think about it. What does he really have in common with any of this? The f
irst body was found in a random dumpster--the riddle on a completely separate building from the drive-in. The second body was found--the second one--on one of his construction sites. And do we really think that a fifty-something is going to climb up a seventeen-story crane--with a body? Then carefully balance himself and the body across a two-hundred-foot span?"
"That's a fair point," she hated to admit.
"And Kimberly Gamble was found in an alley, with no riddle. An alley that has no connection to Driscoll or any construction site for that matter. And now, you've got some crazy guy in holding, who's spouting out cryptic messages and talking numbers. If you ask me, I'd say Pluckus is responsible for Kim. If I'm right, that would at least close that case."
"Except that the only witness is Jordan. And I wouldn't call him a witness. Just an observer of someone who weirded everyone out."
"But Pluckus did run from you. So, he's guilty of something."
"Those aren't bad theories, Rivers. I'm not saying they lead anywhere, but they might give us a reason to put our focus elsewhere."
"See? I'm pretty useful. And if you don't mind my saying, that's a much better look on you."
Jennifer noticed him gesture to her unfastened top button. Her first reaction was to button it back but she let her hand relax, leaving it as it was. The short interaction had her wondering if Blake Rivers had a little thing for her.
Her instincts kicked in, shutting out the thoughts. She went back to her first reaction and fastened the top button. The last thing she needed to be worried about was whether or not Blake was attracted to her. And even if he was, she didn't need to be attracted to him.
She put the car in drive and peeled away from Nathan Driscoll's office building.
"Since we're putting our focus elsewhere, I might have another lead."
Jennifer stayed silent, letting Blake continue at his own pace.
"I met this guy about five years ago--even did an article on him. It was a three-parter. Got lots of attention. One of my prouder moments."
