by John Farrow
‘I was her back-up, I guess. Reinforcements, like. Call it that.’
This time, Jodi found the notion humorous on various levels.
‘Fair enough,’ Cinq-Mars said. ‘I’ll put down that you were watching and waiting.’ He appeared to make an official note of it.
‘Sure. Why not?’
Cinq-Mars put his pen down then, cocked his head from one side to the other. ‘It makes sense to a point. Here’s where things don’t jive. How is it possible that by the end of the fight you wound up on the French side? We have a clear battle line. You’re watching and waiting, yet end up on the French side, the enemy side. How come you didn’t get your head kicked in over there?’
Courtney shot a look at Jodi, seeking help with her reply. Yet her buddy deflected that appeal and kept her gaze fixed to the floor. Keen on their interactions, Cinq-Mars remained patient, curious to see how they’d muddle through the question.
Hesitant, Courtney protested, ‘I wasn’t on the French side.’
‘Sure you were. I saw you.’ Her first instinct, then, was to lie.
‘She meant—’ Jodi butted in.
‘Let her tell me.’
‘I meant,’ Courtney continued for herself, ‘that during the fight I wasn’t there, on that side.’
Jodi agreed. ‘She wasn’t.’
‘I only went over there after the guards broke up the fight.’
‘That’s right,’ Jodi said.
‘You were in the middle of some pile,’ Cinq-Mars reminded her. ‘How do you know where Courtney was?’
‘That’s true,’ Jodi admitted.
‘How and why did you cross that line?’ Cinq-Mars pressed Courtney, as much to see how she’d react to pressure as to hear her reply. ‘You were welcomed among your enemies. How come? That seems strange to me. When you came back, your friends also accepted you. Even stranger, those two things together. Nobody said a word to you, it didn’t faze anyone.’
Courtney again appealed to Jodi to bail her out.
‘Go ahead,’ Cinq-Mars invited the second young woman. ‘Answer for her just this once. I don’t mind. Tell me what Courtney was doing on the wrong side of the battle line.’
‘How much do you know already?’ Jodi inquired.
‘No questions, please. I’m the one looking for answers.’
Reluctantly, Jodi accepted that proviso. She’d been slumping down in her chair and now slithered further. In another half-hour she might be on the floor.
‘Court didn’t fight. You can see that for yourself. Not a mark on her. If somebody clocked her, she wouldn’t be sitting here now, would she? Too small. In a fight she’d be yesterday’s lunch.’
‘Why’s that? Do you think she’s delicate? You’re not much taller. You’re thinner.’
‘Yeah, but inside I’m as cold as ice, see. Like cold steel when it’s twenty below out.’ Courtney giggled away for some reason, or for no reason. ‘Makes a difference,’ Jodi continued. ‘Anyway, after the fight, when it’s almost over, the screws got between us, right? Then Marie-Philomène and Abigail came to an agreement. They made a pact and the whole thing was over.’
‘The two principal combatants shook hands and formed an alliance? What kind of fairy tale are you spinning for me, Jodi?’
‘A surprise when it happened, that’s true,’ Jodi admitted. ‘I get why you say that. But it wasn’t no fairy tale.’
‘I understand. Tell me about the pact, then. Explain.’
ii
‘Finders keepers,’ Marie-Philomène taunted Abigail. She blew on her fingertips, flaunting her possession of a contraband nail file.
‘Give it back. Now,’ Abigail demanded.
‘What, Abi, you don’t know the law? You? A fucking fraud artist, you’re supposed to be the brains around here. Possession is nine-tenths of the law. I am, like you can see here, in possession of this motherfucking nail file. Capeesh in your English?’
‘Who the fuck stole it for you? Anyway, that’s Italian.’
‘Abigail, get a fucking life. I found it in the dirt. You dropped it? I’m so fucking sorry, but I won’t take your word for that, in English or in fucking Italian. Too bad, so sad, and piss the fuck off already. I’m doing my nails. Reminds me, what colors you got for polish?’
Abigail turned away from her antagonist, her position a lost cause. She heard the mocking laughter from a few French women behind her. Jodi saw Abi’s mouth crack, the faintest of smiles. That told her everything she needed to know so that she was ready when Abi bent low, then swung around, then charged. Abi plowed straight into Marie-Philomène, her shoulder square into the woman’s middle. Instantly, they were rolling on the ground, hands in each other’s hair, kicking with their knees. Other women tried peeling them away from each other, a hopeless task, and before they gained much traction those who were not interested in breaking up the fight assailed those who wanted to do so. In her rampant fury, Jodi had two women by the hair and was trying to butt their heads together, a doomed enterprise. They took her down with their elbows and knees. They turned the tables yet had no idea whom they were fighting. Jodi was a dervish of writhing limbs and flashing nails, elbows and knees and eye-poking fingers, and when the opportunity presented itself, down on the ground, a thigh across her face, she bit, wildly and deeply. The scream for mercy thrilled her. She bit down harder. Ten fists walloped her to get her to stop. Someone dragged her off the other woman by her ankles.
She saw blood and the bite mark on her victim.
She liked that.
Rising again, bloodied, scuffed up, she looked around. Abi had Marie-Philomène squirming in the dirt, lifting her head and slamming it back down with rhythmic intensity. A woman from the French side of the conflict who had tried to tackle her was being pummeled by Temple, who had joined the fray, while the next ones to jump on Abigail’s back were peeled off by Rozlynn. Roz didn’t hit anybody but kept the odds fair whenever one of their group was outnumbered.
The bells were resounding, guards charging in, whistles shrill. They were swinging batons indiscriminately and a Taser dropped a pair of combatants in a millisecond. Both women, a moment earlier entangled in a wrestling match to the finish, moaned on the ground in mutual dismay and agony. Jodi saw somebody get to her feet, half upright, and charged, stepping on bodies then leaping through the air and slamming into her victim in full tilt, rocketing her back to the ground. She then tried to pull the woman’s ears off before a guard intervened. The woman on the ground yelled, ‘Fuck fuck fuck,’ in English with a French accent, twenty times before becoming aware that no one was on her anymore and that her ears remained securely attached.
Jodi was shoved next to Abigail and her rival. She overheard Abi hiss, ‘Find it, dumb fuck, then hide it.’
‘Your ass,’ Marie-Philomène shot back.
Both women had guards holding them.
‘You,’ Abi whispered to Courtney, ‘go find.’ The girl knew what she meant. Abi then directed Marie-Philomène, ‘Let her.’ Both women understood the significance of a weapon – what could be construed by the guards as a weapon – to be found on the premises. Good for no one. Mean as they were to each other, the screws were both a mutual and a greater menace. Marie-Philomène nodded acceptance of their pact. Before Courtney crossed over the line – having been a cheerleader she was ignored by the guards – Abigail whispered further secret instruction in her ear.
iii
‘We expected Court to bring the nail file straight back to Abi, right?’ Jodi said. ‘Except Abigail’s too damn smart. She won’t let her do that. She whispered to Court to give it back to Marie-Philomène, put it in her hands instead.’
Courtney nodded. This was true.
‘In the moment, it’s not like Marie-Philomène could argue. She was caught holding the merchandise, right? Court put it in her hands, and she didn’t know it then, but Abi stuck it to her. Does she get extra time in the hold? Hope so. Me telling you the story doesn’t get her off, right? Trust me, she deserves
it more than anyone. Well, maybe not more than Flo, but pretty damn close, and anyway, Flo’s dead.’
‘You didn’t like Flo?’ Cinq-Mars asked.
‘Who on this planet did? If she had a buddy on Mars, I dunno. Even the sniffer dog didn’t sniff Flo, I bet. Flo was an acid-in-the-face bee-itch.’
Courtney chortled, then caught a glance from Cinq-Mars and suppressed her titters.
The pad with a horizontal spiral binder that Cinq-Mars used for his notes covered a pair of yellow foolscap pads. Sliding them across the table, he passed one to each of the young women.
‘Oh goodie,’ Jodi exclaimed. ‘Maps!’
‘Not yet,’ he cautioned. ‘First, I want the two of you to sit apart. Stay on your side of the table; move your chairs down to opposite ends.’
With some scraping and banging, they did so. Jodi was the real culprit, the noisy one. Courtney, when she did cause her chair just once to scrape the floor, apologized. They sat up straight this time like proper schoolchildren.
‘Pens!’ Jodi called out.
Cinq-Mars had forgotten. He culled two from his pocket and warned Jodi to return hers.
‘What will you do if I steal it? Arrest me?’
A hilarious quip, in Courtney’s mind.
‘Draw two lines. One that’s horizontal across the middle of the page. One that’s vertical down the center of the page. You’ll end up with four equal quarters.’
The tasks being novel, the women followed instructions with evident care.
‘Good. Top left corner, write your name.’ They did so. ‘Now, at the top of each section, in the middle, I want you to write one word. Upper left section, write “LOVE”.’
‘Woo-hoo,’ Jodi chimed, and wrote the word in cursive. Courtney carved out precise block letters.
‘Upper right, “LIKE”.’ This time the words went on to the pages without commentary. ‘Bottom left, “DISLIKE”.’ The pair glanced at each other at first, both shrugged, then they each wrote the word. ‘Bottom right—’ Cinq-Mars said.
‘Don’t tell me,’ Jodi interrupted.
‘Then you tell me.’
‘HATE,’ she said.
‘Write it down.’
They did.
‘Now,’ Cinq-Mars decreed, ‘think about each person in your dorm. Write each person’s name in one of your boxes, depending on whether you love, like, dislike, or hate that person. Ready?’
‘Wait!’ Jodi called out.
‘What’s the problem?’
‘Who sees this?’
‘Only me. It’s exclusive. It’s why you’re at opposite ends of the table. You won’t see what your best friend puts down, not even her, nor will anyone else.’
The two looked at each other again, shrugged once more, and proceeded to inscribe their evaluations. They both took time making up their minds.
‘Guards, too?’ Jodi asked in the middle of her task.
‘If you want,’ Cinq-Mars said.
Minutes later he took back the pads and examined the results.
He slid each woman’s pad back to her.
‘Both of you left someone out.’
‘No I didn’t,’ Jodi said.
‘I didn’t either,’ Courtney objected. ‘Unless you mean Flo. She’s dead.’
‘I didn’t mean Flo. You can put her in a box, too, if you want.’
‘I even put in Dabrezil’s name,’ Jodi pointed out.
‘Me, too!’ Courtney trumpeted, and thought it hilarious.
‘Quiet,’ Cinq-Mars censored them. ‘Do not consult with each other. Think about it. Both of you left out a name.’
Jodi ran down her list of names while Courtney did a count on her fingers. They lit upon their error simultaneously. Both had forgotten each other.
They wrote in the missing name, but then went further, writing another name each. When the pads were returned, Cinq-Mars saw that Courtney had added ‘My mom’, her only entry under LOVE. Jodi had inscribed ‘Émile Cinq-Mars’ in the DISLIKE box, adding, That could change, hey?
While Courtney inscribed her mother in the LOVE category, her best friend Jodi had no one in that box. Both had reduced each other to LIKE. That surprised Cinq-Mars at first, until he realized that any mention of love accrued risk, especially in a same-sex dorm. Courtney gave the identical designation to Jodi as she did to Abigail and, a surprise, Isaure Dabrezil. She ‘liked’ those three.
The Corrections Officer, relegated to the HATE box by Jodi, was joined there by Marie-Philomène, Doi, Malka, and the deceased Florence. Although Courtney did not achieve the designation of LOVE, she had Jodi’s LIKE box to herself. For Jodi, DISLIKE stood as a reasonably high standing, where she placed Temple, Abigail, Rozlynn and, with the qualification for possible change, Émile.
‘Thank you,’ Cinq-Mars said, and tore off the sheets, folded them, and tucked them into an inner pocket of his sports coat. He passed the pads back. ‘Now, the maps. I assume you know how this works. Where you were and when you were there.’
They did know. The maps had been discussed in-house. The two young women busied themselves with their drawings while Cinq-Mars observed them. He devised questions he would ask each woman when he interviewed them alone and not in this two-person setting. Jodi was the first to hand back her maps. They could have been copies of what he’d seen before with the exception of her random heart doodles. For someone who claimed to love no one, she seemed to be a romantic. What Courtney handed in next was a total surprise. None of her illustrations matched what the others had inscribed.
He concealed his reaction, donning an implacable visage.
iv
‘Here’s a question for the two of you in tandem. I’ll ask it again later in private—’
‘You’re going to see us again, boss?’ Jodi inquired.
‘I’ll be seeing everybody again, as well as anyone I haven’t seen yet. For now, I’m asking this one question of both of you at the same time. You’re two people but answer as if you’re one. Did the two of you, together, kill Florence?’
‘What? No!’ Jodi was quick on the trigger. Courtney seemed too stunned to form a sentence. Noticing, Jodi tacked on that ‘Courtney agrees with me. Totally.’
‘Different question,’ Cinq-Mars continued. He had wanted to confirm who between the younger women would fear a private session more. He got his answer. ‘Did the two of you, together or with others, have anything to do with Flo’s murder in any capacity whatsoever? Did you conspire? Let Courtney answer this time.’
‘I killed my best friend,’ the young woman burst out, but quietly. ‘I’m sorry about that. OK? A bad time in my life. I’ll never do nothing like that again. I don’t go around killing people. I had nothing to do with Flo being strangled. My God, that was bad stuff. I couldn’t do that anyway.’
‘Stabbing your best friend in the chest over and over again was pretty bad, too, no? It’s on the record that you’re capable of doing that.’
‘Shit, now you’ve done it,’ Jodi remarked.
‘What’s that?’ Cinq-Mars inquired.
‘She’ll be bawling her eyes out half the night. You can’t bring up this stuff with Courtney without like a really huge supply of Kleenex handy. She gets wound up about it.’
Cinq-Mars checked on Courtney. To him, she seemed on an even keel, perhaps a little down in the dumps. Nothing more.
‘I will bring this stuff up with both of you. One of your housemates is dead. We don’t know who did it and if any of you do know who, so far no one is saying. Expect the question. Courtney, you’ll be hearing it again in private.’
She nodded. She wasn’t the emotional wreck Jodi foretold. A little surprised and reticent, but she seemed stable to Cinq-Mars. How she’d fare in a more rigorous one-on-one with him might be another matter.
‘What about you, Jodi? What you’ve done in the past doesn’t bother you? You shoot some innocent guy in a grocery store—’
‘It’s not like I killed him. I think it was a ricochet. I hit him in th
e toe. It’s not like I aimed. Anyway, I don’t remember what kind of store it was.’
‘That matters?’
‘Seems to me. Wish I could remember.’
‘You remembered the fight pretty well today. Good details.’
‘I wasn’t doped up today. Not like back then.’
‘That’s your excuse? Dope? For being a lousy robber?’
‘Trying to get a rise out of me, Detective? What does that do for you?’
‘I’m sure you remember more than you care to admit.’
‘I’m thrilled you’re so sure. I think it’s … peachy.’
Courtney laughed.
‘It’s not that funny,’ Cinq-Mars pointed out to her.
Jodi agreed. ‘He’s right. It’s not.’
‘Hit my funny bone is all.’
‘She’s out of whack this girl,’ Jodi said. Courtney thought that that was funny, also.
Cinq-Mars gave the guard in the room a glance, and as usual she departed. The two young women grew worried then, and Jodi ceased sliding down in her seat, sitting up straight once more.
‘When you talk together, you discuss the murder. Who wouldn’t? Only natural. If you didn’t kill Flo, who do you think did? No accusations. Just share your speculations with me.’
They looked at each other. They couldn’t say they didn’t know, because that wasn’t the question. Cinq-Mars was betting that Jodi would be the one to wiggle through on this one, and he was right. ‘We decided, like, right off the bat, that since we don’t know who did it, we shouldn’t talk about it because, you know, you can get your head bashed in around here for something like that. I don’t know who did it. I’m pretty sure she doesn’t, either. Between us, we leave it at that.’
Cinq-Mars nodded with a certain solemnity. ‘If you don’t talk about it, that could indicate that you’re not wondering about it. If you’re not wondering who in your group killed someone else in your group, well, that kind of indicates that you already know. Or – that you think you know.’
