by Nolon King
He also said, after conferring with the sheriff, they ought not to mention the twenty-four-hour deadline, not knowing if this was a legitimate crime or a prank. No need to spook the citizens unnecessarily. They didn’t want people to think there was a serial killer out there. That might make the sheriff look like he was allowing it to happen on his watch, and Barry fancied himself a tough-on-crime bad-ass where criminals quaked in their boots and never dared to challenge his authority. As if God himself had appointed him Sheriff of the World.
Frustrated, she called Gloria and asked if they could get a segment on the news, knowing local politicians would pay more attention if it was on her show and might even pressure the sheriff to do his fucking job. The segment would be live tonight then replayed in the morning another four or five times. Hopefully, the extra press would get word out on the missing girl and maybe someone would come forward with a name or any helpful information.
“You look great, Mal. Everything good?” Probably Gloria’s way of asking if she was sober.
“I’m doing better. You look five years younger. This job really suits you.”
“I hated losing the election, but everything for a reason. This feels right.”
The producer — a tall, redheaded trans woman named Jasmine — came over and double-checked Gloria’s notes. “We’re live in one minute,” she said before backing away from the set, donning her headset, then giving direction to the control room.
“You know he’s going to fire you for this,” Gloria warned.
“Let him try.” Mal glanced across the studio at the main news desk where the co-anchors were prepping themselves.
Gloria gave her a smile. “It’s good to see you again.”
The producer said, “Live in five, four, three, two, go!”
“We come to you tonight with an urgent plea to help identify this missing woman,” Gloria started.
The photo the unsub sent Mal appeared on the screen as her host spoke over it.
“If you know who this woman is, or have seen her, please call the Creek County Sheriff’s Office hotline immediately. At the time of this airing, she may only have twenty-two hours to live.” Gloria looked soberly into the camera. “Tonight, I’m joined by Creek County Sheriff’s Office Detective Mallory Black, who helped bring several high-profile killers to justice, including Paul Dodd, the man who kidnapped and murdered her daughter. Welcome, Detective Black.”
“Thank you for having me.”
“So, tell me what happened. And how is this connected to the murder of Alice Shaw and the shooting of her sister, McKenna?”
“We have reason to believe our suspect in the Shaw case is behind this disappearance. He called me on a phone left at the scene where we found Alice and said we have twenty-four hours to find this young woman.”
“In the earlier statement released by the sheriff’s office, there was no mention of these cases being connected. Does the sheriff’s office believe we have a serial killer at large?”
This was Gloria’s diplomatic approach — to put the information out there without leveling any accusations against Barry. She could have gone on the attack, asked Mal why the sheriff hadn’t made this more of a priority, but she was playing it right. Better to have Barry playing ball than turning him defensive.
“It’s a bit early to call him that, but we do believe the cases are connected.”
“What can you tell us about the suspect?”
Mal delivered the little info she had.
Gloria showed the photo again, this time asking Mal for more details about her call. “And why do you think he reached out to you?”
Mal looked into the camera, knowing the man was watching. “I’m not sure. Killers who target girls and women are often insecure little men who have trouble fitting in with society. They blame women for their lack of success or for their lives sucking. They target those they see as weaker than them, when these girls and women are always stronger because they aren’t pathetic cowards.”
She was taking a chance in pissing him off, but she’d do anything for a call. Aanya was running traces, same for the people running the station’s lines. If he responded and lashed out, and if she managed to keep him on the line long enough, she might get a trace.
“Do you think this girl will die if you don’t find her?”
Mal looked somber. “We have to take him at his word.”
“What about the reports, from less reputable news sources, that there were Satanic carvings on Alice Shaw’s body?”
“Those reports were inaccurate,” Mal said, enjoying the opportunity to take a shot at Cameron’s shitty blog. “While it claims sources inside the department had provided the information, I assure you — although there were carvings in the body, they were not Satanic in nature.”
“Will the department be releasing photos of the drawings?”
“Not at the moment. We’ve reached out to experts for their assistance.”
Gloria kept asking questions about the case, and Mal kept delivering answers, doing her best not to say anything the sheriff’s office should still be keeping quiet.
Her phone buzzed in her coat pocket several times during the interview, but Mal ignored it every time. Once the interview ended and the show went to commercials, Jasmine came over and thanked her.
“No, thank you,” Mal said. “Thank you all. I hope that gets us some leads.”
Gloria walked Mal off the set as she checked her messages. First, her partner had texted.
Mike: What are you doing?”
Then there were all the missed texts from Ford.
Ford: What the fuck are you doing?
Ford: You are NOT authorized to be talking about this case.
Ford: Call me ASAP.
“Looks like I’m in deep shit.” Mal smiled, showing her phone to Gloria.
“Well, it’s not like you needed the job.”
“True.”
Mal was about to check her voice mail — Ford had called her, too — when her phone rang. Sheriff Barry.
When she answered, he screamed into the phone. She could practically smell his alcohol-laced breath. “What the fuck are you doing? You weren’t authorized to discuss this case. I did not clear any of this, Deputy.”
Mal resisted the urge to snipe back. “With all due respect, Sheriff, we don’t have long. This girl’s life is in danger. And I tried with Cameron first, but he wasn’t listening. I assumed you’d want to do everything possible to get this girl back alive.”
“That doesn’t mean going on that fucking show and telling the county we’ve got a goddamned serial killer out there!”
“I never said that. In fact, I specifically said—”
“You may as well have! You are not the lead on this case. And you don’t have permission to break protocol and go straight to the fucking news. That’s why we have Cameron.”
“Well, then maybe you should find someone more capable of doing his job, Sheriff. The fucker could barely run a goddamned blog.”
A long moment of silence. Mal imagined his face burning red and puffing up like it might explode. She traded a smile with Gloria.
“I want you in my office first thing in the morning, Ms. Black,” Barry finally responded. “Do you think you can follow those instructions?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. You’re off the case until then.”
“We need all the people on this that we can get right now, not tomorrow. The clock is ticking, sir.”
“You are off this case until further notice,” Barry repeated before hanging up.
“So? What’s the verdict?” Gloria asked.
“I’m probably fired. Gotta see him first thing in the morning. He wants me off the case ‘until further notice.’”
“Fuck,” Gloria said.
“Fuck, indeed,” Mal agreed.
“Well, at least you can catch some sleep tonight.”
“We’ll see about that. I have to call Mike back. I’m sure he’s pissed at
me.”
“You did the right thing, Mal. And I’m sure Mike will come around if he’s not on board already.”
“Thanks,” Mal said.
Gloria gave her a hug.
Then Mal left, calling Mike as she walked to her car, expecting a lecture. She wasn’t prepared for how exhausted he sounded. With her.
“What the fuck, Mal? Why?”
“Because Dipshit Cameron can’t do his fucking job.”
“You had to go on her show?”
“What was I supposed to do? Wait for another body then wish we’d done something—”
“No, but—”
“It’s done, Mike. There’s nothing to say.”
He vented a long sigh. “I’m trying to save your job.”
“Yeah? Is that why you agreed to keep me on a short leash?”
After a pause, he murmured, “What?”
“Barry told me you said you’d keep me on a short leash. Is that why you’re always checking in? Keeping tabs on me so you can report back to the big boss?”
“I had to fight tooth and nail to keep you from being demoted to traffic duty, to keep you as my partner. Barry wanted to make your life a living hell.”
“Well, fuck him. And fuck you, too. I don’t need anyone keeping me on a leash. I’m not a goddamned dog.”
“It’s not how it is. But let’s be real for a minute, Mal. You were out of control. I’m not blaming you. Anyone in your situation, who went through the hell you’ve gone through, would be hard pressed to stay sane, to not fall off the wagon, but you were doing God only knows what drugs, drinking, and getting into fights. You can understand their concern.”
She clenched her jaw and tightened her grip on the steering wheel. Mike was right, but Mal still hated being called out by him. Or anyone else.
“Then why the hell did you ask me to come back? If you were so concerned?”
“Because you’re damned good at your job. When sober. And I was worried what you’d do if you didn’t come back.”
“What does that mean?”
“I’m not stupid, Mal.”
“What does that mean, Mike?”
“You know what it means. And I’m not saying it.”
Does he know about my vigilante activities?
Does he think I was suicidal, or is he thinking I was going to overdose and die?
Fuck.
Mal couldn’t ask, not on a line Barry or one of his gestapo might be listening in on.
“Get some sleep. I’ll see you in the morning.” Then he hung up.
Mal felt a sharp pain in her chest, like her only remaining friendship in her sad little world was suddenly doomed. It made her fondle the pill in her pocket and imagine swallowing it dry.
She drove home hating herself instead.
Chapter 23 - Jasper Parish
Jasper walked the track. Better to keep moving and make himself a harder target.
Jordyn walked beside him, hoodie pulled low and hands stuffed into her pocket. Crazy Gary eyed them both as he passed.
“Stay away from him,” Jasper said.
“You forgot, Dad?”
“What?”
She ran her hands up and down her body as if the truth should be evident. “Um … I’m dead.”
“Sorry … the longer I’m off the meds, the more I forget.”
“It’s okay. I figured you’re just getting senile.” She laughed.
It wasn’t the same cute, raspy laugh she had as a little girl, but it was still endearing. And Jasper was glad that he could hear it again.
He looked around the yard, searching for some signal that might get him closer to the truth of what happened to Frank. Maybe if he could get near enough to the right person, he’d either find the guilty party or someone with enough information to take Jasper the rest of the way. If he had something of value to offer Hernandez, he could go without his meds a little longer, maybe indefinitely.
“You getting anything?” Jasper asked.
She looked over at the weights where Young Luther and a few of his men were lifting and hanging out. “Not really. They’re all bad dudes, but I can’t tell which one of them did or even ordered the hit.”
Jasper didn’t think Young Luther would’ve done it himself. He’d been sentenced to twenty-five years but would likely get out earlier. He still had fame and money, plus the record label was being run by a cousin and doing phenomenally well. Prison boosted his status as a legit gangster, but his best bet was getting out soon, even if it meant turning snitch.
“I think we should move closer,” Jasper suggested. “Hang back here.”
“Okay.” She passed Crazy Gary who looked their way.
Jasper walked toward the basketball courts where there was a four-on-four game going on. A familiar-looking thin young man with sleepy eyes and a low curly fro stood off to the side.
Jasper approached him with a nod.
The man nodded back and gave him a whisper. “Hey, Professor.”
Professor?
It took a moment, but then Jasper realized it was one of Kim’s men, the guy in the Heat jersey, who had driven Jasper to meet her at the RV in the middle of nowhere.
“D’Andre’s the name.”
“What got you in here?” Jasper asked.
“Oh, you know, some bullshit after the Butler PD raided all of Logic and Kim’s houses.”
“They okay?”
“Moved operations north. They all good.”
Jasper was glad to see a familiar face, but he had to keep things on the down-low. Never let people know who your friends are until you know where they stand. Alliances in prison were chess games played with shivs and duplicity.
“You want in?”
“Yeah,” Jasper said.
He could feel Young Luther and Muscles watching from the weights.
D’Andre looked back at Young Luther then at Jasper. “Nah, man, you better get.”
“What?” Jasper said before getting the hint. He was kryptonite in here. “Okay.”
He turned to leave, but D’Andre bumped him, hard.
Jasper turned, surprised.
“Yo, back the fuck off, rat!” D’Andre said, shoving him with both hands, eyes glaring like an enemy.
As D’Andre’s touched his chest, Jasper got a burst of memories — the man being visited by Young Luther, who knew of him by way of Logic’s reputation. Young Luther made D’Andre swear loyalty if he wanted in on their operation — whatever that was.
Jasper backed away, raising his hands in apology.
The game stopped, the men now watching the scene as Jasper walked away.
Young Luther laughed with a chorus of echoes, then got off his bench and started walking toward Jasper, Muscles by his side, with another pair of men right behind him.
“What’s up, pig?” Young Luther got in his face.
Touch me so I can see inside your soul.
“Just trying to play a game.”
“Yeah, well, you ain’t welcome here, pig.” Young Luther’s voice swelled loud enough for everyone to hear him call Jasper a pig, just to make sure — in case everyone wasn’t already aware — the convict had once been a cop.
Energy from the others — and the entire situation — was surging. Excited particles slammed into one another, as if they alone might escalate the violence.
“Break it up,” said a guard before Jasper could respond.
Young Luther shoved a finger into his chest. “You’re lucky, but your good fortune’s ’bout to run the fuck out.”
A flash of memories accompanied the jabbing finger — Young Luther talking to an unfamiliar CO, who handed the prisoner a package. Payment, contraband, something else?
The memory faded as more officers came to break it up and to send everyone back to their pods. Jasper fell in line behind Crazy Gary, who looked back at him with a subtle shake of his head. Maybe a signal. Or the guy might be off his meds.
Jasper accidentally bumped into his back and felt an unexp
ected flash.
Crazy Gary circling the track, just minutes ago, talking to a young man in all gray. The prisoners wore orange and the guards dressed in black. No one here was ever wearing gray.
The man was looking up at the tower, telling Crazy Gary how things had changed so much.
“Things are always changing,” Gary replied.
“Suppose you’re right,” said the man in gray, turning and meeting his crazy gaze.
He saw someone walking just beyond the man’s stare of insanity — Jordyn.
“Who’s she?” asked the man in gray.
“His girl.” Crazy Gary pointed to Jasper, about to get toe-to-toe with Young Luther.
The vision broke and Jasper found himself staring at the man in confusion.
He can see her?
How?
“What is it you see?” Crazy Gary whispered.
Jasper looked back at him, saying nothing.
“I see. You’re playing normal so they don’t make you take yer’ pills.” Crazy Gary winked then turned his attention back to the front, peeling off the line with the guy ahead of him then sauntering down the hall to his pod.
Jasper sat on his bunk and stared at Jordyn, leaning against the wall, hands still stuffed in her pockets.
“You almost got yourself killed, Daddy.”
“I needed to get close to them, see what I could get.”
“And, what did you get?”
“Not much to work with … yet.”
“You’re gonna do that again?”
“Might have to think of some other way. Or maybe if Hernandez gives me something of Frank Tagliano’s, I’ll get something from that. Maybe you can help me.”
“Okay,” she said, uncharacteristically quiet.
“What is it?”
“I know what you saw with Crazy Gary.”
“You knew he could see you?”
She nodded.
“Did he say anything to you?” Jasper asked.
“He said hi.”
“And? Did you say hi back to him?”
“Yeah.”
“He heard you?”
“Yes.”
“He’s the first person, other than me?”
