by Donald Wells
“I know Jason, but what if we’re right?”
* * *
Over Thanksgiving dinner, Lindsay relays her theory to Paul, Simone and Chief Rollins.
As he talks, Paul shovels enough potato salad for three people onto his plate.
“It sounds like something out of one of your mystery novels.”
“Dad, Jenny’s father gets out soon. If there’s a tape you’ve got to find it.” Paul Jr. says.
Rollins shakes his head in disagreement. “My men thoroughly processed that crime scene, plus the fact that it’s been so many years, if there was a tape Stern got rid of it.”
“So you do think he could be involved somehow?” Jason asks.
Paul looks at Rollins, and Rollins nods his head yes.
“Jason, Lindsay, you too Jenny, Bob and I have always believed that Derek killed Charlotte and Harry Johnson.”
Jason sets his fork down and stares across the table at Rollins.
“That would also make him responsible for Simona’s death.”
Rollins sighs. “Yes, Jason understand something, this is only our opinion and not known fact. We never said anything to you because we feared you would try to kill Stern as you did once before.” Rollins then grimaces and looks at Jenny. “Forgive me if I just disclosed any family secrets.”
“My parents have told me about Lindsay’s rape Uncle Bob, although I still can’t imagine Jason violent, he’s the gentlest man I know.”
“Will you at least try to get a search warrant Bob?” Lindsay asks.
“Yes, I don’t think I’ll be able to, based on pure conjecture, but I’ll try.”
“Thank you, that’s all Marcy and I could ask.”
Across the dining room, sitting at a smaller table with her daughter Emma, and Matt, the Chief’s wife, Kathy, Number 2,154, has been eavesdropping attentively.
* * *
Days later, Rollins calls to tell Lindsay that despite his best efforts, he couldn’t find a judge willing to issue a search warrant on a resolved murder case based solely on speculation.
Lindsay thanks him for trying and says goodbye.
“I’ll call Marcy and let her know.”
“Too bad honey, but it was probably nothing.” Jason says.
“I guess we’ll never know.” Lindsay sighs.
Standing at the stove, Jenny smiles, Maybe, Maybe not,
* * *
Sunday morning, 1:58 a.m.
Jenny makes her way downstairs while being careful not to wake her parents or brother.
She goes outside and heads to the woods that border the property, to reclaim the bundle of tools she hid by a tree the night before, after taking a deep breath, she starts walking.
The last time I walked this trail I was coming home to kill myself, my God I was in so much pain then, was that only five years ago?
Arriving at the Stern estate, Jenny comes to an abrupt halt.
Oh my God, what’s happened here?
Five years of neglect have allowed vegetation previously maintained by the gardeners to encroach on the home. Vines climb along all sides of the house and the driveway is cratered, where weeds, thirsting for sunlight, have pushed through cracks.
Most of the windows are broken, and painted across the front of the house in six-foot high, red fluorescent letters is the word, PERVERT.
Jenny carries her tools and flashlight and carefully steps through the jagged opening in the glass front doors. She shines the flashlight around the darkened home and views the devastation.
The furniture looks as if someone had taken a chain saw to it, and nearly every wall on the first level of the house has gaping cracks, like someone had went about madly punching holes.
PERVERT is spray painted inside the house also.
Whoever did this was enraged. Jason? But no, Jason wouldn’t do this. Paul Jr.? Maybe, I know he loves me, but could he be capable of this? No, father has many enemies, a lot of people hate him; it must have been one of them.
Jenny looks at the doorway to the office and feels an involuntary shiver go down her spine. She turns away and heads for the stairs. The second floor appears to have been untouched by the vandalism visited on the house downstairs. Jenny goes to the third door and tries the knob.
It’s locked, damn.
She sticks the tip of a pry bar between the door and its frame and pushes with all her strength, placing her weight behind it.
“Oooohhh,” Jenny cries as the lock breaks easily and she lurches away from the door, nearly losing her balance and falling backward over the carved railing, to the marble floor fifteen feet below. She bends and inspects the lock with the flashlight. Jenny now sees that the elaborate looking mechanism is mainly ornamental.
She mutters, “Cheap lock almost killed me.” and then continues on into the room.
The air inside is stale and almost cloying despite the coldness of the house. She walks to the right side of the bed and looks at the spot where her grandmother died.
I think Lindsay said she was shot sitting down.
There’s no chair present on this side of the bed, but a twin of the one the police took away with the body rests on the other side.
Jenny pushes the chair over to where Charlotte was shot, then sits and looks around with the flashlight.
I don’t see a switch anywhere. Maybe it’s somewhere within reach.
She stretches her arms about, hoping to make contact with a switch of some type. As her right hand gropes behind the bedside table she feels a piece of the table’s backing push in under her touch. Jenny gets up and shines the light behind the table. She pushes again and sees what looks like a miniature door open in the table’s backing.
Oh please be it, please be it,
Jenny pulls the bedside table out from the wall and turns it around to face her. The little door is flush, the seams invisible, disappearing into the very grain of the wood.
Jenny pushes the door again and it swings inward. She shines the flashlight down inside and sees a toggle switch at the bottom of the opening. A “Click” sound is heard faintly in the dead night silence, as Jenny pushes the switch to the left.
Lindsay I think I’ve found it.
Jenny takes the pry bar and tears into the base of the switch, ripping it away from the table. On one end of the switch is brown lamp cord, it runs up through a small hole in the top of the table and connects with the lamp sitting above it.
The lamp is plugged into an electrical outlet in the wall behind where the table sat. The plug not only powered the lamp, but also powered the switch. Three wires, of black, white and red are hanging down from the other end of the switch and back into the table’s base. It is only now that Jenny sees the wires continue out of one of the table’s back legs and into the floor.
She spends the next two hours tearing apart thick oak floorboards with the nearly inadequate pry bar, while following the path of the wires. At last, she removes the final piece of wood only to discover the wires now seem to be headed up the opposite wall.
Why couldn’t the damn vandal have torn holes in this wall too?
Jenny holds the slim pry bar like a sledgehammer in her already cut and bleeding hands and slams it repeatedly into the wall, knocking out thick chunks of plaster with each blow, again, following the path of the wires.
Five feet from the ceiling her search ends. The wires run behind a metal plate attached horizontally between wooden support beams.
Jenny takes a screwdriver from her cache of tools and begins removing the screws that hold the metal plate to the beams. As she takes the last screw from the left side, it drops downward and several 8mm. film reels and video tapes slide off the plate and land atop the rubble.
Jenny pushes the plate down, bending it, and with a shout of glee spots a video camera firmly attached to the plate’s midsection. She dislodges the camera with the tip of the pry bar and disconnects the wires.
She then shines the flashlight up inside the wall where the camera lens was positione
d and sees that the wires continue upward to a small device on a circular piece of wall. The switch in the table must activate not only the camera, but also the circle of wall, so that the camera has a clear shot.
Above the circle are two metal springs aligned vertically. Jenny stands up and runs her hands along the remaining section of wall and finds she can push a square piece inward where a tape could be placed in or taken out of the recorder. She removes her hand and the square falls back into place, pushed by the springs, its edges aligned with the wallpaper’s decorative pattern, making it appear seamless like the door on the table.
Prior to demolishing the wall, Jenny removed a clock hanging on it. The clock sat over the two nearly invisible openings. It’s a miniature grandfather clock and Jenny examines it closely. She now sees that the clock’s backing had been removed along with its pendulum.
Once the camera was activated and the circle of wall moved aside, the clock’s glass front could be filmed through easily. Jenny grimaces, while contemplating what sort of mind thought this up.
And God help me I’m related to the bitch.
She takes a better look at the film reels and videotapes and is confused by the size of the tapes. Jenny shines the flashlight onto the video camera. Betamovie is printed in blue letters across its side.
Betamax? Well, it has been a long time. And I see a tape inside, that’s got to be it!
Jenny lugs the camera along with the reels and the tapes downstairs and makes her way back home through the woods, as the cold night air chills the perspiration on her skin and starts her to shivering.
She places the spoils of her search into her car’s trunk and sneaks back into the cabin. After a hot shower, she treats her cut and callused hands with ointment and dresses again. Once more she sneaks out the backdoor and then makes her way to her car. The next bit of noise can’t be helped.
She picks up the remote and pushes the button that will open the massive iron gates. To Jenny, it sounds as if the world is ending as the huge gates roll along their metal wheels.
She can only pray Jason and Lindsay sleep through the noise.
While passing through the gates, she presses the close button and drives down Hills Road. At the bottom, she turns right onto Atlantic Highway and drives past the beaches and shops of the main boardwalk.
She passes the Beach Club Diner and continues on past the Gateway Bridge, that connects the Island with the city of Harborton, which glistens in the threat of dawn like a shimmering mirage.
She then travels through the Isla Nueva section of the Island where many of the Cuban owned buildings are of the Art Deco style, their pastel colors of pink, green and blue have caused the tourists to dub the area, “Little Miami.”
Jenny makes a left onto Fifth Street and parks in front of a large, well-cared for, two-story house, she then carries the fruits of her night’s work to the home’s front door.
The sun is just beginning to peek above the sea when she takes a deep breath and rings the doorbell. A minute passes; soon a light comes on in the foyer. Through the piece of frosted glass set in the door, Jenny can make out a shape approaching.
Deputy Chief of Police Paul Martinez opens his front door, wearing bathrobe and slippers, and finds his pretty young niece standing there.
“Jenny, what are you doing here so early honey? Is something wrong?”
Jenny, standing there with the video camera and the films piled at her feet, sticks out both hands placed together at the wrists, and tells Paul.
“Arrest me.”
47
Lindsay paces back and forth in Paul and Simone’s living room, while glaring at Jennifer.
“Do you have any idea how much trouble you’re in young lady?”
Jennifer sits alone in the middle of a sofa, with Jason and Matt sitting in the love seat to her left. Paul and Simone sit across from Jennifer on a blue sofa that’s a match for the one she rests on.
Paul called Jason and Lindsay after sending the tapes to the police lab, via patrol car.
“Mom, I was only trying to help, we had to know if there was a tape.”
Lindsay still strides back and forth.
“Breaking and entering, theft, destruction of private property and God knows what else you’ll be charged with all because you wanted to help me? Young lady it doesn’t help me if you go to jail, that doesn’t help me one bit.”
Jennifer glances over at Jason. He hasn’t said a word to me. He must be even madder than Lindsay is. Oh God I let them both down. All I wanted to do was help.
“Do you hear me?” Lindsay says. “No car for a month, I don’t care if you are grown. Not that it will matter, they’ll probably put you in prison for years.”
Paul stands up. “Lindsay, it’s not all that bad.”
“How can this not be bad?”
Paul holds up a hand and counts off. “One, she turned herself in, two, it’s her first offense, and three, it happened in a house where she was abused as a child, those can all be seen as extenuating circumstances. In front of the right judge, and believe me, I will make sure she gets in front of the right judge, I think she could get only a year’s probation, or less.”
“I hope you’re right.” Lindsay says. She stops pacing, calmed by Paul’s assessment of the situation and sits on Jennifer’s right. “What were you thinking?”
“I only wanted to help you. You’ve done so much for me and I just wanted to give something back. I don’t regret doing it either. I’ll only regret it if those tapes show nothing.”
“Coffee’s ready.” Paul Jr. calls from the doorway; he sends Jennifer an encouraging wink.
“You all go ahead.” Jason says. “I want to speak with Jennifer.”
When Jason is alone with Jennifer in the Martinez living room, he rises off the love seat and stands in front of her. Jennifer looks down at the floor timidly and braces herself for a scolding.
“Let me see those hands.” Jennifer places her damaged hands into Jason’s and he gently examines her cuts and abrasions.
“Did you do this last night?”
“Yes.”
“It must have taken a lot of work?”
“Yes.”
“It must have been a little scary?”
“Yes.”
“Stand up.” Jason says. Jennifer stands, and in her boots is nearly eye to eye with Jason. “You love your mother an awful lot don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“I’m so proud of you.” He says, and Jennifer makes eye contact for the first time.
“Are you really proud of me Jason?”
“Yes, but I’m also angry.”
Jennifer lowers her eyes again. “Oh,”
Jason takes her into his arms. “I’m so damn angry I didn’t think of it myself.”
Jennifer hugs him back. “I love you Jason.”
“I love you too baby.” Jason says. They then walk toward the dining room, while holding hands.
“Jason, could you talk to mom about the, ‘No car for a month,’ thing?”
“Don’t press your luck baby.”
* * *
The call comes in around nine o’clock. Jackpot! Charlotte’s entire murder is on tape. Harry’s is not as explicit. The tape shows Derek firing in the direction of Harry’s voice, but you cannot see Harry get shot. Still, it gives the stamp of a lie to Derek’s claim that he shot Harry in self-defense, and is more than enough evidence to put Derek away for years.
Lindsay hugs Jennifer. “You did it Little Girl!”
“I’m glad I could help mom.”
“I hate to do this guys.” Paul tells Jason and Lindsay. “Jenny… you’re under arrest.”
Lindsay takes Jennifer’s hand. “Honey, we’ll be there soon and get you released okay? We love you.”
“I’ll take good care of her, I promise.” Paul says.
Once outside, he places Jennifer in the front seat of his car and gets in. Before he pulls away from the curb, Paul Jr. calls out from the front door.
“Jenny!”
Jennifer lowers the window. “Yes?”
Paul Jr. gives her a big smile. “I’ll wait for you.”
“Oh Paul,” Jennifer says, smiling back, and off she goes to jail.
* * *
Jennifer is released in less than an hour. The Chief said that come Monday morning she’ll appear before Judge Carl J. Allendale. Allendale will then sentence her to six months of probation.
Former Senator Derek Stern is not going to be so fortunate. He’ll face two counts of first-degree murder for the deaths of Charlotte and Harry and one count of criminally negligent homicide in the case of Simona. Derek will possibly spend the rest of his life in prison.
* * *
Rollins sits in the Reynolds’ living room, talking about the case.
“No more country club prison, Stern will soon be moved to a more secure facility until a trial date is set.”
“Good God, killing your own mother, is there nothing beneath that monster?” Jason says.
“If he is a monster he had help getting that way.”
“What do you mean Bob?” Jason asks.
“The other film Jenny found is of Derek and Charlotte, ah, copulating.”
Lindsay makes a face. “You mean they were lovers?”
“Yes. In the earliest footage, one of the 8mm reels, Stern looks to be about ten at the most, that film is… disturbing. In the most recent, the tapes, I’d say he was in his early to mid-twenties.”
“Ten-years-old?” Lindsay says. “My God, I actually feel sorry for him. Wait a minute; that would also mean they were doing this while Derek and I were—oh God, I think I might be sick.”
With a small smile, Rollins says. “Sorry to be the bearer of bad news.”
“Thanks again for all your help today Bob, you’re like our family’s guardian angel.”
Rollins stands up to leave. “Don’t mention it Jason, things always even out in the end.”
“Give our love to Kathy and your little sweetie Emma.” Lindsay says.
At the door, Rollins turns. “Oh yes, that reminds me,” He reaches into his wallet. “Take a look at this.” He hands Jason a photocopy of Emma’s report card.
Jason smiles, it always tickles him to watch the normally sedate Rollins beam excitedly whenever he speaks of his daughter.
