by Paul Sating
This was where the refined art of reporting came into play. "Mr. Ramirez, I don't understand a lot of things people do," Janis turned away, taking in the scene. "I'm sorry for asking you to relive it; I imagine it's not easy, so I appreciate your time. Would you be able to show me exactly where you found her?" She didn't want to ask, but between his urgency to get back to normalcy, given away by the deepening concern lines on his face, Janis knew she was running out of time.
Hector answered by unconvincingly acquiescing. "Yes."
They made their way off the gravel road, north back toward Nonconnah Creek and the spot near where Hector found the body. The trees were thicker here, enough to provide privacy to anyone who wanted to dump evidence. Crime scene tape was strewn for hundreds of yards, wrapped from tree to tree and even one of the pillars of the expanse bridge, cutting off everything authorities wanted to secure. There was also a nervous looking officer stationed inside the cordon who she didn't want to rile. They were close enough to cover their discussion underneath the slight rumble of the water moving downstream, perfect for disguising what she wanted to get out of Hector.
"So, what you do for a living, Mr. Ramirez?" Janis figured starting out slowly would open him up more. Being this close to the scene might shut him down if she wasn't careful.
"Me?" He seemed surprised by the question. "Oh, I'm a manager. A small office. I oversee contracts. Pretty boring."
"Do you like it?"
"Does anyone like to work?"
"I do." It wasn't necessarily a lie, just not the full truth.
"Oh, I'm sorry," Hector responded. "I'm not used to people liking their jobs. I don't think I ever have. A job is a job, you know? It's something we do in my family to feed the kids. I don't think any of us ever enjoyed what we do for a living."
"I don't think I could find the motivation to get out of bed in the morning if I hated what I was waking up to," Janis replied, before the flash-bang of a clear memory popped in her brain. "Actually, I take that back. There've been a few times work was a living hell. I don't want to think about those again though. Miserable."
Hector crossed his arms, still warily glancing toward the river. "It can be," he said. "Someday I'll do something I want, but it will probably have to wait until after the kids are grown."
"Oh yeah? What do you want to do?"
Hector blinked, slow and forced. "I've always—" his dispassionate response ended abruptly.
"Mr. Ramirez?" Janis glanced over her shoulder, half expecting the on-duty cop to be approaching them. "Is everything okay?"
Hector extended his arm, pointing at a vague reference spot down the creek bank. "There. That's where I saw her."
11
The drive home wasn't as quiet as she would have preferred. Janis usually played the radio while driving, it helped break her constantly building road rage, but right now all the noise she could ever desire was in her head.
Janis was outlining Memphis' story.
She had to work while she drove because there was too much to do, too much to set up. The workload was constant lately, but wasn't that by design? Still, that fact didn't make managing everything any easier.
She was now, and would be until the story was told, working hard. Hard enough to collapse in her bed, fully clothed, as soon as she got home.
Sleep didn't come after the collapse.
All of this was growing quickly. Thrilled at the decision to force Hector Ramirez to meet at Nonconnah Creek, Janis had won a small victory by gaining that crucial insight into her story. Information came easy once he unraveled, but due to the skittish man in blue the Memphis PD stationed at the site, she didn't get to traipse around the area as much as she would have liked, with or without Hector Ramirez by her side. The officer was a little excited when he saw her and Hector, but he relaxed once Janis mentioned Marshall's name. Flirting paying off immediate dividends again. Connections. Amazing what you can get away with if you know the right people.
Hector shook as he detailed the path he ran that morning and the experience of coming across Ms. Chapman's body. Janis felt for him as he stopped a number of times to collect himself, taking his time to get into the details. But she didn't complain; he gave her plenty of unreported specifics Marshall hadn't mentioned before realizing how late he was and hurriedly excusing himself, leaving her standing there, facing down the overly protective officer.
Janis smirked as she stared up at the ceiling fan she hadn't even turned on when she got home, remembering the officer's dumbfounded expression when she'd waved to him and said goodbye, thanking him for his time. The poor guy was too confused to respond in kind.
She thought about Margaret Chapman. She thought about Hector Ramirez and the bad luck he had coming across her so quickly after her murder. And she thought about the case, the snippets Hector shared, some of which she wasn't aware of, most of which she was. Validation was good, corroboration built confidence.
Her cellphone buzzed. An email from Marshall. Janis' heart thumped as her eyes danced across the text. Marshall was showing the level of trust she yearned for but didn't expect earning for days, weeks, still. Apparently, the Shelby County Medical Examiner's preliminary estimate for Chapman's time of death to be between midnight and the early morning. Poor Hector Ramirez, Margaret Chapman had only been dead a few hours before his run took him across her path. Maybe it was to his benefit? Corpses didn't get prettier the longer they were exposed to the elements.
The wider public didn't know yet, but it was only a matter of time before word got out. People like Hector Ramirez, normal people with normal lives who desired nothing more than extended normality, didn't keep quiet about things like this. When things like this happened to people like that, they were the first ones to tell everyone about their experiences.
Their life's highlight.
There was an emotional distance between people like Hector and a victim like Margaret Chapman. He didn't know her, two individuals sharing a world but none of its space. So the point would come, probably soon, where Hector would be compelled to tell friends and family about this dramatic incident, and when he did, word would spread. If news of Lacy Nichols and Margaret Chapman got out, the authorities would have a nightmare on their hands. The city would realize it was living that nightmare.
And it was only a matter of time.
Staring at the unmoving ceiling fan, Janis' jaw tightened as she clenched. Stress. The pressure of having access to things others didn't, and needing to execute, without failure. For some reporters it was exciting but, it got to be too much at times. A conflict if you had a moral code, to use or not use exclusive information for gain.
Janis rolled over and snagged the recorder off the nightstand. It almost slipped in her sweaty palm.
"This is going to take a toll on me, Monica," she said, the warm plastic of the recorder dancing across her lips as exhaustion beat down. "I'd ask you to keep Angelique away, but you won't hear any of this until it's all over, so that would be pointless. Plus, Angelique doesn't listen well, and we both know that."
She pressed the square button to end the recording, laying back on her pillow and looking up at all the places that begged to be painted as soon as she had enough money to hire someone.
Monica. Angelique. Hector. Chapman and Lacey. Marshall. A swirl of faces becoming one.
The recorder slipped from her hand when sleep drifted over her.
***
The small rambler home on Farrington Street was awake but dying, its front porch supported by three pillars that narrowed as they reached to support the overhanging roof. The concrete slab porch no more than three feet high, making it a solitary foot taller than the grass, was cracked in more places than it was smooth.
Angelique winced, feeling Janis' shame radiate across the short distance from driver seat to passenger.
Janis parked just past the corner where her mother's fence opened to the driveway. The ancient chain-link was more burnt orange than silver at this point in its life, even sagging in place
s between the support poles. Angelique gave it a wayward glance.
"Broke off earlier this year," Janis answered the unasked question. "Mom swears she's going to fix it. She's been swearing for years to fix a lot of things. One of these days she might actually get around to it. This shit wouldn't fly if Dad was still with her."
Angelique had to admit she was horrified by the deterioration of the house since the last time she'd been here. It hadn't been that long, months at most, but this place looked like a zombie apocalypse or two had passed in between visits.
She remembered Janis telling her this was the only place Pam could afford when she moved to Memphis to be closer. It was supposed to be temporary, but then Pam supposedly fell in love with the home, the neighborhood, and local church. Janis said once that happened, Pam was never moving.
"I'm sorry about this," Janis apologized with a large sigh to Angelique.
"Why, girl?"
"My mother," was all Janis said, as if it explained everything.
She opened the door and the wall of Memphis heat punched her in the face. She grinned at Janis, knowing her friend would hate it. "Nice and sticky."
"The only way we do it in Memphis, right?" Janis stepped out without so much as a glance over to Angelique.
They walked to the door in single file since the tall grass and crumbling sidewalk made side-by-side positions hazardous. Janis knocked hard enough that Angelique feared the decrepit door might fall off its hinges. Unsurprising, since Janis was like this anytime she had to see her mother, focused and aggressive.
No answer. She knocked again. This time muted footsteps made their way closer to the door from somewhere deep in the small home.
"Breathe," Angelique reminded Janis, relieved when her friend took a deep breath.
The door opened, revealing Pam Herring's beaming face. She was all of five foot three and reed thin, one of the few people who seemed able to avoid the inevitable weight gain of age and southern cuisine. Her wispy hair, once blonde, had capitulated to gray long ago. But it was Pam's direct eye contact that made Angelique squirm. She dismissed it as a result of a lifetime of old, white people shitting on her, and not because Pam was strange, but never offensive or racist. She'd never given off that vibe, though Angelique always felt there was something off about the woman.
"Janis? Angelique?" Pam exclaimed excitedly. "What are you girls doing here? Come in, come in! It's been too long." She hugged Angelique first, smelling of a mix of hair product and sweat, before stepping over to her daughter. Their shared moment was much more awkward and abrupt.
"Hi mom, I need to pick up some stuff. We're not here for a visit."
The corners of Pam's eyes sagged. "Oh, I was hoping this was a visit. Sure I can't convince you to stay? I could put on some coffee."
"I don't have time," Janis answered. "I'm working a story. Excuse me." Janis stepped past her mother, completely avoiding contact even in the narrow hall.
Angelique stepped in behind Janis and tried to cover her nose without being noticed. The house stunk of old cabbage. She hoped the gesture fooled Pam into thinking she was just itching her nose.
The front sitting room was crowded out by fragile looking boxes and tacky knickknacks of all designs. The way the house smelled, Angelique wondered how many dead mice were turning to dust in those boxes. She hadn't wanted to gag this bad since the last time she saw a man naked. A request to crack a window was at Angelique's lips, only her friendship with Janis keeping it at bay.
"Janis," Pam huffed, her gaze moving with Janis but her body remaining uncomfortably close to Angelique. "That child, shall be the death of me, I swear."
"Sorry, Ms. Herring. How are you?"
Pam shrugged, putting her hand on the small of Angelique's back and welcoming her into the house. Angelique tried not to squirm. "Oh, don't you apologize, Angelique. The Lord keeps me well. I got my health, thanks to Him, even if I still have a daughter without decent manners. But He gives us struggles so we can grow, doesn't He?"
"I guess so," Angelique said noncommittally.
"Well, let's not stand around. Have a seat and let's chat," Pam smiled.
Janis disappeared into her old room, and Angelique heard her quickly opening and closing one drawer after another, slamming them hard enough that they echoed their hollowness.
"Where's my box?" She called out, slamming another nightstand drawer.
Angelique bit her lip as she watched Pam's face cringe with each embarrassment. She was staying out of this mother-daughter thing.
"Your box?" Pam called down the hallway. "Child, how would I know? It's probably where you left it."
"It's not."
"Sorry honey," Pam was now standing in the doorway of Janis' bedroom, leaving Angelique gratefully isolated from the drama. "I haven't seen it. Do you remember where you put it?"
The next draw slam sounded hard enough to splinter cheap wood. The pair had a contentious relationship, that wasn't news to Angelique, so the tension wasn't a surprise. The two had displayed worse over the years. But Angelique knew it would only grow into a screaming match if she didn't intervene, so she tepidly stepped down the hall until she was watching Janis over Pam's shoulder. Janis' freckled cheeks were tinted red as she spun to face her mother. "I put it right here! And it's gone. What did you do with it?"
Angelique shook her head. "Damn girl, relax."
Pam methodically crossed her arms. "Calm down Janis. I haven't the slightest clue where it is. It's around here somewhere. How about I call you if I come across it?"
"I need it now, Mother. I can't wait until you're bothered to look for it. It was right here when I left last week. What did you do with it?"
"That is enough, young lady. I won't put up with you speaking like that," Pam's eyes narrowed. "Now, I can make us coffee and we can sit and visit for little bit and catch up. Get your mind off this box and what not. Maybe then you'll remember where you left it. Does that sound good?" Before Janis could respond or Angelique could accept the unwanted imitation out of awkward obligation, Pam muttered "You don't need that thing right now, anyway."
Officially, this was now the last place in Memphis Angelique wanted to be. She looked to Janis for an indication to transition out of the house but her red-tempered friend was busy trying to break drawers, it seemed.
"Dammit! It's not here." Janice growled, shaking the dresser mirror with her latest thrust.
Pam was behind her now pushing the next drawer closed before Janis opened it. She leaned closer to Janis as if she wanted to keep her message between the pair of them. "I said I would call you—" More was said, but Angelique couldn't make it out, and she didn't even see Pam's hand clamped around Janis' wrist until the younger woman yanked her hand away.
"We're leaving. I'm working a story right now so I've got a million things on my plate and no time for any of them."
Pam's disposition changed in a flash. Whereas Janis' actions seemed to upset her, the mention that her daughter was tackling work instantly brightened Pam's face. "Oh exciting! For your Internet television job? That one?"
Angelique corrected, "She's on YouTube, Pam. It's not television, well, sort of, but it's more like—"
Janis pushed past Pam and left the bedroom, Angelique quickly stepped aside to let her by. "I'll see you later. Call me if you find it."
"Oh, well, okay," Pam shuffled after the pair. "It was nice seeing you again, Angelique."
Janis was already at the front door, holding it open and allowing the heated air to seep inside.
"You too, Pam. Sorry about all this." She wasn't sure what else to say, but was grateful to be by the door to catch some fresh air.
Pam stood next to her, a hand on her back. Janis watched every movement. Apparently, the awkwardness of the situation wasn't yet behind her.
But Pam aimed her comment at Janis instead. "Honey, I'll call you as soon as I find it. Don't you worry."
"Thanks," Janis said and stepped out into the Memphis sun.
"Bye P
am," Angelique leaned in for a quick hug before chasing her red-headed friend down the sidewalk, aware that Pam's eyes were watching both until they were back to the car.
They couldn't pull away quickly enough.
12
Angelique eyed Janis discretely as the neighborhood fell behind. The tension of stopping by Pam's house had only now started to abate.
Janis and her mother were a unique pair. Like a lot of mothers and daughters, they always seemed to be near each other's throats every time they weren't at them. Pam was strange but perpetually sweet. A reserved woman, she was still modern enough to not treat Angelique any differently because she was black and gay. That was never a guarantee in a place like Memphis. But, around Pam, Angelique always felt on-edge, even if she couldn't explain why.
"Well, that was awkward," she tried a little light humor, testing to see where Janis' head was.
Janis could be levelheaded and analytical one minute and a raging sack of hormones ready to explode on the world the next. An unpredictable forecast. Angelique was one of the few people, if not the only person, who could get away with poking fun in a deliberate tactic to bring Janis back from the emotional edge.
"God, I can't stand that woman. She drives me absolutely insane," Janis groaned. "How did she lose it?" The question felt aimed more to herself than Angelique.
"What were you looking for?" Angelique prodded. "You were in a bit of a panic. What the hell was it?"
"Huh?" Janis asked, her eyes gaining an immediate focus they hadn't had since she went into her rage search threw her drawers. "Oh, nothing."
"Nothing? You made a big stink over nothing? I doubt it."
Janis straightened. "It's nothing, okay?"
"Whoa, girl," Angelique held up a hand, "you can talk to your mother like that, but I don't play that game, okay?" She let the reminder hang in the air.
Janis's expression softened as she bit her lip. The flush of victory at getting through Janis' defenses was reserved because it was temporary. Directness was the only way to get through to her friend in times like this, so she wasn't surprised that it had worked, though it was fleeting, because it always was with Janis. Now was not the time to turn down the heat. "What's up with you? You seemed irritated. Over a box?"
