by Paul Sating
'Mad' didn't even begin to explain what Janis was feeling. "You had no right."
Pam stuttered but remained steadfast. "She told me what happened at the office between you and your coworker."
"So what?" Janis snapped. "It doesn't give you a right."
"How long are you going to hold onto those memories?" Pam interrupted. "How long are you going to refuse to let it go? Don't you think it's time you moved on? It's not healthy."
Janis's throat clamped closed. Rage. Fear of exploring the darker corner of her mind, the one that hid her father. "Move on!" Janis scoffed. "Move on? Oh, that's rich, mother! So I should just move on, should I? Okay, fine. What do you propose I move on from?"
"Well, you could start by—" Pam began, but Janis wasn't about to allow her mother to determine the course this conversation.
"After all, I have an array of choices, don't I? Where do I start?" Janis asked, having no interest in her mother's opinion. "Maybe with those girls who bullied me? Maybe with the girl I beat senseless, which got me thrown out of that school, but only after she tortured me forever? Or I could start with dad. Yeah, maybe that's where I'll start. I mean, you pushing him to drink never created any problems! Never fucking pushed him away from us, did it? The neglect? The attention I still yearn for? The father I wanted to have in my life but was constantly denied? We wouldn't want to discuss that, would we? How you allowed that? How you fucking allowed our family to be ripped apart!" Janis's throat raged with the fire of each word. Rawness scratched at her voice, breaking. "Should we hold hands and explore how I was never good enough? How he never got to tell me he was proud of me?"
"That is enough, young lady!" Pam shouted. "You idolized your father, rightfully so, and I will not have you dishonor him like that."
"It's not nearly enough, Mother! I can do this all day. God knows our family has given me enough to work with."
"Don't you dare talk about the Lord like that! He gives everyone struggles." Pam sounded like she'd just eaten the most bitter concoction anyone had the audacity to serve her.
Janis hoped her vicious laugh sent barbs to the deepest reaches of her mother's black soul. "Oh yeah, he has! Like being touched by your grandfather and telling your mother, only for her to defend the honor of the offender? That type of struggle, Mother?" The barbs must have sunk deep as measured by the utter silence on the other end of the phone. "You'll never know what it's like to be raised in a home like that or why I am the way I am. You never cared to understand because you were too busy making sure we always presented the image of the perfect little Christian family, didn't you? We couldn't have your friends at church knowing what was really happening behind closed doors, could we?"
Janis waited, letting the uncomfortable silence throb between the opposing women. Satisfied that her mother was beaten down, Janis finished, "You failed your only child, mother. So do me a favor and spare me the life lessons, okay? You're the last person who should be telling anyone how to live."
Her mother's response was brittle. "Janis, I'm sorry. I just worry about you."
But Janis wasn't listening. She was done with the conversation, bordering on being done with her mother. "Have a nice day."
Pressing the END button felt like a victory. She crushed the leather–bound steering wheel cover, a few flakes of the dry rotted material crumbled against her palm. The constant drone of her car tires on the rough road surface helped her melt away from reality.
She needed to go into that place before she got to the office.
***
Noise erupted into life by opening the heavy door. Phones rung. Hundreds of fingers clicked away on keyboards. A low but persistent murmuring rose above cubicles filled with writers and reporters putting together stories of all varieties.
And Janis struggled to keep her face straight. The residue of her dark mood clung still, thanks to her mother's selfishness. Pretending things were okay wasn't her strong suit.
"Hey Janis, you doing all right?" a man in his thirties smiled as he passed.
"Good morning," she stumbled, not remembering his name.
She made it ten feet before another reporter, this one a woman, the one with the limp from bad knees, passed. "Hi Janis. Having a good day?" Janis wasn't sure, but she thought the woman's name was Joan.
"Hi. Uh, yeah, thanks."
Today, of all days, people didn't need to go out of their way to be friendly. Atypical behavior for the newsroom, where introverted reporters had better relationships with their computer monitors than the humans they shared space with. This was odd, bordering on intentional, as if something had been said to the staff.
Janis approached Monica's office and knocked.
"Come in!" Monica shouted from the other side of the thick door.
Janis walked into a party. The large, disorganized office was busy with chatter and people. Monica, Branson, and Angelique sat around the circular table off to the side of Monica's office, overlooking the southern end of Memphis. Janis paused. What were they doing together again? Especially Branson. Why did he have to get involved in everything? And why couldn't Monica be stronger and deny him pulling the typical penis card and thinking he had a place at the table just because he was a man? "I see it's a party again. I'm surprised Marshall isn't joining us."
"He's on his way in," Monica said without looking up.
"Of course he is," Janis covered her sneer, setting her portfolio down on the desk. "Think we could ever have a staff meeting without him? Or Branson?" She added the last bit without even trying to cover her distaste for her peer's presence.
"I'm part of this team." Branson began.
"Don't start, Branson," Monica chided before directing her next comment at Janis. "I'm sorry if you feel that involving others is a slight; it isn't meant to be."
"That's good to hear."
Monica stopped writing, staring at Janis as if she was trying to figure out whether or not she had a new hairstyle. "So, while were waiting, I'd like to—" a brusque knock at the door stopped her comment mid–sentence. Before Monica could welcome in the new visitor, the door cracked open and Marshall peeked his head inside. Monica waved him in. "Thanks for coming in, Marshall. You got something?"
Marshall dropped into the last chair and leaned back, rubbing his forehead with both hands. "I do. A couple of things, actually."
"Did you find out who was hanging around the building, stalking Janis?" Angelique prodded.
"Jesus, Angelique," Janis said, tight words, aimed like arrows at her friend. "I can't tell you shit. No wonder I got the red carpet treatment from everyone."
"Sorry honey, but I told you I wasn't going to keep it secret," Angelique admitted with unabashed honesty.
"There someone hanging around the building?" Branson asked. "Doing what?"
Monica waved the end of her pencil in a circular motion at nothing in particular. "He followed Janis to her car."
Branson's face scrunched. "Why didn't I hear about this?"
Janis sat, afraid to speak for the heat that was building again. A word now would become thousands, would become something regrettable. Were they actually okay talking about her as if she wasn't sitting right there with them? They wouldn't silence her, but she had to do this politically. "Because it's none of your business. Plus, it wasn't a big deal."
Marshall pulled his hands away from rubbing his face and slapped his thighs, sitting upright. "Be that as it may, I told you last time you can't be too careful. To answer your question, no, we haven't been able to make much from the surveillance footage. Your cameras are too high, and that side of the street is cloaked in shadows. The street lights don't reach more than a few feet into the field and this guy was smart enough to stay hidden. It was hard as hell the make out much detail."
"Great, so we're all still in danger," Angelique hugged her notepad to her chest.
"Maybe."
"Can we not upset my staff, Marshall?" Monica rotated the pencil like she was sweeping the room with a firehose.
Angelique tsked. "We're used to living like that. Men can be predators, in case you weren't aware."
"Now who's being a sexist?" Branson commented.
"Everyone just be careful." Marshall sounded tired. "Be smart and everyone should be fine. I don't think you have much to worry about, not any more than everyone else in the city. This was probably just a one–off. For all we know this could've been someone interested in finding out more about the story or seeing if they could harass one of your staff into releasing details. It's possible Janis was an arbitrary pick, an accident. You in the media know people can be dogged about getting information or even being invasive with someone's life if they're seen as a celebrity."
Monica's lips pinched. "I'd like to believe you don't think that about all of us."
"What?" Marshall asked. "The celebrity comment or about getting information? Because information is leaking, Monica. That's partially why I wanted to stop by. I'm not sure which one of you is talking, but let me be very clear, cease any conversations about the story outside of what is releasable. Got it? Last warning or I'm done working with you, Monica."
Monica's eyes grew large. "Are you sure there's a leak? I—I know these people; I'd vouch for everyone in this room. You know me. I wouldn't be so flippant or reckless with my testimonials."
"One of the things I've learned in the years of dealing with bad guys is that no matter how well you think you know someone, people always have a few surprises up their sleeves," Marshall replied.
Janis didn't appreciate the implication. What had happened to Marshall? Previously, he'd been so warm and charming. Had it all been an act?
"Don't get too comfortable. Whoever is talking, handle them, or I will," he finished, drawing a flinch from Monica.
"That almost sounds like a threat," Janis interrupted with a healthy dose of bitchiness. She couldn't help herself. Something had to be said, Marshall needed to be confronted and if Monica didn't have the guts to, she would.
Marshall simply nodded. Unruffled. "We're dealing with a serious situation."
As if inspired by Janis, Monica leaned forward, "We're well aware of how serious this is, Marshall. There's no benefit in talking about it. Not for us. I'm not sure what someone would get out from giving away details."
"People do things for the strangest reasons," Marshall shrugged. "Who knows? Maybe that person loves proving they're in the know? Don't know, don't care. One thing that is true is the media's love to drive panic. It sells. Papers. Advertising slots. You name it."
Even from across the table, Janis saw Monica's eyes twitching. Waterworks were just seconds away. "We're friends. I hope you're seriously not implying someone here is leaking information, or that I would. Especially so we can sell papers of advertising off this tragedy?"
Marshall's response was flat, devoid of any anger or even frustration. "There's a leak, Monica. Plug it. Now," he sat back, his shoulders slumping, "if we're all good with that, I've got some information on a suspect."
Janis shot up, relinquishing the need to defend the conduct of anyone in the room. "What?"
"Seriously? You arrested him?" Angelique beamed.
Marshall just shook his head. "I said I have information. We're watching him, checking out his background. He's murky."
"What you mean?" Branson asked. "Got something more than that?"
Marshall tilted his head to the side, blinking slowly. With his frustration now abated, Janis thought he looked every bit of a man in control again. Things moved inside her. Focusing on the task at hand was so damn difficult with Marshall around. "There isn't a lot on him. No mortgages, no car loans. Spotty employment history. Doesn't appear to have used much in the way of social programs either. He's the type who flies under the radar, it appears. Picked up on a misdemeanor a few years back, stole some gardening tools from an old couple over in Whitechapel. Low-profile stuff."
"But there was enough to get your attention?" Monica asked.
"We're looking at every option, but yeah, there's enough," Marshall answered. "We did some running in the homeless circles around the mission. Some of the parks around the city too. Apparently, there are a couple of new guys running the streets who the established residence are staying away from."
"Why this guy, specifically?" Janis asked slowly.
Marshall reached down to the floor, grabbing the envelope he left there, then slid it into the middle of the table. "Not just him. There's a few others. As a matter fact, I brought this."
Janis resisted the urge to snatch the package, allowing Monica to grab it. She flipped it open, nodding silently before passing around the handful of pictures, one by one.
Marshall nodded in the direction of the envelope. "Go ahead, take a look. Mugshots of the three we're keeping a closer eye on. Hank Reynolds, Roman Byars, and one guy known as Teddy, real name, or at least the name he insisted on being booked under last time he was picked up, was Rick Watford."
Angelique look confused as she passed the pictures to Janis. "These guys don't look homeless. Well, this one does, but the other two don't."
"I never said they were," Marshall countered. "We're looking at a few of the homeless, but not restricting the search to just them. That would be bad police work. Those three you have in front of you, let's just say we're getting real comfortable with what they do in their spare time."
"That's not creepy or anything," Angelique mumbled as she examined the picture in her hand.
Marshall didn't let the slight slip. "I imagine you'd rather feel safer than debate the morality of our tactics?"
"You got me there," Angelique admitted with a smirk that bordered on flirtatious. Janis' teeth ground, even though her eyes remained locked on the picture in her own hands.
"I was about to ... Janis? You okay?"
"Huh?" she grunted. "Yeah, I'm fine." It was a lie.
"You sure?" Monica asked.
Leave me alone. Just talk about the case or entertain Branson's hurt feelings. Stop focusing on me. Janis covered her thoughts with the friendliest smile she felt like mustering. "Yeah, yeah. Nothing. It's nothing." Heat rose in her cheeks under the group's scrutiny.
Marshall's examination was the most intense. Intimate. "You see something in those mugshots? Recognize any of them?"
She did, but there was no way she could admit it. Not even Angelique could find out. "No. Just ... these guys look so normal. I'm shocked that one of them, any of them, could be behind these murders or done something as terrible as what the killer did to those women."
"Like I said, don't fool yourself and get comfortable with people. They'll never cease to surprise you," Marshall warned. He pointed at the photographs. "Keep those shots. Hopefully, they'll help your research. Just keep this close–hold, okay? I don't need anyone discovering copies of the shots somehow left our control."
Marshall's confidence was disarming and Janis felt herself flushing again. "No, no. Thank you. I appreciate it. This will help."
"You're welcome."
They locked eyes. Electricity coursed through her, making things move deep inside. Janis felt the schoolgirl smile she wore, imagining she looked like an idiot in front of all of them.
Then, just as quickly as it sprang to life, the moment was ruined by Monica. "Anything else you have for us on the victims?"
Marshall's gaze was pulled away. Janis stifled her growl.
"Nope, everything is checking out," he said. "No family problems. Good relationships. Relatively healthy; not into the drug scene or anything. We were able to positively match the finger left at your doors to the first victim."
Monica shook her head. "Sad."
"What about the letter?" Janis asked, figuring she might as well focus on the purpose of his visit since Marshall was all business again.
He grimaced. "Yeah, that's the frustrating piece. Whoever wrote it knows more than they should. It's the best evidence we have right now. But still, this killer is meticulous. He's not leaving us much of anything to work with, not on the bodies, not at the scenes, and not in the letter either. He's cocky and he's good. Too good."
"Too good?" Branson asked. "Is there something more, something you suspect, or is it a gut feeling?"
Without even looking at Branson, Marshall answered, "It is what it is." Janis smiled at the slight aimed towards Branson. She saw Angelique trying to cover her own. The only one who seemed oblivious was Monica.
"You're holding back, Marshall." Monica wagged one of the photos at him.
His air of confidence was spreading. So was the warmth in between her legs. "I am," Marshall admitted. "Listen, I'm under no obligation to share everything with you. I'm not sure how many times I need to drop this tidbit before one of you picks it up. There are things you, as civilians, don't need to know. And before you try to sell me a line about helping develop the story, I don't want to hear it. It's not your job. That's not Janis's role. She's a reporter, okay? You don't push me for more or I'll cut you off completely. You're lucky you're getting this much after I found out about the leaks."
"You need us," Angelique argued. "The city deserves to—"
That tactic wouldn't work with Marshall. Janis jumped in to rescue the course of his response. "Didn't you say yourself that people can surprise you? You're not willing to give me the opportunity to do the very thing for you? Who knows, if you give me what you've got, maybe I'll uncover something that'll crack this case wide open?"
"Maybe you will," Marshall replied. "Maybe you won't. Right now I'm not taking that chance. Sorry. Stay in your lane." He stood suddenly. His presence grew; Janis' heart beat galloped, a good part of her wanting to tackle him right there and then. "Have a good day everyone, and, remember, I'm not fucking around, Monica. Find that leak." Without another word, with no farewell, Marshall strode from the office and closed the door behind him, leaving the four newspaper employees to stare dumbly at each other.
