Four Days of Fall

by Beck Jones

  Well, at least that gave him breathing room. No way those two were going to turn in the flask to some kind of lost and found, even if the park had one. So the flask carrying his DNA like a time bomb was gone.

  The two hikers were already up on the ledge when he finally got there. He was sweating and breathing heavy, just like the first time he came up here.

  The two college dicks were hogging the ledge, clowning around at the edge, taking selfies. Suddenly, one of them made a bum step backward and began wind milling his arms.

  Three fast steps and he had the kid by the collar and yanked him forward so he couldn’t go over.

  He dropped the collar, but couldn’t help himself. “Why don’t you watch what the fuck you are doing?”

  Stupid shit.

  That’s all he fucking needed. Unless he shoved the other one over, too, he might have gotten roped in as a witness.

  The two of them shot him a look like third graders giving side eye to some buzz kill of a teacher. And they’d gotten a good look at him, too. Goddammit.

  “Get the fuck out of here.” He was yelling now, and he didn’t give a shit.

  They stumbled away, looking sullen. like their fucking little feelings were hurt. Whiny babies. No idea there were people in the world who had to work for a living.

  They weren’t so special. He could damn sure bet neither of them had never been written about in a best seller. Would have been nice to tell Amy I’m in a book. A fucking best-seller. That’s me.

  He took a breath. At least he was alone now. He tried to remember the night before. Her pulling him, away from the edge. But was it a straight line.

  He walked the imaginary line. No, nothing there.

  He moved slowly sideways, and finally he found glasses, bent, and the mound of congealing puke. He used a leaf to pick out the condom from the puke mound. He walked to the edge. The water was below, thirty feet. Maybe forty. No way that kid would have survived. He tossed the condom and it sailed over into the water and rushed away.

  There was nothing left of him here.

  Of course, he’d left his mark on her book. But nobody would ever know that.

  With his cap pulled low, he made his way out. He passed the two idiots on the way to his car, but didn’t make eye contact. And he was in her rental anyway.

  Spoiled little rich pricks. Serve them right if he snuffed them just for fun. He could do that now.

  Maybe he wouldn’t even miss Amy.

  He drove back by downtown and parked across the street from the Raven. The Apron might work the lunch shift. He wasn’t sure what he would be willing to do in broad daylight, but the Apron was the only one so far who could connect him to Scarlett.

  Still if the cops sat the Apron down with an artist, what he would have the artist draw? An average looking guy with a cap and glasses. And he now had the glasses, which he didn’t need, in his own possession.

  Maybe the Apron was overkill. So to speak.

  He headed back to the Victorian, and Scarlett.

  And to what he had to do.

  THE COPS

  “Maybe we should have asked Stockton about McGann’s fingerprints on the pen,” Murphy said to Yablonski, who was leaned back in the seat, gazing up at the network building.

  “So they shared a pen. Probably not all they shared.”

  “Think the kid will tell us anything?”

  Yablonski shrugged. “Hell, we can’t be sure he knows anything. But Eleanor King isn’t going to tell us shit that for sure. Do you think they’re having a thing? Or had a thing?”

  “I wonder. And how stupid does this guy have to be to knock off a girl he’s screwed and leave his pen at the scene?”

  “Think there’s anything to his enemies list?”

  “I think we need to look at enemies within first. There he is.”

  They were out of their car in a moment, and a moment later they were hustling the kid into the back of their car. Murphy slid behind the wheel, and Yablonski turned sideways, resting his arm on the back of the seat.

  The kid was irate, red-faced. His voice shook a little. “What do you want? You can’t just pick me up off the street like this.”

  “Well, yeah, Gabe, I’m afraid we can,” Yablonski said. “And we can take you down to the station if we want. If that’s what you want. Or we can take a few minutes right here to have a little chat. Nothing too tough, just a couple of questions that you can answer.”

  Murphy turned her head. “Without the whole network knowing. Or do you want the everybody buzzing about your boss?”

  “Well, you two already did a good job with that,” he said, spittle flying out at that. “You’re trying to intimidate Russ. But he won’t let you, I can promise you that.”

  “You think your boss is a good guy,” Yablonski said. “I can see that.”

  “He’s practically an institution in American journalism.”

  “Whooh,” Murphy said, “That’s big.”

  The kid flushed a deeper red. “We have an important story going right now and—”

  “More important than two murdered women?” Yablonki said, raising an eyebrow.

  “No, of course not! You’re twisting my words. You guys don’t care about the truth.”

  “Yeah, your boss says he does. He says he’s launched his own investigation.”

  This was clearly news to the kid. Who looked almost hurt.

  Murphy probed the hurt spot. “What do you know about his investigation?”

  “Just keep playing detective,” the kid said stoutly. “And we’ll do the real investigation.”

  “Why do you think he wouldn’t tell you about his investigation?” Murphy asked.

  Bulls eye.

  “You don’t know anything,” the kid said and turned his head to look out the window.

  “Your boss said he got a message Andrew Shrekel. Something about light dying.”

  Gabe kept his gaze fasted on the window. The little shit was practically pouting. “Yes, you see, unlike you, my boss goes after real criminals like Shrekel and nails them,” he said. “There are all kinds of bad dudes who would like to see Russell Stockton hurt.”

  “Yeah, he’s got a lot of enemies out there,” Murphy said. “But what about enemies inside your building? Inside your show, even? Do you think he suspects you of setting him up, and that’s why he hasn’t told you about his investigation?”

  This got the kid’s attention. He snapped his head around. “That’s bullshit!” Again, with the spittle flying.

  “Okay,” Yablonski said. “But what about people who maybe care a little too much about Russell Stockton? Let’s consider this. Suppose your boss slept with those girls—”

  “How would I know?” Gabe said. “I mean, no, I’m sure he didn’t. But I don’t arrange his social calendar,” he added, trying and flailing at sarcasm.

  “But you were closer in age to those interns,” Murphy said, reasonably. “Maybe they talked to you?”

  Gabe snorted. “I never tried to talk to them. Why bother? They really didn’t do anything except decorate the office—”

  “Oh, yeah? Yet you’re sure your boss didn’t sleep with them.”

  The kid ran his fingers through his spiky hair. “Russ could have his pick—” He stopped, shrugged. “And maybe he has slept with a lot of women. He’s a big star at the network. Lots of women would probably jump at the chance. Why choose some dumb college girls?”

  “I’ve seen pictures of those young women when they were alive,” Yablonski said. “I can see a few reasons.”

  “He’s not that shallow. Russ is a serious person. Do you think he could do the work he’s done, and—and—and—fritter away his time like that?”

  Murphy sighed. “Well, I’ve found that men are pretty good at frittering in that way. And what about Paul McGann?”

  “Paul McGann was a pig. I don’t know why Russ worked with him.”

  “But they worked together for a long time. Russ and Paul and Eleanor.”
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br />   The kid regarded them glumly. “Yeah.”

  “But what about Eleanor? You think maybe she cares enough about your boss to get rid of a couple of problems?”

  Gabe drew back. “Eleanor? Are you out of your mind? Look, she may not be my favorite person in the world, but she’s not a murderer. That’s ridiculous.”

  “You don’t like her?”

  Gabe squirmed in his seat. Truly a small fry. “I didn’t say I didn’t like her. She’s just what I said. Not my favorite person. Okay, so she looks down her nose at me. Actually she just pretends to. She’s really jealous. It was just like you say, she and Paul and Russ worked together as a team, and then Russ brought me in. And I’m smart and I’ve got a lot of tech skills, and she’s old, you know? So she doesn’t. And she can’t do lots of things that I can. She’s really kinda sad. I mean, I think she used to be pretty. I’ve seen photos and stuff. It’s probably tough for her.”

  “I know what you’re thinking. And that’s awfully damn stereotypical,” Murphy said, after they let the kid go, and he hopped out of the car like the seat of his pants was on fire. “Some loony middle aged woman. Besides if she’s trying to protect the boss, why plant incriminating evidence?”

  Yablonki raised an eyebrow again. “Who said she’s protecting him? Woman scorned—you ever heard of that?”

  THE PRO

  He didn’t mean to go back into that little office. He meant to go straight up the stairs to the bedroom where she was sleeping.

  But there he was. And those pages in a neat little stack where he’d left them. After he read through them twice.

  He didn’t need to read them again. He needed to stop thinking of them.

  But this Edward guy. Fuck. He was way better than Northrup. Northrup was a stupid name anyway. And all that corporate crap was kind of boring.

  But Edward.

  And he was Edward.

  Mr. Ph.D. at Community College might spout off about books, but had he ever been written about in a book? Hell, no.

  Now that Edward had nailed Emmaline, god had he nailed her, what was she going to tell her husband? Her husband who happened to be Edward’s old man.

  He’d ask Scarlett how the story ended.

  Before he did her.

  And he was going to do her right now. Go up there, wake her up, find out what happened in the story and then do her.

  He stared down at the pages again.

  Jesus. What kind of idiot.

  He tossed the papers, and they scattered on the wood floor, fluttering as he kicked through them on his way out of the room. But heading up the stairs, he made himself slow down. Quiet down.

  Idiot.

  Bad enough to let the cockweiler do his thinking, but to actually give a shit about some stupid story?

  What? He thought he was going to be “immortalized” like she said?

  Nobody would even know it was him.

  Idiot.

  Nobody would ever see the thing. Because it wasn’t going to get published because it wasn’t going to get finished. He was taking her laptop and her phone with him. Maybe he would keep them as mementoes. Maybe when he was a big shot, he’d hire a ghost writer to finish the story.

  He eased into the bedroom. She had taken off the t-shirt before she went to sleep, and now she was sprawled on her side, her dark hair splayed behind her on the pillow. Those beautiful soft tits clasped between her arms, her knees bent, her pretty-as-two-peaches ass cheeks straining just a little against the silk—yeah, they were definitely silk—panties.

  He could always tell Selena to forget about the deal. He was going to have to make a few adjustments in his life anyway. Maybe he should make some bigger ones.

  But if he blew off this job, or fucked it up, Selena would not forgive or forget. He’d be completely screwed. And god knows, who else besides Selena would he piss off?

  Maybe he could move out west.

  But who the fuck did he know out west to get him work? What would he do for money? He didn’t want to go back to dealing. Get hooked up with a whole new crowd of assholes.

  He eased down on the bed. Scarlett didn’t stir, and the soft rhythm of her breathing didn’t change. He picked up the pillow next to her head. He should have done this last night.

  Her eyes opened. She smiled at him. A sweet good-morning smile, even though it wasn’t morning any more.

  Fuck.

  Just do it.

  He clenched the edges of the pillow. Last night with the dark and the drugs, she had all the advantages. But not now.

  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” she said.

  “Do what?”

  Why the fuck am I arguing with her?

  Just do it.

  “Kill me with that pillow. I mean, you can. I’m pretty strong for a female, but in the end you’d win.” She rolled over on her back, her arms stretched out on either side, almost like she was daring him. “You could do it right now. Only you would live to regret it.”

  What was she saying? That they were an item? That was bullshit. That he’d never forget the sex? That was bullshit, too. It was good but not good enough to completely trash his life.

  He was almost disappointed that she hadn’t come up with something better.

  But that was stupid. What did he expect?

  Just do it.

  “Why do you think I would kill you?” he heard himself say.

  The fuck was the matter with him? JUST DO IT.

  “Because that’s what you were hired to do. You’re not a reporter. You’re not a private investigator.” She said it all so matter-of-fact. Not scared at all.

  Shit, bitch. A pro sitting right next to you with a murder weapon in his hands, and you’re acting all in charge? You got nerve, that’s for sure.

  “Oh, yeah?” he said, “And when did you decide that?”

  Why the fuck was he bickering with her?

  “Well, there was a little lag time between when I suspected and when I actually decided. But I believe you when you say you don’t know who hired you. And that’s one of the reasons you can kill me but you’ll live to regret it.”

  “You aren’t making any sense.”

  Like he couldn’t just drop all the bullshit. She had less than three minutes to live. Why the hell was he still trying to string her along?

  “Have you seen the news from the city?” she said casually, like she might be talking about the weather report. “Another former intern from the Take Stock show was murdered last night. Vanessa West. So maybe you killed Phoebe, maybe you didn’t, but you’re just one part of this thing, and maybe not an important part.” She sat up, drew her knees up and wrapped her arms around them. “Since you can’t implicate anybody, you might be safe, but that’s not the end of it.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  The fuck was this woman?

  She smiled at him. All gentle. Almost like she felt sorry for him. “We’ve got four different really good photos of you. Two from the Raven, two I took with my phone while you were asleep. I turned on the bathroom light, and I’ve got a good flash. I stored them in the cloud. You may be able to clean this house, but we’ve got DNA from your beer glass. We have the info on your rental car. We’ve got someone who can pick you out of a lineup. If I’m not still alive and kicking at six thirty this evening, the police chief in this adorable little town is going to call in the FBI. I can promise you they will track you.”

  “You said ‘we.’ Who is we?” And then he added, because he thought he should, “What the fuck are you even talking about?”

  Scarlett rested her chin on her knees. “Our server at the Raven last night? Great guy. Deals a little. And when I bought the special cocktail from him yesterday afternoon, we got to talking. And it turns out his dad is the chief of police. I guess that’s one reason he gets by with his dealing. Anyway we did another little deal.”

  “Who the fuck are you?”

  “Just a girl who likes to be careful.”

&nb
sp; For the first time, he finally knew he could kill her.

  She was bullshitting about the photos, about the Apron, too.

  He could snuff her out right now.

  If only his hands would move.

  “Do you know who hired you?” she asked.

  “That’s none of your business.” What dumbshit thing to say.

  “Fair enough,” she said. “But it is my life.”

  “Who the fuck are you?”

  “Any woman you want me to be,” she said, still smiling at him, dammit. “That’s my specialty.”

  LIZ

  Liz poured herself another glass of wine from the half-empty bottle on her nightstand. The bottle was half empty but the glass was half full. Because at least no one had come forward to accuse Russ of anything.

  Not yet, anyway. But the clock was ticking.

  And now this. How had Russ gotten tangled up in a murder investigation? That was the last thing they needed right now. She hadn’t even bothered to ask Russ if he’d slept with the girl. She’d simply assumed he had. And as cold and heartless as it sounded, why did this girl have to die right now?

  The old Liz would never have thought such a thing. But the old Liz didn’t have broke breathing down her neck. The world was cold and heartless that she should have to worry about such a thing.

  Why couldn’t Russ have just kept it in his pants? She’d had offers, more than one, back when she was younger.

  Typical that he was out doing God knows what tonight, with this hanging over their heads. Everything was spiraling out of control. It was a miracle he had had a career at all, with all of his flings, affairs, whatever he wanted to call them. He never called them anything to her, because they didn’t discuss them, not after the first one when he promised not to ever do it again.

  He asked her once why she didn’t care more about current affairs. And she had wanted to scream Because I’m always too busy waiting for your current affair to be your last one.

  But she hadn’t. She hadn’t said a word. She was a good wife, just as she had been taught by her own mother.