Close Your Eyes

by Thomas Fincham

  Ellen nodded. “I have a feeling it will be.”

  TWENTY-SIX

  Rhodes spent the remainder of the day reading up on Reed Yates’s case. His father was correct when he said the police had not gotten far.

  Detective Crowder’s last entry in the case log book was almost a month old. No wonder Crowder was avoiding Mr. Yates. The detective knew he did not have any answers for him.

  Rhodes could not blame Crowder, though.

  Investigating a murder was unlike any other job. There were no hard or fast rules, even though most people thought it was an exact science. According to Rhodes, it was more like an art form. Sure, it was the evidence that ultimately defined whether a case was solved or not, but finding that evidence in the first place was the most important part. Sometimes a detective would be inundated with what he believed was vital evidence. That evidence, however, would send him in too many directions at once, wasting valuable time.

  Rhodes had come to rely on his intuition. It allowed him to take what was in front of him and pick and choose what was relevant and what was not. It was a way of analyzing risk.

  In some ways, an investigation was like peeling an onion. Remove one layer, and another layer would appear underneath. Sometimes a detective would spend days, months, even years removing layers upon layers and end up nowhere.

  Rhodes had his share of such cases when he was a detective. He regretted being unable to help solve them. During his time in prison, he would often wonder, who has taken over my cases? Will he solve them, or will they stay cold?

  He always wished he could use the same investigative techniques that resulted in a conviction, but that was just wishful thinking. Each case came with its own complexities. No two cases were the same. They were each like a giant jigsaw puzzle, and it was his job to put the pieces together. Sometimes the pieces would fit perfectly, and sometimes they would not.

  There were many pieces missing in Reed’s case. For one thing, something did not seem right. According to his father, Reed was very careful with his belongings, so how did he lose his phone? Sure, he could have forgotten it or even dropped it somewhere, but from the way people described him, he did not come across as someone who was careless. In fact, the cell phone was a gift for his seventeenth birthday. He cherished it so much that he went looking for it, which ultimately led to his death.

  Rhodes leaned back and stared at the ceiling. It felt good to be on another investigation. He loved the hunt.

  After his conviction, he never imagined he would ever have the opportunity to work on another case. But ever since he got out, they had somehow fallen into his lap.

  Tim Yates believed Rhodes could do something to catch his son’s killer. Rhodes hoped he would not disappoint him.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  Crowder slammed his palm on the counter. “Damn it!”

  Normally at this time of the day, the police station’s lobby would be swarming with people. Today, however, the place was uncharacteristically empty. There were also no other police officers in sight. The Bridgeton PD had stopped bringing in criminals through the front doors. Handcuffed or not, perps would try to escape the moment they saw an opportunity. They would yell and scream, or sometimes they would try to hurt anyone standing near them. To avoid causing a scene, the BPD started bringing in criminals through the garage doors in the back.

  “Take it easy,” Officer Shannon said.

  Crowder shook his head. “I can’t believe they made me give up info on my case.”

  “Who made you?” Shannon asked.

  Crowder scoffed. “The chief. Who else do you think?”

  “I bet it was Mr. Yates, right?”

  “Yep. His lawyer went straight to the chief and demanded they get an update on the case.”

  “That’s okay,” Shannon reassured him. “As the father of the victim, he has a right to know.”

  “It made me look bad,” Crowder complained. “When the chief asked me for a progress report, I had none to give. Plus, I don’t even know what Yates would do with that information.”

  “Don’t worry about it. It’s not like the chief took the case away from you on his own accord.”

  “He should have, and told Yates to go solve it himself.”

  Crowder kept rubbing the wedding ring on his finger.

  Shannon leaned back in her chair. “Is this really about the case, or is it more about your marriage?

  “Why would you say that? What’s wrong with my marriage?”

  “For one thing, you cheated on your wife with her co-worker.”

  “It was a mistake,” Crowder replied.

  “It always is with you, isn’t it?”

  “You’re not helping.”

  “What do you want me to say? You messed up and she should forgive you?”

  “Yeah, that’s what a sensible person would do.”

  Shannon shook her head. “Right,” she said sarcastically.

  Crowder put his hands over his face. “I miss her.”

  “Give her time. Right now the last person she wants to see is you.”

  “I know, but it’s messing me up. It’s why I can’t seem to close any cases. I can’t concentrate. My mind is all over the place.”

  “How did you meet your wife in the first place?” Shannon asked.

  “She rear-ended my BMW. I was ready to give her a piece of my mind, but when I saw her, it was love at first sight. She was smoking hot. I knew I had to marry her.”

  “If she was so hot, why’d you cheat on her?”

  “Unfortunately, her co-worker was even hotter. I couldn’t help myself.”

  Shannon frowned. “Poor you.”

  “It’s my fault, I know. And I take full responsibility for it.”

  “I’m sure you guys will work it out.”

  “What if we don’t?”

  “You guys don’t have any kids, so I don’t see a problem for both of you to move on. By the way, where are you sleeping right now?”

  Crowder leaned in and whispered, “I’ll tell you if you promise not to tell anyone.”

  “Okay, sure.”

  “I’m sleeping in my BMW.”

  “What?!” Shannon replied a little too loudly.

  Crowder looked around in case anyone heard her. Then he whispered, “I’m still paying rent for the condo my wife is living in, and my child support payments are taking a chunk out of my salary, so I can’t rent a place right now.”

  “Is that why you want to get back together? Because you can’t afford another divorce?”

  Crowder sighed. “Yeah, that too. But I do still love her.”

  Shannon shook her head. “You have an odd way of showing love to the women you marry, you know that?”

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  She was a heavyset woman with a thick European accent. She wore a big sweater, even though the weather was mild outside. Her short blonde hair was tied in a ponytail.

  Rhodes was in the basement of a two-story house. He had found the rental in the classified section of the local newspaper.

  The landlady’s name was Olya. She did not give her last name. Rhodes did not care whether he knew her full name or not. The only thing that mattered was that the price was right.

  “There is hot water,” Olya said, turning on the kitchen tap. “There is heating, but no central air conditioning. You can buy your own unit, but it’s usually cool in the basement during the summer, so you won’t need it. Plus, if you put one in and keep it on all the time, my electric bill will go up. I don’t want to raise your rent, you understand?”

  Rhodes nodded.

  The basement apartment had one bedroom, an open space in the living room, a tiny kitchen, and a washroom. The ceilings were just high enough for Rhodes to avoid bumping his head. There were two windows—one in the bedroom and another in the living room. The entrance to the basement was through a narrow door at the back of the house.

  All in all, the space was small for a man his size. But Rhodes could not complain. He ha
d lived in a space smaller than this for ten years, after all. Plus, the apartment would only be temporary. Once he found stable employment, Rhodes would find a better home.

  Olya said, “The laundromat is down the street. It is open twenty-four hours. Do you smoke?”

  Rhodes shook his head.

  “You have any pets?”

  Rhodes shook his head.

  “You went to jail?” she asked.

  He nodded.

  She did not seem too surprised or shocked by his answer. Maybe she was used to renting to tenants with criminal records. “The rent is four-fifty a month. You have to pay first and last to start, and all in cash. I don’t take checks. The previous tenant ran away without paying his rent. He was a student and was really nice. He made me agree to take checks. His first couple of months were okay, but then his last check bounced. I asked him to pay me in cash, but then he just disappeared one night. He left all this stuff behind.”

  Rhodes had noticed a small table and two chairs that were used for dining. There was a mattress and a box in the bedroom. A stained sofa was in the living room, but there was no TV or microwave. Olya had assured him that the stove worked, though.

  “If you want to rent, you can use the furniture,” she said. “I have a bad back. I don’t want to throw this stuff out, unless you want to buy it and move it someplace else?”

  Rhodes shook his head.

  “I live on the main floor,” Olya continued. “The top unit is rented to a single mother and her daughter. The mother smokes, but she does it outside. The daughter is a teenager, and I sometimes see her walking back from school. I see a guy come and go, but I didn’t ask if it’s the mother’s boyfriend or the girl’s father. It’s none of my business, you know. If they keep paying their rent on time, I have no problem with what they do. Are you single?”

  Rhodes nodded.

  “Okay, but no wild parties. The student used to bring his girlfriend over all the time. And when his friends would come over, it would get loud and noisy. There were many times I had to come downstairs in the middle of the night and tell him to turn the music down. Oh, the music!” She shivered. “I didn’t understand it. It was all boom-boom-boom.”

  Rhodes assumed she was mimicking the bass of the sound.

  “So, do you want it or not?” Olya asked. “I got more people interested to rent it. Decide quickly, because this place will be off the market very soon.”

  Rhodes doubted that. From the state of the apartment, it looked like it had not been occupied for at least a month.

  There were other places he still wanted to check out. They were nicer than this place, but he feared the landlords would be hesitant to rent to an ex-con. Plus, the price for the basement apartment was the lowest he could find.

  “I’ll take it,” he said.

  She smiled. “Great. When do you want to move in?”

  “Right now.”

  “Where is your stuff?” she asked.

  Rhodes held up his duffel bag. “It’s all here.”

  TWENTY-NINE

  Ellen looked at her watch. It was ten minutes to eight. She was on the platform of Chester Station. Walt was standing next to her, carrying his video camera. A BTA employee stood next to Walt. He was in charge of taking care of the BN-24 crew.

  When Ellen had received the anonymous phone call, the first thing she did was contact BTA. She told them she wanted to do a segment on the outdated transit equipment and how it was affecting the riders. She sealed the deal when she told them her focus was to encourage politicians to invest more in public transit. She could not tell them the real reason she was there. In fact, even she was not sure what this was all about. But she had to take a chance. She would be foolish not to. Dan Ferguson had already hijacked her story, and she sure as hell would not let him hijack another one.

  What Miles did was unforgivable. She wanted to argue that his action could be construed as sexist, but she knew that would not stick because it was Miles’s boss who called the shots at BN-24—and his boss was a woman.

  Ellen had to pick her battles carefully. She could not start something and then have it come back and bite her.

  A train entered the terminal and came to a halt.

  Ellen checked her watch. The caller had said the eight o’clock train. This one was early.

  The doors opened. Walt moved towards the train. Ellen stopped him. “We’ll take the next one.”

  “Why?” he asked, looking irritated. “We’ve already seen three go by.”

  She glared at him. “I said we’ll take the next one.”

  He shrugged. “Okay, sure. You’re the boss.”

  The doors closed and the train moved out of the station.

  Ellen began to sweat underneath her green suit. She hoped her makeup was still okay. She wanted to look good for her big shot. She adjusted her suit jacket and her sleeves in order to let cool air seep into her body.

  She looked at her watch again. Two minutes to go before eight. Time was crawling at a snail’s pace.

  She looked over at the BTA employee. He was busy smiling at passengers standing on the platform. He was probably happy to help a news crew. Maybe he would get a chance to be on TV.

  Ellen was not sure if she would ask him any questions. Maybe I should, she thought. It might make my cover feel more real. Plus, if all this was a sick joke, then it was better to make nice with the BTA folks. In her profession, connections meant a great deal. If this all went south, then the people at BTA might not give her access to BTA’s facilities in the future. They might even give exclusive access only to SUNTV—and Janie Fernandez.

  Ellen gritted her teeth. There was no way she would lose to her.

  Another train entered the station. Ellen turned to Walt. “Get your camera ready.”

  Walt lifted the heavy camera to his shoulder.

  The train’s doors opened.

  Ellen, Walt, and the BTA employee boarded. They moved to the middle of the compartment. Ellen scanned the interior. Rush-hour commuters were piling aboard. She spotted a man in a suit. She went up to him and introduced herself.

  “Do you mind if I asked you a few questions?” she said.

  The man adjusted his tie, smiled, and nodded. He quickly patted down his hair.

  “What’s your name?” Ellen quickly asked.

  “Paul.”

  “Do you take the train regularly?”

  “Every day.”

  “Good.” Ellen pulled out a microphone from her purse and steadied herself.

  Walt gave her a thumbs-up. When the camera’s red light came on, she said, “This is Ellen Sheehan from BN-24. I am on a Bridgeton Transit Authority subway train, and with me here is Paul. Paul is a regular BTA rider. He takes the train every day to work. Now Paul, what has been your experience using the public transit system?”

  She pushed the microphone closer to him. He cleared his throat and said, “Some days it’s fine, and I get to work on time, but there are times where there are track problems, or signal problems, or the train ahead of us is having mechanical problems.”

  Ellen said, “Does this mean you are late for work?”

  He nodded. “Yes.”

  “A lot?”

  He hesitated. “Enough times.”

  “And what does your boss say?”

  “He doesn’t give me a hard time. He knows how often the system breaks down.”

  Ellen smiled and turned to the camera. “Well, there you have it, folks. Our transit system is so bad that even Paul’s boss has come to accept the problem. Unfortunately, not all bosses can be like Paul’s. We’ll talk to more passengers and find out how they cope with the system. This is Ellen Sheehan for BN-24.”

  The red light went off. Ellen stopped smiling.

  “Was that okay?” Paul asked, concerned about his performance.

  “Yeah, yeah, it’s fine,” Ellen said, waving him off.

  Walt gave Paul a thumbs-up.

  Ellen looked at her watch again. It was fifteen after
eight.

  Ellen eyed the passengers on the train. She was not sure what she was looking for, but something told her it had to do with them.

  “Do you want to interview anyone else?” Walt asked.

  “Yes, but let’s go to the next car.” Ellen turned to the BTA employee, who was standing by dutifully.

  “Sure,” he said, looking eager to help.

  They went into the next car. Ellen eyed the passengers, but then she decided to go to the next car.

  They moved from car to car. At each station, passengers boarded and disembarked in a steady cycle. To avoid arousing suspicion, Ellen would stop a rider and ask them about their experiences with the transit system. What did they like or dislike? What did they believe BTA could improve upon? Were they satisfied with any changes BTA had tried to implement?

  In between her interviews, Ellen kept surveying the people around her.

  When they were almost at the end of the train, Ellen had a sinking feeling that someone had played a sick joke on her. Maybe Janie put me up to this, she thought. God, I hate her even more now.

  She could not believe she was fooled into thinking she would find something. At least she had covered herself. The interviews on the train would support her reason for being there.

  Then she spotted a peculiar looking passenger. He was sitting on the seat across from her, and he had his head tilted to the side. Ellen could not tell if he was breathing or not.

  Ellen moved closer to him.

  She was inches from his face when he suddenly awoke with a start. “Uh, what…?” he said, looking around.

  “I’m so sorry,” Ellen said. “I thought you weren’t…”

  “I was sleeping,” he quickly said. “Can’t a man take a nap in peace?”

  Walt and the BTA employee exchanged glances. They were probably wondering if she had lost her mind.

  Ellen walked away from the passenger.

  She began to sweat. Her body felt like it was in a sauna. She wanted to pull off her jacket and get off the train at the next stop.

  A woman screamed. Ellen looked up. On the other side of the compartment, a woman was standing with her hand over her mouth.