[Martin Rhodes 01.0] Close Your Eyes

by Thomas Fincham

  Rhodes was not like that. He did not like being in debt to anyone. Even when he was in prison, if someone did something for him, he made sure to repay them.

  Rhodes looked around and realized he was in a run-down neighborhood. He walked past derelict buildings and alleys with people in sleeping bags or cardboard boxes. Rhodes could probably find a spot between them to sleep for tonight.

  He was not worried about his safety. He had done time in maximum security, after all. But he was not interested in a dust-up with a druggie, pimp, or thug for encroaching on their “property.”

  Rhodes could go to a nicer neighborhood, though. He could find himself a park bench or even a bench in a school yard to sleep on. But doing so would attract attention, and that could lead to the police showing up and asking him questions or even taking him down to the station.

  What if I did spend the night in jail? He thought. It would only be for one night. In the morning I could come up with a plan that would get me out of this jam.

  His stomach growled.

  He shook his head. He was not thinking straight. Hunger was making him irrational.

  There was no way in hell he would ever let himself be locked up in a cell again. He had already lost ten years of his life behind bars, and he was not going to lose a single day more. If he went hungry tonight, so be it.

  As he crossed an intersection, he spotted a group of people lining up outside a building.

  Rhodes could not believe his luck. He quickened his pace and joined them.

  SIXTEEN

  Tarik and Irina returned to the office.

  “You find anything?” Jo asked.

  “We canvassed the area around Broadview Station,” Tarik said. “There is a convenience store across the station with CCTV cameras. The owner wasn’t willing to let us see the footage.”

  “Why not?” Jo asked.

  Irina said, “He was probably selling cigarettes to minors and was worried we might see something that could incriminate him.”

  “We assured him that we were only interested in the camera outside the store and not the one inside,” Tarik said.

  “Did you get it?” Jo said.

  Tarik pulled out a DVD.

  Chris appeared from out of nowhere and grabbed the disc.

  “Where did you come from?” Tarik asked, surprised.

  “I’m like a rare Siberian tiger. I can appear and disappear at will.”

  “I wish you would just disappear.”

  “Very funny. I know you don’t mean that,” Chris said, inserting the DVD into his laptop. He pulled up the footage on a giant monitor.

  Chris already knew the time the killer had walked out of the station. He had already gone through the footage from BTA. He scrolled through the new footage and let it play.

  Jo, Tarik, and Irina huddled around the monitor to get a better view.

  The camera was facing the exterior of the convenience store, but they could see the subway station entrance across the street.

  “Can you zoom in?” Jo asked.

  “I can do more than that,” Chris replied. The image became enlarged and distorted, but after Chris tapped a few keys, the image became more focused. “I’ve manipulated the pixels,” Chris explained.

  They saw people enter and exit the station. A few tedious minutes went by before Jo said, “There!”

  A man walked through the front doors. He was wearing a jacket, hoodie and baseball cap. He kept his head low, as if he was avoiding being photographed by a camera.

  He left the station and walked down the street. His image became blurry.

  “Zoom in more,” Jo said.

  “I’ll try, but the camera isn’t set up to catch that angle,” Chris replied.

  The image zoomed in some more, but it was still not enough to get a clear view of the man. They watched as he got in a parked car and drove away.

  “Can we catch the license plate?” Jo asked.

  Chris shook his head. “It’s too far.”

  Jo turned to Tarik and Irina. “Any businesses in that area?”

  Tarik shook his head. “No. There’s only a park.”

  Jo frowned. “It must be why the killer chose to leave his car there. He must have checked the area out beforehand. I knew there was a reason why he exited the subway at Broadview.”

  “So we got nothing,” Chris said. He sounded deeply disappointed.

  “Not exactly,” Tarik replied.

  They turned to him.

  “We might not know the license plate, but I can tell you the car was a Mercedes-Benz S Class.”

  “How can you tell that?” Irina asked.

  “I have a similar model at home.”

  “How much do they go for?” Chis asked.

  “Starting price is around ninety-five thousand,” Tarik said.

  “How can you afford one?”

  Irina said, “He’s got a rich family back in Egypt.”

  Tarik was born in the U.S., but when he was five years old, his father moved back to Egypt to run the family’s import and export business. His father hoped that once Tarik had completed his studies, he would return to Egypt and take over the family business. Tarik had other plans. He wanted to get into law enforcement. This caused a strain in his relationship with his parents. To make matters more complicated, Tarik was a Coptic Christian, and he married a Catholic. His parents never approved of the union. However, things were better now. His younger brother had taken over more of the family responsibilities. Plus, with his wife now pregnant, his parents were more than willing to let bygones be bygones with a grandchild on the way.

  The Mercedes was their olive branch to him.

  “My family’s rich, but I’m not,” Tarik corrected Irina.

  “Whatever, you have a Mercedes. I drive a beat-up Kia.”

  Chris turned to her. “I don’t own a car, but if you want, we can buy a new car together.”

  Irina crossed her arms over her chest. “And why would I do that with you?”

  “I mean, after you’ve fallen madly in love with me, it’ll be convenient for the both of us to come to work in the same car, right?”

  Irina rolled her eyes. “No chance in hell that’s ever going to happen.”

  “Never say never,” Chris said. “I never thought I’d be struck by lightning, but it happened twice.”

  Tarik couldn’t help but jump in. “I knew there was a reason why something was wrong with you.”

  Jo had heard enough banter. She grabbed her jacket. “I’m out of here. I’ll see you guys tomorrow.”

  SEVENTEEN

  Rhodes found a seat in the corner and quickly began devouring his meal. He was at the House of Hope, a soup kitchen for the homeless and destitute.

  The House of Hope was located in the basement of a church. The room could fit almost thirty people, and right now it was filled to capacity. The diners were mostly men, with a few women sprinkled amongst them. They were ragged and filthy, and some stank. The volunteers were oblivious to the conditions of their patrons, however. They smiled at each person in line and handed them a paper plate with corn, mashed potatoes, a slice of bread, and a piece of meat. Rhodes wasn’t sure what the meat was, but it tasted really good.

  Standing in line reminded him of his time in prison, where he would line up with all the inmates and wait for his tray to be filled with whatever was on the menu for that day. The food did not vary from day to day, but during the holidays, they would be treated with something extra: a piece of turkey on Thanksgiving, a slice of fruitcake on Christmas, or extra eggs on Easter. These were not decadent items, but after weeks of eating bland meals, anything different was welcomed.

  Rhodes was not a stickler when it came to food. He only cared that he had enough for his stomach. At the beginning of his sentence, he would let other inmates take some of his meal without protest. They would take his bread. They would eat a spoonful of his potatoes. They would even snatch his entire tray.

  Rhodes quickly realized they were not
stealing from him because they were hungry. They were stealing because they were bored. After being locked up for most of the day, they looked forward to interacting with other inmates. A dust-up with another inmate in the prison cafeteria was the highlight of their day.

  Rhodes put an end to the thievery. The next time an inmate came up to steal his meal, Rhodes would use the tray, a spoon, or whatever else he had to hurt the inmate. This sent him to isolation, but the altercation sent the offending inmate to isolation as well. To hammer his point across, every time he saw the inmate who attempted to take his meal, Rhodes would go up and take his first. The altercation would again send them both to isolation, but this taught everyone around him a lesson: If you mess with me, be prepared to be messed with for a long time after.

  A man came up and sat across from him. He was short and slim with with a boyish face and red hair. He wore a clerical collar.

  “You’re not from around here, are you?” he asked.

  Rhodes shook his head. He wanted to say he was just passing by, but that would not be true.

  “We don’t normally see new faces,” the priest said. “We know all the regulars, those who come day after day for a hot meal. These people have nowhere else to go, but you look like someone who does.”

  “I hate to admit it, but I don’t.”

  “I see.” The priest nodded. “One day you have a warm bed and the next day you don’t. I see a lot of people who’ve been there. Some lost their jobs, or their marriage ended, or they made bad business decisions, had a gambling habit, or got hooked on drugs.”

  Rhodes wanted to tell the priest that he was not like the other people there. He was just going through a period of bad luck. Maybe they were too, if he thought about it. Theirs just lasted longer.

  “By the way, they call me Father Mike,” the priest said.

  “Martin Rhodes,” Rhodes replied.

  Father Mike squinted. “I think I read about you in a newspaper. You wouldn’t be from Newport, would you?”

  Rhodes suddenly regretted giving his full name. He could have called himself John, or Frank, or Joe, and the priest would not have been the wiser. Rhodes worried the priest would kick him out for being a murderer.

  Instead, Father Mike smiled. “We don’t judge people here. I won’t condone what you did, but I won’t admonish you for it either.”

  Rhodes stared at him and then finished his meal.

  Father Mike said, “A lot of these people only come here to eat. They’ll be back out on the streets once they are fed. We have beds upstairs for them, but they don’t want to adhere to our rules.”

  “What rules are those?” Rhodes inquired.

  “No fighting, no drugs, and lights out at midnight. In the morning, they have to be up at six, and after a simple breakfast, they have to leave. We just don’t have the resources to let them make the House of Hope their permanent place of residence, you know.”

  “I can live by those rules,” Rhodes offered.

  Father Mike smiled. “Then you are welcome to stay the night.”

  EIGHTEEN

  Jo was over at her brother’s house for dinner almost every other day, and today was one of those occasions. The moment she walked in the front door, she heard a voice say, “Aunty Jo is here! Aunty Jo is here!”

  Two seconds later, a girl wearing a blue dress came running over. Jo grabbed her and lifted her up in the air. Chrissy was four, and she was Jo’s niece.

  “How are you, sweetie?” Jo said, hugging her tightly.

  “I’m good.”

  “And what dress are you wearing?”

  “Mommy bought it for me. It’s a fairy princess dress.”

  “Is it really?”

  “Yeah, and I wore it to school and everyone told me it looked beautiful. I got so tired of saying ‘thank you.’” She let out a loud sigh, as if being showered with compliments was the most exhausting thing ever.

  “Well, you do look beautiful,” Jo said.

  Chrissy beamed. “I know.”

  Jo put Chrissy down and found her sister-in-law in the kitchen. Kim Davis-Pullinger had on an apron and was standing behind the stove. Her hair was straight, her skin was black, and she had an amazing smile.

  Jo walked over and kissed her on the cheek.

  “Dinner is almost ready,” Kim said.

  “I know I was supposed to come early and help, but we got a case that tied me up,” Jo said.

  “I hope it’s not the one on the news.”

  “It is.”

  “Get out. Really?” Kim asked, shocked.

  “Yep.”

  “Did they really find him without his hands?”

  “How did you know about that?” Jo asked.

  “I have internet, you know.”

  “I can’t confirm nor deny it, but yes.”

  Both women laughed.

  “Where’s Sam?” Jo asked

  “He’s in the backyard clearing out the leaves. Can you tell him dinner is almost ready?”

  “Sure.”

  Samuel Pullinger was two years older than Jo. He was completely bald. He started losing his hair in his twenties and had shaved his head ever since. He was tall and thin, and he wore wire-rimmed glasses.

  Sam worked for the government as a forensic accountant. He had met Kim at his job. Sam specialized in financial crimes that involved monitoring securities, digital currencies, credit cards, and even traditional currency.

  “Dinner will be ready soon,” Jo said.

  Sam nodded, but kept raking.

  “You need any help?” she asked.

  “I’m almost done,” he replied. He raked the leaves into a pile and began putting them in a giant paper bag.

  Jo pulled out the book that Ben had given her and said, “I found some more information on the Bridgeton Ripper case.”

  Sam did not say anything.

  “Aren’t you interested?” she said.

  “Do you know who the Bridgeton Ripper is?” he asked.

  She shook her head.

  “Then I’m not interested.”

  “You don’t even want to read it?”

  He finally looked at her. “No, Jo. I don’t. And you shouldn’t either. It was over twenty years ago. You have to let it go and move on with your life.”

  Jo looked away.

  His voice softened. “You know I didn’t mean it like that.”

  She looked down at her feet.

  “You haven’t visited mom for a couple of weeks,” he said.

  “I know. I’ve just been busy.”

  “You should see her. It’ll make her feel better.”

  “I will, but it’s not like she knows I’m even there.”

  “You don’t know that. Everyone needs love and affection, even if they are incapable of showing it.”

  “You were always closer to mom than I was,” Jo said.

  “And you were closer to dad, but that doesn’t mean I don’t miss him.”

  Jo nodded. “I’ll go for sure. I promise.”

  After Sam had filled the bag with leaves, he said, “How are you feeling?”

  There were not a lot of people who knew of Jo’s heart condition, but Sam and Kim did. They were family, after all.

  “I had a bit of a scare in the morning,” she confessed.

  “And did you go see Dr. Cohen?” he asked.

  “I did.”

  Sam looked at her. “And did he tell you to think about getting a transplant?”

  She knew where this was going. “No, he didn’t. In fact, he said I should focus on finding who the Bridgeton Ripper is, and when I catch him, my heart will be completely healed.”

  Sam frowned at her. “It’s not funny, Jo. I worry about you. With mom the way she is, you’re the only family I’ve got.”

  “What about Kim and Chrissy?”

  “You know what I mean.”

  Jo walked over and gave him a hug.

  “I love you, Sam,” she said.

  “I love you too,” he replied.


  The back door opened and Kim said, “I know you guys are having a brother-and-sister moment, but dinner is getting cold.”

  Chrissy said from behind her, “Come and have your dinner, Aunty Jo. We have chocolate cake for dessert.”

  Chrissy loved sweets. She would badger Jo to finish her dinner quickly so her mom could bring out the dessert.

  “Alright,” Jo said. “But you better not rush me or else I’ll eat very slowly.”

  “I promise I won’t, but hurry up.”

  Jo smiled. Kids never changed.

  NINETEEN

  Ellen Sheehan was at BN-24’s headquarters. It was five-thirty in the morning, and she was not sure why her boss had called her into the station so early.

  She had her phone in one hand and a large decaf in the other. She was able to apply some makeup on her drive over. It was technically illegal in Bridgeton to call, text, or even put on lipstick while you were driving, but Ellen always figured no cops were paying attention so early in the morning.

  Ellen had been pulled over for driving while distracted, but she always managed to get out of a ticket by telling the officer that she was on her way to a breaking story. Some cops would still insist on going through the entire process of checking her license and insurance, but she would make it look like she had received a call from her producer. She would tell her imaginary producer that she could not cover the story because officer—she would then ask for his or her name—would not let her go with a warning. She would end the call by saying she was sorry that thousands of viewers would be disappointed with the broadcast tonight, but the law was the law. When she would finally hang up, the officer would hand over her information and tell her to be careful in the future. Her ploy always worked, and she doubted it would ever fail.

  She was seated on a comfy leather sofa in her producer’s office. Miles Stevens was on the phone behind his desk. He had tanned skin, dark hair, and a square jawline. His eyes were always focused, and when he spoke to you, it looked like he was staring directly into your soul.

  Stevens was not even thirty-five when he was promoted to run the 24-hour news station. He was ambitious and highly motivated. He rarely gave compliments, and when he called someone in his office, it was usually to give them bad news.