by Ellis, T. W.
‘Is Rusty about?’ I ask the pencil-thin guy who looks up to greet me with small, questioning eyes.
He has a moustache of sparse blond hair that twitches before he speaks. ‘Who’s asking?’
‘Jem Talhoffer,’ I reply.
‘What should I say it’s about?’
I shrug because I’m not sure exactly how to explain this morning’s events, so I simply say, ‘She’ll know when you tell her I’m here.’
He looks sceptical, like I’m trying to trick him and embarrass him in front of his boss. Some practical joke he doesn’t quite understand, yet fears nonetheless. Maybe Rusty doesn’t like to be interrupted without a damn good reason.
‘Please,’ I add. ‘Tell Rusty that Jem needs to see her immediately.’
The moustache twitches but he says nothing further. He pushes himself up from his desk and hikes up his trousers. He gives me one last sceptical look but scurries off to find Rusty.
I have nothing to do but stand and wait and try to compose my thoughts, to work out what I’m going to say, what excuses I’m going to make, because speaking the truth, even to myself in my own mind, sounds ridiculous.
A stranger on the phone told me to run, so I ran.
Oh, how I wish I worked in marketing or politics so I could find a way of spinning that into something that sounds a little less crazy.
Maybe that’s the way to go.
I had a bout of temporary insanity.
Then again, maybe not.
No more time to consider because I’m aware that the moustache guy is heading back towards me and behind him, trailing a little way, is the town police chief, Rusty, and behind her are Wilks and Messer.
‘Where you been, Jem?’ Rusty asks, nearing. ‘I got a couple of folks here awful worried about you.’
Rusty is almost as wide as she is tall, and she’s not tall. She has that squat, robust build. She waddles a little when she walks but is never out of breath. We’ve crossed paths a few times and she’s always been friendly and always fair. I don’t trust many people these days, if anyone, but I know Rusty takes no crap and gives none out either.
‘Nice to see you again too,’ I reply, my mask slipping instinctively back into place. ‘How’s Alice?’
She rolls her eyes. ‘Little shit has only gone and got herself a tattoo.’
‘That doesn’t sound so bad.’
Rusty shakes her head. ‘On her face.’
‘Oh,’ I say. ‘Maybe it’ll wash off?’
A hint of a smile from Rusty.
Wilks and Messer are silent behind her. Neither has so much as blinked.
Rusty says, ‘Why don’t we all sit down in my office? Talk this through.’
I nod. ‘Sure.’
The thin guy with the moustache looks lost – he’s not in the loop – and I step around him to follow Rusty into her office.
There are only two seats for visitors, so Wilks props herself against the windowsill after I sit down and Messer takes the other chair. I’m uncomfortable so close to both of them, confined as we are in Rusty’s small office. It feels warm with body heat, and humid with perspiration. I’m the only one who seems to notice.
She’s the last of us to sit down, settling into her big leather chair behind a desk that overflows with paperwork. Interspaced between the piles of documents and forms are picture frames of various dimensions. I can’t see what’s on them from this side of the desk. Family, no doubt, although she doesn’t wear a wedding band. Maybe pets.
‘If you don’t mind me saying so,’ Rusty begins, ‘you look like hell, Jem. I barely recognise you.’
‘I feel worse than I look, I assure you.’
‘Would you like some aspirin?’
‘I’m okay for now.’
Rusty leans a little forward. ‘I’ve got some gin in my desk drawer if you want it. I know it’s a little early for happy hour but I won’t make any judgement. I’m sure you could use it.’
I shake my head.
She sits back again. ‘Agents Wilks and Messer here have been telling me about their little visit to your house earlier this a.m.’
‘I’m sure they have,’ I say, trying not to sound too meek, too pathetic.
‘Why’d you run?’ Messer asks.
Rusty isn’t happy with this directness of approach. ‘I think what Special Agent Blunt meant to say – I mean beyond him saying nothing at all at this particular juncture – was what spooked you so bad, Jem? Why’d you get scared like that?’
Messer is similarly unhappy with the chastisement. ‘Were you trying to warn Leo?’
Rusty’s palm finds the desk surface. ‘How’s about you go fetch us all a nice cool cup of extra special delicious tap water?’
Messer doesn’t move.
Rusty’s eyes shoot laser beams at Messer. ‘If I phrased that as a question then please accept my sincere apologies.’ She clicks her fingers and points a meaty thumb at the door. ‘Water. Now.’
The muscles in Messer’s thick jaw flex so hard I’m surprised he doesn’t crack his own teeth but he says nothing. He stands, slow. He leaves, slower.
Rusty sighs and looks at Wilks. ‘Do you want to put a muzzle on your boy or do you want me to do it? Because trust me when I say you don’t want me to have to do it for you.’
Wilks gestures in apology. ‘Won’t happen again.’
Rusty nods. ‘Damn right it won’t happen again. They stopped teaching you fancy schamsy FBI agents manners at the academy?’
Wilks shrugs in response. It’s not a question that needs an answer.
Rusty turns her attention back to me. ‘Just tell me in your own words what happened.’
I take a deep breath and explain about the phone call, Carlson. I try to tell it as well as I can but there are gaps in my memory. I’m not certain exactly what he told me. I can recall my fear, however. That I do remember.
Rusty listens, a frown of concentration on her brow the entire time.
After I’m done, she seeks some clarifications: ‘This Carlson told you he was FBI?’
‘Yes.’
‘He told you that the two people in your living room worked for a cartel?’
‘Yes,’ I say, then I’m suddenly not sure. ‘He might have implied it.’
‘How would he imply such a thing?’
I think back, trying to recall every sentence, every word. The more I try, the blurrier it all becomes. ‘I seem to remember he said something like they were business associates.’
‘Business associates?’
I nod. ‘I’m pretty sure that’s what he said. He told me that he was the only one working on my husband’s case, that no one else knew anything about what he’s supposedly been doing for the cartel except the cartel.’
‘So,’ Rusty says, ‘might he have led you to infer that Special Agents Wilks and Messer were representatives of this cartel?’
‘He must have done.’
Rusty is silent, thinking. I glance at Wilks. She’s just as silent, just as much in thought.
‘What does this mean to you?’ Rusty asks her.
Wilks says, ‘There’s no one at the Bureau named Carlson that I know personally. I’ll check, obviously, but I doubt very much that whoever this person is will turn out to be FBI. My guess is he knows Leo somehow. In all likelihood he’s one of the business associates he warned you about.’
I say, ‘Why did he call me? Why did he tell me you were dangerous?’
Wilks says, ‘Again, I can only speculate at this point, but if he knows your husband then he could very well be involved in the money-laundering operation as well. Evidently, he doesn’t want you talking to us. I’m not sure how but it’s conceivable he learned of our investigation.’
Rusty says, ‘You folk at the Bureau have sprung a leak?’
Wilks shrugs. ‘It’s not unheard of when cartels are concerned.’
I nod. It makes sense: Carlson is one of the very people he’s tried to warn me about, all the while trying to make me think he
can help me. A good trick because it worked.
I say, ‘That’s why he wanted me to go with him, to make sure I couldn’t talk to you.’
Wilks is confused. ‘Say what?’
‘He didn’t want me to come here.’
Rusty says, ‘He told you on the phone not to go to the authorities?’
I shake my head. ‘No, he stopped me on the street. He wanted me to get in his car. Begged me, really. Like Wilks said, he doesn’t want me talking.’
Wilks is on her feet now. She points. ‘Carlson was here in town? Outside?’
I nod.
‘When?’
‘A few minutes ago. How long have I been here? Just before I came in through the door.’
‘Licence?’ Wilks barks.
The intensity of her tone takes me back. I hesitate. ‘I … I don’t know. I wasn’t paying attention. I—’
‘What car was he driving?’
‘I don’t know. A sedan. Grey, maybe.’
Wilks is out of the office within a second.
I watch her go, peering between the blind slats hanging on the inside of the windowed walls of Rusty’s office. I hear her shout the news to Messer and they both rush out of the exit, almost knocking over the moustache guy in the process. He’s even more confused now.
Slowly, I swivel my head back round to see that Rusty’s laser beam eyes are fixed my way and I feel like the smallest person in the world.
‘Guess I should have mentioned that part earlier.’
Rusty nods. ‘Little bit.’
9:40 a.m.
No one ever wants to feel anxious but it’s a totally normal part of life as a human being. We’re all going to have anxiety in the face of severe stresses from time to time. Thing is: the cause should be clear. When there’s no cause there should be no anxious feelings.
If only things were that simple.
With anxiety there are no little stresses and there are no small fears. Every stress is extreme. Even the most minor problem can trigger crippling feelings of hopelessness. Everyday obstacles can be terrifying to overcome. Even today most people don’t understand anxiety because everyone worries at times and everyone can be occasionally anxious. That’s natural. It’s even a good thing. We would be dangerously reckless without any fear. The difference between feeling anxious and anxiety is that the latter is chronic. There might not be any good reason to feel afraid. You might be afraid of something that shouldn’t be scary. You know you shouldn’t be anxious but you are anyway. You can’t control it.
There are plenty of reasons why you might develop anxiety, from a side effect of long-term illness to traumatic experiences to an imbalance in serotonin and noradrenalin. Your genes might make you pre-disposed. You might have taken too many drugs. You might have endured a trauma so severe you just can’t get over it.
In that way, I’m lucky. I know what caused this condition. There are people out there with no answers. They have anxiety and they don’t even know why.
I guess I should be grateful for this small mercy.
Rusty is making me some coffee. She doesn’t have one of her troopers do it for her and I’m not sure if this is a special consideration for me or just the way she does things. If I were a police chief I’d have my men scurrying around after my every beck and call. I didn’t tell her that I’m not thirsty. I don’t even like coffee all that much. Give me a matcha tea and we’re talking.
She seems to take her time, so I wonder if she made it as an excuse to leave the office, to talk to someone or check on something. I don’t know what to do while I’m on my own so I just sit in the uncomfortable chair and wait for her to return and hope she comes back before Wilks and Messer. I’m not frightened of them now but I don’t want to be scolded for not telling them about Carlson sooner. It’s not my fault, is it? Surely I’m owed a little consideration given the atypical morning I’ve had.
I realise my breathing is quick and shallow.
I can feel the beat of my heart inside my chest. It’s pounding at an irregular rhythm. I can feel my pulse in my shoulders and in my ears. I hear the fluttering beats of my heart and can almost see it jumping around, unable to stay in place. There’s an awful sensation in my neck, as though my heart is trying to squeeze its way up my throat.
I tell myself it’s just palpitations. I’m panicking.
I’m safe now, I tell myself.
I’m safe.
When Rusty returns my heart rate has slowed back down again and she hands me a white plastic cup with rings of corrugation around it to give it some strength but I still have to be careful not to grip it too hard. The coffee is spewing out clouds of steam and blowing on the surface doesn’t stop me burning the tip of my tongue when I take a sip. Rusty has a big ceramic mug, evidently her own as it has ‘Me boss, you not’ emblazoned upon it. She must have an asbestos mouth the way she slurps the steaming coffee without any hesitation.
‘So,’ Rusty says. ‘How do you end up a yoga teacher?’
‘There’s not much else I enjoy doing.’
‘Did you go to school for it?’
‘Not exactly. In fact, I studied accounting at college.’
‘No kidding? Yoga is a long way from decimal places.’
I nod. I agree. I don’t want to talk about it now.
‘So,’ Rusty says again, but in a different tone. ‘What do you think?’
I put the coffee down on her desk. ‘I don’t believe it.’
She takes her seat. ‘You think your husband walks on water?’
‘Oh, he certainly thinks he does. But I don’t think he could hide that kind of secret from me. I mean, I would have known something was up. I would have noticed him not sleeping or being irritable or stressed and scared out of his mind. He’s been none of those things. He’s Leo, a wine merchant. Nothing more. It must be some mistake.’
‘Some folk are better at hiding what’s going on inside them than the rest of us.’
This resonates with me and my issues but I’m different, I’m not well. There’s nothing wrong with Leo. He’s normal.
I say, ‘Leo’s not like that. He wears his emotions on his sleeve. Always has.’
Rusty slurps some coffee.
‘Whatever Wilks and Messer think they know is wrong. They’ve got the wrong guy. Maybe this Carlson is the real money launderer. Maybe that’s why he called me this morning. Has anyone stopped to find out? Have they?’
Rusty says, ‘You’ll recall that until very recently no one but you, Jemima, knew anything about any Carlson.’ Her tone is wonderful in its subtle yet still obvious condescension. She seems to then regret it because she says, ‘But you’ve been put through the wringer so you shouldn’t beat yourself up about that.’
I don’t know I’m beaten. ‘Don’t worry, I’m not.’
Rusty huffs and slurps some more coffee.
‘Drink up,’ she says. ‘Don’t let it get cold.’
Wilks and Messer aren’t gone long yet they return with weary faces. Messer makes a point of looking at me a single time, then not again. I imagine Wilks had a word with him, to rein in his frustration. At least temporarily, at least until they’re out of Rusty’s uncompromising reach.
Wilks says, to Rusty, not me, ‘If he was out there he’s long gone by now.’
‘He was here,’ I insist.
‘And he’s long gone,’ Wilks says again.
Rusty says to her, ‘Tell me what you need.’
Wilks is shaking her head, unsure of her next move. ‘Time,’ she says after a moment. ‘That’s all I need right now. I have to make a lot of calls. Dig around … This thing is getting too loud, too fast. I gotta roll back, try and put the lid back on it. This Carlson development changes everything. I need to be careful exactly who I speak to and what I reveal.’
Rusty says, ‘What can I do to assist?’
‘For now, nada. I appreciate your cooperation but I think this is as far as we go together. I mean no disrespect when I say there’s nothing you can co
nceivably do.’
Rusty turns down the corners of her mouth. ‘Well, whatever works for you works for me. You sure you don’t want me to put an officer outside the Talhoffer residence, see if Carlson shows up?’
Wilks shakes her head. ‘I don’t think we’ll hear from him again like that. Besides, should any of Leo’s associates swing by they’re going to know he’s blown. That’ll reset the entire investigation and put him in extreme danger.’
‘Please don’t do that,’ I say.
Rusty nods at Wilks. No surveillance.
Wilks leans across her desk, offering a hand that Rusty shakes.
It’s like everyone has forgotten about me.
So I say, ‘What about me?’
‘You’re free to go,’ Wilks says.
I turn up my palms. ‘Just like that?’
Wilks looks at me like I’m speaking in a foreign language.
‘After all that’s happened this morning, it’s over?’
My voice is getting louder.
‘Yeah,’ she says. ‘You can have your day back.’
‘I can have my day back,’ I say.
‘Yeah,’ she says again. ‘We’ll need to speak to you again, obviously. But not now, not today. We need to find out who this Carlson is before we do anything else.’
Rusty gestures to me. ‘Go home, Jem. Take a bath. Clean your feet. Have a glass of wine. Have two. Relax. Start working on how you’re going to tell this tale at your next steamed kale party.’
I nod. ‘What about Leo?’
Wilks says, ‘What time does he land in Europe?’
‘Just after six,’ I say. ‘P.m.’
Wilks and Messer exchange looks. They gesture. Counter gesture. A whole conversation without words.
‘We’ll be in touch before then,’ Wilks tells me. ‘But for a few hours at least, we’re done. Leo can wait until he gets back.’
It all feels anticlimactic. I’m told my husband is a money launderer, I run for my life because a stranger named Carlson is trying to manipulate me for reasons no one yet understands … and now it’s finished. All over. Done.
