“Welcome to modern technology. A place where crime truly can pay and kids are the primary buyers.”
He turns to look at me, a serious expression on his face. My dad had that once. It was when I told him I wanted to play baseball with the boys. One of pure pride of advancement and absolute fear of the ramifications of my actions. Never did play for the boys’ teams, league rules and all. Softball wasn’t a challenge, but what else was I going to do - knit? I was a contact girl.
“Detectives?” The woman utters over the counter, only her hair visible as she speaks. “He’s ready for you.” He hair bounces as her fingers appear pointing to the room in the back left. It seems out of place, like the room was an afterthought. Kind of like when baseball teams build new stadiums and forget about the pitchers needing a bullpen to warm up. They end up putting them in foul territory, always in danger of being hit by a speeding foul ball. That’s what this was right now, he’s the pitcher and we’re speeding at him for information. Wonder who blinks first?
Will knocks on the door and opens it after a low mumbling response. Walking in, the first thing I see are frames housing images of the principal with loads of people. Some he has holding awards, some just the award themselves, others famous people. This is a man who is more intent on showing who he knows as opposed to what he knows. One image jumps out at me and my blood begins to boil-Irving Garrison with his arm around Principal Miller.
“Mr. Miller…”
“Walter, please. I know why you are both here and we’ve already cleaned out Miss Johnson’s locker for you. Everything is here.”
He lifts a box off the floor and places it on his desk.
“While we appreciate the effort, sir, we would still like to take a look over her locker.”
“Yes, well while I would love to do that, we are short lockers here and we needed to reassign it quickly.”
“So, she’s gone for a few days and she’s disposed of?” My voice comes out sharp and fast, like the venom through a snakebite. Will turns on his heels. I feel his eyes on my, by my brain is solely focused on the image in front of me. The principal’s breathing quickens. You can hear the fear if you listen for it. I learned that from watching the good cop bad cop interrogations. Yes, they’re real, but only used on the dumbest of criminals. Normal society doesn’t work that way.
“No detective, but we have a waiting list for such commodities. Blame the budget, but do not blame me for doing right by one of my students.”
“With all due respect sir, and by that I mean none, you were told to hold the locker for us to investigate it. We have techs that were to dust it, look for something, anything to figure out what happened to Kaley Johnson, and you just made that a lot harder.”
“Try being a principal for a week and tell me about hard.”
“Walter, we’re not here to cause a problem. We just want to know about Kaley’s routines.”
“She was a perfect student, good grades, involved in after school activities. She was always willing to lend a hand at our fundraisers.”
“With Irving Garrison?”
“If he was in attendance, yes. Although I fail to see the relevance.”
“Just asking if he was there, that’s all.” Will watches me closely. I know he’s going to be rather upset at my tone and line of questioning. There’s a line we never cross, but sometimes I feel I’m entitled to teeter on it. Being shot will do that to you. The school bell rings again and Walter stands up, brushes down his shirt and walks to the door.
“If there is nothing else, I need to get back to running the school.”
Will lifts the box and walks out of the room. I pull out my cell phone and take a snapshot of the photo on the wall. Turning around my eyes lock with Walter. He knows who I am. He’s known the moment I came into the room. He also knows I have no power here. He smiles at me, as if he’s got the script and I’ve only seen the trailer. Looking him up and down, I smile and pat him on the back before I walk by. My dad used to do that to those he thought were below him. Don’t know if it works or not, but it prevents you from saying something or giving up your hand. Either that or it prevents me from losing my badge to every asshole I want to punch a smile off of.
Walking back to the car, Will is furious with me. You can tell as he walks, stomping his feet like Chase when I tell him it’s bedtime. Popping the trunk he drops the box inside, slowly flipping through its contents.
“Nothing of value’s in there.”
He slams the trunk. I feel like being the petulant child and say I’m in wicked trouble now, but in this case I know I am.
“What the fuck has gotten into you?”
“Look…”
“No, I don’t know what’s been going on in your head, but get it the fuck out. You can’t go in there all guns blazing because on some damn photo! For all you know, there’s nothing going on there, but no the master has to connect dots when there might not be a fucking connection!”
“He knew who I was.”
“Half of fucking New York knows who you are because you were all over the news. Not every case is about them.”
“Then explain emptying a locker before we got here.”
“My two daughters share a locker in middle school because they don’t have enough. The damn places are overcrowded, budgets suck and don’t get me started on this math addition by means of subtraction.”
“Okay, so I might have overreacted.”
He looks me over, the irritation slowly waning from his eyes. He pushes past me and gets in the driver’s side of the car. Walking calmly around, I take one final look at the high school and realize you couldn’t pay me enough to go deal with that shit again. Slide into the passenger seat, buckle in, stay quiet. Simple enough.
“You’re right though, he wouldn’t turn over anything to us that implicates the school.” Or not.
“He’s hiding something?”
“I don’t know. What I do know is schools get money from grades, kids and begging. Straight out business. Teachers are pawns. Administrators…”
“Satan’s spawn.”
Will turns the car over and laughs at me.
“I told you I was suspended a lot. I’m telling you some of those bullies had really soprano voices when you…”
“Stop! Please, by all that is holy, stop.” I stop but the enjoyment must be plastered on my face. I used to do this to my brother, remind him that in eighth grade my doll’s plastic face was used to protect him. He laughed at me, until I reminded him where said plastic face connected. The blood would rush out of his face, he’d sit down and just point out of the room. I would skip away from him. Teach him to tell me that G.I. Joes always beat Care Bears. He never understood the power of the Care Bear Stare. God, I am old.
“I want to check out the crime scene again, see if the techs missed something.”
“Want me to come with?”
“Nah, I’ll drop you off at the station.”
“Frankie should have had the lawyers look over the warrant by now. I’ll head to her and get Kaley’s file. Make sure you check her room thoroughly. There has to be something hidden she didn’t want her parents to see.”
“Like what?”
“A diary about all the cute boys she wants to date.”
Will pulls into the precinct parking lot. He looks at me, worry etched on his face. It’s the father just realized his daughter is going to be dating soon face. He ought to be lucky he shaves his head, otherwise he’d lose it very quickly.
“You’re kidding me.”
Hoping out of the car, I lean down and look into the car.
“Mine had all my secrets I couldn’t tell my parents. Hid it in my pillow and filled it with more cotton. Mom never found it. Shit if she did, I wouldn’t be standing and my first boyfriend wouldn’t be married with three kids.”
His face pales and I shake my head, laughing at him. Closing the door, he peels out of the parking lot with a determined mind. Hopefully he finds something, anything to g
ive us a clue where her body might be. I stop short. It’s one thing in your mind to assume never finding someone, but to go to body recovery is a whole different ballgame. Why did I go there? What evidence points to that? Am I connecting dots that aren’t really there?
This is the hardest part of detective work, doubting your gut when you don’t know why it’s telling you something in the first place.
***
I always loved the view from the office. It let me see how small, insignificant I was to the rest of the world. It’s a blessing really, reminding yourself of this. I find myself getting lost in the fantasy of what the lives of the people below are. Do they know there is crime happening right next to one out of four of them? Have they experienced the loss of a loved one? If I had made different choices, would any of them be in my life? I’ve been told to live life for myself because I am worth it, but how can one live for themselves when the world doesn’t and shouldn’t revolve around them?
“You lost in thought again?”
My reverie is once again broken by Frankie’s calming voice. Turning, I can see her leaning on her desk, her fingers tapping on a file folder. She knows this isn’t a social call. I should have called before coming here, but I was never good at keeping in touch.
“When am I not?”
“You really want me to answer that?” Her face flushes red and I know exactly the moments she’s referring to. I feel the burning in my ears and I know I must look embarrassed as hell.
“I’d rather you didn’t.”
She points to the couch I usually crash on and my prior thoughts are invading my mind a bit. When it comes to Frankie, focus was never my strong suit. She just invades my mind like a great story that you never want to let go, or a good song that annoys the crap out of you. I guess it depends on what mood she’s in. Forcing myself to breathe, my feet drag to the couch, the day weighing heavy enough.
“Before we go any further, this is purely business between us. You will be able to take the copy of Kaley’s file as per the warrant. That being said, please respect that I don’t want to talk about this case around Chase. I understand that you might have more questions after you fully digest my notes. Just respect that just because we live together does not give you freedom to bombard me while we are having family time. There has to be a divide between Doctor Francesca Ryan and your girlfriend when we walk out of this office.”
I try to hide my smile when she uses her official title. She hated her first name, sounds like an old bat, she’ll say more often than not. What she won’t tell you is she’s named after her mother who died when she was young. Her father called her Frankie and it stuck.
“Jasmine, are you listening to me at all?” Once again she pulls my attention back to the task at hand. I know it’s important but I am beyond tired, it’s late and there isn’t enough coffee in the world to keep me going much longer. Not like I’ll get sleep tonight anyway.
“Yes, I’ve got it and I agree.”
Frankie grabs the file from her desk and holds it out for me to take. She lowers herself into the chair and motions for me to look through it. Flipping open the cover, it’s an odd sensation. There’s no photo like we normally have in our case files. There are a bunch of papers, a simple family tree of sorts, educational situation, medical jargon that I will never understand, and then I stop. I can feel the muscles tighten in my jaw and I want to turn away from the page, but my eyes are so focused on it.
“Are you sure?” my voice is so weak I don’t know if she heard me. My eyes finally move upwards and lock onto hers. The sadness that flows off her in waves, and I close the file in disgust. I don’t want to read anymore. I know I’ll have to, but right now, I can’t.
“Very sure.” She finally answers me. “When you look through the rest of the file, you’ll see medical reports backing up her claims.”
“Mother?”
“Knew everything.”
“This could change the entire investigation.”
“It might, or it might not. I really don’t know what to tell you.”
“Do you think it’s possible…” I try to find the right words, but right now my head is running a mile a minute. I wish the damn hamster would get off the wheel for one minute so a train of through could form.
“I don’t think she’s capable of this. Based on what you told me, you want someone more precise, more professional.”
“Frankie, you know as well as I do, when in that state of mind you can do anything.”
“That’s very true, but she never would have hurt her brother. In fact, she was trying to find a relative that would take them in. That doesn’t sound like someone who would kill her brother.”
“Maybe she didn’t want him to suffer.”
“Lester Johnson was many things, but his son was his pride and joy. He wouldn’t have hurt him.”
“Once a pervert always a pervert.”
“I tend to agree with you, but there are different classifications and desires that each individual has. He showed no interest in Daniel. It was always Kaley. Based on her rape kit, he’s been assaulting her for years. She said it started when she was thirteen. The doctors told me it was much more than that.”
“Did you report it? There was nothing in the database.”
“I did and it was never entered.”
“Why?”
“Kaley kept recanting. She wanted to leave, but she was terrified.”
“I get that but the kit was enough to prove it.”
“Jasmine, she only consented to seeing a doctor two weeks before her disappearance. I did everything I could to get her to do it sooner, but her mother was a boar with lawyers, injunctions. It’s been a hell of a battle. One day Kaley shows up at my office and begs me to take her to the hospital.”
“If her mother had injunctions…”
“I had no choice. She was bleeding and had nowhere else to go. The police and family services were heading to her house to remove both children. That’s when they found the bodies.”
It slowly starts to fall into place. Like when you finally see the beginning of the film and the best parts of the trailer were in there. Now you’re not sure what to expect, but you have an idea where the train of thought is heading. Either way, I don’t like it.
Chapter Four
The water droplets hit my jacket as I watch the sky light up. Each drop hitting with a distinct sound, soaking in, making the clothing heavy. It doesn’t matter, I feel this darkness gripping me. The rain can’t wash it away. It’s part of me, the guilt, the anger, the desire for revenge. I know I am my own worst enemy by my actions before, but this time I feel the control leaving me. I look towards the future as much as possible, but I guess we can’t ever truly outrun our past.
“You still think you’re better, don’t you?” I hear the voice behind me and the hair stands up on the back of my neck. Guilt is a funny thing. It rules you. Controls you. Hatred, that’s worse.
“I thought you wanted to die so badly before. Yet, you fought back. Why?” The voice continues to hit my ears, but I ignore it. Try to focus on the rain, the droplets, the cleaning of my soul.
“Tell me why, you stupid bitch!”
“You’re not real. I know you’re not. So say whatever you want, I’m going to enjoy the…” Something slams into the side of my head snapping it to the right harshly. The ripple effect pulls me to the ground, into the mud and muck.
“Real or not, that had to hurt.”
Rolling over onto my side, I hold my hand against my head. It hurts badly, but there’s no blood. Shouldn’t there be blood? Slowly pulling myself to my feet, I turn to see James standing there, muscles flexed, veins in his neck pumping. His eyes black as night, his smile gone. He reminds me of the book I was forced to read in high school - The Picture of Dorian Grey. James was handsome in real life, but this darkness, this side of him - was devoid of anything nice to look at.
A swift and painful kick to my ribs reminds me he’s still there. Rolling onto
my back, I take a few deep breaths trying to control the rage building inside me. A stomp on my stomach pushes the air out faster than I can take it back in.
“You can try to ignore me all you want, but I’m here. We’re all here.”
Another stomp and whatever was in my stomach flies out of my mouth and onto the floor. Tears form in my eyes, but I try not to let them fall. Dreams are supposed to be safe havens, they used to be. Visiting family members, maybe a tragic situation or two, but never like this. I would relive the past sure, but not how I am now. Somethings changed, and I don’t know how to stop it.
“Once you let go, it’s a free-for-all.”
Two hands wrap around my throat, constricting me from grasping air. My hands hang at my sides unmoving. It’s surreal. I no longer have the desire to die. I want to see Chase grow up and plan a future with Frankie, but this feeling now-it’s new. The pain is deserved, the torture understood. I took a man’s life and he’s haunting me.
My chest constricts and I feel the sudden fight to breathe, but my arms still don’t move. My brain is sending signals, I know it is, but they feel glued to the floor. Staring at James, his blackened eyes wanting me to give in, give up. It’s like this hypnotic gaze of nothingness. You either fall into it or turn away. I’m somewhere in-between. I want to turn away, but there is so much depth there. Of what I don’t know. Maybe I should give in, go into the darkness and see what lies ahead. Accept that evil and use it to my advantage.
As if getting the signal from my brain, my right hand swings upwards and connects with James’s head. He falls off to the side of me and vanishes. Gasping for air, I pull my legs into my chest. Tears flow freely, but I ignore them. I feel this fear of letting go into that side of me. I don’t want my painting to be hideous. I want to be clean. I want my conscience to be clear. Yet my heart isn’t pure anymore. I’ve killed a man. At times like this there is only one person in the world I want.
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