“How do you think the Red Wings will do?” My mind was stuck on sports for some reason, as though the rest of the world had ceased to exist (or at least knowledge of it had fallen out of my mind). It was freaking me out.
“I don’t want to talk about the Red Wings,” Jake said, sliding into Derrick’s open desk chair. He rested his elbows on the desk and his chin on his hands as he watched me. I was starting to feel as though I was the ant and he was the bored little boy with a magnifying glass on a hot summer’s day.
“I don’t know why you’re mad at me,” I started heatedly. In cases like this, it’s better to just go on the offensive.
“Really?” Jake raised an eyebrow. “You don’t know why I’m angry with you?”
“I have a job to do,” I started again. “I was just doing my job.”
“Following your cousin to a crime scene and sneaking on to said crime scene and tricking the medical examiner into giving you an exclusive is not your job.”
Actually, that was exactly my job. I didn’t point that out, though. Something told me now was not the time to press my luck. Instead, I held up my hands -- palms up -- and shrugged. “I did what anyone in my position would have done.”
“No one else would have been in your situation,” Jake pointed out. “You followed a family member. That’s not skill, it’s just dumb luck.”
“Now you’re going to blame me for luck? That doesn’t seem fair.”
“I’m not blaming you for anything,” Jake replied, his eyes dark and his voice weary. “This is really my fault. I realize that. I should have known that you would follow Derrick. If I had been thinking, I wouldn’t have included him on the page list.”
Oh, so this was the game he wanted to play. “You’re saying you’re going to leave Derrick out of high-profile cases because of his association with me?” I couldn’t believe this was the way he was going to go with this.
Jake pursed his lips. “If I have to.”
“So, you’re threatening me?”
“I’m definitely not threatening you,” Jake countered. “I’m offering you an … observation.”
“You’re right,” I shot back. “You’re definitely not threatening me. You’re blackmailing me. They’re totally different -- but equally insulting.”
Jake rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I am the sheriff of Macomb County. I don’t blackmail people.”
“You’re telling me that you’re going to punish Derrick because I followed him,” I said. “You’re basically telling me that if I do anything like this again you’ll cease Derrick’s forward momentum. He’ll be stuck where he’s at for the rest of his life and it will be my fault.”
“If that’s the way you take it,” Jake replied, glancing down at his hand to avoid making eye contact with me. He was such a crappy liar.
“Well, I’m calling your bluff,” I said.
“Excuse me?” Jake looked nonplussed.
“I’m calling your bluff,” I repeated. “There’s no way you’re going to punish Derrick because of something I did. You’re too fair for that.”
Jake frowned.
“You’re a good guy. You’re a great boss -- at least that’s what everyone says. If you were to do this to Derrick, then everyone under you would start whispering about what an ass you are, and you don’t want that. You want people to like you.”
Jake slammed his hand on the desk. “Dammit, Avery! I’m being serious here. Have you looked outside?” Jake was on his feet again, pacing. “There’s a media circus in my parking lot on a story that I didn’t want to go public yet.”
“That’s not my problem,” I shot back. “Take it up with Riley.”
“Oh, I have,” Jake muttered.
“Let me guess,” I grinned at him evilly. “He told you to stuff your rules.”
“Why do you have to be such a pain in the ass?”
“Why do you have to keep underestimating me?”
“Oh, I don’t underestimate you,” Jake replied. “You just always manage to take it one step further than anyone else would dare take it -- and you don’t see anything wrong with that.”
“I’m good at my job,” I said, studying my fingernails suddenly as if they were the most interesting thing in the world. “I’m going to get the story any way I can. I don’t expect you to understand that, but I do expect you to respect it.”
“Even if it screws up my investigation?” Jake looked suddenly beaten, most of the anger fleeing from him and leaving his body like a deflating balloon.
“I didn’t mean to screw up your investigation,” I offered lamely. “It was just an accident.” I mostly meant that.
“It’s always just an accident with you,” Jake complained.
“Well then, this shouldn’t come as a big surprise to you.” Now I was hoping my charm would win him over again.
“You’re such a pain,” Jake sighed.
“You’d miss me if I was gone,” I smiled brightly.
“I wouldn’t mind testing that theory,” Jake said bitterly.
I didn’t like the sound of that. Ah, well, he’d get over it. He always did.
Seven
When I got back to the office, I was in a much better mood than when I had first arrived at the sheriff’s department. Jake had cooled down -- a bit. And when the news conference had finally gotten underway, there wasn’t any more information to be gleaned than I had already unearthed (which ticked off the other media hacks but left me practically giddy).
I dropped my notebook on my desk when I got to the newsroom, stopping long enough to report on the conference to Fish. When I got to my desk, I found a handful of my co-workers loitering in the central aisle of the cubicles where my friend, Marvin Potts, was holding court.
“I’m not joking,” he said, his face reddening in anger as a few of the other reporters laughed at something he had said.
“What’s going on?” It’s always an iffy situation when Marvin is telling a story. He’s highly entertaining. He’s also a drama queen and hypochondriac. I wasn’t sure I was up for either right now.
“Potts is swearing off women,” one of the other reporters answered, mirth flitting across his face.
“Are you on men now?”
Marvin scowled at me. “You know that’s not funny.”
Marvin is also homophobic -- and occasionally borderline racist and misogynistic (Don’t ask him about women, blacks or Asians and driving -- trust me.)
“So, you’re off women,” I returned to the conversation at hand.
“They’re all awful,” Marvin replied. “I’m including you in that statement. No offense.”
No offense taken. A lot of people think I’m awful. I encourage it most of the time. It makes them less likely to want to hang around me. “What happened this time?”
“What makes you think something happened?” Marvin asked.
“Because something always happens where you’re concerned,” I replied, which made the other reporters chuckle and nod in agreement.
“I resent that,” Marvin said, crossing his arms in a defensive stance. “Something might have happened, though.”
This should be good. “And what might have happened?”
“So I was at a strip bar in Detroit last night,” Marvin started.
This was the way all of his stories started lately. That’s probably why he was having a problem, but I didn’t point that out.
“And I was getting a lap dance,” Marvin continued.
“How can you afford to go to a strip club three nights of the week?” One of the other reporters asked.
“How is that important?” Marvin asked.
“Because he spends absolutely no money on clothes or improvements for his condo,” I answered.
Marvin glared at me. “We’re not talking about my clothes.”
I looked him up and down, taking in his “uniform” with a grimace. Marvin’s idea of fashion included the exact same outfit every day: polyester black pants, outdated Reebok shoes
, a white cotton button-down shirt and black suspenders. “Are you sure you don’t want me to help you pick out clothes?”
“We’re not talking about that,” Marvin practically howled.
“What were we talking about?”
“Marvin was at a strip bar last night,” someone replied.
Ah, right. “So, you were at a strip club last night,” I prodded.
“He was getting a lap dance,” the other voice added again.
“You were getting a lap dance,” I added, sighing inwardly. Sometimes I wonder how we collectively manage to cross the road without getting hit by a car.
Marvin still didn’t look convinced that he should continue with the story, but he did. That’s the drama queen in him. Any attention -- even negative -- is welcome. “At some point, I’m not exactly sure when or how, we started making out.”
Now, wait a minute … . “I didn’t think you were allowed to do that at a strip club.”
“What?”
“Touch the strippers -- let alone make out with them.”
“I’m special,” Marvin replied, his irritation becoming evident. “All the women there want me.”
“Is that because you tip like a rock star?”
Marvin furrowed his brow. “Money has nothing to do with it.”
Somehow I had my doubts. “So you were making out with the stripper.”
“I was French kissing her,” Marvin corrected me.
“I don’t think anyone uses the term French kiss anymore,” I interrupted again.
“Are you trying to kill me?” Marvin was incensed now. “And what do you call it if you don’t call it French kissing?”
“Just call it kissing,” I shrugged. “The French part can be implied.”
“Or call it tonguing,” one of the other reporters offered.
That was a scary mental picture. I tried to shake it off. “You’re kissing the stripper and then what happens?” This story was starting to take longer to tell than the one I was about to write.
“And she told me that I had bad kissing technique,” Marvin finished succinctly.
Huh. “And that’s why you’re off women?”
“Yes.”
“This can’t be the first time you’ve heard that,” I said. I love Marvin, but he has “bad kisser” written all over him.
“I’m done talking to you,” Marvin said, moving away from me and huffily sitting down in his desk chair.
That was fine with me. I had a few things I wanted to check out anyway. I noticed that the reporters who had been waiting for Marvin and I to fight were now wandering away, murmuring in disappointment. Unfortunately for them I didn’t have time for a dramatic soap opera scene for their amusement today.
Once I booted up my computer, I considered what it was I was looking for. Jake had refused to identify the victim of yesterday’s body dump. He said that information wouldn’t be available until the next day. I took a chance and searched the obits from every paper in the area for young females, but I didn’t find anyone who met my parameters. That wasn’t really surprising. Her family might have just found out about her death -- if she had been identified at all. Odds of the family making funeral arrangements this quickly were pretty slim.
A memory tugged. What had Eliot said about another victim? Two weeks ago on the Oakland side of the county line, if I remembered correctly. I started going through the obits again, this time widening my search by two weeks. It didn’t take long to find a prospect.
“Sophie Lipscomb,” I murmured.
“Did you say something?” Marvin asked through the panel that separated our cubicles.
“I was talking to myself,” I replied.
“So you weren’t apologizing to me?”
I sighed. “I’m sorry I called you a bad kisser.”
“I’m a good kisser.”
“I’m sure.”
“I am.”
“Great.”
I heard Marvin shifting in his cubicle and wasn’t surprised when I felt him slide into mine as he read my computer screen over my shoulder. “Who is she?”
“Eliot told me about another possible victim, this one on the Oakland side of the county line, a few weeks ago,” I said. “I think this might be her.”
Marvin continued reading the obit. “Wouldn’t we have heard about this? I hate it when obits use the term suddenly. It’s always sudden when you die.”
I ignored his obit critique. “Not if they downplayed it,” I said. “Oakland hides crime when they can,” I reminded him. “They like to be known as the safe county.”
“Yeah,” Marvin agreed. “Wayne is the deadly county and Macomb is the perverted one.”
He wasn’t wrong. “She was twenty-five,” I continued reading. “It says she was a secretary.”
“She’s from Harrison Township,” Marvin pointed out. “That makes her a county resident. Are you going to try to find her family?”
“They’re listed in the obit,” I replied. “She has a mom, a dad, a sister and a brother. I should be able to find at least one of them.”
“What are you going to do? Show up on their front doorstep and ask if their daughter was found naked in a body of water?”
“I was hoping to come up with something slightly less jarring.” And less insulting.
I Googled Sophie’s parents and came up with an address, also in Harrison Township. It couldn’t hurt to at least check them out on the way home.
“You’re not including her in this story, are you?”
“I don’t have any proof yet,” I replied. “I’m not an idiot.”
“So what are you going to write for today?”
“Just a retread of yesterday’s story.”
“That won’t make Fish happy.”
“What does?”
“Ariel, I have a bone to pick with you.”
Marvin and I both swung around to find Caleb Crumb standing in the aisle, hands on hips, watching us.
“Caleb,” Marvin greeted him. “How’s it going?”
“I want to have a discussion with Ariel,” Caleb said.
“Who is Ariel?”
“He’s talking about me,” I said.
“Her name is Avery,” Marvin told Caleb helpfully.
“Since when?” Caleb asked. “She was Ariel this morning.”
I rolled my eyes. He was back to his bumbling routine. “I was actually Avery this morning, too, Caleb “You’re the only one who calls me Ariel.”
“Because that’s your name.”
Whatever. “What do you want?”
“You told Fred Fish -- he’s our editor, by the way -- that I was at the news conference in Detroit this morning.”
“Thanks for the update on the editor situation. I would have never figured that out without you. So what if I told him?”
“So that wasn’t your place to tell him,” Crumb said.
“That was my story and I happen to know that you were told not to go there,” I replied. “Who should I have told?”
“No one,” he said. “No one asked you to get involved in something that had nothing to do with you.”
Usually I would agree with him. Since I can’t stand him, though, I believed some arguing was in order. “Were you or were you not told not to go down to Detroit this morning?”
“Excuse me?”
“Fish said that he was giving me the story specifically because he didn’t want you to have it.” Hey, if I’m going under the bus in this little scenario, everyone is going with me. “Yet, when I got there, you were there.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Crumb hedged. “I cleared my assignment with Fred yesterday. We must have just got our wires crossed.”
“You’re so full of crap,” I laughed. “I know Fish doesn’t believe that pile of sludge -- and neither do I. Were you going to file a story?”
“I was just there for my own personal edification,” Crumb said.
“Don’t you read your stories back to source
s for the purposes of clarification and edification? You really like using that word.” I decided to change the subject.
“What does that have to do with anything?” Caleb looked genuinely confused.
“What does anything you say have to do with anything?” I was really starting to get irritated now.
“What’s going on?”
I cringed when I saw that Duncan, the office tool, had edged into our little group. “None of your business.”
“She told Fred that I was at a news conference I shouldn’t have been at,” Crumb complained.
“Avery is causing trouble? Avery is being obnoxious? Surely you jest.”
I stuck out my tongue in Duncan’s direction. Our relationship couldn’t possibly get any worse. I might as well go full on immature at this point.
“Is Avery making a scene?”
I thought this little melee couldn’t degenerate further. I was wrong. The sports page designer, Brick, had come around the corner from the other side of the cubicles, and he looked as though he was spoiling for a fight, too.
Brick and I hadn’t really spoken since his girlfriend had tried to kill me weeks before. I had stumbled upon the fact that she was a freeway shooter (long story). Instead of blaming her for killing people, Brick was blaming me for getting away and turning her in to the police. What can I say? I’m surrounded by freaks.
“What do you want?” I asked Brick.
“I want to see you get some comeuppance.” Brick folded his arms across his chest. I swear, he looks like an angry little koala bear.
“Well, you’re all going to be disappointed. In this case, I didn’t do anything wrong.” I could be just as stubborn as they could.
“You tattled,” Duncan shot back.
I shifted slightly. I had tattled. I didn’t feel guilty about it, though. “You would recognize the act.” Duncan was a notorious tattler.
“What is that supposed to mean?” Duncan narrowed his eyes.
I’d had enough. “I don’t care what any of you want or what your current gripe is. I’m on deadline. So you can all go do … whatever it is that you do.” I waved my hand in a shooing motion for emphasis.
Marvin glanced at me. “I bet they’re all bad kissers.”
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