by Lisa Ladew
What if someone said something to her? He didn’t know what type of thing triggered her, since she’d never shared anything with him, but everyone has their triggers. What if some drunk asshole had groped her or something like that?
A light bloomed in Jerry’s mind. He knew he was grasping at straws, but he didn’t care. He wasn’t ready to just give up on her yet. He set his lips in a grim line and spun the steering wheel left, doing a U-turn to the opposite lane.
He was determined to get some answers.
Chapter 2
Jerry parked his car in front of the Mariana Day apartments and turned off his engine. His heart hammered in his chest hard enough that he could feel it beating in his neck. He took a deep breath and willed himself to calm down. He wouldn’t accuse her of anything. He would just ask her Why? And see what she had to say.
He scanned the parking lot and spotted her car, a blue Ford Taurus, parked near the far end. Jerry walked toward it, trying to remember exactly which apartment belonged to Sara. He jogged up the stairs to the second floor, feeling a sudden fluttering in his gut. He focused on it, trying to figure out what it was telling him. Hurry up? Danger? He’d learned over the many years he’d been a paramedic to pay attention to feelings like these. Every time, when the symptoms told him the patient was fine, but his gut told him the patient was dying and he better move faster, his gut was right.
He stopped at the top of the stairs and gazed down the open-at-both-ends, red-brick hallway, thinking back in his mind to the ambulance call that brought him here over two years before. His chest pain patient had been in 2F, on the left side of hallway. Sara had been there, holding the old woman’s hand and telling her everything would be OK. Sara had only spared Jerry a glance before looking back at her hurting neighbor. Jerry had been head over heels taken with her with that one glance, but professionalism never let him do anything about it. Until he saw her again under different circumstances.
Jerry started down the hallway, passing 2F. He stopped in front of 2H, remembering how Sara had rushed in here for a moment to get her keys and follow the ambulance to the hospital. The feeling in his gut was still there, pinging louder and stronger than ever. He took a deep breath and knocked on the door, ready for anything.
The door swung open just enough to let a sliver of light out into the hallway. Silence beat at his temples, churning his feelings of unease.
Jerry frowned, and considered pulling the door shut, but instead knocked again closer to the hinges. “Sara?” he called.
The door swung open a little more, and a metallic smell drifted out of the opening. Jerry knew what it was in a flash. He was a paramedic after all.
He pushed the door open quickly and took a step inside. “Sara! It’s Jerry!”
The door bounced off the back wall and back into him, and then stood open, revealing a foyer that connected the kitchen off to the right, and the living room straight ahead.
He could feel he wasn’t alone. She must be here.
The kitchen stood dark and empty so he moved into the living room and immediately saw where the smell was coming from. Red liquid that looked like blood, and probably was blood considering how it smelled, was splashed everywhere. Her couch was drenched with it. A pile of clothes in the middle of the floor were splashed in it and then kicked around, as if to be sure every item was touched. The lamps had bright spatters that looked like art. But the foot-high words scrawled on the walls in blood chilled his heart the worst.
Conniving Abandoning BITCH
Do your job you CUNT
Your blood lesson is coming
“Sara?” he whispered, his mind unable to process what he was seeing. Every step he took further into the room felt like it was through quicksand. His legs shook and tried to buckle. He’d never seen anything like this, even with all his years as a paramedic. Jerry didn’t think evil was something lurked in the hearts of men, or anything cliche like that. In fact, he thought the hurt that people usually caused each other was more from misunderstanding, and broken-ness, and love-seeking. But this was evil. Done by an evil person. He had no doubt about that.
He broke to his left and ran down the hallway, his neat, black shoes thudding heavily in the confined space. He slowed at the bathroom, but didn’t stop. It seemed empty at a glance. The bedroom light was on and he entered at a run, slamming the door into the wall as he pushed it open.
Empty.
He whirled to the closet and ripped it open.
Also empty except for plastic hangers hung askew with more littering the floor.
He fought an insane urge to check under the bed like a scared child, and then thought better of it. Of course he should check under the bed. This was a crime scene and he wanted to be careful.
Jerry dropped soundlessly to the floor, but there was nothing under the bed. He pushed up to his feet and walked slowly back down the hallway, his heartbeat echoing in his ears. The apartment was quiet. And it felt different.
He turned on the light in the bathroom and looked inside, but there were no hiding places.
The kitchen.
Cautiously, he made his way past the closed front door into the kitchen. He turned on the light and scanned the room. The dining area opened up past the big refrigerator and there was a dead space behind it that he couldn’t see.
His heartbeat sped up, beating so loudly it was all he could hear. He looked around for a weapon, but saw nothing, not even a broom. He fished his phone out of his pocket and dialed 911. He flexed his knees slightly, ready to react if someone sprang at him.
“911, what is your emergency?”
“I’m at Mariana Day apartments. My friend’s apartment has been broken into and someone … someone ruined it.”
“What is your name?”
“Jerry Mansko.”
“Jerry, it’s Miranda. Are you OK?”
“Yeah Miranda, I’m OK, but my friend doesn’t seem to be here and I don’t know what happened to her. Her place is destroyed. Someone poured blood all over everything.”
The dispatcher’s quick intake of breath told Jerry that she understood how bad things were.
As he talked Jerry walked forward, eyes wide and scanning the whole dining room at once. Empty as far as he could see.
Miranda clicked off for a second to start dispatching police and Jerry took some deep breaths, trying to calm down.
Suddenly he knew what felt different about the apartment. It felt empty.
He turned in a slow circle, phone still to his ear, and looked at the foyer where the door should be standing open like he left it. He couldn’t see it. Which meant it was closed.
Shoving his phone in his pocket, he took three large steps and ripped the door open. Raking his head left, then right, he determined the hallway was empty. In a split second he decided whoever had been in the apartment was more likely to have left via the back stairs, so he sprinted that way. Visions tore through his skull of Sara being dragged down the steps, a hand over her mouth and a gun to her temple.
He skidded to a stop at the back wall and looked over the grass behind the building. Nothing was moving. He ran to the steps and took them two at a time to the bottom. Nobody was around. Nothing was moving.
Breath tearing in and out of his lungs, he ran for the parking lot.
It was late. Probably close to midnight. And this was a quiet, small apartment building. If he found a car pulling out of a stall, he gave it better than 50% odds it would be who he was looking for. But he didn’t see anything moving. No taillights flashed. No car doors banged. Everything was quite.
Damn! He almost kicked the closest car in frustration. He had left the door to the apartment open, he was sure of it. So that meant someone had been in there when he got there. How could they have gotten away so quickly, quietly, and cleanly?
Unless …
A scary idea bloomed in Jerry’s mind. What if it had been a neighbor? Suddenly it seemed as if his heart had stopped beating. But why?
Why not?<
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Jerry racked his brain, trying to think of what to do now. He wasn’t a cop. But what if what he did in the next few minutes meant the difference between life and death for Sara? He turned in a circle, feeling completely helpless. Should he look in all the cars to see if anyone was hiding in one? Should he knock on the neighbor’s doors? Should he look for tracks on the back lawn? A dozen possibilities occurred to him, all of which seemed to be equally important. He whipped his phone out of his pocket and punched in Craig’s number. It would take a few minutes to explain to Craig what was going on, but Craig could then tell him what was the best thing for him to do next. While he talked he could walk up and down the rows of cars and peek inside them.
As he dialed, lights splashed on the street in front of him and the sound of a car filled his ears. It was a police car, pulling into the parking lot. Relief bloomed in his belly, making him feel shaky. He pressed end on his phone and slipped it back in his pocket. The cops were here and they would know what to do. At least that’s what he thought at the time.
Chapter 3
Jerry stood in the living room of Sara’s apartment, his hands fisted at his sides and his jaw locked tight. He couldn’t believe that an hour ago he had thought that the police officers showing up meant everything was OK. As he watched Officer Blalock dust for fingerprints and Officer Ferris take pictures he heard his teeth grind together. He tried to relax his jaw but as soon as he did, he lost what little control he had. He started saying out loud the thoughts that were scraping his brain raw.
“So this is it? This is all you guys are going to do? Take fingerprints and pictures?”
Officer Blalock turned around, his thick neck scraping his collar.
“What do you think we should be doing, Mr. Mansko?”
That Mr. Mansko burned Jerry up a little. He had been friendly with Blalock years ago when he’d seen him on calls, but ever since the incident in which Norman Foster had shot him and tried to run him over, and he had shot Norman back, too many of the cops suddenly snubbed Jerry, or pretended not to know him. Jerry didn’t understand this at all. Foster had been a dirty cop, for God’s sake. He was a disgrace! Idly, Jerry wondered if Blalock had been friends with Foster.
“You should be out looking for Sara!” Jerry practically yelled.
“Oh yeah, where should we look for her?” Blalock asked contemptuously.
Jerry squeezed his hands tighter still, trying to keep a lid on his anger. “You could start by looking around the apartment building. What if somebody dragged her off when I got here? What if she fought them and there’s sign somewhere outside?”
“It doesn’t sound to me like she was here when this happened.” He gestured to the bloody walls and the couch. “Otherwise, why would they do it? You don’t leave a message for someone who is right in front of you.”
“I know, but what if she walked in on them. I told you that someone was here when I got here! Your assumption could be getting her killed right now!”
Blalock shrugged. “Look, we’re doing what we’re supposed to be doing. When the detective shows up, he’ll tell us if there’s anything else he wants done.”
“There’s a detective coming out now?” Jerry glanced at his watch. Almost 1 in the morning.
“Yeah sure, he’ll be here eventually.” Blalock turned back to his work.
Jerry stomped out of the apartment, half afraid to leave, because what if they didn’t let him back in? But if he didn’t leave, he was more afraid that he’d speak his mind and eventually get thrown out, like they had just thrown out those reporters.
Fuck it. If they won’t do what needs to be done, I’ll have to.
He walked to the parking lot and saw the camera crew and reporter from WYAZ setting up in the parking lot. He cursed inwardly, knowing they had seen him in the apartment when they pointed the camera in there and plied the officers with questions. Quickly, he turned on his heel and headed around the building. He’d check the parking lot after they left. He cast his eyes from ground to building to off in the distance. He didn’t know what he was looking for, but he figured if it was obvious enough he would figure it out. He watched TV.
He reached the grassy field in the back of the building and began walking across it. His plan was to walk back and forth, back and forth, from here to the bordering trees and fence, just to see if he could find a clue. A clue. Like on Bones. Suddenly he felt completely inept again. He probably wouldn’t know a clue if it bit him on the ass. He was going to try though. For Sara. Someone should be doing something, he thought.
He dug for his phone, and as his fingertips reached it, it vibrated. Sara.
He pulled it out but the screen said it was Craig, not Sara. Confused, he punched the answer button.
“Hello?”
“Jerry, we just saw you on TV. What’s going on? Is your date OK?”
Jerry’s shoulders slumped and he struggled to say something. “Craig, oh man am I glad to hear from you. I don’t know if Sara is OK. She disappeared from the party and when I came to her place to check on her someone had painted the place in blood.”
Craig sucked in his breath. “What do you mean, painted the place in blood?”
Jerry took a deep breath and explained everything he had seen. “Craig, I took some pictures on my phone. I can send them to you.”
“Ok, good idea. Do you want us to come down there?” Craig said.
Jerry thought about it. He sure would like to have Craig down here. But he and Emma were leaving for their honeymoon in the morning. He didn’t want to ruin that.
“Could you do anything?” Jerry asked.
“Like investigation? No. I might be able to look around, but if I actually found anything I’d have to go get a cop to collect it. There’s no reason for the FBI to come in there and take over or even help. The chief is actually still pretty touchy about me and Hawk. We’re investigating 4 more of his officers right now,” Craig said, regret in his voice.
Jerry thought furiously. “I understand. The cops are doing squat though! They have been in the apartment for over an hour taking fingerprints and pictures. Like inside the apartment is the only place to investigate.”
Craig was silent for a moment. “I’m sure they’ll get outside eventually, but it sounds like they don’t think Sara is in any danger right now.”
“Yeah, they don’t think she is or they just don’t care,” Jerry said.
“The law moves slowly,” Craig said cryptically. “Listen Jerry, Emma wants to know if you want us to come out.”
Jerry was about to say yes, but he couldn’t bring himself to ruin their honeymoon. “No. Get some sleep. They’ve got a detective coming. Maybe he or she will find something.”
Craig hesitated, and then said OK and hung up.
Jerry continued his search of the lawn, and found nothing but a few candy wrappers swept against the fence by some forgotten wind. He looked across the short chain-link fence at the quiet road that lay beyond and wondered if the person who did this had left their car on the shoulder over here for a quick getaway. His eyes could make out several tire tracks criss-crossing over each other in the dust.
Sighing, he turned around and headed back for the building. He walked up the far stairwell, his eyes glued to the ground, looking for red droplets or anything that might be something.
Back on the second floor he heard a new voice coming from Sara’s apartment. The detective?
Quietly, he stepped into the doorway and stood, listening to what the detective was saying. “When you are done, do a sweep of the building and the grounds. I’ll do the interviews myself. I’ll want the pictures and the fingerprints and the results of your sweep sent to me before you go off shift.”
“Yes sir,” one of the cops answered, still taking pictures of the couch.
Oh good, Jerry thought. This guy actually seems to care.
Jerry studied the back of him. He was wearing a suit, even though it was almost 2 in the morning. He couldn’t have been over 5 foot
8 inches tall, and his build seemed slight for a police detective. His brown hair was neatly trimmed high above his collar.
The detective must have felt eyes on him, because he slowly turned around and glared at Jerry. His mousy face reminded Jerry of Norman Foster for some reason, and Jerry felt his mouth grimace in displeasure.
“Who are you?” the detective demanded.
“I’m Jerry Mansko. I called you guys to come down here.”
The detective nodded as if he expected this and stepped toward Jerry, causing him to back up so the detective didn’t run into him. “Let’s walk and talk.”
“Mr. Mansko, please tell me everything that happened from the beginning.”
Jerry relayed his story again, not bothering to keep his fear and frustration out of his voice.
When he was done, the detective stopped walking and faced him. “I see. Thank you Mr. Mansko. You may go home now.”
“Go home? But what are you going to do?”
“My job, Mr. Mansko.”
Jerry put his head back to the sky and barked out a laugh. He felt like wringing his hands in frustration. This wasn’t the first time it had seemed to him like a police officer was ignoring something that could mean life or death for a woman he cared about. “Your job, detective, that’s great. But what does that mean? Are you looking for Sara? I want to know what is going to happen next.”
The detective’s eyes narrowed. “Yes, we will look for Miss Acosta, and I will contact you if I need any more information from you, but until then, go home and sleep, and know that the Westwood Harbor Police department is doing everything it can to investigate the crime of vandalism in Miss Acosta’s apartment. If she doesn’t show up in another-” He looked at his watch. “-Another 21 hours we will consider her to be a victim of a crime and start actively looking for her too. But we won’t know where to start looking until we finish our investigation here. So put away your outrage and your thoughts that you know better than we do, and go home. I will do m-I will do what I have been trained to do.”
