A Life of Death: Episodes 5 - 8

by Weston Kincade

  “Seriously?”

  I nodded. “Yep, but you look like you’re in the best shape of your life.”

  Jessie grinned and curled one arm up, posing like a bodybuilder with the other lifted toward the sky, my briefcase dangling from his thumb. His dark-blue, long-sleeved shirt fit snugly enough that it showed off his bulging muscles. “Yeah, I like it.” A few people glanced at Jessie posing in front of the Branch Avenue Metro Station, and a passing woman in a miniskirt and high heels smiled, then giggled. “You know you like what you see,” he said as she wandered away. However, she did glance back, lips in a tight smile, but whether it was in appreciation or laughter, I didn’t know. “These chicks up here just can’t get enough of me,” he added, eyes sparkling with glee.

  Over the years, Jessie had become more outgoing, and I’d discovered that he had very little humility. We talked on the phone a good bit since he left. Much of what he said was in jest, but discerning which half was jest and which serious was sometimes a difficult process.

  I shook my head, and we started for the car. “Jess, you never would’ve gotten away with that in high school. What’s gotten into you?”

  “Life. I was a pushover in high school, but coming here opened my eyes. I played ball for years, and it taught me one thing: there’re always people watching. You either hide or put on a show. I got guns now, so why not show them off? The worst they’ll do is laugh, and even that ain’t a bad thing.”

  I couldn’t help but chuckle. In a strange way, it made sense. While we walked and talked, I scanned the parking lot, but the blazing sun glinted off of too many car windows to make out the people in the distance. Seeing my distractedness, he asked, “You waiting for someone else?”

  I shook my head. “Nah, just tracked someone here. That’s why I don’t have a bag. She should be around here somewhere. I watched her get onto the subway, and she always gets off here. I even heard her luggage squeaking, but it could’ve been anyone’s.” Maybe this was the one time she didn’t, I thought with a shake of my head.

  “Maybe she got off early.”

  “Yeah, maybe, but can we do a couple circles around the lot to be sure?”

  “Sure, Alex. No problem.”

  Once we were in his beat-up, green-and-white pickup, I asked, “Jess, you remember what happened to Junior Lee?”

  Jessie’s smile vanished with the change of subject. “Yeah, what of it?”

  “Well, I can’t help but think there might’ve been more to those tattoos.”

  “Is that the case you’re working?” The lingering edges of a smile crawled back to his lips. “And I thought it was just to come visit little ol’ me.”

  We both chuckled. “Nah, it’s not that. As much as I’ve missed you, bud, what began with Junior is still going on.”

  “You’ve gotta be joking. How long’s it been now, ten or twelve years?”

  “No. More than that. We’re up to fifteen—well, fourteen for sure, but I’m pretty certain about the fifteenth victim.”

  “And you never caught the guy? What about your… you know?”

  “Visions,” I mumbled. “They still come to me. As much as I’d like them to stop, I can’t ignore what these people have gone through. Morally, it would just be wrong, and it’s impossible to turn off, so I really can’t stop.”

  “Dang, bro. I can’t believe you’ve gone all these years and still can’t tune it out or somethin’.”

  I shook my head. “It doesn’t quite work that way. I came here following a killer. She commutes back and forth once a month from Tranquil Heights.”

  Jessie turned back to circle the lot a second time. “Now you’ve seriously gotta be joking. That’s a seven-hour drive one way,” he said, taking his eyes off the road to glance at me.

  “Yeah, but she flies.”

  “That’s a lot better, but it still gets expensive—wait, did you say ‘she?’ So, you came all the way out here to follow some chick?”

  “Well, when you say it like that, it seems like something Paige would kick my butt over, but it’s nothing like—”

  “Whoa, hold on!” shouted Jessie, throwing a hand in front of me and stomping on the brake. A pale woman clad in a dark shawl, dress coat, and skirt rolled a case of luggage across our path. Her black hair was curled in a bun that had seen better days. The squeak of her luggage drifted through the truck window. “Man, that girl almost lost her license to live.”

  “That’s her,” I hissed, pulling another file and flipping it open to Irene Harris’s prison photo. I tipped the brim of my hat lower.

  “What’s that on her neck?” Jessie asked.

  I quirked my head, trying to make it out. The edge of a tattoo peered over her collar. “I… don’t… know.” I looked back at the picture. “Come to think of it, she always wears high-collared shirts and jackets. I don’t know how long she’s had that tattoo, but it isn’t in the prison photo. It has to be fairly new.”

  “If she hides it, maybe she’s ashamed.”

  “Could be.” I nodded. “Follow her.”

  “Dude, she’s walking. We’re in a truck. I think she’ll notice.”

  “Jessie…” I shook my head. “Sorry, I’m used to operating with Martinez. Just pull into that gas station like you’re gonna fuel up. I’ll keep watch.”

  “Martinez?” Jessie asked with a teasing smile. “That your girl on the side?”

  “Nope,” I replied, not taking my eyes off Irene in the side mirror, “my partner.”

  “Ahhh.” He pulled in and followed my directions, but he actually got out and began gassing up the tank.

  “Uh, Jess, what are you up to?”

  “Filling up. Might as well, you know.”

  I shook my head. “And how are we supposed to leave if she vanishes down a side street?”

  “Alex, she’s walking. It’s not like she’s got a teleporter or nothin’.”

  I nodded. “True, but have you ever heard of parking a car? She could be heading to one.”

  Jessie looked at me through the window with a stunned expression. Evidently that hadn’t occurred to him. The gas pump clicked off and he returned the nozzle, screwing on the truck’s gas cap.

  As I feared, Irene stopped next to a silver coupe in the long-term parking lot. She threw her noisy luggage in the trunk, then got in and started her car. “Jessie,” I whispered. He didn’t respond. “Jess.”

  “Yeah?”

  I pointed at Irene in the distance. “She’s getting in her car. We’ve gotta go. Come on.”

  “Dang!” he said. “Be right back.” He loped past the car toward the store.

  “Where’re you going?”

  “I gotta pay.”

  “Ever heard of a credit card?”

  “Of course, but I don’t trust ’em.” The greeting bell rang as he stepped into the store, and I thrummed my fingers on the window ledge of the door. Irene pulled out and passed us just as Jessie returned and jumped in.

  “She went that way,” I said, pointing.

  Jessie gripped the wheel and pulled to the curb, bouncing over it with hardly a glance at traffic. “Which lane?” I nodded to the left, and he pulled over, cutting off the black, dually truck behind us. It honked angrily, but Jessie was jazzed for action and didn’t seem to take notice.

  “I appreciate you trying to get there quickly, but could you play it cool? We don’t want to cause a commotion and have her take notice. We need to remain incognito.”

  Jessie let out a tense breath and chuckled. “Right. Gotta stay cool,” he whispered more to himself than me.

  “Just remember. We’re the law. She’s the criminal. That’s good and bad, though. We have to obey the law while she can make a run for it and disappear.”

  “Yeah, but you can pull records: credit cards and everything. You can find her… I mean, if I lose her.”

  I shrugged. “Maybe. I can have my department pull her reports, criminal records, and transactions, but it takes time. We aren’t the NYPD or the FBI
. We don’t have jurisdiction here. Hell, Jess, I couldn’t even get through the turnstile when I got on the Metro. The security guards wouldn’t let me through without a day pass, even after I flashed my badge.”

  “I could be wrong, but I don’t think they hire security guards for the Metro,” Jessie said as we came to a stoplight. “I think they have Metro police or transit police or somethin’.”

  “Well, I was in a bit of a rush and didn’t check their credentials, but if you’re right, how helpful do you think the local police department’s gonna be? No one here seems to trust outsiders, even the police.”

  “Yeah, that’s pretty much the way it goes,” Jessie said with a nod. “Never know who might have an explosive diaper strapped to his ass.”

  I looked at him in shock. I’d heard about the attempt to blow up a plane wearing explosive underwear, but didn’t consider it affecting places around the nation.

  Seeing my wide-eyed expression, he said, “You heard about that, right?”

  “Yeah, yeah I did, but that wasn’t here, was it?”

  “Doesn’t matter—”

  “Wait, she’s turning. Keep left here.”

  “Yeah, I got it. Look, this is DC, Alex. This is the capital. If anything like that happens, what place do you think is gonna get the best, most updated security?”

  “DC, right.” Everything he said made sense. I just didn’t realize the extent of things. “Guess living in Tranquil Heights for so long kept me isolated from the real world.”

  “Yeah, bro. When I got out of that piddly town, I didn’t know what hit me. The big city was different.”

  “I guess, when you grow up in a small town, you take certain things for granted.”

  “Yep, but at least I don’t have Old Lady Selma looking through my bedroom window every night to make sure I was in bed.”

  “Oh, man. I forgot about that.”

  “And it all started when we went to check out that murder at the zoo. I got home late. The parents got mad, and lo and behold, I was grounded for the last month of school my senior year.”

  “I remember. Sorry about that.”

  “No worries.”

  “I still don’t know why they had Old Lady Selma from next door come and check on you at night.”

  “They didn’t. They were even a little freaked when I told them, but just said, ‘Serves you right. Better get home before curfew next time’.”

  “So she took it upon herself to look in?”

  “Yeah,” Jessie said, taking a turn onto a residential street lined with condominiums. “Mom had been gossiping to the neighbors and word got out. Before we knew it, Old Lady Selma was checking on me each night in her nightgown, just peering through my window with that wrinkled face of hers. That’s what I mean about small town livin’. Everyone’s in your business. It’s not like that here—”

  “Whoa, hold up. She just turned into that complex there. Pull over. We don’t want her to see us.”

  “Is this where she lives?” Jessie asked, spinning the wheel and pulling up behind a burgundy SUV parked along the curb. Irene parked in front of a brick condo that was almost a twin of every other one connected in this neighborhood.

  “No. I’ve got her address here. She lives on this side of town, but not here.”

  She approached the door and knocked. A man with a long ponytail in a polo shirt answered. They chatted for a moment before he invited her in, slapping her butt with a grin. She jumped, but smiled back. He grabbed her luggage as though it were empty, lifting it without a problem.

  “That’s one buff dude,” Jessie commented. “She was working to lug that bag.”

  I nodded. “Evidently he’s her suitor up here.”

  “What do you mean, up here?”

  “Well, she’s dating a guy named Otis Simmons back home, an African-American that works at Crandell’s Used Cars. He’s a local boy, a little older than us.”

  “Don’t remember him, but I know Crandell’s. Is that the place that used to be Buddy’s Auto?”

  I nodded. “Yeah, Crandell’s moved in there when Buddy’s closed down.”

  “So what do we do now?” Jessie asked.

  I took a deep breath and let it out. “Now, we wait.” Taking off my hat, I laid it on my lap.

  “Well, I hope this ain’t gonna take long. I’ve got work in the morning. It’s bad enough I had to drive over to pick your ass up,” he said with a chuckle. “You’re stayin’ at my place right? I got the guest bedroom ready.”

  I nodded. “Yep, and don’t worry, Jess. It’ll be okay.” I handed him my cell and credit card, then planted my skull against the headrest for a little shut-eye. “Do me a favor and call the rental place. Give them my card number and make sure they deliver. Just keep an eye out. I’ll take over in an hour or so. If she doesn’t show by then, my rental should be here and you can head out.”

  “Dude, you’ve got a dumb phone,” he complained after flipping open the cell. It bounced off my leg and landed atop the fedora. “I’ll use mine.” A few beeps later, he asked, “Yeah, this is the Pizza Café right?” There was a pause. “Do y’all deliver?”

  Always gotta be a pain in my butt, I thought, but said nothing. Then his conversation faded from my mind.

  Chapter Five

  New Friends

  September 16, 2011

  Over the next twenty-four hours, I checked in with Paige, but she didn’t have much time to talk. The hospital had her assisting in the emergency room. I followed Irene Harris from her lover’s condo to work, out shopping, and to a local martini club called Snookers, snapping a few photos with my cell phone along the way. There wasn’t much to do between times. I snacked on some leftover pizza, littering the gray sedan’s passenger and back seats with printouts from the file, my coat, and pages from a local newspaper.

  I finally tailed her to her recently acquired home. It was nothing special, just a ranch-style one-story a little farther out in the suburbs. The front lawn was green and well landscaped, with a few garden gnomes littering the mulch-covered ground around the shrubs. The figurines were well equipped, and all seemed intent on building their own little homestead. It was as though they’d posed for a snapshot with wide grins and had frozen that way. The entire façade was quaint and too pristine for a woman with such a gruesome past. I ran a finger along the edge of the lighter in my pocket.

  Ahh, the skeletons that must dwell just beneath the surface of this city, I thought, remembering how many I’d uncovered in my first few years in Tranquil Heights. A shiver ran through me at the thought of living here, encountering so many people each day, and undoubtedly being drawn into their horrid secrets.

  I wanted to sneak in and see what Irene had hidden inside, any treasures she might have kept from so many gruesome murders. If she had kept the Zippo, she must have taken souvenirs from the others.

  The frosted-glass front door opened, and Irene emerged into the setting sun. Pink and orange coated half the sky, mixed with swirls of wispy clouds, but there was still plenty of light to see her. The modern rendition of Mary Poppins had vanished. A skin-tight shirt covered almost to her midriff, and a short miniskirt that would make any man stumble left nothing to the imagination below. I shook my head. And the skeletons come out at night. Then, a subtle breeze lifted her curls off of a bare shoulder, revealing the ankh tattoo beneath. The arms of the ankh seemed to embrace both sides of her shoulder in a hug, while the lower portion snaked down her arm. The broad, upper end of the ankh was what we’d seen the day before, peeking over her neckline. The details were impossible to see at this distance, but it definitely coincided with the other victims. This ties her to the victims, not the murderer. Maybe her husband had one, too.

  Irene pranced to her car, her high heels clicking on the cement. Folding her slender legs and body into the small, silver coupe, she started the car and pulled out. To follow or not? This is my best chance. The way she’s dressed, she’s probably headed to scout for another victim. But the house called
to me, beckoning me in for a sneak peek. Wait, what’s today? I glanced at my watch. The sixteenth—she never kills until the twentieth.

  As her car sped through the neighborhood and out of sight, I fought the urge to start the sedan’s engine. Instead, I grabbed a clipboard I kept for just such occasions, stepped out of the car, and strode toward her door, leaving my hat and coat behind. The button-up and slacks I was wearing would be enough. I walked up the path to her door and knocked, peering through the window like any salesman might. Seeing no one, I walked around the house, subtly peering through the windows as I checked the backyard. The gate was unlocked and no pets seemed to be present. Slipping in, I strode up to the sliding-glass doors. I pulled on the door and it slid open with a swish. Peering around for any casual observers that might be able to see over the fence and finding no one, my heart rate slowed.

  I stepped inside and was instantly assaulted by a horrid stench wafting from the kitchen. I crept through the dining room, grimacing as I approached the plastic trashcan. It was overflowing with banana peels and chicken bones. An entire chicken carcass sat on the island separating the two rooms. The meat had been gnawed off, leaving only gristle for the flies to feast upon.

  While not a jailable offense, it seems Miss Harris might want to consider hiring a maid or picking up after herself. I breathed a sigh of relief as I left the noxious room and entered the hall. A brief glance at the living room revealed a tidy space filled with the scent of fresh potpourri. The most visible room to guests was on show, and that told me I would find nothing there. She’d want to keep her precious mementos for herself, more likely hidden in a basement or bedroom.

  I continued down the hall, my shoes squeaking on the laminate-wood flooring. When I opened the bedroom door, I expected to find another smell, especially with her present love life. However, her bedroom was stagnant. Dust even floated through the air from the rapid movement of the door. It was as if the bedroom hadn’t been slept in for months. The comforter and pillows were arranged neatly, but had a few wrinkles where she sat on the edge of the bed.