by M. Z. Kelly
Later, a long time later, she heard the door to the basement creak open. She sat up and watched as her kidnapper came down the stairs, wearing the same dark clothing and hood as before. Christina’s heart raced as he stopped a few feet from the bed and tossed her a bag.
“It’s fast food, but it should fill you up,” he said.
Despite her hunger, Christina didn’t touch the bag. Instead, she said, “Why are you doing this?”
He watched her intently, but didn’t respond. After a couple minutes, he finally said, “I took everything that was in your bank accounts. You’re broke.”
“I don’t care about that. All I want is my freedom.”
“I have no doubt about that.”
There were tears in her eyes as she said, “What are you going to do? What do you want from me?”
After a long moment, he said, “For you to understand what it’s like to be alone, to have no one care about you.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Same rules as before. Do not call out or try to escape.” He turned and began heading up the stairs.
She got off the bed and moved toward him. “Please, don’t leave me again.”
He stopped, turned around, and faced her. “Don’t come any closer.”
She did as he commanded, staring into the dark eyes beneath the black hood. “Who are you?”
He continued to stare at her, his eyes cold and empty. After a moment, he moved up the stairway again. Just before he left her, he turned back to her. His menacing voice struck terror into her heart once again. “I’m the one who knows what you did.”
FIFTEEN
“You really think Merrill’s got a thing for the dead?” Amy said the next day, as I drove us to our meeting with Billy Mercer’s mother.
“No. There has to be another explanation for what he told Kat.”
Amy fiddled with the buttons on her blouse as she looked at me. “Maybe there’s something to it.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Necrophilia. The dead person’s gotta go along with whatever you have in mind. There’s no backtalk, and you don’t gotta worry about satisfying him or her.”
I glanced at her. “I really am starting to worry about you. This is a new low.”
“Tell me the truth: You ever thought about doing a corpse?”
I heard the outrage in my voice. “Of course not. Don’t tell me you have?”
She laughed. “I’m just messing with you, Mads. I might be desperate, but I gotta be sure my partner is breathing. At least at the start. When we’re done, if he’s limp in more ways than one, so be it.”
I just shook my head, unsure what to say.
Amy changed the subject, sort of. “You given any more thought to spending the night with Sam this weekend?”
“Not really. I guess I’ll just let things take their natural course.”
She chuckled. “You mean intercourse.” She looked at her phone. “I’ve been meaning to tell you that I got some info on that POSE class at Kingsborough.”
Kingsborough was a community college in Brooklyn. I vaguely remembered her previously talking about taking a class there.
“What kind of class is it?”
“POSE. It stands for Positions, Orgasm, Sex, and Everything else. They got a class scheduled for this Thursday night. I already enrolled us. I hope Max can get the night off, so she can tag along.”
I was annoyed with her. “I’m not going to some stupid sex ed class.”
Traffic slowed, and I glanced over, seeing that Amy was smiling. She said, “You don’t think you got anything to learn?”
“No, it’s just that...” I drew a blank, then said, “I don’t want to go to a class full of desperate women.”
“You callin’ me desperate, Mads?”
“No, it’s just that...you never know who’s going to show up for a class like that. It’s not my thing.”
“You’re going with me.”
“I am not.”
Amy raised her voice. “Listen to me. We both been in hibernation for a while and things have changed. Sex ain’t what it used to be.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Amy rolled her eyes. “I guess I gotta get technical with you. It’s not just about the suck ‘n’ fuck anymore.”
I laughed. “Thanks for being so technical. If it’s not about...about what you just mentioned, what is it about?”
“Not sure. That’s why they got the class. We’ll hear about all the latest trends. Things have changed since the Internet came along.”
“That’s ridiculous. Sex is sex. It’s about giving and receiving pleasure.”
“If you say so.” Her gaze drifted off, came back. “You ever heard of the Jerp?”
“What are you talking about?”
“If you don’t know, I ain’t telling. You’ll find out all about it in school.” She giggled. “I just hope they don’t make you stay after class. You’re pretty far gone if you’ve never heard about doing the Jerp.”
I sighed. “Okay, I’ll go to the stupid class with you. Now, what’s the Jerp?”
Amy went into more detail than I wanted, giving me information about the use of vegetables and fruits during sexual play.
When she was finished, my brows came together, and I said, “People really do that?”
She smiled and nodded. “Why do you think we call pizza ‘Tomato Pie’ in Jersey? Maybe you and Sam oughta stop at the grocery store on your way into Boston, check out the carrots and radishes.”
After more talk about food and sex that made me think the world really had gone to hell, we arrived in Astoria, a working-class area of Queens, where Gloria Mercer lived. Mercer’s flat was in a four-story brick walkup near Astoria Park. As Amy and I made our way up the stairs, I looked into the courtyard, where I was sure some drug dealing was going on. I mentioned it to her as we got to the fourth-floor landing.
“I don’t care what they’re doing down there,” Amy said, trying to catch her breath. “Why the fuwk don’t these buildings got elevators?”
“Older construction, probably cost prohibitive.”
She drew in another breath. “I’d probably lose twenty pounds living here. Or end up dead.” She looked at me. “I might even end up on a slab at Funk’s Fields, having sex with Merrill.”
I stopped and looked at her when we got to Mercer’s door. “Let’s keep the necrophilia talk to ourselves. Gloria Mercer probably wouldn’t appreciate it.”
Amy knocked on the door. “Okay, but I’ll betcha even she’s heard about the Jerp.”
After introductions, Mercer led us into a small cluttered living room full of worn furnishings. She was heavyset, with short gray hair, and had a look that told me she’d given up on the world.
“I don’t understand why you’re asking about my son after all these years,” Mercer said, after Amy picked up a framed photograph on an end table and asked her if it was Billy.
“We’ll explain in a moment,” Amy said, putting the photograph back, “but first, can you tell us how Billy died?”
Mercer’s tired features fell as tears sprang from her eyes. “He...he killed himself.”
“I’m so sorry.” Amy gave her a moment, then lowered her voice and asked, “Can you tell us how it happened?”
“Billy was severely depressed and jumped from a parking garage in Harrisburg, where he was in college.”
“Do you know why he was depressed?” I asked.
Mercer blew her nose. “Of course. He was being harassed.”
“This was happening at school?”
She nodded. “My son...he was different. They called what he had Asperger’s Syndrome. He was very bright, but sometimes was awkward and didn’t fit in with other people. The only ones who really understood him were me and his girlfriend.”
“Billy had a girlfriend?” I said.
“Melissa. From what I know, she was there and tried to stop Billy from killing himself.”
She shook her head.
“I take it the other kids made fun of Billy,” Amy said.
She nodded. “I would call it bullying. There was one boy who was especially mean. He told Billy he was retarded and said I should have had an abortion.”
She broke down crying again. Amy went over and comforted her.
“My baby would be almost thirty now,” Mercer said, her head slumped down, the words coming out in a torrent of emotion. “I can’t believe he’s gone.”
“We’re so sorry,” I said. “That’s part of the reason we’re here. We want to find out who was involved in tormenting your son. Maybe there’s a way they can still be brought to justice.”
She wiped her tears. “The boy’s name is Jeremy Halsey. He’s a monster.”
“Do you have any idea where he’s living now?”
She shook her head. “I hope he’s dead.”
I glanced at Amy, then asked Mercer, “Is the name Christina Blaze familiar to you? She may have known your son when he was in school.”
She shook her head and broke down crying again.
I tried again. “We think Christina might have had some information about what happened to Billy. Are you sure her name isn’t familiar?”
I got another head shake, a muffled cry of despair. I glanced at Amy, raising my brows.
Amy reached over and took Gloria Mercer’s hand. “We’re going to find out what happened to Jeremy Halsey. If there’s a way he can pay for what happened to your son, we’ll find it.”
SIXTEEN
“That son of a bitch Halsey needs to burn in hell,” Amy said after we left Gloria Mercer’s apartment.
I drove us to Mercy Hospital, where I was going to make some more inquiries about Jessie Walker. Amy planned to take my car to Harlem because she had an evening security gig to make some extra money.
“There’s nothing worse than harassing someone with special needs,” I agreed. “We need to get an address on Halsey.”
“I wonder what Christina’s connection to him was?”
“Maybe they were dating, she knew what happened, and covered it up.”
“If that’s the case, it doesn’t make her any better than Halsey. Maybe I should cut her loose as a client, tell her mother to go to the police.”
“I think we need to give it a little more time before you make that decision. Maybe there’s some extenuating circumstances.”
“Like what?”
I shrugged as I got on the expressway, heading toward Mercy Hospital. “Maybe she saw what happened to Billy and planned to report it, but was threatened.”
Amy was quiet, pondering what I’d said. “Whatever happened, I think this case is turning into a big pile of dog shit as far as my services are concerned. I probably won’t even get a paycheck.”
“Don’t give up on things just yet. What kind of security work are you doing this afternoon?”
“I agreed to do some work for BigZ’s brother.”
I remembered the country western artist from the rapper’s funeral. “You’re talking about Hoss?”
“Yeah. The big idiot’s got some kind of country western concert coming up, and I agreed to help plan security for the event. He’s acting like he’s Garth Brooks.”
I glanced at her and smiled, thinking about her trouble with men. “Hoss, huh?”
She looked at me, her pretty features becoming pinched. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“He’s young and single, probably worth a small fortune. Maybe there’s some potential there.”
“Are you kidding me? He’s one of those guys who went from hunk to chunk right after high school. You don’t think I can do any better than that big tub of goo?”
I turned into the hospital parking lot. “Sorry. I was just thinking about the financial angle.” I handed her the keys. “See you tonight, Miranda.”
“Miranda? What are you talking about?”
“Miranda Lambert. She’s one of the biggest country stars out there. Maybe if you went blonde...” I smiled. “All I’m saying is you might give it some thought.”
She scowled. “All I’m saying is you’re out of your fuwking mind.”
Amy drove off in a huff, and I went into the hospital, deciding to try a different tactic in finding information about Jessie Walker. I knew that often the employees who knew the most about what went on in an organization were those who did the dirty work. That’s why I went back to the basement, but this time concentrated on the employee lounge for the hospital aides and janitorial staff.
The lunchroom was mostly deserted when I got there, with only a couple staff coming and going. I immediately drew suspicion from an older Hispanic woman who cut her eyes to me a couple times, as if to question why I was there. I bought a soda from a dispenser, went over, and took a seat near her.
I pulled the mugshot of Jessie Walker out of my purse, bumping my arm on the table at the same time. I winced, feeling a slight pain. I was on the mend, but had a couple weeks to go before my stiches came out. I pushed the photograph across the table, intending to keep my identity discrete.
“I’m doing some checking on a nurse who was a friend of mine who worked here,” I said. “Her name was Jessie Walker. Do you recognize her?”
She glanced at the mugshot, then cut her eyes to me. “Don’t know her. I have to go back on shift.” She rose and left the room.
“Why is nothing ever easy?” I mumbled to myself after she was gone.
The lunchroom was deserted now, so I took the time to glance through some magazines. Several minutes later, a woman wandered in, got her lunch, and took a seat at my table. I nodded to her and said hello, but otherwise kept quiet, deciding not to push things.
“Are you new here?” she asked me a few minutes later.
I seldom failed to seize the opportunity to lie when it was for the greater good, and this was no exception. “Yes. I’m just a temp.” I smiled. “I’m Jenny Howard.”
She returned the smile. “Monica Downs. I do the first floor, mostly ER.”
The janitor was probably pushing thirty, a bit on the heavy side, and wore lots of makeup. Maybe the war paint was her way of making up for the grim nature of her duties.
I nodded. “It’s a busy place. I hope I get a permanent position before too long.”
“Just work hard, and it will eventually happen. I’ve been here almost five years now.”
We chatted for a couple minutes. I learned that she was the single mother of two young children, trying to survive in a world that had done her no favors. I made up a story, telling her that I was divorced and living paycheck to paycheck. I realized, after I’d concocted the lie, that it wasn’t too far from the truth. I gradually moved the conversation in the direction of Jessie Walker.
“I have a friend who worked here. Her name was Jessie.”
Monica lowered her voice. “Are you talking about the nurse who was murdered?”
I nodded and released a breath. “It was a terrible thing.” She didn’t respond to what I’d said. After a beat, I asked, “Did you know her?”
I got a headshake. Her eyes remained downcast. “No...not really.”
I gave her a moment, thinking she might have more to say. When she didn’t continue, I said, “I heard she had some trouble here.”
She met my eyes for an instant, then looked away. Her voice was soft. “Maybe she knew too much.”
I waited for her gaze to come back over. When she didn’t look at me, I finally said, “About?”
“The fourth floor.”
I lied, hoping she would be more forthcoming if she thought I knew what she was talking about. “That’s what I heard.”
Monica took a bite of her sandwich. A man wandered in, got a Coke from the machine, then left. I was annoyed that he had interrupted our conversation and tried to get it back on course. “What do you think she knew?” I saw her concern as she cut her eyes to me. “Just between us. I won�
��t say anything.”
She took a long time before going on, apparently weighing the cost of talking. When she spoke, her voice was just above a whisper. “The deaths.”
I nodded, playing along. “That’s what I thought.”
“I heard she knew who was involved. Maybe that’s why...” She didn’t go on.
“Someone wanted to keep her quiet?”
She nodded. “Probably. I heard there were four.”
“Four?”
Her eyes darted back and forth, her voice becoming even more confidential. “Patients who were killed.”
SEVENTEEN
I took a taxi home and met with Max after she got up and was getting ready for another night shift at Hunts Point. I filled her in on what the janitor at Mercy had told me.
“Her name is Monica Downs. She’s been a janitor there for about five years. She thinks someone’s been killing patients in the oncology unit, and Jessie Walker knew about it. That’s why she was murdered.”
Max had made herself some dinner and brought the plate over to the table, where I was sitting. “You believe what she said?”
“She seemed credible, but obviously was wary about saying anything because she’s afraid of losing her job.”
Max worked on her salad. After a minute, she said, “I don’t suppose she gave you any idea who is doing the killing, or why.”
I shook my head. “I didn’t get much more, other than her giving me the impression the killings have been going on for some time.”
“What about Jessie Walker’s other life, working the streets?”
“I’ve given that some thought. Maybe she worked her way out of the life by becoming a nurse. She didn’t have a record over the past couple years.”
The door opened, and Amy walked in with a bag of groceries. She set them on the table and looked at me. “You’re not going to believe what happened.”
“You’ve become a country music fan and are going on the road with Hoss.”
“Funny. You keep this up, Mads, and maybe you can do standup someday.” She sat down. “But, you’re sorta right.”
