“Just wanted to let you know the news has gotten out ‘bout what’s goin’ on up here,” he said, sounding apologetic. As though it were his fault it had gotten out.
She nodded, then realized he couldn’t see her. She let out the breath she had been holding. “Yeah, I saw the news van a few minutes ago, headed up toward you.” He grunted something but she wasn’t sure what he said. “Yeah there’s three more of them already here and ten to one you’ve got some headed out to your house,” he said, sounding cross but resigned.
“What does that mean to Hailey, her chances…” she let the sentence trail off into the abyss. She couldn’t say it.
There was a long pause.
“I just don’t know,” he said finally. “I’d like to tell you it’ll help but I don’t really know. I’ve never been up against this kind of thing before.”
He sounded apologetic again and for some reason it made her mad. Figure it out, she wanted to yell at him.
“…see what the FBI lady thinks though,” he was saying “and get back to you.”
She felt a rush of relief, the Detective would know. She was FBI after all as in capital FBI. She should know how to deal with this sort of thing, she seemed pretty capable although a little young. This was where in the movies someone like Morgan Freeman would come in, with his age, gray hair, experience, and his pistol tucked up under his suit jacket. All smooth and calm and bad assed to save the day and blow the bad guy away. Too bad real life didn’t work like the movies. She thanked Jamison and hung up. She had to call James and let him know what was going on. She didn’t want him to decide to catch a ride home and find a bunch of news people there. She had a sudden mental image of news vans sitting in their driveway, no people in them just beady eyed little vultures perched on the steering wheels. Heads cocked, ‘you have a story for us’ they were saying, ‘a juuuiiiicy story for us?’ She shook away the image and called her husband. He sounded no happier than she was at the news but talking to him, hearing his calm voice with the familiar work noises in the background, soothed her. It was so familiar it could have been any normal day. She and Hailey could have met him for lunch at Charley’s or Sun Lee’s and then gone to the park afterward. Maybe Hailey was playing hooky from school to go shopping with her mom, maybe they would drive out to the dome, the clearing at the top of Harper’s peak, and sit in the sun and look out over the whole town and laugh at the way the cars looked like matchbox cars and the people looked like ants. Maybe James would even take the afternoon off and go with them, sit and steal kisses and cop a feel while Hailey wandered around back of the hill to pick wild daisies. We will do it again, she swore to herself. No sick maniac is going to take all of this from us. I’m not going to let him.
A lightning bolt out of a clear blue sky
Which one of us will be the first to die?
Nothing but a rhetorical question, it is true
You can only pray that it won’t be you
Pain will be endured and blood will be shed
You won’t care anyway, you’ll be dead
So let the cards lay where they fall
Honey, it won’t really matter at all
Even if you survive you will never be the same
Come to know you’re just a pawn in a game.
‘The insanity of life’
Shianne Minekime
Chapter Fifteen
Jamison stood looking out the window at the little circus going on in the yard of the station. His station! He hated reporters, they were always poking around and asking stupid questions with no respect for the dead or the injured or the missing, to say nothing of the people grieving and worried about their loved ones. The local reporter, a young woman not that long out of school, wasn’t so bad but she would probably get run into the ground by this bunch. Three television vans were parked and a bunch of cars. One reporter was broadcasting off the lawn, just far back enough that he couldn’t go throw her off for trespassing. Blasted freedom of the press anyway. The reporter looked a sickly and creepy combination of excited and sympathetic. Pretty in a dyed, overly exercised and made up way but not his type at all. Another reporter sat in his van drinking coffee and waiting for something to happen. He hoped one of them got out of line and gave him a reason to slap them in a cell for the night. Petty maybe, but he enjoyed the thought nonetheless. Nosy onlookers were hovering, waiting for their chance to talk about the nightmare that was taking place in their town. Or maybe to say that they thought Mrs. Hansen had made her little girl disappear, ‘she always seemed a little shifty to me, ya know.’
Funny how after the fact people ‘had always known’ stuff before it happened, when a couple of weeks ago they probably would have had nothing but good to say of the family in question. Watching the commotion outside he had a real strong urge to throw a bunch of lit firecrackers out there and watch them scatter. All they were missing were the hot dog vendor and a juggling act. His coffee sat turning cold on his desk. There probably wouldn’t be any more coming either. He had made the mistake of asking Susan if she knew anything about the leak to the press and the look on her face could have frozen a hot springs. She hadn’t talked to him since. Of course he knew it wasn’t her anyway, she liked to talk but she wouldn’t dream of doing anything to hinder an investigation. The words had just popped out of his mouth before he could stop it, carried along by his anger at the media’s arrival. He knew who leaked it anyway and he had already solved that problem. Angie had protested when he called her and then blubbered helplessly when he pinned her down. The newspaper gave money for tips and she Needed that money for the baby. Her mom and dad wouldn’t help her and she was all alone. Blah, Blah, Blah, Blah. He hung up on her after telling her that she no longer had a job to come to. She could move in with her rich mayor uncle for all he cared, if he liked her so much. Or ask for help from one of the many football players she was known for going home with. Jamison was in a foul mood. He and Annie had worked until about four in the morning, trying to find something that was missed in any of the cases, trying to find any other cases they might have missed. They had found exactly jack squat, zilch, zero. He had asked for the case files from the other girls to be faxed over and they now lay on his desk. They had been no help either. There was no file for Marie Jenning, nobody equals no crime, boys and girls. That is Crime 101. The file on Amanda was about a page, believed to be an accidental drowning so no autopsy had been done. She had simply been buried and no crime scene photos existed. He could get a clear enough mental picture from the report but mental pictures did not equal evidence. He had sent in a request to have her body exhumed for autopsy but it would take time. And a lot of time had passed already for evidence to have been lost. He felt bad for her family. They had already come to terms with what they had believed to be a tragic accident and now they would be finding out that their little girl hadn’t died in an accident. They would have to hear that she had been murdered, dying scared and alone with no one knowing where she was or being able to help her. It made him feel sick just thinking about it. As a cop he had done plenty of those calls, telling people that someone they loved was gone. It was bad enough to notify someone of a car accident, or a drowning. Murder was just that much worse, more personal and hateful and ugly. The call to Mrs. Hansen hadn’t been easy either. The fear showed through the calmness of her voice like a bad tan line. He figured he would head out to her house soon and put the run on any media hounds out there. He still thought she was a couple of cans short of a six pack but she was not a suspect at the moment and he would stop the media vultures from driving her or her husband into the ground. He could just imagine the cruel and callus questions they would have to face. He wondered if Annie were up and about yet, he had switched to her first name about two this morning at her insistence. She had been strangely noncommittal about Mrs. Hansen’s story. Not really saying what she thought about it. It wasn’t the reaction he had expected and he wasn’t really sure how he felt about it. He guessed he respected her for keeping an open mind, but it
did seem strange though. Jamison saw one of the reporters slipping in the door of the station and he heaved a sigh. He wanted to just throw him out but he knew that he needed to make a statement to get them to back off. He was briefly tempted to call Annie to see what she thought he could say but shook the temptation off. He had been doing this job since she was in diapers. The people of this town needed to know he was still in charge and not playing turtle and burying his head in the sand or hiding behind the skirts of the FBI. He guessed he should have written something formal. The other reporters were heading in now, emboldened by the first one’s lead. There was no time now. He squared his shoulders and went to say his piece.
The mood of the town went from scared and tense to scared and angry in a matter of hours. It had been common knowledge anyway but seeing the statement released on TV put it really and fully in the fact category. By noon half of the kids at the elementary school had been picked up and taken home and it was only a week into the school year, too. The hardware store had sold out of every type of lock they carried, dead bolts, sliding locks and even the flimsy little hock locks. Even scarier was the run on bullets,.22 shells mostly but also on shotgun.9 millimeter, and even.44 rounds. Really?.44 rounds? What were they going to shoot with a.44, a bear? Jamison figured they would be lucky if some idiot hadn’t shot someone by the end of the day. Children that normally wandered the streets goofing off after school and slowly making their way home were picked up at school. No kids were fishing alone at the ponds or riding bikes on the quiet back roads, talking and laughing and maybe sneaking cigarettes while there were no adults about. The quiet that descended on the town was eerie and clashed mightily with the commotion ensuing from the media frenzy. By two o’clock in the afternoon there had been four reports of fights, two had to be broken up by deputies and one ended up with a young man locked in jail. Apparently he got into it with deputy Smithers and it escalated into a shoving match. Jamison called Smithers into the office and learned the young man in question, Robert Earl James, had implied that the police department was not doing their jobs.
‘Jerking off while a nut job ran around killing kids’ was the quote Smithers gave him. Jamison called in all the deputies and had a sit down with them, he figured he probably should have done it already but hind sight had twenty, and life’s just a bitch sometimes. He brought in all six of them, at the moment he wished he had about thirty, waiting until they were finished with what they were doing at the moment and waiting for the ones that were off to give up their family time and make it in. He felt bad about interrupting private time especially since it might be a while before they got much time off, but it was necessary. He told them that people were just scared, and rightly so, and cautioned them to be calm and reassuring when approached.
“I don’t care if they say we’re screwin’ monkeys in here,” he said, making the deputies laugh. All but Smithers, he still looked like he might burst into tears at the drop of a hat. He had a nasty scrape on his cheek he got when he wrestled Robert Earl to the ground after Robert Earl shoved him. Jamison fully intended to charge him with assault of an officer. He wanted the message sent loud and clear there would be no stuff like that tolerated. The last thing he needed was all the rednecks coming out of the woodwork thinking they needed to take things into their own hands. Things would get a whoe lot worse if that were to happen. Robert Earl didn’t seen intimidated though, he could still hear the occasional holler from his cell.
‘Pig lovers’ was the last one he had heard, not very original really.
“These people are hearing talk of a serial killer for the first time and they’re scared blind, they don’t know the killings are so far apart.”
The deputies nodded agreement.
“I’m scared, too.” Johnson said flatly.
Johnson was in his late forties and had been on the force for almost twenty years. His sandy hair had thinned on top until he was as bald as an eagle appeared to be, hair tufted out the sides under his hat. His wife of twenty five years seemed to think he was the hottest thing since chocolate cake though. They have two beautiful twin girls who had just turned thirteen a month ago, Samantha and Jenny. Jamison had been there when they were born and had watched them grow up, had gone to their soccer games when they were little and watched them run around in their cute little uniforms with their long brown hair flying. Remembering them now made him realize that he had sort of lost touch with their family in the last few years. I’m becoming a crabby old hermit he thought with some surprise, when did that happen? The thought of those little girls being in any danger made him feel sick, God only knew how it made Johnson and his wife feel.
Jamison nodded, recognizing and validating his partner’s fear.
“I know you are man, truth be told so am I, but we’re doin’ everything we can right now.”
As the deputies were filing out he reminded them that ‘no comment’ was the only thing they were to say to the media.
“Anyone says something stupid and you’ll be lookin’ at charges for hampering a federal investigation.” Jamison thought that might be a bit over the top but he needed the message put across strong.
Smithers turned a shade paler at his words, now looking like he was torn between fainting and throwing up. Jamison stopped him on his way out.
“Take the afternoon off, son,” he said gently.
Smithers started to protest but Jamison lifted a hand cutting him off.
“You’re not in trouble, I know this is hard on you. Just go on home and see your wife and come in fresh tomorrow.”
He stood at the window and watched him go. Jamison knew he would feel like he hadn’t done his job right but he would have to get over it. They needed to present a calm and united front and Jamison couldn’t afford to have a deputy falling apart in front of the public. As Sherriff, it would come back on him if anything was handled in a less than professional manner. Smithers walked to his car with his head down and his shoulders slumped. He looked like a man with the world sitting on his head and taking a dump. He didn’t raise his head or answer the questions the pretty lady reporter threw at him as she hopped alongside him like a jack rabbit. She could have been a mosquito for all he responded. She harrumphed and flounced as he walked away and waved the camera man away rudely, not used to the brush off no doubt. He’s not cut out for this, Jamison thought as he watched Smithers walk away, but then who is. This isn’t what these guys expected when they hired on. We expect some bar fights and trailer fires, the occasional drug bust and traffic violations, and maybe even an occasional murder. Maybe something like a man killing his wife for cheating or killing the dude she was doing it with, or maybe a drug deal gone bad. But not this, never this. He figured Johnson was the only one that actually knew how to deal with this. He had gone down to Oregon a few times for trainings, even had training on serial killers and tracking them. Of course, Jamison had taken that one with him but it still didn’t prepare you for the real thing.
“I’m scared, too,” Johnson had said and no doubt he was. It was different knowing a killer was hunting in your town and maybe even lived there. Maybe you saw him every day; maybe he was a friend of yours. Maybe you bought him drinks at the bar, maybe he walked your little sister home, or even took her to the prom. This was way different than sitting in a class looking at pictures of victims you didn’t know. Then it was part of your job, part of what you had dedicated your life to putting a stop to. At least then you could try to tell yourself it wouldn’t happen to you or anyone you know. Just stuff you read about, right? Wrong again boys and girls. This is America in the twentieth century. The land of apple pie and serial killers, freedom and AIDS, the right to vote and the highest crime rates in the world. It’s where democracy and domestic violence go hand in hand. A world where you can live as you choose but constantly have to watch your back and the ones you love. A world where all too often the innocent pay the most for the insanity of others, the jealousy of others, the I Want Whatever I Want of others. A world where
violence and ugliness have become almost normal and where we have trained our minds to ignore it. A world where only a few extraordinary people will actually try to do anything about them, who will risk their security to stand up for what is right and fight for the people that cannot or will not fight for themselves. God help us, Jamison thought, if all the ugliness and violence become accepted.
My eyes droop and I am tired
Deep in mistakes I am mired
Pulling me slowly to the ground
I’ve run so far I cannot be found
A chain so heavy of my own making
My legs hurt, my heart is breaking
Push has already come to shove
I’ve already lost the one I love
The words said, and the words unsaid
Have pushed and pulled and led
They have tortured me until I’ve bled
They won’t be happy until I’m dead.
Panic
By Shianne Minekime
Chapter Sixteen
Through all their research Annie found that Paul Jenning had died of a stroke the year before. Only a year earlier and maybe he would have been able to shed some light on what had happened to Marie, maybe he would have remembered some detail to help them. He may have remembered someone who was new in town that year, or maybe someone hanging around a little too much. Someone Marie had spent a lot of time with maybe or someone who had made her or her parents uncomfortable. He left behind his wife and four children, including Marie’s little brother Joseph. Of course he wouldn’t be little any more. Annie didn’t figure that any of them could have much light to shed on the subject and Jamison agreed. They hadn’t been there at the time, hadn’t ever lived in Patterson and it was unlikely that Paul would have discussed the case in enough detail with them for some little seemingly unimportant detail to have stuck with them all those years. So it was decided that a trip to the mental hospital in Hattisburg was the best option. The hospital where Jeanette Jenning still spent her days ranting about the coming of God and little green men and the Rapture.
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