JACK KNIFED

by Christopher Greyson

  “Please. Steven was my father.” Jack stepped forward into the doorway and the woman moved back.

  “Abbey, I’m not dressed!” An old woman stood in the hallway. She pulled her large robe tightly around herself, and a hand went to her curled hair.

  “Excuse me, ma’am. I need to know about the night my father was killed,” Jack called out.

  The old woman stopped where she was. The redhead tried to shut the door, but Jack held it open with a hand.

  “Please.”

  The old woman stood there and stared at him. Jack could see the debate raging inside her—whether to talk to him or not. He turned his palms out and slightly lowered his head.

  “Please.”

  “Let him in, Abbey,” she whispered.

  Abbey stepped aside and looked down at the floor.

  “Thank you.” Jack kept his head slightly down as he entered.

  The inside of the house looked as if it would be better suited to Florida with its tan tile floor and white walls. The back of the house immediately caught Jack’s attention. The whole rear wall was glass and looked directly across the pond.

  “Do you want a coffee?” The old woman shuffled into a kitchen to the right and sat down. “That one has cream and sugar. I put it out for Abbey, but she hasn’t touched it yet.”

  “Thank you.” Jack sat down.

  “Who are you?”

  “My name is Jack Stratton. Steven was my father.”

  The woman reached out for her coffee cup, but her hands trembled so she quickly put them back in her lap.

  “You were here that night?”

  The old woman nodded.

  “Did a young girl come here and make a phone call?”

  Abbey and her mother exchanged a quick glance, and the old woman shook her head.

  Lie.

  “Listen, I know Patricia Cole called the police from here that night.”

  The old woman looked down and then glared back at Jack.

  “I’m sorry about your father, but don’t go calling me a liar.”

  “You’re lying. Patricia is my mother.” Jack let the words hang.

  The woman slumped in her chair.

  “Oh, son. I’m sorry.” She looked closer at Jack and leaned back again. “How? Oh, dear Lord. Patty and Steven?” Tears welled up in her eyes.

  “Can you please tell me what happened? Start with the first thing you remember.”

  “Patty showed up that night, covered in blood and pounding on the door. I just about went out of my mind. She was screaming that someone stabbed him. She didn’t have anything to do with it. I just know it.”

  “How?”

  “What?”

  “How do you know she had nothing to do with it?”

  The old woman looked at Jack as if he had four heads. “She’s your mother. Don’t you know your mother better than that?”

  Jack closed his eyes. “No, I don’t. Last week, I saw her for the first time in twenty years.”

  “Oh.” Abbey put a hand on Jack’s shoulder.

  “I’m just looking for answers. You said she was covered in blood, and you let her in? Did you know Patty?”

  She nodded. “Patty’s mother and I’d been best friends.”

  “When she came to the door, was anyone with her? Did you see or hear a car?”

  “No. She was alone. She kept saying he was stabbed. She called the fire department for an ambulance.”

  “She called?”

  She nodded again. “Patty was hysterical, but they rushed right out. We watched until they left, but the police stayed a long time. Too long. I knew it was bad because of that.”

  “Why didn’t you go to the police?”

  “To report what? That Patty found a stabbed boy? They’d think she had something to do with it. I knew she didn’t. Deep down she was a good girl. She just found him that way. Besides, Patty’s father was a bastard. A meaner man never lived. I don’t know what he’d have done to her.”

  “What happened after?”

  “I drove her home. I made her swear never to talk about it. It didn’t matter. Patty ran away a couple of months later. We haven’t seen her since. Is she okay?”

  Jack nodded. “Can you please try to remember if she said anything about who did it?”

  “She didn’t. I know it. Her mother and I were best friends, but if I thought she had anything to do with it or knew something, I’d have had her talk to the cops.”

  Jack stood up. The old woman remained sitting but reached out and grabbed his wrist.

  “I’m sorry. I thought I was doing the right thing. Can you tell her that I hope she’s well?”

  You convinced a scared girl not to go to the police. You hid evidence in a murder, then you drove her back and left her with a man you knew was a bastard, and you thought you were doing the right thing? Some best friend.

  Jack glared down at the old woman, who sat slumped in the chair.

  “Thanks for the coffee,” he muttered and headed for the door.

  Jack paused in the hallway as he looked back across the pond.

  She thought she could get help here. She was wrong.

  Abbey walked ahead of him and opened the front door.

  He nodded his head as he passed her. “Thank you for your time.”

  “I’m sorry about your dad. I didn’t know him, but I liked Patty. She was always real nice to me.”

  “Did you see anything that night?”

  Abbey shook her head. “I saw the police at the pond, but when Patty came, my mom made me go to bed.”

  “Thanks.”

  As Jack turned to go, his hand shot out and stopped the closing door.

  “Wait a second. I’m sorry, but did you just say you saw the police and then Patty came over?”

  Abbey tilted her head and shrugged. “Yeah, but…that can’t be right. Why would they be there first? Maybe I got it wrong?”

  Jack reached into his pocket and took out one of his cards.

  “Please. Try to remember which way it happened. If you do, call me.”

  “I will. I’m sorry again.”

  As he walked down the path, Jack’s steps slowed.

  Witnesses’ first remarks are typically the most accurate. She was only nine, but trauma has a way of branding itself on your brain. But if she’s right, why would the police have been there before Patty came? And if they were, why is there no record of it?

  Christmas Roses

  Jack jogged back around the pond. He was at the midway point, so he decided to keep going and complete the loop. The cool air on his face felt wonderful, and the rhythm of his feet on the path seemed to be urging him on. The pond’s surface was absolutely still. He looked at the treetops, and no wind blew the branches. As he rounded the bend to the rocks that looked like breasts, he slowed to a stop. On the left side of the path was a small clump of red and white flowers. Jack leaned down to examine them closely. The blooms almost looked like wild roses.

  Wow. I know it’s been warm but…Replacement would love these.

  Carefully, he picked half a dozen of the largest flowers. He stood up and admired the bouquet. With his prize in hand, he hopped up on the rock so he could stare out over the pond. The water was crystal-clear. As he peered over the side, he thought he could see at least fifteen feet down, but the bottom was still hidden. A familiar streak of air whizzed by his head, followed by a distant, loud crack. Jack’s muscles moved instinctively. He pitched forward on his belly as the roses fell from his hand. He rolled left and scrambled behind the rock. Another shot whooshed by, followed by another distant crack.

  Shot came from the parking lot. Bad shot. I was a sitting duck.

  Jack’s gun was in his hand. He was lying on his stomach with the rock between him and the shooter.

  Rifle versus pistol—I lose. Run away or flank?

  Jack smiled. No way was he running away. He looked at the slope of the ground and the small gully that would provide cover. He’d be exposed while he crossed
the path, but the trees would obscure him for at least part of that. He sprinted to the left, staying low, and slid to a stop behind a large pine.

  Nothing. No shot.

  A large oak was twenty yards away. Forcing himself to do so, he exhaled slowly to get his breathing under control. He dashed forward to his next point of shelter, pressed his back against the rough bark, and listened.

  Nothing. Damn. Now I don’t know where they are. Are they rabbiting or lining up a clear shot?

  In the distance, he heard a car engine. Jack broke into a full run, but this time kept going until he was almost even with the granite marker. Through the trees, he could barely make out the parking lot and the flash of reverse lights from a car pulling out. His muscles strained, and his legs burned, but he sprinted as fast as he could for the road. Branches tore at his face and clothes, but he pushed on. Bursting out of the woods, he stumbled but remained on his feet. The fleeing car was a speck in the distance.

  “Damn,” he screamed.

  Frantically, he fumbled for his phone.

  “This is Officer Jack Stratton and I—”

  “Who?”

  “Officer Jack Stratton. I’m out—”

  “I don’t know an Officer Stratton.”

  “Listen, lady. There was a shooting out at Buckmaster Pond. A car is fleeing—”

  “What kind of car?” The woman’s voice was still a monotone.

  Jack ran his hand through his hair.

  “I don’t know, but—”

  “We will send someone out. What’s your name, sir?”

  He debated about running for the Impala, but the shooter’s car was long gone.

  Jack waited almost twelve minutes before the first cruiser arrived. The young cop bounded out of the car but stopped when he saw Jack. It was Kenny, the cop he’d met when he beat up Terry.

  Kenny rolled his eyes and raised an eyebrow as he approached Jack. “Are you the one who called this in?”

  “Yeah. Someone took two shots at me with a high-powered rifle.”

  “Did you see them?”

  “No. I saw the car leaving, but I couldn’t tell what kind it was through the trees.”

  “You didn’t see them?” Kenny stopped a few paces away from Jack.

  “No.” Jack shook his head.

  “How do you know they shot at you?”

  “Kenny, you ever shoot a gun?”

  “Of course.” Kenny took a step forward, but when Jack did the same, he quickly took a step back.

  “Then you know a gun makes that bang-bang sound, right? I know when someone shoots at me.”

  “How did you know it was a high-powered rifle?”

  “The sound, Kenny. The sound, and the fact that I’m at those—”

  The wail of sirens caused both men to turn as the chief’s Crown Vic rolled into the parking lot. Chief Dennis slammed the car into park. He stared at Jack, and his mouth opened and then closed.

  “Did someone take a shot at you?” he growled as he jumped out of his car.

  Jack nodded and walked over; Kenny followed right behind.

  “He didn’t see who or even what they were driving.” Kenny held his hands up.

  “I was over at the boob rock, or whatever the hell you call it, and someone took a shot at my head.” Jack glared at the young cop. “By the time I got to the road, the car was a little speck—”

  “How do you know it was a car?” Kenny made a face.

  “Wow. You’re right. Maybe it was a wagon pulled by a team of six horses, you jackass.”

  “Enough.” Dennis held up his hands. “Kenny, go tell the station I got this.”

  “Chief—”

  “Now, son.” He exhaled and yanked his hat down on his head. Dennis pulled his stick-on light and siren off the roof and jammed it onto the dash. “You sure are a pain in the ass. I was having breakfast.”

  “I’m a pain in the ass? I didn’t ask to get shot at.” Jack’s hands went out.

  “No. I think you did.”

  “What?”

  “I might have an idea why someone took a shot at you.”

  “What? Why?” Jack’s eyebrow arched even higher.

  Dennis handed Jack a newspaper. He opened it up to the headline: “Hunting for His Father’s Killer—Policeman son has a new lead in the twenty-seven-year-old murder.”

  “Damn.” Jack’s mouth fell open.

  “You can say that again, Jack.” Dennis laughed and shook his head. “Do you just like being in the middle of a constant-crap cyclone? I read all about the college, and all the mess that you and your girl made there.” He held the paper out in front of him and read: “The son of Steven Ritter is set to break this cold case wide open with new information.”

  “Is this paper just local?”

  “Yeah, but you don’t think this story is going to get picked up? Do you have any idea what your Sheriff Collins is going to do? I made some phone calls, and he’s still neck deep in the crap you left behind.”

  “I didn’t—”

  “You didn’t what, boy? You got some new evidence, and you don’t share it with me? I’ve got to read about it in the funny pages?” He tossed the paper back in the car. “I shared the reports with you. I said you could come to me. I offered to help. I told you to come to me if you had anything new. Do you?”

  “I was going to. I—”

  “When? When were—”

  “Hold on. You’re the one who told me I had to go fishing out here before you’d talk to me. So—”

  “Where’s your fishing stuff?”

  “I went fishing yesterday.”

  “Bull. You were too hungover—”

  “Screw you. I went yesterday. I went right where you told me, and I caught a giant catfish. I just came out for a run today. Then I was going to go back to the inn before I came to see you.”

  Dennis eyed him suspiciously, and then grabbed him around the shoulder.

  “What the hell, boy? You scared the crap out of me. I knew it had to be you when I got the call. Where were you when they shot?”

  “The rock that looks like breasts.”

  “Let’s go.”

  As Dennis walked, Kenny got out of his cruiser, but the chief waved him off. “We got this, Kenny.”

  Jack couldn’t help but smirk as he walked by.

  As they walked up the path, Jack glared down and muttered, “I’m going to go beat the snot out of Jeff Franklin when we get back to—”

  “That’s using your head,” Dennis scoffed. “Go ahead and beat the hell out of a reporter. Real smart. You sure that guy didn’t blow your brains out with that shot?”

  “It was off the record.”

  “What the hell did you tell him?”

  “Nothing. I said I was doing family research.”

  “Well, you’re going to have to go buy a copy and read the pages of nothing. He wrote it up as a nice family affair. The son of a murdered boy, along with his wife—”

  “Wife?”

  “Alice.”

  “I told him she’s not my wife.”

  “He’s a reporter. A bottom feeder. Right up there with lawyers. Do you know the difference between a catfish and a reporter?”

  “No.”

  “One is a scum-sucking bottom feeder, and the other is just a fish.” Dennis laughed so hard at his own joke that he started to cough. “Live and learn, boy. Live and learn. Never talk to them. He said you had new information. What have you got?”

  “I didn’t tell him anything.”

  Jack stalled. Someone had just shot at him, and now everything was blowing up. The fewer people who knew information right now, the better.

  “Think. You told him something.”

  “Something slipped out when I was talking to him. He was going off about Patricia. Repl—Alice—tried to cut him off and told him Patty was my mother.”

  Dennis stopped for a second. “Finding out Patty is your mother… Do you think that would be enough for him to run a whole story? Think,
Jack. Did you say anything else? I need to solve this case too. My dad didn’t live long enough to solve it, and Steven was my best friend.”

  “Maybe he’s just guessing I have something, and he thinks that’s why I’m here?”

  “Well, he’s writing another article next week. He’s saying he plans on laying it all out.”

  Jack’s phone rang.

  “Hello?”

  “Jack.” Replacement’s voice was strained. “You need to come back to the inn.”

  “I will. I—”

  “Now.”

  “Is it about the paper?”

  “How did you know? Did you see it?”

  “I’ll be back in an hour.”

  “Okay.”

  Jack clicked the phone off. He looked onto the rock and saw that the flowers he picked for Replacement were still there. He jumped up and gathered them.

  “Christmas roses?” Dennis asked.

  Jack looked back. “Is that what you call them? I found them over there.” He pointed to the base of the tree.

  “Where were you?”

  “Right here.”

  Dennis looked around and frowned. “One shot?”

  Jack shook his head. “They fired again when I hit the ground.”

  Dennis frowned and pulled out his radio. “Kenny, I need you to come down here. Titty Rock.” He moved to stand directly in front of Jack. “Before Kenny gets here and the flood of crap you bring with you descends on my town, I need to know you’re telling me everything.”

  “Yes.” Jack met Dennis’s gaze for a moment and then walked straight back and started to look at the trees for the bullets that had passed by his head.

  “You think the shots that missed headed through the trees? Maybe they went into the pond?” Dennis stayed on the rock and looked across the pond.

  “Follow the line.” Jack pointed back toward the parking lot. “It’s a needle in a haystack, but if they did hit a tree, you’ll see it. Worth a quick look.”

  After an hour of walking around and inspecting the tree trunks, Dennis stomped over to Kenny.

  “I’m heading back to town. Give it another hour and then you can call it quits.”

  Jack smiled. Kenny gave him the finger. Jack’s smile broadened. Dennis turned and stared at Jack.

  After a couple of moments, Jack shrugged. “What’s up?”