Stand

by Becky Johnson

  We settled into a worn booth in an old fashioned diner a few blocks away. As Skeet and I arranged ourselves across the booth from Jimmy a few details jumped out at me. On the surface Jimmy looked homeless. His clothes were filthy and he smelled terrible. But his hair, while mussed, was washed and trimmed and his nails were clean. Jimmy was playing at being homeless.

  We ordered. Tea and grilled cheese for me, and burgers with hot coffee for them. We didn’t talk until the food was served. I let Skeet take the lead. I was observing, trying to figure Jimmy out. Why would a prosperous lawyer leave his successful life and loving family and pretend to be homeless? It wasn’t logical. Nothing about this missing persons case made any sense.

  Skeet didn’t ask many questions. Well really he just asked one question. “What’s going on?”

  I gave him a look, but apparently he is a questions genius. “I know you have been looking for me and asking questions.” Jimmy replied. “I’m sorry if I scared you, but I had to talk to you. I don’t know if I hope you’ll stop or if I hope you’ll find the answer, but I had to talk to you.”

  Really, that was his story? I just wanted to talk you. It might just be me, but I don’t think grabbing someone from behind and covering up their mouth is a normal greeting.

  “So you assaulted me? You could have just said hello. You would have saved yourself from being hit if you’d simply said something.”

  “Sorry.” He winced as he rubbed one cheek that was still pink and would probably bruise.

  Then Jimmy sighed and leaned back in his seat, for the next two hours he didn’t touch his food or drink his coffee. He talked. For two hours we sat in that booth and James Barnes the ex-attorney told us his story.

  “Four years ago I was assigned some research for a big case. Normally as a Junior Partner I managed my own cases. But this case was huge. The payoff was in the multi millions. Everyone was working that case.”

  “I was assigned to research the validity of Muriel’s wills. There were eight. I reported to Daniel Jones, a Senior Partner. Then I was off the case, supposed to go back to my other work. I couldn’t though. The case bugged me. I didn’t like the daughter, Elizabeth. She just seemed wrong to me. And no one wanted answers. Not real answers. I handed over a basic report and they were fine with it.”

  He stopped to drink a little water.

  “I started to look into it on my own. I asked questions and pulled files. I became convinced that Muriel had been killed and that her family was guilty. That’s where things got weird.”

  I barely touched my own food. I was riveted by his story.

  “I started to get these calls. The caller would say he heard I had talked to Richard Francis or Anna Brinikov or Bernice James. At first they didn’t feel overtly threatening. But every call got worse. He started saying things about my family, asking how my wife and daughters were. I told myself it was just a prank, or trying to scare me. Nothing real. Then one morning there was an envelope on my desk with pictures of my family that were taken the day before. In every picture their heads were crossed out in red marker.”

  He took a deep breath before continuing. “I went to my boss, explained the research I had been doing on Muriel’s case, and that I was being threatened. Do you want to know what he told me? He said maybe I should listen to the threats. Maybe I should forget about the case.”

  “At lunch I just walked away. I didn’t know what I was doing. I just wanted to keep my family safe. But someone followed me. I spotted him totally by accident in the subway window. I ran. He chased me. I ducked into an alley and he ran in after me. We fought, and I…”

  He looked down at the table. Seeming lost in his head for a moment, neither Skeet nor I made a sound.

  “I didn’t mean to, but we fought and I pushed him. He hit his head on the corner of a dumpster. He fell down and he didn’t get up.”

  He swallowed hard at the memory and wiped his mouth with his napkin.

  His story was compelling, but there were a few things I couldn’t help wondering. “Why didn’t you go to the police?”

  “I wanted to, but I didn’t think anyone would believe me. I had no evidence. Not only that, but I had just fought a man, maybe killed him – I still don’t know for sure. I was scared for myself and my family.”

  “I just ran. I have been hiding ever since, living on the streets, keeping out of sight. Until I heard that you were asking questions. I decided I had to talk to you. I had to stop you.” He leaned forward, staring right into my eyes. “It’s not safe. You can’t keep looking into this.”

  I didn’t buy it. His story wasn’t adding up. His hands and hair did not say homeless. How did he know I was asking questions? It didn’t make sense and it was driving me crazy. He said he fought and possibly killed someone, but something about the whole thing just seemed off. I wish I could say I was on the ball and jumped to ask those questions right away, but I didn’t.

  Skeet asked Jimmy where he was staying and who he talked to. When I looked over at Skeet his face was blank and his eyes narrowed. I didn’t think he was buying Jimmy’s story either. I started asking questions.

  “Where do you get a shower?” Jimmy looked at me like I was crazy. “Your hair and fingernails are clean. It almost looks like you had a manicure.”

  He laughed. “One guy at the shelter lets us take showers. I was able to get one the other day.” I noticed he moved his hands down on his lap.

  “How did you know I was asking questions?”

  “Uh. I saw you.” Now his eyes shifted to the right. Sign of a lie.

  “You saw me? At your old law firm? Do you regularly go to your old job?”

  He looked down at the table. “It was just luck. I happened to be outside and I saw you go in. I guess it was just coincidence.”

  Coincidence, yeah right. I looked over at Skeet, his eyes met mine. He didn’t believe him either.

  I leaned forward. “I don’t believe you Jimmy. You’re lying to me. I don’t know why, but I know that you are. I’ll help you anyway. Skeet is going to stay here with you. I’m going to buy you a throw away cell so we can keep in touch. Your family deserves to know what happened. Muriel deserves for the truth to be known. You have a chance right now to tell me everything. Right now, Jimmy.”

  He stared at me. “No one calls me Jimmy.”

  That was what he got out of my little speech. The name Jimmy. I looked at Skeet and motioned for him to let me out of our booth.

  “I’ll be back in a few.” I was furious. He was lying. He had abandoned his family. He had run. Don’t get me wrong, I understand how scared he must have been, and if he had told me the truth I might have a different opinion of him. But he didn’t tell the truth. Right then at that table, Jimmy was still running.

  I realize my anger came from my own recent past. I saw myself in Jimmy. I saw my own fear staring back at me. He ran. I had run from Pheares. Now I was taking a stand. Just like I wanted myself to be stronger than my fear, I wanted Jimmy to be stronger than his fear. You can’t always run. At some point you have to stand up for yourself or you will never stop running.

  At that moment my insight was high jacked by my feelings. I was fuming. The walk to get a phone gave me a chance to cool off. When I returned to our table at the diner with a phone in my hand I was calmer. We needed a plan. I had found Jimmy or really he had found me, but that didn’t resolve our problem. None of us knew who had threatened him. Obviously Muriel’s family and/or someone at the law firm had tried to kill Jimmy, and they covered up Muriel’s murder.

  I didn’t care about Jimmy’s motive any more. I only cared about what we would do next.

  We sat at the table for another hour plotting and scheming. When we left we had a solid plan to catch the bad guy. I felt confident. We could do this. Even James Barnes had a big smile.

  Chapter 21

  We planned to go home. We had done what we came here to do, more than that really, we found my missing person. It was dark and cold when we stepped outs
ide of the diner and my breath fogged the air in front of me. I tucked my hands deep in the pockets of my coat and hurried after Skeet. He was several steps ahead, walking fast to keep warm. Suddenly Jimmy grabbed my arm.

  I turned back toward Jimmy. He opened his mouth to say something, and then his body jerked and something wet hit my face. I didn’t hear a bang. Skeet must have heard something though. He moved before I could even scream.

  It was only when my shoulder hit the concrete sidewalk that I realized Skeet had tackled me. That’s when I heard myself screaming.

  After we hit the pavement Skeet pulled me over until we both were somewhat hidden behind a heavy row of steel newspaper dispensers.

  “Jimmy, Jimmy, we have to get Jimmy.” I was frantic and tried to push around Skeet. Things were happening so fast.

  Skeet held me back. “You can’t help him.” I still tried to push around. “Char.” He grabbed me by my shoulders and made eye contact. “He’s gone, Char. You can’t help him.”

  I stopped. The cold air freezing tears I was barely aware of on my cheeks. I already knew he was gone. I hadn’t seen in detail, but people missing half their head are not alive. I couldn’t help him. I had to focus on helping Skeet and myself.

  There were no more gunshots. Skeet and I never had a chance to call 911, but someone must have. I heard sirens in the distance and getting closer.

  Skeet and I stayed concealed behind the newspaper dispensers until the police arrived. I’m sure the killer was long gone by that point, but it seemed smartest to err on the side of caution.

  ______

  I couldn’t get warm. Even in the back of the ambulance wrapped inside a blanket with the heat on full I was shivering. I knew the police would want to question Skeet and I. We were the only witnesses.

  I felt awful. I had found James Barnes. Now he was dead. Someone had killed him right in front of me. His blood was still on my face. I felt guilty. Curiosity can be a killer. Jimmy had warned me to stop asking questions. Maybe if I had he would still be alive. A foolish line of thought but I couldn’t stop my mind from going there. Even worse I didn’t know what to do about it. My mind was spinning like a hamster on a wheel. I was stuck with nowhere to go. I honestly don’t know what I would have done if Skeet hadn’t decided to take charge.

  While I was being checked out by the paramedics for a bruised and scraped shoulder – courtesy of Skeet tackling me, Skeet was on the phone with Jack who was on his way to D.C. The Washington D.C. Police Department had no idea they were about to get help from the FBI. I like Jack. I trust him. But it is hard for me to give up control.

  It didn’t matter anymore. The situation was out of my control. This was no longer a missing person’s case. It was a murder investigation. With a crisp bandage on my shoulder and a cup of hot tea in my hands I waited in the police station. It was a little after eight at night.

  Skeet sat next to me, but I wasn’t talking. I don’t think he cared. We were both too shell shocked to share how we felt. The police station was buzzing with noise and activity. A young officer had photographed the blood splatter on my face, then let me wash up. He set Skeet and I up in the corner, but no one came to question us. Finally a woman came. She was in her forties, dressed in a neatly pressed black suit with a beige shirt. She pulled a folding chair up in front of us. She wasn’t what I pictured as a Washington D.C. cop. She was pretty, fit and fashionable. I noticed that Skeet sat up a little as she approached. Men.

  “Hello, I’m Detective Carter. Why don’t you tell me what happened tonight?”

  Nice open ended question. I didn’t want to give too much away until I knew what exactly was happening. Skeet as usual, kept his mouth shut.

  “Someone shot that man.” I finally volunteered. “I didn’t hear a gunshot. I just saw him collapse. Skeet pulled me down and we took cover until the police arrived.”

  I didn’t admit we knew who Jimmy was. It was just a gut feeling.

  Detective Carter tried again. “Witnesses on the street say the man who was shot had his hand on your arm. Did he say anything to you?”

  “He tried to, but he was shot before he said anything.”

  She asked a few more questions, but I kept my answers neutral. Skeet didn’t really say anything. Finally, she handed me a notepad and asked me to write down what happened.

  While I started to write, Skeet got out his phone. I knew he was calling Jack. He gave him an update on where we were and who the detective was. The two of them were apparently best buds. I was annoyed. How did I end up with freaking Frick and Frack?

  After Skeet hung up he said Jack was still a little more than an hour away.

  “Okay. What’s the plan?”

  He gave me a look. I guess he was surprised I was so calm. The situation was what it was, I could freak out and cry, or I could chose to work with what was happening. Since freaking out wasn’t going to get me anywhere I was going to accept my current situation.

  “We wait for Jack, and then we interrupt a few people’s evenings.”

  My confusion must have shown on my face.

  Skeet was total innocence. “Aren’t there some people you would like to talk to, some questions that need answering?”

  I grinned. Yeah, I had some serious questions, and I was about to get help from the FBI. When Jack got here things were going to move.

  Chapter 22

  When Jack arrived the noise level doubled. The local police weren’t very happy that the FBI was getting involved. This wasn’t a Federal case. Jack and Detective Carter spoke for a while and Jack must have convinced her. She remained less happy with Skeet and I for calling him. Things started moving anyway.

  Jack got a private conference room for the three of us to talk. He started people tracking Elizabeth and looking into her finances. He got someone else working on the law firm.

  It was nine thirty.

  ______

  On the way into the small room set aside for us, Jack grabbed my arm. He looked at me, really looked at me. His voice when he asked me how I was, was soft. I almost broke. I could feel it. The fear of the last few hours welled up and burned my eyes and throat. I had been fine until he asked me if I was okay, then I was suddenly on the brink of tears.

  “I’m glad you’re here,” was all I could say.

  He hugged me tight and just held onto me. With the feeling of his suit coat under my cheek and his familiar scent surrounding me, I felt control return. In the worst moment of my life, Jack had been there. He would always represent safety to me.

  ______

  Half an hour later I was sitting at the table with Jack and Skeet. We had gone over and over the facts. We had discussed our thoughts. The whole time, I had this theory in the back of my mind. I was hesitant to share my thoughts. Besides, it went against everything I thought I knew about investigation work. Notice how I say, I thought I knew? Yeah, I can acknowledge my shortcomings. Since most of my knowledge on being a detective comes from television, it’s no shock that I held false perceptions.

  My perception was this – facts make cases, not deductions. I am very logical. Logic, not facts were taking my thoughts someplace I wasn’t sure I should go. I guess I had a perception – all law firms are evil – this probably comes from reading too much John Grisham. Subconsciously, I had believed the law firm was the guilty party. After meeting Jimmy, logic took me down another path. One I had not expected.

  I might not have mentioned my theory, but Skeet said something about Jimmy. He and Jack were looking over pictures of the crime scene.

  “I have an idea.”

  It just popped out. I really have to work on my mouth brain communication. Skeet and Jack were both looking at me.

  “Jimmy wasn’t homeless. He had a manicure and his hair was clean. He wanted to look homeless.”

  They were still just looking at me. Okay Charlotte get to the point.

  “I think that Jimmy was blackmailing Elizabeth and I think that he had a partner at the law firm.” Deep breath.
“I think Jimmy pretended to go missing because he was threatened by someone. He and his partner were looking for a final payout, and I think I know who his partner is.”

  I had their attention. “Why do you think that?”

  Okay, Charlotte lay it all out.

  “We suspect that Elizabeth killed, or by inaction and negligent care, she allowed Muriel to die. Elizabeth hired Jimmy’s law firm to discredit her mother’s last will and Jimmy conducted background work for the case. Jimmy claimed that he was homeless, but he wasn’t. Jimmy said he saw me asking people questions, but I was only there one day. Someone told him I was there and what questions I was asking. There are only three possible people who could have known. We need to look at Elizabeth’s finances, because I think she was being blackmailed, and then we need to talk to Jimmy’s partner.”

  After my little speech I sat back. I didn’t have the resources to do either of those things. At this point it was out of my hands. Jack would either listen to me and get that information, or he wouldn’t. Nothing I could do about it.

  Jack studied me for a minute. “So, who is his partner?”

  “Lori Claret, she is the only one who makes sense. It has to be someone from the law firm. Someone who knew I was asking questions and could warn Jimmy about it. I spoke with Lori that first day. She couldn’t get me out of her office fast enough. It has to be either Lori Claret, Cindy Carter, or the Administrative Assistant Norma. My vote is for Lori.”

  Jack went to the conference room door, opened it, and called for someone. I looked down at my hands and let out the breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. I let my surroundings fade to the background. It was something I rarely did anymore.

  When I was a child I was always dreaming, always lost in my head. Even as an adult I believed in dreams and lived in reality only as necessary.

  Pheares changed all of that. My world went from being light and fluffy to cold and real. In the last nine months I rarely allowed myself to be anything other than fully aware of everything and everyone around me. I was vigilant. I lived in a constant state of awareness, a classic case of PTSD.