For You

by Kristen Ashley

  “Yes, he was and there was a reason for that, wasn’t there, Norm? A reason you ignored.”

  “He needed a firm hand.”

  “He needed understanding and professional help.”

  “Right,” Norm blew out that one word dismissively.

  “Right,” she whispered back and then threw out her hand to indicate the room. “Look where you are. Can you still stand there and say, yet again, Denny didn’t need professional help?”

  “She’s got a point there,” Mike muttered.

  “Will this help you?” Evelyn asked, now looking at Sully.

  “Yes, Mrs. Lowe, it’ll help a great deal,” Sully answered.

  She took in another breath through her nose and then she asked, “Will it help Denny?”

  “Denny?” Sully asked back.

  “You knowin’ this, will it mean you’ll understand, get him some help?”

  There it was. A mother’s love.

  Even knowing this, Sully didn’t understand, Colt knew that, but Sully didn’t let on and said firmly, “Absolutely.”

  She nodded, sucked in more breath, lifted her head then asked, “Can I use your phone? I want to call my sister to come to pick me up.”

  “Thank God for that,” Sean whispered, “the old man’s itchin’ to lay into her.”

  “What’s this now?” Norm asked, not about to be denied the chance to pull her back down where he wanted her, right under his thumb.

  Evelyn looked at him and stated, “I think I need some alone time.”

  “Hopefully, the next twenty years,” Merry put in.

  “You stay in here, Mrs. Lowe, then we’ll get you to a phone,” Sully said quickly then turned to Norm. “Mr. Lowe, I’ll show you out.”

  “But –” Norm began.

  “This way,” Sully pushed.

  “My wife –”

  “Needs some alone time,” Sully’s voice was back to steel and he used it and his body to guide Norm to the door.

  Unwilling to lose face, Norm scowled at Evelyn but followed Sully. Evelyn lifted her hand and smoothed it across her hair which was neatly pulled back into a bun. Her hand was shaking. Looking toward the floor, she sat down with her back to the door and to her husband.

  Sully opened the door and Norm walked out.

  The show over, people in the room were shifting, quietly moving out.

  Mike moved toward Colt.

  “More news in, Colt,” he said, “not just the bodies but the hatchet is also the same brand as what Skipp sold Denny and he ditched Cheryl Sheckle’s car. They don’t know what he’s drivin’ but they found her car about three blocks away from this mornin’s body.”

  Well at least they knew where he was headed even if they didn’t know anymore what he was driving to get there.

  “What news on the bodies?” Colt asked.

  “This mornin’, pure rage. Reports say the remains of the victim looked like Marie. They even had trouble figurin’ out if it was a man or a woman.”

  “Christ,” Colt muttered.

  “The other body, done on the way from Idaho Springs to Taos. He was hacked like Angie, Pete and Butch, ‘cept he got him by cavin’ in the back of his head while he was runnin’ on some path. Likely a surprise attack. They found the body off the path, it’d been there awhile and the animals had gotten to it. Still, enough of him left to match a photo. We suspect somethin’ to come through soon.”

  “Six,” Colt said, counting victims, or at least the dead, human ones.

  “That we know of,” Mike replied, looking less than happy to say these words.

  “What I wanna know is,” Sean turned to them, jerking his head to the window, “don’t these people pay attention? Cop shows? Movies? News? Fuck, their son is killin’ dogs and drawin’ unhealthy pictures and what? Nothin’? It’s fuckin’ textbook.”

  “Denial can be crippling,” Merry, who’d also joined them, told Sean.

  “Nope,” Sean replied, tipping his head to the interrogation room. “She knew. Just think that guy’s an assclown. Get my prescriptions there,” Sean said, “at his place. Got allergies. Definitely feelin’ a change comin’ on.”

  “‘Spect Norm Lowe’ll lose a bit of business,” Mike noted and Colt’s eyes went to the interrogation room.

  Norm and Sully were gone. Evelyn was still sitting down but now staring at the box. Even unmoving, she looked like she was lost in a way she’d never be found. Then again, Evelyn Lowe had likely been lost a long time.

  “Think it might be a good idea, Norm Lowe retires,” Colt muttered.

  “And moves,” Mike added.

  “You’re up next,” Merry noted carefully, his eyes on Colt, “you takin’ precautions?”

  Colt looked at him. “Yeah.”

  “Creepy shit, Colt,” Mike remarked and Colt looked at Mike.

  “Yeah,” he repeated.

  Mike grinned. “Still, even creepy, I could see it would make it easier for a man to handle, he goes home to the knowledge he can play a game of pool with February.”

  Sean grinned too. “Yeah, Feb playin’ pool in your own den, wearin’ that choker, a pair of her jeans. Fuck. That’d seriously make it easier.”

  Garrett Merrick didn’t comment, he just smiled at Colt.

  “Hear you only let her have a game,” Mike noted and Colt was slightly annoyed, slightly impressed, that the gossip was so accurate. “Was me, I’d let her take ‘em all.”

  “It isn’t you,” Colt reminded him and was extremely glad he was in the position to do it.

  Mike’s grin got bigger before he muttered, “Damn shame.”

  One good thing about the conversation was that it was different to the conversations he’d overheard since Feb came back to town. Feb being in his bed meant he wouldn’t have to listen to the men discussing jacking off to her anymore and he had to admit that was a relief.

  Of the many plusses of having her back in his life, that was one of them. A small one but in the current circumstances he was hanging on to all the positives he could get.

  With a low wave to Sean, Merry and Mike, Colt exited the interrogation room and he managed to do it without again looking at the broken Evelyn Lowe.

  And he did this because Sully was right. The job they had, the things they heard and saw, you had to find a way to shut it down.

  * * * * *

  Colt was closing down his computer, preparing to leave the Station and get to his J&J’s family night, a night where he suspected Feb would be in the mood for music, when Sully came up to his desk.

  “Got a sec?” Sully asked.

  Colt watched his screen go blank then he looked at Sully. “This gonna creep me out, piss me off or both?”

  “Just fillin’ you in.”

  Colt sat back and Sully took that as his cue to sit down at his desk opposite Colt.

  “Colorado body identified. Man’s name’s Jayden Whelan. Wife reported him missin’ four days ago. Got two kids and owned a roofin’ business. On Sundays, he’d run trails. Left, didn’t come back.”

  Colt twisted his head as he closed his eyes, trying not to think of two kids without a Dad and a woman without her man living for days wondering where he was and now having to live a lifetime knowing he was never coming back. Colt tried not to think of this, to shut it down, and he failed.

  When Colt opened his eyes, he was staring at the floor. He did this for awhile before he looked back at Sully.

  “Why the fuck’s Lowe huntin’ trails?”

  “You ask me?” Sully answered. “It’s ‘cause Jayden Whelan was forty-one years old, he was six foot three, had dark brown hair, light brown eyes and pictures we got show he looked a fuckuva lot like you. I reckon somewhere along the line, Jayden caught Denny’s eye and he likely followed him”

  “That’s not fillin’ me in, Sully,” Colt told him, “that’s creepin’ me out and pissin’ me off.”

  Sully nodded understandingly but said, “Brace, man, we have no ID on today’s victim but odds are, more
of the same.”

  Colt didn’t reply because there was nothing to say. Sully was probably right.

  “The highways and byways between here and Oklahoma are crawlin’ with Feds, cops and highway patrol. Everyone’s got a picture, everyone’s knows the mission. Be a miracle, Denny makin’ it to town.”

  “He made it to Reece and he escaped him too,” Colt pointed out.

  “Yeah, he did,” Sully agreed eyeing Colt closely. “You and Feb think about protective custody?”

  What Colt was thinking at that moment was that the jury was no longer out on if it was stupid or not they didn’t let the Feds take them in.

  Still, for the life of him he couldn’t bring himself to take away what February wanted not only because of why she wanted it but because of what it was.

  “Feb wants to live a normal life,” Colt told him and Sully took in breath, ready to say something so Colt went on quietly. “I know, Sul. But she has her reasons and I have my reasons for givin’ into those reasons.”

  “He gets through the heat, Colt –”

  “Then we’re prepared for him. We got a man in plainclothes in the bar all the time, patrols front and alley all day, all night, as often as possible. Feb and me are home at night, same for the house.”

  “Wanna park a guy outside,” Sully said.

  “You got the manpower, do it,” Colt invited.

  Sully gave him a hard look then said, “Feb’s got her reasons, you got yours but I’ll say this once, even though I know you know it. We got a man out there in a rage. He’s missed out on a target and he’s been cut off cold turkey from his drug of choice, video of you and Feb. I spent about ten minutes, Colt, siftin’ through that box of photos and he’s been lurkin’ in your and her life for years and neither of you knew it. No matter what I promised Evelyn Lowe, I don’t see a happy end to this shit, not for Denny. What I want to avoid if at all possible is you or Feb gettin’ caught in the crossfire.”

  “That’s my goal too, Sully.”

  “Then talk to her again about protection.”

  Colt pulled in breath through his nose.

  Then he promised, “I’ll talk to her.”

  Sully’s body relaxed into his chair but Colt didn’t make his promise solely to make Sully feel better. He did it because his partner was right. He wanted Feb not to miss a second of the life they should be leading and he didn’t want to miss it either. But the end was near; they could sacrifice a few days in order to keep themselves safe.

  The phone rang on his desk; he saw the name come up on the display, leaned forward and pulled the handset out of the receiver.

  “Yeah, Betsy?” he said into the phone.

  Betsy worked front desk on weekends, some nights. Betsy retired early; she was Catholic and had approximately thirty children and grandchildren, all living in town. She took the job so she could still afford Christmas presents and because every single one of them thought her being retired meant she was designated nanny, chauffer, errand runner and maid. They were wearing her out. Weekend shifts and three to elevens a couple of nights a week at the front desk was her refuge.

  “I figure you been through the mill, Colt, so you know how sorry I am to tell you Monica Merriweather is here to see you.”

  Colt could picture Betsy at the front desk and Monica Merriweather standing right in front of her. Betsy would tell it like it was, even in front of Monica. Betsy might be a pushover for her family because she loved them but she’d learned to hold her own and was known as a woman who voiced her opinion. Further, she worked at a Police Station. Pushovers didn’t last long at a Police Station.

  “Tell her I’ll be right down,” Colt told Betsy.

  “Other things I’d prefer to tell her but I’ll tell her that,” Betsy replied and then put down the phone.

  “Monica,” Colt told Sully.

  Sully grinned and said, “Go get her, tiger.”

  Colt grabbed his blazer and shrugged it on while he took the stairs. When he saw Monica, his eyes never left her.

  She had a bob of dyed red hair that didn’t suit her coloring or the shape of her face. She was hitting middle age badly, was short and the last couple of years had put on a little pudge mostly due to regular flybys at Mimi’s and a summertime habit of stopping at Fulsham’s Frozen Custard Stand.

  Her position as top reporter for the Gazette gave her importance in town, people wanted her attention, wanted their name or event in print. Monica had elevated that importance on her own and the last five years or so, her self-conceived power had led to her getting nosier than she should, even given her profession. Her decades of consistent but thwarted attempts to get on staff at the Indianapolis Star saw her writing turn gossipy and sometimes nasty, something which was not only unnecessary for a small town weekly but also not popular. The real power she held, the power of the printed word, meant she could get away with it and people still showed her respect. They might have done it but behind her back she was widely disliked and, by some, even hated.

  She’d never married, likely because she carried the triple curse of being unattractive, unlikeable and giving up the status of being a woman to be known only as a reporter.

  “Colt,” she said with a false ingratiating smile when he approached her.

  He stopped well away and greeted, “Monica.” And as he knew she would, she moved into his space so he quickly asked, “What can I do for you?”

  She tipped her head to the side and said, “Figure Sully talked to you?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Feds are here,” she went on.

  “Yeah,” Colt agreed.

  “Somethin’ goin’ on that the people should know about?” she asked.

  She didn’t want to do a service to the citizens of the town. She wanted a juicy story she could break and show the editors of The Star.

  “Figure they know already what they should know,” Colt told her.

  “What I hear, there’s more to it,” Monica returned.

  “Yeah? What’d you hear?” Colt asked and she grinned again and put her hand on his arm, touching him briefly then pulling away before he could.

  “Now wouldn’t be good for me to tell you that, would it?” she asked.

  Colt played dumb. “Why not?”

  She just grinned again.

  Colt wanted to be at the bar, not talking to Monica, so he got down to it. “My advice, Monica? You should leave this alone.”

  “That sounds interesting.”

  “At this point, it’s far less interesting than you think,” Colt lied, she got closer and it took everything Colt had not to step back.

  “What I hear, it’s very interesting,” she whispered.

  Colt played a card. “You tell me what that is, maybe I could confirm or deny it. You don’t, and you run with it now, you’d be all kinds of fool.”

  He gave her confidence a hit, she was unsure. She knew talk was talk and things could get embellished along the way. She moved too soon, no matter how miniscule, any dreams she had left of being at The Star would be lost. She tried to hide it but he saw it in her face.

  Colt kept going, dangling the carrot. “You work with us on this we give you an exclusive after it plays out.”

  “An exclusive to a weekly?” she asked, eyebrows up, disbelief in her tone.

  “Town’s paper, who else?” Colt returned but she knew what he was saying. He wasn’t offering the Gazette an exclusive; he was offering it to Monica.

  She studied him before wheedling, “Worth my while to wait?”

  Colt wasn’t giving her that. “Sorry, Monica, you’ll have to wait and see, just like us.”

  Her hand came back to his arm but this time she kept it there and again Colt fought the urge to pull away. “Colt, the Feds are here. There are four dead bodies in three states. Same MO.”

  “Not the same.” That, at least, was the truth, or it was in Marie’s case.

  “Close enough,” she returned.

  “Monica, trust me, I’m givin’
you good advice on this one.”

  “You’re tryin’ to gag the press.”

  That pissed Colt off. Sure, that’s exactly what he was doing but he hadn’t put up with her shit and played her game for years to have her call him on something she had to know was important.

  His voice dipped lower when he said, “You pay attention, you’ll see I’m tryin’ to give you somethin’. You don’t play, this ends, you got nothin’.” Her interest was even more piqued, he saw that too.

  “You want this, you gotta give me more,” she pushed him, the greedy bitch.

  “More than exclusive?” he asked.

  “You gotta give me Cal Johnson.”

  “Old news, Monica, you reported on that this week.”

  “Not with an interview with the cop who got him to roll over.”

  Colt couldn’t see it as news, just her way of taking his time, something she liked to do.

  “No one’s interested in that shit.”

  “Yeah, you’re right,” she said agreeably. “So, instead, I’ll take you and Feb.”

  Colt swallowed a growl. She had that all along. She knew the murders were linked with him and Feb and she wanted it all.

  She squeezed his arm, getting excited. “High school sweethearts, brought back together by murder and mayhem,” she leaned in, “hell, this could be a book.”

  “It’s not gonna happen,” Colt told her.

  She squeezed his arm again. “That’s my offer. I lay low until this busts and then you give me the real exclusive.”

  “You don’t lay low, you don’t get jack shit,” he returned.

  She dropped his arm, leaned back and grinned again, thinking she was calling his bluff. “I could live with that.”

  Colt shook his head but smiled, leaning back himself, calling hers. “Nope, Monica, run it and for the next forty years you’ll kick yourself.”

  Her head jerked and her lips parted before she gave it away. “We’re not talkin’ The Star here, are we?”

  Colt knew reporters would soon be crawling all over town. This shit was going to be big news and national and Monica wasn’t wrong, it was worthy of a book and probably some hotshot would even make a movie out of it. If it had to be someone might as well be one of their own but even so, Colt had no intention of handing her him and Feb. And given the fact she’d made a lot of enemies in that town, folk wouldn’t care Monica was one of their own. They’d talk to anyone about what they knew about Feb and Colt before they’d spill to Monica. She’d fucked herself.