by Shawn Hill
CHAPTER 7 - THE QUESTIONS
Reality smacks Thomas right in the face as the doors to the police car suddenly open and he’s pulled out and separated from Juliandra. EMTs are on the scene and one looking him over calls out.
“Let’s get him in the ambulance. It’s only a minor wound!”
Two others begin examining Juliandra and another two are already checking out Officer Daniels. Uniformed officers have filled the street as quickly as the blood filled the white canvas of Juliandra’s shirt, and Thomas couldn’t help but think the entire police force was right there on that one road. He sits, eyes darting back and forth, watching armed men and women move door to door searching homes. A detail comes to mind, 7.62x51, the caliber of bullet Detective Davis mentioned during his interrogation. How terrible he thought, to know the exact specifications of what killed his wife, but to not know how to save her from it?
He can see Officer Daniels taken away in an ambulance moments before Juliandra’s body gets moved into another one. Seconds later, the view keeping him informed is abruptly blocked when a young policeman steps into the back of his ambulance and the rear doors are closed. The vehicle starts moving and soon Thomas finds himself under the care of Nurse Rachel whom he remembers clearly from before.
It was extremely tempting to acknowledge her familiarity, but not this time. Silence is the new theme. Offer only what’s necessary to try and figure out how to beat this thing; this hell controlling his life. It isn’t going to win. He’s going to observe and find its weakness, a way out, a clue; anything.
The nurse finishes wrapping his arm with fresh gauze.
“How’s that, Mr. Lee? Is it too tight?”
“No, it’s fine. It’s really good, thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” she replies.
“Is there any way you can get the officer that brought me in? I really need to talk with him.”
“Oh, I think I can find him for you. I don’t believe he’s very far away.”
A smile forms on her face as she walks towards the door. “I’ll get Officer Richards for you. Try not to move your arm around too much. Even though its only five stitches, excessive movement could cause the wound to open up again. I’ll be back in a few minutes to check on you, okay?”
A small nod from Thomas and the nurse is gone, but before he has a chance to drift away in thought, young Officer Richards enters the room and approaches.
“Officer Richards,” Thomas says. “Officer, I need to speak with Detective Ron Davis as soon as possible. Can we go to the station? I need to talk to him now.”
“Sir, as soon as the doctor discharges you, we can head down to the station. You can make a full statement, and a Detective will be assigned to you. Do you know Detective Davis?”
“No, I just know of him and would like to consult with him,” Thomas replies. It was going to be difficult to stick to his new theme, but how crazy would it have sounded to explain?
“I’m not sure Detective Davis will be assigned to your case, but I‘ll let him know you want to speak with him. I’m going to check with the doctor and see about your discharge and we’ll go from there.”
Officer Richards walks out of the room and Thomas starts looking it over, identifying objects. An older rolling stool that could use a new layer of vinyl is off to the left, and the stainless steel sink built in to the counter seems very clean. A partially open drawer is filled with gauze, wrapped tubes, what looks like Popsicle sticks, and a single roll of white tape.
Before he could move on to the next object Officer Richards is once again standing in front of him, almost as if he had never left.
“Mr. Lee, the doctor’s informed me that you’re being discharged. You’ll need to sign a couple of things on the way out. Just follow me and we can get you out of here.”
Thomas pushes off the examination bed and onto his feet right behind the officer now leading him out the door. They arrive at a desk where Nurse Rachel is chatting with another nurse beside a computer screen. She pauses and immediately smiles, making eye contact with Thomas, then reminds him not to bend his arm too much as she hands over a few papers.
“Normally, you would see much more of me, Mr. Lee, but these are unusual circumstances, and we’re releasing you into the charge of Officer Richards. Please initial here and here then sign right here.”
Thomas remains silent, simply nodding to acknowledge her instructions. He signs the papers and hands them back before falling in line behind Officer Richards who is now navigating his way out of the building to a squad car. Two men are already in the front seats and Officer Richards escorts Thomas to rear passenger door, opens it, and steps aside so he can get in.
“These officers are going to take you to the station, Mr. Lee, where you can give a statement and speak to the investigator who has been assigned to your case. His name is Detective Ronald Davis.”
In a quick motion Thomas looks up at the officer with slightly widened eyes and nods as the door closes. The hospital begins to shrink into the landscape as the car accelerates forward and only minutes later the police station comes in to view, getting larger and larger until the car stops.
Thomas is escorted to an office where Detective Davis is waiting. This is different than before, he thinks. Last time, I was a criminal suspect and treated like dirt. Now, I’m a guest.
“Have a seat, Mr. Lee. I’m Detective Davis and I’ve been assigned to your case. I know this is a difficult time for you, but it’s extremely important that we get as much information as we can as soon as possible before memories become skewed. I hope you understand.”
“I understand, Detective.” Thomas replies.
“Okay, I need to record your statements, Mr. Lee. Do you also understand that what you say will be recorded for later review?”
“Yes.”
Detective Davis walks over to a video camera mounted on a tripod and lines up Thomas in its view.
“Alright, I’m going to start the camera recording and then I’ll ask you a few questions.”
A small red light comes on and Detective Davis walks back to his chair, sits down then begins a series of questions written on his notepad.
“Can you please state your name and age?” He asks.
“My name is Thomas Benjamin Lee, and I’m 32 years old.”
“What is your place of residence?”
“I live at 2408 Rosewater Avenue, in Bangor, Maine.”
A few more general questions follow before the Detective finally asks Thomas to explain, in detail, the events of that morning. Thomas looks down for a moment and then raises his eyes to meet the Detective’s. A deep breath and he begins describing everything, in as much detail as possible, without mentioning anything that could make him sound crazy. The detective is patient and lets Thomas recount all events without interruption, until he comes to the present moment.
“Mr. Lee, I’m looking at a transcript from your 911 call today. The 911 operator asked you if someone threatened your wife and you said: ‘I don’t know who they are, all I know is they will shoot her at 9:36.’ Can you help me understand this statement and how exactly you knew someone was going to shoot your wife? How did you know this was going to happen precisely at 9:36?”
Realizing that this one small detail could change the way he’s treated and would lead to him being held at the station, Thomas thinks about what to say for a moment. He remembers dropping his cell phone during the chaos and takes a gamble it hadn’t been recovered yet. He tells the Detective that he received an anonymous text message stating Juliandra would be shot at 9:36am.
“I took it seriously,” he explains. “Juliandra works with lots of drug addicts and I just assumed it was a drug dealer or gang member. I don’t know who sent it. I just believed it.”
“Where’s your cellphone now, Mr. Lee?”
“I don’t know. I left it at the house or dropped it at some point this morning when we were trying to leave.”
“I believe it’ll be found soon, in fact, the ph
one is probably somewhere in the station now. Our guys are thorough, and as soon as I can get it we can confirm this message. I want you to know that I’m very sorry for your loss, Mr. Lee. This is a tragedy, and I’ll do my best to find out who is responsible, but for me to do so, I need facts… Clear facts.”
An older gentleman dressed in a grey suite knocks on the office door and enters with a manila folder in his right hand. Detective Davis gets up and turns off the camera before walking over and taking it. He sits down again, opens the folder, and begins to read.
“What is it?” Thomas asks. “Do you have any information on the killers?”
“No, I’m afraid not, this is a report from Officer Mitchell, and some notes from the examiner. I asked them to rush me their findings as soon as they could. According to the examiner’s notes, your wife was hit with three separate bullets.”
Without thinking, Thomas blurts out, “7.62?”
“Yes, how did you know that?” the detective asks.
“Well, that’s a common caliber for sniper rifles, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it is a common round and two of the three that were recovered are 7.62x51mm. The third hasn’t been identified. It was larger, possibly an 8.6x70mm, also known as a .338 Lapua Magnum. Those have a long range and can be effective at 2,000 plus yards, depending on conditions. The 7.62, however, has a much shorter range, somewhere around 400 yards max. This makes our job very hard, Mr. Lee, very hard indeed. But, I’ve got good men out there searching for evidence that may lead us to the shooters.”
“Jesus… 400 yards? 2,000 yards? They could’ve been anywhere. They could be long gone by now. How the hell are you guys gonna find them?”
“We have two of the bullets. We’ll have the trajectory of each soon, which will tell us approximately where those two gunmen were when they pulled the trigger. We’ll have your threatening text message that can be traced. We have a small town where not much goes unnoticed, and we have some of the best people in law enforcement working on this. We’ll find them. Trust me. Now, you need a place to stay. Do you have somewhere you can go tonight?”
“My mother-in-law, Regina,” Thomas replies. “I should stay with her.”
“I believe she’s here now, with her son. I’ll need to speak with them as well before you leave.”
Detective Davis picks up a phone on the desk, hits a button, and asks to have an officer sent to him.
“Thomas,” he says, “I’m going to have you go with one of our men until I finish speaking with Mrs. Jones. I’ll let you know when I’m done.”
In walks the now familiar face of Officer Richards, who seems to get younger every time Thomas sees him.
“Ahh… Officer Richards, can you please take Mr. Lee to get some coffee?”
With a serious look and perfect posture, the youthful officer replies, “Yes sir,” then waits for Thomas to stand. Both walk out, make their way past a reception area, and end up at the entrance of a room containing a vending machine, small coffee maker, a few tables, and several chairs that have seen better days. Before entering, Thomas turns and sees Detective Davis walking towards Regina who’s sitting in the lobby, sobbing, while Brighten holds her in his arms. Brighten is looking upward and blinking often, trying to prevent tears from falling as he holds his lips tight to stop them from quivering. Thomas recalls Juliandra saying he was a proud man. He could see that now, in the way Brighten held himself. Too proud he thought. Too proud to bend an inch for the sadness of losing his sister, not even this horrible tragedy could break that pride.
Officer Richards shows Thomas the coffee and instructs him to remain in that room until Detective Davis comes for him.
“I really don’t drink coffee, Officer; can I just get a cup of water?”
The officer points to a water cooler in the far corner.
“There’s a vending machine in here as well if you get hungry, sir.”
Knowing he has no money for the vending machine, Thomas simply thanks the officer and walks over to get a drink. He fills a cup, sits down and starts to think about what Detective Davis said earlier regarding facts. Facts are the key, and he needs to get all the facts.
Who, what, when, where, and why? He thinks. Who we don’t know yet, could be gang members, but no… This was too organized. Drug dealers could have done this; she works against them every day. Of course they would kill her. Maybe Brighten is involved. He used to be into drugs and knows people. Maybe a hit on his sister to teach him a lesson? Damn it! Who?
Almost 45 minutes go by before Regina, Brighten, and Detective Davis walk in. Thomas stands up and puts his cup down before taking a small step forward. Regina, still crying, and wiping tears from underneath her eyes, reaches out and walks directly toward him.
“Regina,” Thomas says as he wraps his arms around her, “I couldn’t save her. I tried, but I couldn’t save her.”
“I know Thomas, I know.”
Brighten remains at the doorway, back stiff, his arms crossed, and a facial expression molded by hate, anger, and suspicion. Detective Davis speaks:
“Thomas, Mrs. Jones has agreed to let you stay with her. We’ll have an unmarked car follow you out, and they’ll be watching her place overnight. I need for everyone to stay home and NOT leave the area. If anyone needs something critical, let the officers know, and we’ll have someone get it for you. Now, hang tight here for a few moments and I’ll send over the officers who’ll be looking out for you.”
Detective Davis leaves the room and Brighten springs forward taking the opportunity to grill Thomas for answers.
“What’s going on, Thomas? What are you into that got my sister killed, huh? What kind of shit are you involved with?”
“Nothing, Brighten, I tried to save her. I did everything I could to save her life. The question should be, what are you into that got her killed? Some drug deal gone wrong? Maybe you pissed off the wrong people, and Juliandra paid for it! Maybe some of your home boys did this!”
“You cracker mother fucker! I know this is your fault and you’re gonna pay! Juliandra should have never been with you! She deserved better than you! You’re just some white fuckin’ asshole who thinks you’re better than us, and you’ve got no place in our family! No place!”
“Let me get this straight you cocaine sucking idiot. You dragged Juliandra into your shit world of drugs, alcohol, and crime, where she had to save your stupid ass, and pull you, Brighten, a sorry waste of fucking space and useless human being, back from the pits of that hell hole of a life, if that’s what anyone would call it. She was torn to pieces watching you destroy yourself and your family, and I have done nothing but make her happy. You come at me with that? You fuckin’ piece of shit! If anyone’s to blame, it’s you and your crack shooting fucking friends!”
“Juliandra is my sister, and my kind, boy! Not your kind! Not for you. Never for you! We were fine before you, and you don’t belong!”
It was at that point Thomas realized race was only an excuse for his anger. In Brighten’s mind he had taken his sister away, and Brighten needed her; he needed her to keep him on the right path. Now, she’s gone forever, and he was scared.
“You know what, Brighten?” Thomas says. “What about Juliandra? What about what Juliandra wanted? I do belong because she chose me. That’s what she wanted. She loved me, and she loved you, so it doesn’t matter what you think. No one stopped you from being part of her life. That was all you. Don’t blame me for your mistakes, because she was happy.”
“ENOUGH!” Regina shouts. “That is… enough! Juliandra is gone; my baby’s gone and I will not have you two going at it. Juliandra was a grown ass woman and she did what she wanted. She was where she wanted to be. End of story! Get that? Enough of this!”
Silence falls over the room as Regina steps towards the water cooler and takes a seat at a small white table. Brighten walks over to the coffee machine and again crosses his arms. Five minutes go by and not one word is uttered from any of them. Finally, the silence is br
oken when Detective Davis walks in with two men wearing suits in tow, one middle aged, and the other closer to retirement by the looks.
“Mrs. Jones, Mr. Lee, Mr. Jones, this is Officer Williams and Officer Walker. They will be escorting you home and watching your place tonight. I will contact you when we get more details on what has happened.”
Detective Davis hands each of them a card and asks that they call if any new information comes to mind. The two suited officers escort Thomas, Brighten, and Regina out of the building and to her car. Thomas climbs in the back as Brighten opens the front passenger door and mumbles under his breath.
“Yeah, you better get in the back, boy.”
As soon as Brighten sits, Thomas leans forward.
“At least I have a license to drive Brighten; I can sit in the driver’s seat of a car. How about you?”
Brighten quickly turns, ready to fire back, but is interrupted by Regina.
“If I hear one more word from either of you two children, I’ll beat your asses with my shoe until you can taste my feet! Now, shut the hell up!”
Regina starts the car and follows the unmarked police cruiser all the way home. Once there, she invites the two officers inside for coffee while Brighten and Thomas make their way inside to the kitchen table.
“I’m sorry,” Thomas says to Brighten. “I didn’t mean all those things I said back at the police station; I’m angry and just want to know what happened.”
“Oh, you meant every word, Thomas, but despite what you think, I was only a user of drugs, I never dealt them.”
“Well, can you think of anyone who’d do this? Anyone? Was anybody mad at you or upset enough to do this?”
“Still on me, eh? You just can’t accept the fact that a black man wasn’t dealing drugs huh? Why is that, Thomas?”
“No, that’s not it at all Brighten. I know Juliandra worked with some pretty shady characters at the center; characters capable of anything. I just thought that since you were once…”
“Once what? A druggy? An addict? You thought I’d know everything about those who deal drugs, commit crimes and murder people?”
“Jesus, man; I’m just trying to figure out what’s goin’ on. Can you stop being defensive for a second?”
Meanwhile, the officers have left the house and gone outside to their car, and Regina is finishing off a bottle of wine in the living room while looking through an old photo album. She calls Brighten and Thomas to see some of the pictures. Both make their way to the couch, sit, and listen to her tell stories of Juliandra’s past as she flips through several pages.
The more Regina refills her glass, the more random her stories become, and the less sense they make. Thomas and Brighten are actively trying not to pay attention, but her voice is becoming louder and harder to ignore though.
“Boys, did you know that Juliandra was born ugly?” She says.
Brighten and Thomas, suddenly look at Regina.
“It’s true, Ohh Lord, she was an ugly child. I knew when she was born that she got her looks from her father. He was ugly too. My GOD he was ugly, but I loved him. I prayed every day for her to grow up pretty, and you know what? The Lord answered my prayers, because she grew to be the most beautiful young woman I have ever seen.”
Regina takes another sip from her wine glass, pulls out a picture of Juliandra’s father, and hands it to Thomas.
“This is Reggie, Reggie Washington, Juliandra’s father. Despite being ugly, he was a good man; yes he was. Not very good looking, but a good man. Troubled too; oh my lord that man was something else. He was mysterious and the unknown was attractive and I…”
Brighten finally speaks up, “What do you mean troubled mom?”
Before answering, Regina takes two more sips from her glass then refills it again. Brighten moves the almost empty bottle away from her.
“Mom, that’s enough wine. You’ve had enough, alright…”
“Boy, I am a grown ass woman, and I will drink what I want whenever I want, and how much I want.”
She puts her glass down on the coffee table and pulls out another picture of Reggie from the photo album.
“Brighten, your father died much too young. He was only 38 when the accident took his life. He never really had the chance to enjoy himself because he always carried a deep pain around. And, he never told anyone about his pain, not even me, and that held him back.”
“What are you talking about, mom? What pain?”
“I still don’t know what it was he kept secret all his life because he never got a chance to tell me. He died before telling me.”
“What?” Brighten asks, “You never found out?”
“Nope, I had to take care of you and your sister, and we had to move on.”
“Do you have a computer, Regina?” Thomas asks. “I’d like to do some research.”
“No, I don’t, but Brighten has a note top thing in his room.”
“You mean notebook,” Brighten says.
“Yeah notebook... Brighten, let Thomas use your notebook.”
Brighten looks over at Thomas, raises an eyebrow, and tells him to go to the kitchen. He gets up, walks off into his room then comes back out, places the notebook on the kitchen table and sits down in front of it.
“Well, what do you wanna research?” Brighten asks.
Thomas sighs, “I’m not sure, I was just going to try and find some clues. Maybe see if anyone who’s been to the rehab center was connected with crime.”
Brighten opens a web browser. “Got any names, Detective Lee? Perhaps we should type my name in here and see if I’m connected to any big crimes. Maybe, my father was a big criminal too. Yeah, let’s see if he was.”
Thomas shakes his head as Brighten types REGGIE ALFRED WASHINGTON into the search box then hits the enter key. The search results come up and the third one down is a link to Reggie Washington’s obituary.
“Ohh look! There it is… my dad’s obituary. Maybe, it was written by drug dealers, or gangsters.”
Thomas, sick and tired of Brighten’s attitude, starts to walk away.
Suddenly, Brighten calls out. “What’s this?”
Thomas stops, walks back to the table, and leans towards the screen. It was an article about a man who was fired from Riverview University. Brighten reads aloud:
“Professor Ronald Ledger loses his tenure after an adopted child comes forward, as an adult, to report past sexual abuse. Reggie Alfred Washington, who was adopted by Professor Ronald Ledger at the age of 7, claimed the abuse began when he turned 9, and continued until he was 16.
Although the Professor was not prosecuted for the alleged crime of sexual assault and sexual abuse of a minor, the University chose to end his tenure.
Ronald Ledger, ultimately, committed suicide after a short life of seclusion and what he described in his suicide note as a loss of respect from his family, and the community.”
“Wow!” Thomas says. “I am so sorry Brighten.”
Brighten turns to Thomas.
“All this time and all we had to do was just type his name in a little box. Just type his name… and there it is, right in your face.”
Thomas leans over again to read the screen as Brighten walks back towards the table.
“They got a picture of that mother fucker?” Brighten asks. “I bet he’s white. I bet that abusive ass bitch was white. I hope that son of bitch died slow. I hope he fucked up and did it wrong so he died so slow it lasted all day.”
Thomas points at a link to Ronald Ledger’s obituary then walks off towards the living room mumbling.
“You know, not all white people are out to get you.”
Brighten sits down in front of the computer.
“Oh, don’t leave now, Thomas. Come back in here. Let’s see what color he is.”
Brighten clicks the obituary link.
“I knew it! I knew that motherfucker was white! Thomas, come see! Shit! Shit… Shit… Shit!”
Thomas makes his way back in, “
What now? Did you find another white person holding someone down on the internet?”
“Thomas, what is the date right there?”
Thomas squints a bit and moves his head closer to the screen.
“Date of death, July 12th 2001.” His eyes widen as he turns toward Brighten. “Today is July 12th!”
“I know today is July 12th. Do you think I would have brought attention to it otherwise?”
“We’ve gotta call Detective Davis right now. Do you have a phone?”
Brighten hands him a flip phone pulled from his front pocket.
“You trust me with your phone?” Thomas asks.
“Yeah, that phone’s a piece of crap. So, yeah, you can use it.”
Thomas gets the card Detective Davis gave him, looks for the number and dials it. Three rings and an answer.
“Detective Davis,” the voice says.
“Detective, this is Thomas Lee.”
“Yes, Mr. Lee, is everything okay?”
“Yeah, we’re fine but we found something, something important.”
“And what’s that?”
“The date… today’s date.”
“What about the date, Mr. Lee?”
“It matches the date that some professor, named Ronald Ledger, killed himself back in 2001. July 12th 2001!”
“Yes, I know Mr. Lee. I’m checking into that right now. We’re looking at all the family members’ past histories, but so far we haven’t connected the death of Ronald Ledger to this case. He committed suicide, and as far as we can tell it has nothing to do with Juliandra’s death other than the date.”
“It’s gotta have something to do with it.” Thomas says. “It can’t be a coincidence.”
“As of right now, Mr. Lee, it’s nothing but a coincidence. Until we can prove otherwise that date is meaningless. I’ll look into it further and let you know if we get any relevant information, okay?”
“Alright, Detective.”
“Hold on a second, Mr. Lee, there’s something here that’s concerning to me.”
“What is it?” Thomas replies.
“I’m looking at the death certificate for Ronald Ledger and the time of death is 9:36am. As I recall you claimed that someone was going to shoot Juliandra at 9:36 this morning.”
For a moment, Thomas is speechless and takes a few seconds to respond.
“Yes, that was the time they said it would happen.”
“Okay, I want you to hang tight while I make some calls, alright? I’ll call you back once we have more details.”
“Yes, okay, bye.”
The detective hangs up with no further response. Brighten, waiting for answers at the table, is looking straight at Thomas.
“Well?” he asks.
“The time matched,” Thomas says.
“The time?”
“On the death certificate for the professor, his time of death was 9:36am.”
“Excuse me? What?”
“9:36am. That’s when Juliandra was shot this morning. 9:36 A- fuckin’-M! Something to do with this professor got Juliandra killed today. I’m callin’ his wife.”
“Whose wife?”
“Ronald Ledger’s wife. I wanna talk to her and find out what the hell her husband had to do with this. She has to know something.”
“Don’t you think the Detective is gonna call her? It’s his job man. He already knew about this professor. He’s probably talking to the bitch right now.”
“Maybe, but I need to make sure. I need to know what this guy has to do with all of this. Come on man; let me use your computer so I can at least do something.”
“Have at it. I… am going to wake my mom and tell her about my father’s past. And, if you break my notebook you’re buying me a new one.”
Brighten walks off into the living room where Regina has fallen asleep with a picture of Reggie and Juliandra still in her hand. Thomas sits in front of the computer and immediately begins putting all his work experience to use. Its 2014, he thinks. Everyone is linked in some way with information stored on servers around the world. I just have to find it.
After bouncing from page to page for fifteen minutes Thomas runs across a second obituary for Ronald Ledger. A quick read reveals that it’s mostly identical to the first except one subtle difference. He reads part of it out loud.
“He is survived by his wife Patricia Ledger, his stepson Jeremy Miles…”
The first obituary hadn’t said anything about a stepson, and further research uncovers that Jeremy had committed suicide on July 12th 2004, having never started a family of his own.
How odd, Thomas thinks. Suicide on the same day your step dad kills himself? And why Juliandra on that same day? What the hell does she have to do with any of this?
Thomas immediately begins searching for a way to contact Ronald Ledger’s widow Patricia. In his mind, he must speak with her. She must know the link. He, reluctantly, calls for Brighten who’s still on the couch with his mother talking. After ten minutes of back and forth, Thomas convinces Brighten to let him use a credit card to acquire contact information on Patricia Ledger who is currently living in Boston. Thomas gets a phone number and without hesitation dials it with Brighten beside him.
A man’s voice answers: “Hello?”
Thomas hesitates for a moment before speaking. “Is this the residence of Patricia Ledger?”
“Yes,” the voice replies.
“I need to speak with Mrs. Ledger, please.”
“I’m sorry, but she’s not here at the moment. May I leave a message for her, sir?”
“When will she return?”
“She may return in an hour, tonight, or tomorrow. I have no idea, sir. May I leave a message for you?”
“Is there any way I can get ahold of her now? Can you find her? Where is she?”
“Listen, sir, I don’t know who you are, but if you need to talk to her, she will be back sometime today or tomorrow. Now, you can leave a message or you can hang up; your choice.”
Thomas paces back and forth a few seconds thinking how to respond.
“You listen,” he says to the man, “I am Detective Lee from the Bangor P.D. and I need to speak with her now.”
Brighten looks at Thomas with a surprised expression then moves his lips silently as if to say, “what?!”
“Look Detective Lee,” the man says. “Detective Davis already called here, and I gave him her cellphone number. That’s all I can do. Okay?”
“Yes, Detective Davis and I are working on a case together, but he hasn’t checked in yet. Can you please give me that number again, so I can make a note of it?”
“Well, whatever you two “detectives” are working on, I hope it’s not too important, because if you can’t keep track of a phone number, you have no hope to solve anything.”
“Sir, can you just give me the number?”
“Alright, but if a third “detective” calls here from your department, they’re getting nothing, damn incompetent fools. Hold on… 6175554387, you got that?”
“Yes, I have it. Thank you sir, have a nice day.”
“Uh huh,” replies the man before disconnecting.
Thomas dials the number he just obtained for Patricia Ledger.
“Wow!” He says. “What an asshole that guy was! Oh, it’s ringing.”
“Yes?” A voice answers.
“Hello, Mrs. Ledger?”
“Yes.”
“This is Detective Lee from the Bangor P.D. I was hoping you could answer a few questions for me.”
“Are you serious? I just got off the phone with Detective Davis; I’m not going over everything again.”
Thomas starts to pace around again and then stops.
“No, no ma’am, just a couple of follow up questions, I assure you.”
“What more could you possibly need to know?” she asks. “My husband was a child molester who turned my son gay then killed himself. That’s it. That’s the story. I gave Detective Davis all the details.”
> “Ahh yes, but we are… we are concerned about the date of your son’s death.”
“Yes, I told your partner already. Jeremy was obsessed with Ronald, and in some weird act of honor or some crap like that killed himself on the anniversary of Ronald’s suicide. We’ve been through all this. Jeremy wouldn’t talk to me after his stepfather died, and the only one he did talk to was his friend Jason.”
“Jason?”
“Yes, I think he was gay, and he and his little art collecting butt buddy did everything together. Jason Brean and him were lovers I think. That’s all I know.”
“Do you have a number for Jason, Mrs. Ledger?”
“No, I don’t. I didn’t want to know him, and I don’t care. All I know is he lives somewhere near the Bristoly Lounge. That’s where those two always went. Now… are we done? I’m tired of talking about this, and I’m very busy.”
“Yes, Mrs. Ledger, yes. Thank you very much, and I’m sorry.”
Mrs. Ledger ends the call abruptly.
“Boy…” Brighten says. “You are crazy with that lying shit. I am impressed man. I cannot believe you pulled that shit off.”
Thomas smiles. “It’s the way hackers get information,” he says. “Many of them pose as someone they’re not to con people out of account information. I just thought like a hacker.”
“You know what that is? That’s a white person thing man. You don’t see many black people hacking do you? White people are doin’ all that shit.”
Thomas’s smile quickly changes to a frown as he shakes his head.
“You know Brighten, come to think of it, you’re right. I have never seen a hacker that’s black.”
“Exactly! Now you’re seeing things, Thomas. There’s hope for you yet.”
“But,” Thomas replies, “that may mean they’re just not getting caught as much as the white guys.”
Thomas sits back down at the table in front of the computer and begins to search for information about Jason Brean. This one’s alive at least, he thinks. After finding some details on the man, he tries several phone numbers. Each leads to a dead end, disconnected number, or ‘no longer in service’ message.
“I know this guy has a phone; I mean, who doesn’t today? It’s unlisted or something.”
“Or…” Brighten says. “He switched to some kind of prepaid phone. I have a friend that calls me every other week with a new phone number. He just gets a new phone when he can afford it.”
“I need my wallet,” Thomas says.
“What? Why?”
“I’m gonna find this guy in Boston. He knows something and I don’t have time to wait for Detective Davis.”
“Ohh contraire. That is all you have. We… are gonna stay right here until the police say otherwise.”
Thomas looks over at a clock in the kitchen, covertly picks up the credit card Brighten let him use and without a word walks to the bathroom and shuts the door. He sees that the window is big enough to fit through and climbs out.
