by Douglas Jern
A loud crack had ended the shouting. Anita had screamed once, and then all was silent.
Laura felt tears well up in her eyes but hardly noticed how they blurred her vision. In her mind she was back in front of the kitchen door, trembling at the rage she felt from within, Jeffrey holding on to the hem of her t-shirt, his fear a tangible sensation weighing down her stomach. But the need to know what had happened overcame their terror. Laura opened the door, and the scene that met her burned itself into her mind.
There stood David, looming over them like a gargoyle. Behind him, Anita lay on the floor. She was bleeding; a stream of red flowed from a cut in her forehead, forming a pool on the white floor tiles. There was a beer bottle broken in half next to her head. She wasn’t moving.
While Laura and Jeffrey stood paralyzed before their unconscious mother, their father picked up the phone and called for an ambulance. Then he hunkered down in front of his children.
“They’re going to come get your mother soon. They’ll patch her up, and when she gets back, she’d better have learned her lesson. As for you two…” He laid his heavy hands on their shoulders and grabbed on tight. “Breathe one word of this to anyone, and I swear to God you’ll be sorry.”
He didn’t ask if they had understood. He didn’t have to. Laura looked at Jeffrey and knew that at least he would certainly never tell anyone. He had learned to keep his mouth, and his mind, shut.
Ever since that day, Laura and Jeffrey had lived in silent fear. Their mother had come back from the hospital a changed woman. Neither she nor their father ever mentioned the incident with the beer bottle ever again, and Laura and Jeffrey followed suit, terrified of the consequences if they should break their word.
They had also come to an unspoken agreement to never read each other’s minds again. Jeffrey retreated into himself, focusing on his schoolwork and keeping interactions with other people to a minimum. But despite their situation, Laura could not suppress her curiosity. Jeffrey’s mind might be out of bounds, but what about other people? It took a bit more effort, but eventually she could read the minds of people other than her immediate family. She began spending as much time as she could away from home, secretly practicing her telepathic abilities. As the years went by and her power grew, she became able to read the thoughts of anyone within a radius of ten meters. She relished the rich tapestry of thoughts spread out before her as she moved through the crowded streets. Each person’s mind was as unique as their voice, their thoughts emerging in intricate patterns of words and images. Laura drank it all in, peeking into one mind after the other, flexing her telepathy like a muscle, growing stronger day by day.
When Laura graduated high school and left home for college, Jeffrey came with her. Neither of their parents protested. Laura majored in journalism, eager to seek the truth wherever she could find it, and reveal it to the world. She supposed her career choice was her way of compensating for the long life of secrecy and suppression she had been forced to lead under her father’s stern eye. Her mind-reading abilities were of great help in her work; people she interviewed often ended up revealing far more than they’d first intended to in the face of her deft, telepathy-assisted questioning.
Jeffrey, on the other hand, had begun studying psychology after graduating high school, but soon dropped out to work as a caretaker at a home for the elderly, where he quickly became loved by the residents. Laura wondered if he too made use of his gift in his work but never asked. Somehow, she doubted it. Although Jeffrey had grown into a handsome and gentle young man who could put almost anyone at ease, he never dated anyone, had few friends, and still wore the old mask that concealed his true feelings.
Laura sighed. Even though her little tumble down memory lane had only lasted a few minutes, she felt as if she’d just run a marathon. Splashing her face one final time, she shut off the faucet and raised her head to look into the mirror on the wall. Her eyes were a little swollen, but she felt in control of herself again as she reached for the towel and dabbed her face dry.
A soft yowl rose from the floor. Laura bent down and picked up Julius, who had at long last mustered the courage to return to the house after the terrifying telephone call.
“Welcome back, buddy. Sorry I scared you. I just got a pretty big shock, you know what I mean?”
She stroked his head as she left the bathroom. Laura couldn’t read the minds of animals. But judging by the way Julius purred in her harms, he seemed to know exactly what she meant.
11:40 – Zachary
Pulling off his rubber gloves with a resounding snap, Zachary stretched his back. Even after finding the wallet, Leo had insisted on one final search of the car, though Zachary knew it was pointless. There was somewhere else they should be.
“I think we’re done here, kid. What do you say about lunch?”
Leo stared at him. “Lunch? Now? What about the case?”
Zachary blinked at him as they walked toward his Chevy. “Don’t get your hopes up. You know what they say: there’s no such thing as a free lunch. It’s work-related. I’ll tell you more in the car.”
Zachary gave Maxwell a wave as they walked past. The old sergeant would take care of the cleanup here. Babysitting wasn’t without its perks, after all.
As Zachary was about to get in the car, he noticed the reporter from before standing a few feet away, looking at him. Their eyes met briefly, and Zachary had to suppress the urge to flip him off. Why did these people never know when to quit?
As he got in the car, he banged his head against the roof.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake…”
“You okay, sir?” Leo looked at him with an almost comical look of concern. Fantastic, some insult to go with the injury.
“I’m fine,” he replied, rubbing his forehead and waiting for the world to stop spinning. Shit, he must have hurt himself worse than he thought. He hoped to Christ he hadn’t given himself a concussion. With his luck, he probably had. “Okay. I’m good. Must be low blood sugar or something.” He adjusted the rear-view mirror and caught a glimpse of the reporter again, walking the other way. Good riddance.
“Let’s go get some chow. I hope you like falafel, cause that’s what we’re having.” He started the engine and put the car in gear. Leo fastened his seatbelt.
“Sounds good. Is this about that receipt you found in the wallet?”
“Yup. Whoever our mystery dead guy is, he visited Himdad’s last night. That’s where my boy Joey comes in.”
“Joey?” asked Leo. Zachary could sense his apprehension.
“My own little songbird. He’s a two-bit crook, but he’s got connections. Goes way back with the Morricone family, among others. Harmless guy, really. He hangs out at Himdad’s all the time. If any big players were around last night, Joey will know.”
“Shouldn’t you let Detective Mullin know about this, sir?”
“All in due time, kid,” said Zachary and revved the engine a little more than he had to. “Might as well have something solid for him when we get back. Wouldn’t want to interrupt him with trifles,” he added sarcastically.
“You and Mullin don’t get along, do you?” asked Leo, shying back a little as if he’d said something offensive.
Zachary sighed. “Between you and me, Mullin is a jackass. Couldn’t find a rubber duck in a bathtub. But the guy’s got connections among the higher-ups. Captain Caulfield adores him, for one. Goddamn nepotism is what it is. I said to them: ‘Let me handle the interrogation, I know what I’m doing,’ but did they listen? Ha!” He thumped the steering wheel for emphasis. “I would have gotten everything we need out of Greenwood in less than an hour, but nope, Mullin just had to show off, and now he’s probably sitting there like a dummy not knowing what the hell he—”
“Sir, you’re rambling.”
Indeed, he was. Zachary deflated. “Sorry, got a little worked up there.”
“It’s okay, sir. I guess even an ace detective can have a bad day.”
“Ha! Ain’t that the truth!�
��
It was strange, but he felt a lot better for venting and was actually glad to have Leo’s sympathy. Maybe he was warming to the kid, after all.
“Anyway,” he said as he signaled and turned right. “Mullin won’t have that much time to interrogate Greenwood, after all. I called and told them to transfer Greenwood to the Bunker.”
“You did?” Leo looked surprised. “When did you do that?”
Zachary looked at his watch.
“Would’ve been about… twenty minutes ago, while you were double-checking the car. I figured it’d be safer to have Greenwood locked up tight if he has some connection with the mob. Better safe than sorry, you know?”
“Does Detective Mullin know about this?” Leo asked. “This is his case, right?”
“Technically, yes,” Zachary admitted. “But sometimes you have to think outside the box, kid. Bend the rules a little.”
Leo didn’t reply. When Zachary threw another glance his way, he saw that Leo was frowning. Zachary continued.
“Look, I understand how you feel about this. You’re uncomfortable with going behind Mullin’s back. Perfectly natural. Back when I was just starting out, I felt the same way about lots of things.”
“You were the one who said we were going to do this by the book,” said Leo.
Zachary kept his eyes on the road, pondering how to respond. Amazing how your own words could come back to bite you in the ass.
“I did say that, but what I want you to understand is that sometimes the book isn’t enough.”
He groped for the right words. How could he explain to this honest youngster that sometimes you had to stray from the beaten path if you wanted to get anywhere?
“Like I said, Mullin’s a jackass. I’m basically covering his ass, you know. You’ll understand one day.”
Leo was staring straight ahead. His mouth was a pencil-thin line. There wasn’t the slightest hint of humor in his face.
“Sir,” he said. “Please don’t patronize me. I know you think I’m still wet behind the ears, but I’ve worked with you long enough to know something isn’t right here. You don’t like Detective Mullin, and that’s fine, but this isn’t like you.”
“Like I said, I wanted to cover all the bases—”
“No, sir. We both know that’s not true. Could you at least be honest with me?”
“Kid, I don’t know what to tell you.”
“How about the truth?” said Leo, and now there was an unmistakable edge to his voice. “This is all about screwing with Mullin, isn’t it?”
“That’s not what this is about at a—”
“Of course that’s what this is about!” said Leo. “You couldn’t accept that Mullin’s handling the case, so you’re trying to show him up by solving it on your own. Not only that, you want to humiliate him.”
“Oh, wow. Yeah, put some more words in my mouth, why don’t you?”
“Sir, don’t you see how petty this is? You’re interfering with the case just to mess with Mullin. We already have the suspect in custody, and now you’re having him transferred on a whim? That’s not ‘thinking outside the box,’ it’s just meddling. Or what, are you trying to impress me? Be the rugged veteran showing the newbie how to do things with style? If you think that’ll make me respect you, you’re wrong.”
Zachary stepped on the brakes. The car screamed to a halt, jerking both him and Leo forward. Zachary held up a warning finger in Leo’s face.
“I don’t need to hear this shit from you! You have no idea what I’m thinking, and I sure as hell don’t need you to lecture me about respect!” He spat out the last word as if it had burned his tongue. “I’m doing this for your sake, you know. You have the chance to learn from the best here, kid. I wouldn’t waste that if I were you.”
Leo said nothing. He was glaring at Zachary, right in the eyes. Zachary glared back. He had surprised even himself by flying off the handle like that. Still, he was not about to let some sanctimonious college kid run his mouth unchecked.
College kid, right… that was another thing that irked him. Zachary had enrolled in the police academy fresh out of high school and had started his work in the service on the beat, learning by doing as he patrolled the bustling streets of the city. He’d spent years as a lowly officer, studying criminal law on the side and soaking up knowledge from Maxwell. He’d finally made detective after taking the exam four times, which gave rise to the saying “It ain’t easy being ZZ.” Very funny.
And then Leo had come waltzing in with his college education, no doubt paid for by his parents, and been made detective by special exemption after only one year of service. His talent must be fostered, or so the talk upstairs went. Without getting a say in the matter, Zachary was stuck with the kid, and not a day went by without some little insidious reminder of his own early gumshoe days, and how much better Leo was at the job than he had been.
Nevertheless, some things must be learned over time through experience, and this was just that kind of thing: a good detective never buckles under pressure. He would show the kid who was in charge. They stared at each other, unblinking, waiting for the other to give in.
A car horn honked behind them. Zachary broke eye contact, revved the engine and drove. For a long time neither of them said anything. Leo was turned away from him, looking out the side window. Zachary tried to focus on driving. He didn’t want to think about anything right now, but Leo’s words kept echoing in his mind, over and over like a broken record.
This is all about screwing with Mullin, isn’t it? If you think that’ll make me respect you, you’re wrong.
He thought about the phone call, playing it back in his mind. He’d walked a short distance away from the scene for privacy. Doe had picked up, and as soon as Zachary had explained the situation, he had been very cooperative. If there was one thing Doe hated, it was organized crime, and he had practically chomped at the bit for a chance to “send a gangster scumbag to the slammer.” His words.
But as much as he hated to admit it, they couldn’t yet be sure that Greenwood was connected to the mob. It was possible, of course, but the possibility alone wasn’t enough to warrant a transfer to the top-secret, high security holding facility Zachary and his colleagues referred to as “The Bunker.” Was he really doing all this only to pull a fast one on Mullin? He didn’t like to think so but couldn’t shake the feeling that Leo might be right.
11:45 – Jeffrey
They had taken him to the interrogation room. He remembered the arrival at the police station in snippets, as if some mean-spirited editor had broken into a projector room in his head and cut away parts of the film willy-nilly, leaving a disjointed narrative that made little sense. A camera flashed in his eyes and someone asked him to turn to his left. Cut. He placed his fingertips on a paper and saw that they left inky prints behind. Cut. He emptied his pockets and put his keys, wallet, cell phone, and some coins on a counter. Cut. Hard fingers dug into the flesh of his arms as two officers dragged him down a nondescript corridor with slits for windows. And now here he was, in a dim, windowless room, sitting in a rickety chair with a screw sticking out of the back and poking him in the ribs. On the table in front of him stood a desk lamp that was shining in his face, blinding him and turning the detectives on the other side of the table into faceless shadows. They barraged him with questions, questions, questions…
He told them his story. He had woken up at half past seven and enjoyed a leisurely breakfast, as he always did on Sundays. His shift at the home began at two in the afternoon, so he had decided to go for a walk down to the farmers’ market to get some fresh air and produce. He had left home at half-past nine after watering his plants, a task which usually took him no longer than ten minutes. He had taken a longer route than necessary to reach the market, wanting to enjoy the sunlight and warmth after the many rainy days in the last week. After passing by Rivertree Park, he had seen a car parked at the side of the road, and a man just getting out of it. He had run up to the car and punched the
man and proceeded to beat him for a long time until he had come to his senses and realized what he had done. Then the police had come to take him away, he had given an initial statement, had been allowed a brief phone call with his sister, and now here he was.
“Why did you attack the man in the car?” asked one of the shadows, possibly the one called Mullin. Or maybe it was Mueller, or Mulligan.
“I don’t know,” he answered, squinting in the bright light. “I just did, apparently.” There was no use denying his guilt. He knew that he had done it. But try as he might, he could not figure out why.
“You ‘apparently’ just ran up to some random stranger, for no reason, and beat him to death? You do realize how unbelievable that sounds, right?” This was the other shadow. Jeffrey could not remember his name.
The screw in the chair poked him in the ribs again, and he sat up straighter.
“I know how it sounds, Detective. But what else can I tell you?”
“You can tell us the truth, Jeffrey. Who was he, and why did you attack him?”
“I don’t know who he was or why I attacked him.”
“So what, you just beat up a stranger on a whim? No reason?”
Jeffrey did not reply. He looked down at his hands. They had been bandaged when he arrived at the station. Looking at them made his head hurt. Something was not right. He felt as if at some point during his morning walk his mind had split into two, with one half remembering witnessing the assault and rushing forward to stop it, and the other half remembering lunging at the man in the car and beating him to the ground. He knew this had happened; he had the scars to show it. But what did it all mean?
“Hey, answer when spoken to!” Mullin sounded irritated, like a child deprived of a lollipop. “You knew the guy, didn’t you? How did you know him? What happened between you two that made you want to kill him?”
“I never wanted to kill him,” Jeffrey protested. “I’m not even sure I wanted to hurt him. It was like…”
