Killing Katie

by Brian Spangler

  “Dig in,” Charlie said abruptly. I passed him a fresh napkin, digging out a cloth one after a cheap paper one shredded and disintegrated against his clammy forehead. The sight was funny enough, and he laughed it off. It wasn’t hot in our house—not even warm, but Charlie tended to sweat and wheeze. And I thought sadly that his wife probably had more to concern herself with than just retiring. “Don’t tell the missus, but I ordered extra parmesan cheese on the chicken. Got extra bread too.”

  “What and when?” Steve began, wasting no time. I was fine with a work discussion, having realized just how hungry I was after that initial bite of food. “What have you got and when do you need it by?”

  “Was hoping to have less on our docket, but the cases seem to be piling up lately, and the missus and I have got a date to keep,” Charlie answered.

  “Do you really want to retire?” I asked, making light of Charlie’s pending retirement date. Secretly, I was hoping he’d stay. I felt a twinge of selfishness and then wrestled with a familiar fear. Steve caught the tone in my voice, and in turn, I caught his glance and arched brow. I’d convinced myself that when Steve filled Charlie’s shoes, taking over all the cases and the team, he would get lost in his new role and forget about going to law school. But what scared me more was that I knew Steve would love every minute of it.

  “Now, now. You know the answer to that, don’t you?” Charlie said, and winked. “But I think the wife might have something to say about that.”

  “Sorry she couldn’t join us,” Steve added, changing the subject.

  “Appreciate that,” Charlie answered. He patted my arm, apologizing for Vickie’s absence. “The missus couldn’t break her appointment. That realtor is just a pain in my ass, but she’ll stop by before the move.”

  “The cases?” Steve asked.

  “Yes, yes,” Charlie answered. “Where are you on the homeless man’s case?” I stiffened. I hadn’t realized their shop talk would include my work. Steve never looked up at me, preferring instead to dig into his food and move it around on his plate. He did the same whenever he didn’t know what to say.

  “Nothing solid yet, but I’m following up on what was found at the scene.”

  “The buttons?” Charlie asked, and I nearly choked on my food. I was certain they could hear the thumping in my chest. “Probably nothing, anyway. I bet he picked those up, meaning to add them to his collection of junk.”

  “Still, there’s enough evidence to suggest otherwise—” Steve began but stopped when Charlie raised his hand.

  “No need for details. I was hoping to close this one before moving on. So, you’re going to keep the case open?”

  There was a long pause then, and I could sense that Steve wanted to look at me. I froze, waiting. “I think we have to,” he answered with his head down. “The case stays open with the investigation.”

  “Okay then,” Charlie said, shaking his head, disappointed. “Wanted that one out of the way to free up time for the Bear investigation. By the way, looks like Todd Wilts was murdered. It’s not official until the tox screen, though. Could have died from natural causes, but that doesn’t seem likely.”

  The Bear investigation. Katie’s case had a name, but more than that, they had included my mark in it, linking Todd Wilts to Sam and Katie. It was official. I felt a small part of me die.

  Would they also include John’s murder?

  I felt sick inside, as if a spider’s silk had been used to bind up my innards. I couldn’t eat another bite. Whiskey. A shot of White Bear Whiskey came into my mind, along with the touch of the smooth burn it would have as it warmed my gut.

  I did this, I said to myself. I began to tremble, tuning out the world. Steve noticed when I got up from the table. I could tell he was watching, concerned, as I went about cleaning up the kitchen, trying to vanish in the busywork.

  This is practice too, I thought, and forced myself to listen to what they were saying.

  Charlie went on to tell Steve that Jerry had been moved into the custody of the FBI. “The agency,” he called it, as if it were a television show from the past. A sizable team had been pulled together to build a case around Jerry’s testimony. Katie’s murder, though, stayed within the local police department’s jurisdiction. Todd Wilts had been included in the case, but they were still awaiting an autopsy report to confirm the cause of death.

  Steve sat up and puffed out his chest with a sigh. The Bear case was his. Three murders—all connected to Sam Wilts. I always found jurisdiction confusing. A part of me wanted to see the case go to someone else in the department, but with Steve owning the case, I’d at least have some eyes on the investigation. I winced when I thought of the photos of John. It was just a matter of time before photos of Katie crossed Steve’s desk.

  “Feds won’t take this case?” Steve asked, but then waved his question away like a fly. “Never mind. No jurisdiction.”

  “They’re interested in what Jerry’s got, but unless a murder takes place on federal property, it remains a local case. It’s yours,” Charlie said. “But take care when working with the ‘agency’—they can be an ornery bunch and come back to muck things up for you.”

  “And Jerry?”

  Charlie put his fork down and wiped his mouth. He glanced at me, wondering if it was okay to speak openly. I shrugged, telling him that I was fine.

  “Jerry is now the property of three federal agencies—not just one. Talk about your wild dogs fighting over a chunk of scrap meat,” Charlie said, shaking his head. “I’ve got the DEA, the FBI, and the ATF up my ass, calling the station and wanting everything we’ve got in triplicate.”

  “Why so many?” I asked, having no idea how they related to Katie’s murder.

  “For starters, there’s the illegal production and distribution of liquor. Jerry had Sam on that one, extorted a lot of unaccountable dollars too,” Charlie answered.

  “And it is likely that the bikers were trafficking more than just whiskey across state lines,” Steve added. “I’m surprised the IRS hasn’t called in yet.”

  “Give them time!” Charlie exclaimed, his eyes growing wide. He swiped a bead of sweat from his brow. “The IRS is smart. We won’t see the likes of them, not just yet. They’ll let the other agencies chew on things, do the heavy lifting before swooping in for their share.”

  I’d never been a fan of Jerry, but Katie loved him. To listen to Steve and Charlie discuss his fate left me feeling sorry for the guy. After all, he was the father of my best friend’s children. I wanted to think that he’d just gotten lost while trying to find his balls.

  “What’s going to happen to him?” I asked, drying some plates. “I mean, he’s got the twins.”

  Charlie cocked his head and offered his most casual cheeky expression. I gave an involuntary sigh. The news was bad. At once, I felt for their boys—Katie’s boys. What would become of them? Charlie’s pressed lips and fat dimple told me that Jerry would be going to prison.

  “Turns out that Jerry’s been taking a lot of requests, and not just from Sam. He’s been using the mayor’s name as his own, dishing out favors and shaking the bikers down like they were money trees,” Charlie answered.

  “I’ll reach out to Jerry’s sister,” I said, my voice breaking. “Fill her in on what’s going on and find out where the boys will be staying.”

  “He wasn’t all bad,” Steve added, his voice flat. “Sad to see a family destroyed just like that.” Steve’s words stung. Guilt tightened my chest.

  Charlie pushed his plate of food away from him and produced a miniature notebook. The spiraled cover and leafy pages looked so tiny in his chubby hands. He flipped a few sheets—his writing scratched above the lines in big, curvy letters. “Almost forgot, I’ve got a lead for you. Might be small, but it’s a place to start.”

  “Lead?” Steve said, interested. “Katie already?”

  “Nope, not Katie,” he answered. “Though, I’m sure with Sam Wilts and his son’s autopsy, we won’t have far to go when closi
ng that case.”

  “Lay it on me,” Steve said, scrambling to grab his notebook.

  “Do you remember the Sharon Sutherland case?” Charlie asked. “Young, pretty girl, beat to hell?”

  “How could I forget?” Steve answered. “Technicality my ass. DA dropped the ball on that one. If Todd Wilts were still in prison, we might not be here talking about Katie.”

  Steve’s face went red, and he shifted in his chair, unsure if his words had made me uncomfortable. I remembered him talking about the case and the problem with the DA. Only, Steve was careful never to use names—not at home, not when he needed to vent. That technicality was what had put Todd Wilts back on the streets and right in front of me. My mind raced to bring up the images Nerd had showed me. Beautiful, walnut-colored hair, sunny highlights. Young. She was just a baby.

  Her name was Sharon.

  “Turns out that we’ve talked to Sharon Sutherland’s brother recently in connection with the homeless man’s murder,” Charlie said, the tone of his voice lifting optimistically.

  Nerd?!

  My blood ran cold. I wanted to scream, but gripped a plate instead, straining to contain my shock. “His name is Brian Sutherland. Older brother. Maybe pay him a visit, ask a few more questions about the homeless guy as a guise and fish around about Todd Wilts. Weak and might be a stretch, but this could be a vengeance twist?”

  “Vengeance? He didn’t seem the type,” I heard Steve say. “Probably just a coincidence. Nothing official until the tox—”

  I threw the plate into the sink. Rage filled me as I pieced together what Nerd had done. He’d used me. The sound of shattering porcelain filled the kitchen.

  Charlie clutched his chest, joking. “Easy there, might give me a heart attack before I get to do my retiring with the wife. Vickie would not be pleased.”

  “Babe?” Steve asked.

  “I’m sorry. It’s nothing. Just clumsy,” I answered. “Dropped a plate.” One of the plate’s edges—sharp and unforgiving—had bounced, slicing open my hand. A flower bed of crimson blooms appeared on the broken ceramic. I stared, concentrating, as the bloody droplets lost form and ran into the surrounding wetness. My heartbeat found its way into my hand, pulsing a rapid clop that made me dizzy.

  Take a breath, I demanded to myself. I quickly wrapped a kitchen towel around my hand. I grimaced at the sting and bit down on my lip.

  “Looks to be a little more than nothing,” Steve said, his voice directly behind me. I jumped when his hands grazed my sides. I swung around to face him and was already in full panic mode about to hyperventilate. “Stitches maybe. Are you sure you’re okay? I mean, you look pale, babe . . .”

  I gave him a vicious nod in place of any words. “Yes. Just need to get some air,” I managed to say as I brushed past him. He took my arm, holding me until I turned back.

  “You’re sure?”

  “I’m good,” I answered. “Just want to get some air.” I grabbed my coat and bag and gave both the men a wave before leaving.

  “You take care of that hand,” I heard Charlie say. “She’ll be fine, Steve. Just needs some space.”

  Yes, I need some space.

  That was the overall consensus, so I took it, practically running from our house. But I wasn’t fine—not as Charlie stated. My mind raced and my heart thumped with fiery rage.

  How much of what Nerd showed me was even real? Any of it? I thought back to how he had wanted Todd Wilts to suffer a slow and tortured death.

  “She’ll never have children,” he’d said.

  None of this was a coincidence. He’d set me up. Nerd set the whole thing up in a sick fucking game of twisted revenge, dropping me in the middle of it. Our business was a scam. Katie was dead because of him.

  When I made it to Neshaminy Creek, I drove the car off to the thin shoulder on the bridge, turned off the motor, and opened the door. My foot slipped on the frost covering the metal grate. I grabbed the car’s hood with my bloody hand, bracing myself as I made my way toward the bridge’s railing. I did need air. That part was true.

  The autumn season was over. Winter was here. The arctic air stung my lungs as I slowed my breathing. I clutched the old metal railing hard, choking the round metal. My anger was out of control. I stamped bloody prints, steamy smears, into the pale green and mottled rust. I followed the sound of flowing water, trickling as it disappeared beneath growing stretches of ice along the creek’s banks. It wouldn’t be long before the freeze traveled from one side to the other, preserving the evidence of my murders, holding them until the springtime thaw.

  Would it be a passerby, a jogger maybe, or someone walking their dog who’d glimpse one of my clues, my liabilities, my evidence, putting me in prison for the rest of my life?

  “I deserve to go to prison,” I said. Then I screamed until my voice became hoarse. I heard someone scream back at me—a shrilling voice that echoed off the far hills.

  “Fuck you!” I screamed. Then I whimpered, “Fuck me.”

  What had I done? I took a mother away from her children.

  “She’ll be missed—” I began to shout, but couldn’t finish the words. I screamed until my voice broke like the shattered dish, cutting into my throat with stabbing pain.

  “I’m going to kill him,” I said solemnly. Any affection I had for Nerd was gone. He played me in his game of revenge. “Making up our plans, my plans, the business.” And I realized as I went on and on, arguing, reasoning, with nobody, I had trusted Nerd with my most intimate secrets. He broke my heart. This time, the damage was fatal.

  TWENTY-NINE

  LATE-AFTERNOON SUNLIGHT streaked through the library windows, its harsh rays cutting across the tables and books, making a faint shiver of dust loom in the light. Empty. “People don’t read anymore,” I heard in my head. I was suddenly thankful for that sad truth. The young librarian—Becky I think her name was, aloof, white headphone cords dangling from her ears, popping gum, her attention lost to her phone’s screen—waved me by the counter without raising her head.

  I wouldn’t have stopped, anyway. I couldn’t have stopped. I would have walked past anyone at the counter, eager to find my business partner. So I could kill him. I saw Nerd’s head—or rather, just the top of his moppy hair. The rest of him was hidden behind the computer. I stopped, uncertain of what to do. A shudder ran through me as the twisting in my stomach grew tight.

  “Not yet,” I said, quietly hissing my words like a poison mist. “Not directly at him . . . surprise him.”

  The vast library gave me room to move around the computer table—flanking is what it’s called. I took a path behind the ceiling-tall bookshelves, stepping quietly along the back wall. I looked until I found another exit—an emergency exit. I’d use that when leaving if I had to, removing any risk of passing Becky, not that I expected her to see or hear a thing. My legs felt rubbery—a nervous rubbery that I hadn’t expected. There was no real reason to be afraid, but I was. I was terrified of what I was about to do.

  “Simmer,” I told myself, trying to channel my rage about what happened to Katie into a more controllable form of the rage I had felt on the bridge. “He’s the reason she’s dead.”

  I circled around the end of the computer table, sweat beading on every inch of me, trumpets blaring a roar in my head, my hand still pulsing from the glassy bite. Nerd moved. I froze. He rose from his seat, peered over the computer monitor, and looked toward the door.

  Was he looking for me?

  Except for the librarian, the library was sadly empty.

  Before I could stop it, before I could control it, fury erupted, and my hands were sliding an encyclopedia off the shelf. A dank, green, leather-bound book. My hands gripped the spine and the bulky, closed pages. A weapon.

  I ran at Nerd, my hands swinging it high and off to one side. I crashed the book down on him in a blur, like a blade of lightning touching the ground. Nerd’s head rocked violently to one side—a sickening thud sounded, making me think I’d crushed his skull. H
e grunted and tumbled to the floor. I raised my hands for another hit, but realized I’d dropped the book, having underestimated the force of the impact. The encyclopedia had flung out of my hands and crashed onto the computer table, opening, spiraling, spitting out loose pages in a random flurry.

  Nerd rolled onto his back, his eyes—and pupils—wide. I peered toward the front, but found the librarian still busy with her phone, oblivious to the commotion.

  “Wait! Wait, please.” Nerd managed to get out, throwing his hands up to block me, but I ignored his plea and straddled his body, shoving my fingers around his skinny neck. I was going to do this—my new kinship with murder was driving me. I would become the murderer I’d always wanted to be. “I can explain—”

  “I don’t want to hear it. Didn’t you think I’d find out who you were and figure out that you’d set me up?” I squeezed and at once his eyes blew open, wider than I thought possible. His face filled with terror. He looked like a child who’d been thrown into the deep end of a pool, unable to swim, realizing death was pulling on his ankles. He kicked and bucked, trying to throw me. I braced my legs around his middle, clutching, hanging on. I stared into his bulging eyes. Nerd’s lips moved wildly, screaming silent words. His hands balled into delicate fists that batted at my arms. He made a feeble attempt, and for a second, I felt sorry for him.

  Something was different this time. The way my fingers closed around his throat to strangle the life out of him, the purplish hue that came over his complexion, and his dying gaze that stayed fixed on me. Huge pools of tears welled up and dripped, cutting wet paths down the sides of his face. I was crying now too, suddenly feeling terrified that I was going to crush his neck, that I was going to finish what I’d started. It wasn’t at all like the homeless man or like it had been with Todd Wilts. The electricity, the magic, the passion that came with those murders was missing. I was killing for personal reasons. That meant I was killing for the wrong reasons.