Murder on the Rocks

by Clara Nipper

  “Ta, love.” Alistair smiled. He stirred brown sugar, raisins, cinnamon, and cream into the bowl and ate happily.

  After seeing how much he was enjoying the glop, I copied him. Then I carefully raised a spoon of the mess to my mouth. “Mmm! Just like an oatmeal cookie.” I paused and swallowed. “Hey, wait…it is an oatmeal cookie.”

  “I’ll do the dishes. Why don’t you get all shined up?” Sophie asked me. “You should probably check in with your office and your house.”

  “Ummm…okay…” I watched Sophie quizzically.

  “She’s sick of you already,” Alistair said. “Must have been bloody awful flatulence.”

  “Are you?” I asked Sophie’s back as she scrubbed the oatmeal pot.

  “Of course not.” She turned and wiped curls out of her eye with a sudsy forearm. “I just thought you would appreciate getting back out there…you know…keeping your life together, getting some work done.”

  “Oh, I’m working!” I exclaimed, cracking open the Zippo.

  “Forget I said anything.” Sophie turned back to the sink.

  “I’m working, believe me!” I said.

  “How?” Alistair asked, sipping fresh tea.

  “Up here,” I said, tapping my head. “I let my intuition percolate and then I just have to find the mistakes. And there are always mistakes.”

  “Rubbish.” Alistair chortled.

  “You’re rubbish!” I said.

  Sophie clanged the rinsed pot into the drainer and left the room.

  “Here’s what I figure,” I said.

  “Oh? What could that be?” Alistair replied.

  “The daughter-in-law wasn’t identified for days. She was booked into the morgue as a Jane Doe because she had no ID. Not only that, her hands and feet and head were cut off. When they finally found the hands and feet, the fingertips and toes were removed. And also, when they found the head in another part of town, the teeth had been pulled.”

  Alistair shuddered.

  I began picking at a piece of cold, hard toast and tossing bits into my mouth, speaking aloud to myself. “See, she has some minor drug involvement, misdemeanor possession of controlled drugs, DUI, possession of marijuana, nothing fatal. But the line Dana got everybody to believe was that this Wanda chick was in deep with some mythical drug lord maniacs who assassinated her. Well, I call bullshit on that.”

  Alistair swallowed audibly, then sipped his tea and cleared his throat. “You do?”

  “Yeah. There’s no way some drug kingpin is going to bother with mutilating a body. They’re in and out like the mob. Job done. And they want their vics ID’d because it sends a message to all the other rogue agents. No, no, no,” I said, crunching toast loudly and clicking the Zippo.

  “What then?”

  “The more violent the offense, the closer the relationship between vic and perp. A drug hit would be a double tap. But this took care and time.”

  “A serial murderer?”

  I pointed at Alistair. “Possible but unlikely. That’s the sexy answer, but first we have to rule out the obvious.”

  “The husband.”

  “Usually, yes. But I’m looking at bigger game.” My cell phone rang. “Hello?”

  “Hi, lover. Come, come.” Penelope.

  Sophie entered the room and poured herself a cup of coffee. I coughed then said, “How did you get this number?” Marny, of course.

  “A little bird told me your marriage might be on the rocks,” she said.

  Sophie’s eyes blazed as she watched me fumble and fidget. Alistair smirked. I just hissed into the phone like a leaking tire and said, “Sorry, bad connection,” And hung up. Zippo open. Zippo closed.

  “Suave,” Sophie remarked. “I didn’t know Natives could blush.”

  “I can’t do anything right for you, can I?” I bellowed at her. “I’m still here. I’m not at the office or I get called away when you do want me, or I fart or blink wrong. Fuck this!”

  Sophie closed her eyes in resignation.

  “Children, behave,” Alistair said. “Jill, tell me more about this case.”

  “What are you doing?” I asked Alistair.

  “He’s trying to keep you from fucking up. Again,” Sophie said, stirring sugar into her coffee at the counter.

  “Is everything supposed to be my fault?” I said, louder than I intended. I saw a phantom Marny nodding emphatically in the doorway. I stood and approached Sophie. “Woman, I am this close to slapping you flat.”

  “That’s so sweet. Could you put that in a frilly card?”

  “Don’t push me,” I warned.

  Sophie whirled and shoved me so hard and fast, I was on the floor before I could react. Alistair laughed. Sophie stepped over me and I grabbed her leg. She shook me off, holding her coffee mug over me. “Don’t or I might spill this and I hate to waste coffee.” She left the room. Alistair’s laugh tapered to snorts and he held out a hand to help me up.

  I took his hand and said, “I’m too old for this shit.” At Alistair’s look, I defended myself. “Well, someone had to say it! It’s in the cop handbook!” I gestured to the hallway, meaning the departed Sophie. “Do you think it’s over?”

  “Don’t be daft. She’s barmy over you. Now, tell me more about this case.”

  I poured an extra large coffee and opened and closed the refrigerator several times in succession. “I just love electricity!” I finally got the cream, poured it empty into my coffee, and sat down. “Well, whatcha want to know?”

  “What you’re going to do next?”

  I took a long, searing swallow and sighed. “Try to speak to the husband and get an alibi from Perryman.” I remembered the sheriff’s guard dog protectiveness. “Alone.”

  “Where was she found?”

  “Which part?”

  “Um…er…the main.”

  “Some kids out sledding on the east side called in a mannequin sighting. Those are always body dumps.”

  “You don’t say.”

  “Yep.” I took another long swallow. “How many mannequins have you ever seen outside? I’m betting zero. I’ve never seen one anywhere but in a store. But the human mind is bizarre—all witnesses who call in a suspected corpse say they think it is a mannequin, without exception. You’d think there would be mannequins littering the landscape like cigarette butts and beer cans.” I patted myself, looking for cigarettes. “Shit!”

  “What?” Alistair asked.

  “I really need a smoke and I don’t have any.”

  “What’s that?” He tilted his head at the counter behind me. There, next to the drying dishes, was a carton of Camels.

  “Let the choir say amen!” I said, relief flooding me like oxygen. I sat at the table, opened the box, then slit open a pack with my fingernail and lit a cigarette. “You’re a straight guy,” I said to Alistair and then looked him over. “Straight-ish. Guys who rape or guys who rape and murder, what’s up with the no condom thing?”

  Alistair shook his head. “What?”

  “Well, I’m assuming these squirt bags don’t want to get caught, and the gold standard for irrefutable proof is DNA, but guys are such sleaze balls that even the threat of the death penalty won’t make them rubber up. My whole career I’ve wondered about it. So I figure, it’s a selfish guy thing. You’re a guy. What’s up with that?”

  “You’re an absolute peach to consult me on this,” Alistair said. “But we Brits do always use condoms when we rape, so you’ll have to ask one of the local slimy hicks.”

  “You’re no help at all.”

  “Wasn’t trying to be.”

  Chapter Thirty-six

  Suddenly, there were several explosions. It was daylight, but the kitchen was briefly filled with silver light as if giant flashes had gone off. Alistair and I leaped to the window and saw a power pole crackling with fire. There was one more blast, and the house went dark.

  “No!” We heard Sophie scream. She ran into the kitchen with her hair curled over a half dozen round brus
hes with the brush handles protruding like great, tribal bones. “Tell me this is a joke,” she howled, her eyes were wild. “Tell me one of you is fucking with the breaker!”

  Alistair and I looked at each other. “Sophie,” I said gently.

  “Fix it!” She screamed, her face going red and a vein in her forehead bulging. “Fix it, fix it, fix it, fix it!”

  “We’re on it,” I reassured her. “We’re doing everything possible. It won’t be long.”

  “Okay,” Sophie panted, her eyes darting between us. “I mean, it’s no big deal. I just want this to be over, you know? But it’s no problem. I’m fine; I’m good. I’m really cool with it all. I mean, whatever, right? Whatevah, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!” The forced laugh was the spookiest part of her hysteria.

  “Sophie.” I tried to hug her.

  “Don’t touch me!” She squealed and ran from the room.

  “She’s fine,” Alistair stated.

  “Oh, yeah,” I said. We both lit cigarettes with trembling hands.

  My phone rang. “Yeah?”

  “Jilldo, come see me.”

  “Seriously, Chief? You’ve heard about the weather?”

  “Not a word.”

  “Be right there.” I stood up and started layering clothes. “Chief needs a kiss,” I explained to Alistair. He held up the car keys.

  I stumbled down the ice-clogged walk and frowned at the gray sky. The north wind sheared branches from the trees that landed with clattering explosions on the ice below. I felt ice grains start pecking my neck. I got in the car and drove with dread across town.

  “So….how are you?” Chief St. John steepled his fingers over his steaming coffee. His home had power and his children were watching television too loudly in the family room.

  “Fine,” I said curtly. “Why the summons?” Oops—warning sign one. Chief kept tabs on the emotional health of the police department, homicide specifically and me in particular. He had an uncanny intuition for when to send detectives on vacation. He claimed it prevented burnout and kept detectives from the creeping compulsion to make the department their whole lives. It kept marriages and families together and sleeping bags and toothbrushes out of the office and the detectives closer to whole and balanced.

  “Shutting down and clamming up. Not good, Jill.”

  “Aw, come on, I’m fine. I answered fine because I am fine so I said fine.”

  “Jilldo, remember your test scores?”

  “Chief, that was more than a decade ago. What does that have to do with anything?”

  “Are you listening?”

  “With both ears.”

  “You’re like an animal. You are barely literate, but goddamn, your instincts are good.”

  “Eat me.”

  “Mine are too. And you’ve been on watch.”

  “For what?” I said.

  “Numbness of the heart.”

  “Oh, Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, would you grow a pair?”

  “Denial and defensive, strike two.”

  “Fuck you! It’s an icetastrophe! I’ve been cooped up and barely working as it is! You’re a tool!”

  “Rage, strike three. You’re on vacation.”

  “Like hell. If I were, I wouldn’t be here with you.”

  “Witty.” Then over his shoulder, “Matilda! Turn that television down!” Then to me, “Jim called.”

  “Oh, so that’s what this is about. Why didn’t you say so?”

  “He’s a pain in my ass, so I’m passing that pain on to you.”

  “Trickle down leadership,” I said. My phone rang. “Perryman? What you know good?”

  “It worked!” Perryman said. “Goodson wrecked his car speeding on the ice, and Oklahoma County deputies picked him up outside Norman. He’s in custody and they administered the polygraph and got a confession!”

  I stood up, exhilarated. “He didn’t invoke?” I was talking about his Miranda rights.

  “Nope. I think he was just exhausted and ready to crack. When will the courthouse be open?”

  “I don’t know. They will arraign him by video. I’m sure both of us will need to testify in prelim. I doubt he will waive that,” I said.

  “See you in court!”

  Chief St. John waited for me to explain. Just as I started to tell him, my phone rang. “Marny, what you know good?”

  “A witness has contacted our office.” Marny’s voice was cautious and careful.

  “About Goodson? He’s already done.”

  “No…not Goodson.”

  I glanced at the chief. “Well?”

  “It’s Dewey Perryman’s best friend.”

  I gasped. “Who is he? Is he there with you now?”

  “His name is Ardell James. No, he’s not here. We sent Honegger out to get a statement.”

  “Anything you can tell me now?”

  “Just the sketchiest hints, but if this can be confirmed, this will blow up big.”

  I stomped my foot. “Like what?”

  “Umm…Wanda and Dana were having an affair and Wanda threatened to expose it and Dana had her killed. Dana promised Ardell a lot of money and then never paid.”

  “Fuck!” My legs collapsed and I sat quickly. “Thanks, Marny.” I hung up. “I’ll explain later, Chief, but I’ve gotta go.”

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  “Where have you been?” Sophie demanded as I let myself into the house.

  “Give it a rest. We’re not married yet,” I said, wrung out and exhausted from sparring with the chief and finding out about Perryman. Then tell her that instead of being a bionic blockhead, Marny lectured me. Fuck off, Marn.

  Alistair sucked air, shook his newspaper, and raised it higher in front of his face. Sophie raised her eyebrows and looked like a cat sharpening her claws and preparing to pounce. “Oh, so I’m just your ice whore then, is that it?” she said, her voice scratchy and scarier than a scream.

  I unwound my long muffler, took off my hat, gloves, and coat, and stood by the fire. “You don’t pay a whore for sex,” I barked, “You pay her to leave.”

  “For God’s sake, mate, make an effort!” Alistair said.

  “Well, that’s fascinating,” Sophie said. “How do you get a rude, immature, self-centered mooch to leave? Dangle a pot of coffee outside?”

  “Ouch!” I said sarcastically. “The first blow brings the blood, the second splatters it.”

  “I didn’t know a douchebag had veins,” Sophie said.

  “I am in the violent crime biz, honey. I know blood.”

  Alistair slammed down the newspaper. “But does a douche have any bloody sense? All she asked was where you had been. Lighten up!”

  Sophie and I glared at each other. “It’s not what she asked, it’s how she asked it,” I said, feeling foolish.

  “What a delicate flower,” Sophie said sourly.

  “I give up!” Alistair cried. “I’m going for a walk. I will be so happy when the airport opens, I will cry.” He slammed the front door.

  “So long, weasel,” I said.

  “What the fuck did he do?” Sophie said.

  “Oh, nothing…I just…forget it.” The fear and sadness were pushing up my throat to fill my mouth, but a great load of hate was on top, keeping me corked.

  “Listen, you need to straighten up. I can’t take this. I thought I could, but I can’t. It’s too hard. You’re unstable and unpredictable and it’s not exciting. I get pulled into your tornado when I’m just standing here, minding my own business and trying to care.”

  The hate in my gut got hotter and meaner. Marny cowered in a corner. “You’re breaking up with me?” I stated, each syllable sharp as a shard of iced glass.

  Sophie shrugged. “Look at it from my side. Look at the cost benefit analysis.”

  “Cost benefit analysis?” Each word was frost bitten.

  “One—you’re not really here. Only default here. Two—you seem ambivalent about me just like before.” To her credit, it was Sophie’s only reference to the las
t time we tried to make it years ago and I took off and broke her heart. “Three,” she continued, “you’re a psycho. I never know when you’ll be horny, happy, hungry, mad, or sad. You should see someone. Even if you are a tough cop, it shouldn’t be a roller coaster to that extreme.”

  “Who is he?” I said. That shocked her into silence. “Who is the motherfucker? I’ll kick his ass! I’ll throw him in jail!”

  “See?” Sophie said. “This is exactly why right here! You didn’t hear a word I said and immediately fabricated a reason I’m dumping your sorry ass. There is no him. It’s not me; it’s you.”

  “Well, we will see about that,” I said. I flung open Alistair’s laptop and pulled up a site for WSW singles. I perched an unlit cigarette on my lip and played with my Zippo.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Sophie’s voice was soft and incredulous with wonder.

  “Moving on,” I said. I put an unlit cigarette in my mouth and randomly chose a singles site and picked the menu to compose an ad. “Hot cop seeking sexy femme for LTR.” I typed angrily, hitting the keyboard with unnecessary viciousness and recited, “Must be—” I looked Sophie up and down, who seemed shocked into speechless immobility, “voluptuous. Blonde.” I pondered. “Brave and loyal.” My spine was stiff and straight and righteous. “Generous. Forgiving.”

  Sophie touched me on the shoulder so tenderly, it unraveled my thoughts. “Dumb, stupid, foolish.”

  I had typed stupid before I realized what I was doing. “Must like non-stop drama more than a Greek chorus. Must enjoy sniveling and be batshit wingnut hyper-crazy.” Sophie’s voice was as sweet and soft as cotton candy. It drained all my poison. I tried to gather it back, but it darted away like drops of mercury.

  “What else?” I asked wearily, my hands poised above the keys.

  “Moody. Difficult. Demanding. Labor intensive. Workaholic.” I closed my eyes and typed. “Oblivious, self-centered, abominably selfish, indecisive,” Sophie continued, her words gaining speed, her voice gaining volume.

  “Wait,” I said.

  “No, I’m just now stretched and warmed up.” Sophie swung her arms and pulled on each of her wrists.

  “Are you serious about all of these?” I pointed at the paragraph.