Murder on the Rocks

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Murder on the Rocks Page 19

by Clara Nipper


  “Well, we’re on skeleton staff right now,” Britney said.

  I put my hands on the counter, leaned to within three inches of her face, and repeated, “I need all available badges and an isolated cell.”

  Britney paled and ran off in search of help. Deputy Cooter smiled, putting a toothpick in the space of his missing front teeth, and pointed outside. “Who you got out there? Timothy McVeigh is dead.” Then he guffawed.

  I just stared at him.

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  In her cell, Perryman grinned like a shark at me. “I never thought I would say this, but thank God for this weather, otherwise, my….temporary incarceration…would be a media circus. And Jim isn’t ready with his press conference and not much press around to film it. Lucky break, eh?”

  I clicked my Zippo and watched her without blinking.

  Perryman continued, “You know…I had heard of you before my promotion. I studied your methods. I was convinced I wouldn’t be caught.” She spat on the floor near my boots. My mind raced incoherently to the misdemeanor charge of “Placing Bodily Fluids on Law Enforcement Officer.”

  “You broke my heart,” I told her, and then, shocked by the squirt of water to my eyes, I stared at the ceiling.

  “Fuck off,” Perryman said, flopping on her bunk with a sigh. “I’ve got bigger worries now.” She rolled to face the wall.

  After leaving the jail, I called the homicide division to see if there were any working computers. Only one, I was told, but I could get in line. When I got there, I pulled rank to view the photos on the pet cam. There were 500 shots on the memory card. As I scrolled through whopper-jawed images of birds, pictures of whiskers looking out from under vehicles, views of neighborhood crawl spaces, shots from high up in trees and a near-capture of a squirrel, I saw evidence of Perryman murdering Wanda. I couldn’t believe it!

  My heart began pounding and my breath came quickly. That crazy cat Jonathan had caught the murder on his digital camera! It had happened outside, about an hour before sunset, so the light was good, and Jonathan must have been very interested in whatever was happening because he stayed put long enough for the camera to get the entire crime. A shooting only takes a second, so Jonathan just as easily could’ve run by and missed the entire thing. But after studying the images more closely, I saw what had kept the cat interested. There was a possum hiding in a tree hollow a few yards from Perryman’s feet. The possum’s eyes fluoresced in the photos.

  The dismemberment was not on the pet cam, and I was grateful for that. Thank God for curious cats. I printed the crime scene photos, bagged and labeled it all, and turned it in to forensics. This was another first.

  After leaving the office, I drove slowly to the cemetery, something I did when I needed to feel close to Kendall. I was surprised to see the gates open and the drive clear and sanded. There were many cars already there. I supposed the weather brought out the sorrow and thoughts of mortality in a lot of us. I parked and walked carefully to Kendall’s burial plot. I passed a family putting toys on a child’s grave, an old man chipping ice off of a tombstone and a woman struggling with a child’s sand shovel and pail to unsuccessfully clear the ground around a monument.

  At Kendall’s gravestone, I saw that someone had been there before me and had left a bouquet of roses. I walked around the monument and saw someone had spray-painted “sueeee” on the marble. I was instantly enraged, but like almost everything else, cleaning off the graffiti would have to wait until warmer temperatures. I took off my parka and draped it over the tombstone to cover the word painted in lurid red.

  “How are you, Papa?” I said, then checked to make sure I wasn’t overheard. The cemetery was pristine. Not a single branch, twig, or tree out of place. Anger at the tombstone defacing kept me warm without my coat. “I don’t know how I’m doing.” I paced in a tight circuit as I spoke. “You know about all this mess?” I gestured to the threatening gray sky. “All this ice. Christ. The hospitals and nursing homes were in real danger for a while. The jail was too, but we don’t care about that, do we?” My laugh was a bark. “But other states delivered a shit ton of giant emergency generators, so no one died from loss of power. Just from murder.” I snorted another small laugh. “So that’s how the town is. I think I’m getting better. I believe I may actually be recovering after…after you…I mean…after you died.” I was able to say the word aloud, which was an improvement. “I just wish you hadn’t. Don’t you know I still need you?” As soon as I said it, I was overwhelmed by the feeling that I didn’t. I was okay on my own and that I was ready. Kendall left me in charge and I could do it. My knees gave out, and I sat in front of Papa’s stone, indifferent to the ice. “Well, I’ll miss you forever, you sumbitch.” I crossed my legs and sat smoking until the falling ice forced me to leave. I left my parka on the tombstone.

  Epilogue

  One bright morning, twenty-seven days after the initial ice storm, the sun emerged and stayed. People who had fled the state for the holidays returned home. The temps soared to the mid-thirties, and the ice melted like heavy spring rain. The gutters ran deep with icy rivers; the streets steamed with evaporation; the waterlogged dirt turned to soggy mud; people carried umbrellas in the sunshine to protect themselves from the melting downpour.

  The airport opened at last, and Sophie and I chauffeured Alistair to his flight.

  The ice moved east; turning to thunderstorms over the mid-southern states; the meteorologists gleefully predicted temperatures above freezing for the next two weeks.

  Tulsa was stranded, a disaster area, sopping, soaking wet, and still mostly powerless. About a million and a half people were still without electricity. The interstate power crews remained on three round-the-clock shifts. The massive cleanup of the arboreal holocaust began. Chainsaws ran day and night from every direction. City parks were used as impromptu green dumps, and mountains of discarded wood grew. The tons of dead trees became so massive, they began to attract tourists. Insurance companies worked around the clock. Every person in Tulsa had at least one claim for damage. I packed a bag and unpacked it at Sophie’s, using one slim, shallow, hard-won drawer. Jesus Jim was caught in a sting of his own involving sex with men in the bathrooms of the courthouse. A new sheriff was appointed, and I made no effort to meet him.

  My new phone rang. “Rogers!” I barked, clicking my Zippo and enjoying a smoke on Sophie’s shining, soaked patio. My coffee mug sent delicious curls of heat into the dripping air. Tree limbs crashed around me.

  “A murder,” Chief said, “Little Mexico. Head over there now.”

  “Yes, sir. On my way.”

  The End

  About the Author

  Clara Nipper is a writer, and when not writing, she makes desserts and enlarges her certified wildlife habitat garden which is home to both humane beehives and happy hens. Clara installed a Little Free Library to serve the community with free books anytime. Clara also skates for Roughneck Roller Derby under the derby name Cat Owta Hell, and she sculls with Tulsa Rowing Club. Additionally, she has established Sounds Good Studios for which she is both narrator and producer. Like writing, Clara loves the work because she loves words and stories. www.claranipper.org

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