Red Rain- The Complete Series

by David Beers

  “Only when it comes to Paul Stinson.”

  A few more men walked out of the church, all of them stopping once they saw the cop.

  “Here about Paul?” someone said.

  “Yeah, this is Detective Merchent,” the man to the right said. “She’s going to need to talk to us, the regulars at least. Detective, we have people that come and go in these meetings, but they don’t ever really get to know anyone. Many times, we don’t know them at all.”

  “You keep a phone list?” Susan said.

  “Ha!” the man on the left side of the semicircle said. “She’s going to get a copy of anyone to ever come through here, huh?”

  “Calm down,” the man on the right said. “Detective Merchent, I’m sure you understand why we might want some privacy regarding this, and I hope that you’ll be able to protect that privacy in your investigation.”

  “It’ll be my second priority, besides finding whoever killed Mr. Stinson.”

  “Well done, Hare. Well done,” John said, his car whipping down the highway at eighty miles-per-hour.

  “It’s not that serious,” Harry said.

  “Not that serious? That was a cop, at group, wanting to talk to every regular. You don’t think that Frank isn’t going to give her the list of phone numbers? We’ll be in the police station answering questions within the next few days.”

  “Maybe,” Harry said. “But what’s the big deal with that?”

  John laughed.

  He grabbed the pack of cigarettes he bought after going to his mother’s grave and lit one, letting the smoke jet out his open windows.

  “The big deal, Harry, is that we killed Paul. The guy whose murder they’re trying to solve. To me, that seems pretty serious.”

  “You’re always getting wound up. I’m not saying that we don’t have to be careful, just that this isn’t the end of the world. They’re going to ask you some questions but we’ll have our story down before that ever happens.”

  John shook his head and took a drag on the cigarette.

  “Diane’s going to smell that,” Harry said.

  “I’ll be alright.”

  “Is this as close as it got last time?”

  John didn’t say anything for a few seconds. He took another drag and blew the smoke out the window. “We got lucky last time. Real lucky. You remember that right?”

  “I remember us getting out of it, John. We got out fine and we’ll be okay here, too. Once our story is straight, there’s nothing to worry about, because no one saw us. No one has any idea we even met with him. No phones. No evidence. No witnesses. What more could you want?”

  John took the right into his neighborhood, tossing the cigarette away as he did. He reached into his console, grabbed cologne, and gave himself a half spray.

  “You better be sure,” John said.

  “I am.”

  26

  Present Day

  Alan knocked on the apartment door. An ugly yellow thing that looked like the tenants painted it themselves.

  He waited a few seconds, but he knew someone was inside because he had sat in his car and watched them go in. This was the third and final employee he needed to interview from Starbucks. He and Susan had switched after the near mishap with the victim’s wife, but so far, all these leads had been a bust. They knew the victim, but only because he came in so frequently. They didn’t know anything about him personally, nor had they seen anyone with him on the day he disappeared.

  Alan wasn’t worried. Not yet. He could see The Land of Worry just over the hill, though—like a tall town that he always seemed to be speeding to. If something didn’t pan out soon, within the next couple of days, this trail would go cold—Antarctica cold. And he couldn’t let that happen. By any and all means, he had to keep the trail warm; he had to find this motherfucker.

  He went to Teresa’s husband’s house yesterday.

  He told Rashard what he could.

  “It’s the same guy.”

  “You’re sure?”

  Alan had nodded.

  Rashard invited him in and they both sat down on the couch.

  “Do you have any leads?” Rashard said.

  “We’re looking for them. I promise that.”

  Both of them were quiet, though Alan could see Rashard was holding back tears.

  “You ever think about her?” Teresa’s husband asked.

  “I do. A lot.”

  Neither of them said anything else until Alan finally stood. “I’ll let you know what we find out,” he said and that was the end of it.

  Now he heard footfalls from inside this shabby apartment, hoping to God that this lead panned out. Alan would go back to Rashard one way or another, and he wanted to go back with more than, we lost him.

  “Hello?” a woman’s voice called through the door.

  “Ms. Rickiment? My name is Detective Tremock and I’d like to discuss a few things with you. You’re not in any trouble, you just might be able to help me on a case I’m working.”

  The woman opened the door and Alan saw himself standing in front of someone much closer to a girl. He knew Rickiment’s stats, twenty-three, lived alone, etcetera, but he hadn’t expected such youth. Her hair was cut short with strands of purple throughout it. She had a stud nose ring as well as earrings in both ears. She was thin, too—real thin. The Curse of The Aging Metabolism hadn’t fallen upon her yet.

  “You’re here about the customer at Starbucks aren’t you?” she said, looking Alan straight in the eye.

  “I am.”

  “Yeah, I’ve been getting calls the past twenty-four hours. Everyone saying that we might be able to help, but no one knows anything.”

  “You remember the victim?” Alan said. Normally he would try to get in the house, to make the interviewee feel more comfortable, but this one hadn’t budged an inch since stepping out. And he felt she wanted to talk, too. Maybe because she lived alone, or maybe because when Alan looked around the apartment complex, he saw she might be the only white girl living in it.

  “Yeah. He came in every day, every shift I worked. When I saw his picture on the news, I mean, I couldn’t move.”

  He waited for her to say something else, but she didn’t, just looked off the railing down to the first floor.

  “We’re really hoping that he met someone that day,” Alan said after a few seconds. “We’re hoping he had coffee with someone and that we can find that someone, then go talk to them. I don’t know how well you remember that day, but do you happen to remember anyone else in there?”

  The girl shook her head slightly, almost to herself rather than Alan. “He never came in with anyone, was always alone and carrying a book or a newspaper or something.”

  Alan nodded, feeling a few more embers from the fire in his chest die.

  She turned her head back to him. “Except for that day. Someone sat down with him.”

  “Alright, you ready?” Harry said.

  John nodded, trying to keep his breathing normal.

  “You’ve got your story down pat and I’m going to be in there with you. All you have to do is keep repeating it over and over, then it’s going to be truth. To you and them.”

  John nodded again. They sat outside of the police station—finally that bitch detective called John’s cell and asked him to come down for an interview. She said they could do it at his office, but she thought he’d rather not have the cops show up there. Right about that, Detective.

  He had five more minutes before he was supposed to actually arrive, and he only pulled in one minute before, parking in the very back of the lot. He didn’t know what kind of cameras they might have looking at this place, but he didn’t want them watching him nod to himself in his car.

  “Let’s go do this then,” Harry said.

  John nodded once more and then turned the keys in the ignition, pulling them out. He shut the door to his car and started walking across the parking lot, knowing that Harry was right behind him. Both silent, like two men walking
to God’s judgment.

  “This isn’t God’s judgment, so stop thinking so negatively. God loves you, right?” Harry said.

  “Yes.”

  “Then he’s going to deliver you from this. Either he or I will. So start acting calm.”

  John went through the police station’s doors and to the front desk, walking in one smooth motion, focusing on each step and making sure that everything looked natural.

  “Hi, I’m here to see Detective Merchent.”

  “Have a seat,” the police officer behind the glass said.

  John did as he was told; the place was relatively busy, with only maybe ten chairs available in the lobby, the rest filled with people either staring at their phones or the floor. Harry stood to the side of John, not looking at him.

  “This place isn’t that busy, really. I mean, the receptionist isn’t all that friendly but then again, she works for the state. You know what they need here, John? They need someone from the business sector to come in and clean up. Really get some customer centric cops, ya know?”

  John said nothing, only tried to keep his energy in check.

  “Who would you pick? Mitt Romney or Donald Trump?”

  John smiled. “I’d go with Trump. Better hair.”

  “More money, too. Smart choice. That’s why I always liked you; you use your noodle.”

  “Mr. Hilt?”

  John looked up from his shoes and saw the same woman from the church standing at the doorway which led to the back.

  “Yes, ma’am,” John said as he stood, feeling his confidence return. He had looked at the degrees on his wall when Harry told him who they would murder next, thinking he threw it all away. Now, he leaned on those degrees and all the experiences since. Because he was at a business deal, nothing more. He would go in there and sell himself the same as he had in every interview that allowed him to hang those degrees in such a large office.

  “There ya go,” Harry whispered. “Get her.”

  John shook hands with the detective.

  “Thanks for coming down,” she said. “If you’ll just follow me back here, we can get started.”

  They walked down the hallway, John eyeing every room he could. He wondered if he would see anyone else from the meeting here, but doubted it, given that she seemed to be doing all the interviews.

  “Here we are,” the detective said, opening the door and letting John go in first.

  “Would you like anything before we get started?” she said. “Water, coffee?”

  “No, thank you. I’m good.”

  “Okay,” she said as she sat. “Again, I appreciate you taking the time to come down here. First, I want you to know that this interview is being video recorded.” She pointed to a camera in the corner of the room. “That okay?”

  “Perfectly fine,” John said.

  The detective started asking questions and John started answering them. Harry hung out just under the camera, his arms crossed, saying nothing and looking slightly retarded with his one burst eye. John didn’t glance over at him at all, instead answering the questions just as he would have in any business venture. Logic. Truth.

  Maybe not actual truth, but the truth that he and Harry invented, certainly.

  “I knew Paul through the group. You know, I don’t really hang out with people after I leave the meeting. A lot of guys are really active in the community, attending multiple meetings each week and reaching out to people daily. I go to that one meeting and don’t make a lot of calls.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Which part?”

  “Well, that you’re not super active,” Merchent said.

  “I suppose because I don’t need it. There’s different degrees to this addiction, and mine doesn’t control me as bad as it does other people.”

  “I see,” Merchent said. She didn’t drop her eyes from John. “So you never really spoke with Mr. Stinson?”

  “I spoke to him at meetings sometimes. I did once, maybe a week before he was murdered. I was having a tough go and he came up after and gave me his number.”

  “Did you ever call him?”

  “No,” John said.

  “Why not?”

  “My urge to act out,” he used his hands to make air quotes around the phrase, “passes once I talk about it. I talked about it in the meeting so I didn’t have any need to discuss it elsewhere.”

  “So he came to you after the meeting, right?”

  “That’s right.”

  “But that wasn’t the meeting you were at the other night, right? That was a different meeting. ”

  “Fuck,” Harry said.

  John didn’t even look over at him, didn’t break eye contact.

  “That’s right, too,” he said.

  “But you just told me you don’t attend meetings regularly?”

  John’s eyes glanced up to the closed door as he saw someone walking by it.

  “Look back at her. Look back at her!” Harry shouted across the room, having obviously seen the same thing John did.

  John’s eyes flashed back to Merchent. “I don’t, usually. Sometimes, though, I need extra help and so rather than cheat on my wife, I head to a meeting. I needed some help that day and Paul lent an ear.”

  The detective nodded. “Sure. Makes sense.”

  “I really wish I could be of more help,” he said. His stomach had risen all the way to his throat and he was shocked she hadn’t said something about the huge bulge rising from his neck.

  “Not your fault that you didn’t murder him,” she said, smiling. “We’re talking to everyone we can and seeing what we can put together. Do you mind if I give you a call if anything else comes up?”

  “No, of course. Anything I can do.”

  The detective walked John out but he wasn’t aware of it. He smiled, shook hands, and had no idea he had done it at all. Reality only made progress back into his brain once he exited the police station.

  “That was him,” John said, focusing on walking—not wanting to simply freeze.

  “Yup,” Harry said, setting the pace for the two of them.

  “He’s on the case. He has to be,” John said as much to himself as Harry.

  “Yeaaaahh, he probably is.”

  “We should have killed him back then,” John said. “We shouldn’t have let him go.”

  Harry looked over the top of the car at John, his eyebrows raised as John fumbled to get his keys in the lock.

  “Look at you, Mr. Norman Bates,” Harry said as he got in the passenger’s side.

  “I’m serious.” John kept moving forward, starting the car, putting it in gear, and driving through the parking lot. “We killed his partner and I’m sure he doesn’t hold that against us at all. Did you get a look at who followed him? I couldn’t pay attention to anything but his face.”

  “A woman, a young one,” Harry said, putting his seatbelt on.

  “What was she there for? Did you recognize her?”

  Harry shook his head. “No, I don’t think so.”

  John sighed, trying to keep the anger down in him. The anger was bad. The anger led to irrationality and further problems. The anger would make Harry a lot more … active.

  “If he’s working on this, he’s gunning for us.”

  “I’d imagine so,” Harry said.

  “I want to know who that girl was.”

  “Do you think she would recognize me?” John said.

  “There’s a reason they brought her down to the police station, and I’m sure it wasn’t to try their coffee. Which you should have got, by the way. I’ve aways been curious if they drink shit coffee.”

  “What if she could ID me?” John said.

  “That won’t be good.”

  John didn’t say anything. Both hands sat on his lap though balled into fists. The car idled just outside the Starbucks, with the two of them staring straight ahead. Looking at the same girl they watched walk past the interview room. Someone had seen John here, at least that’s what it appeared
like.

  “We have to kill her,” Harry said.

  John turned his head and looked at him, no expression on his face. “You can’t be serious.”

  “What else do you want to do?” Harry said. “Look, if she gave them a description of you, you’re already fucked—but killing her would mean she couldn’t testify.”

  Harry made sense …

  But this was getting out of control.

  “I can’t kill everyone, Harry.”

  “I know that, but this isn’t for fun. This is a necessity.”

  John shook his head slightly.

  “I’m not saying we have to do it right now,” Harry continued. “If for some reason the cops call you back in, then she has to go. Right now, I think we’re set up fine with Larry from Marketing—”

  “Larry from Marketing? Are you insane? There’s no way we’re going forward with that right now. No way. We were just at the police station, in case you didn’t remember.”

  “It’s already set up, John. Why would we waste that?”

  “Hello?” Alicia answered the phone.

  “Hey, it’s me,” Diane said.

  “Hey! How’s it going? How’s John?”

  “That’s what I’m calling to talk about.”

  Alicia paused for a second. She stood up in her cubicle and looked around the office, quickly deciding she didn’t want to take this call on the floor.

  “Give me one sec, Diane.”

  “Sure.”

  Alicia lowered the phone to her hip and left her cubicle, walking down the hall to the exit and then out onto the sidewalk.

  “Okay, just wanted to get outside. What’s going on?”

  Diane sighed into the phone. “I should probably be happy, but I’m not. He’s … acting too cheerful.”

  “What do you mean?” Alicia said.

  “The night you and Mark came over, I woke up and John was gone. Must have been four in the morning, just gone. The next day he said he didn’t know what I was talking about. So, I know he’s lying, because there isn’t any way he left without knowing about it. Last night, though, he acted like none of this had happened for the past few weeks. He acted like he didn’t miss your mom’s anniversary, wasn’t gone the night before, wasn’t a completely absentee father. I mean, he actually played video games with the kids last night. He hasn’t done that in months …”