Ice Where There Was None

by A S MacKenzie

  She walked in a half circle around the closest light pole as she continued her call.

  “Right, yeah, this phone number … uh huh … yeah, that’s the place. Figured you’d have it recorded by now. OK, see you in a while.”

  Disconnecting her call, she tucked the phone in her back pocket and resumed walking toward her apartment, picking up speed. Her gaze wandered as she walked. She was nearly mugged a few months back on her way to her apartment and had tried to stay vigilant ever since.

  Since her apartment was in the back building, away from the lot, she had a little ways to go, but was feeling more confident about being out at night since the management put in these light poles. They added quite a few to what had been along the sidewalk, which had been woefully inadequate before, or at least that was her wording in the letter she’d written to management and managed to get many of her neighbors to sign. The path now felt and looked bright on the white painted concrete.

  * * *

  I hate the white paint on the sidewalk.

  Who are they trying to fool?

  We all know that beneath that paint is the same crappy concrete color. Just let it be what it is instead of pretending it is something it is not.

  I hate that.

  Don’t pretend.

  Be what you’re supposed to be.

  Don’t be what they think you should be.

  Don’t be what they want you to be.

  Be different as yourself.

  Oh, I like that.

  I’m going to need to remember that one.

  Come on, girlie girlie, let’s go.

  Pick up the pace.

  I don’t have all night.

  Not like you do, anyway.

  * * *

  She made it to her building and began the trek up the stairs. She chose the top of the four floors because she didn’t want to worry about anyone looking in her windows. Her apartment looked out over some trees and then Orange Center Boulevard. There wasn’t anything else as tall as this building for quite a way so she enjoyed the thought of privacy.

  However, now she had grown to regret the choice. Since there was no elevator, that meant a four-flight walk every day. Up and down. It had become a source of contention, but she still wasn’t ready to move. She liked the area and its proximity to her job at the stadium where she oversaw the merchandising for the Citrus Bowl every year. Plus, she still liked her privacy.

  She stopped at the sound of something hitting the handrailing a floor below her. As she stood with her stride interrupted between the second and third step of the second floor landing, she strained to hear.

  Her neighbors had thinned out a little over the past year and this building, which had twelve units, was now only home to four. Since it was after ten p.m., she knew there wouldn’t be much activity from them, but the sound still caught her off-guard.

  A few more moments passed with no sound coming from below, or much of anywhere else for that matter. She shrugged and continued her upward climb.

  Reaching her floor, she walked the few steps to her front door and straightened the welcome mat. It was one of those heavy, straw kind that were thicker than most. While it worked well as a way to wipe your shoes off, it was prone to getting knocked askew when she exited or entered. When it was straightened to her satisfaction, she picked a couple of dead leaves out of the small hibiscus planter, just to the left of the door. Now doubly satisfied with the appearance of her front entry, she took her keys out of her small purse and looked around in a wide arc, ensuring no one was around to try and force themselves inside. Confident she was alone, she unlocked her door and stepped in.

  * * *

  If I have one complaint about the current young adult generation it is that they are clueless about the world.

  Yes, I do mean clueless.

  Don’t contradict me.

  Yes, you were.

  Finished? Good. Now, where was I?

  Right, clueless.

  They should know better than to just assume their home is safe.

  Right? I mean, would you assume your car was safe if you hadn’t seen it for hours?

  No, no you wouldn’t.

  You’d check the back seat when you opened the door.

  You’d check to see who was standing near it.

  You’d see if there was any damage.

  Right? But do they do that at home?

  No, they just open the door and walk in. Locking the door behind them.

  Like the door being locked was the thing that kept the bad away.

  It worked while they were gone, so why wouldn’t it work now that they are home?

  See? Clueless.

  A lock is nothing.

  Anyone with half a brain and a passing knowledge of YouTube can get past a lock.

  And those that really know what they’re doing, lock the door again once they are inside.

  * * *

  She clicked on the small light above the door in what the brochure for the apartment called the “foyer.” This spot would be more aptly described as the “spot in the one large open area where the front door happened to be,” as she was fond of joking to her friends when they came over.

  Double-checking that the deadbolt and bar-latch were in place, she sighed and plopped her purse down on the kitchen counter. The glow of the “foyer” light lit the room, and her kitchen, dining table, couch and TV could easily be seen. They could all also be reached in only two or three steps. The only other door in the room was to her bedroom, which currently sat slightly ajar, the darkness of the adjoining room too strong to succumb to the weak light.

  Reaching into her fridge, she pulled out a bottle of water and downed half of it before putting the lid back on and placing it back where she found it. Crossing to her couch, she half jumped on it and grabbed the cable remote before it fell to the floor from the bounce. Scanning through channels, she landed on an episode of “How It’s Made” she hadn’t seen before. Kicking her shoes off and throwing them under the kitchen table, she leaned back on a small, rainbow, throw pillow and settled in to watch how trombones were made.

  * * *

  Oooo, I liked this one.

  This one was cool. How they made the bell on the end blew my mind.

  Focus. You have a job to do.

  Do it quickly; you know the delivery guy will be here soon. They are fast.

  I know, but it has to be right.

  She can’t scream.

  She just can’t.

  That’d mess me up so badly.

  I’d have to stop her from screaming quickly, and I don’t want to do that.

  Her neighbor may try to come and find out what went wrong. I’d have to deal with that, and I don’t want to do that.

  Quickly, quickly …

  If she follows her typical routine, she’ll have to pee soon.

  That’s what I counted on, right?

  That she’d have to pee?

  I’m fairly certain that was the original plan.

  Don’t get carried away.

  Wait for the right time, but do it quickly …

  * * *

  Yawning when the commercial break started, she checked the clock on the cable box front display and figured she’d have time to go to the bathroom and clean up a little before China Garden arrived.

  Standing into a long, tall stretch, she turned to the door to her room, pushed it open with her foot, and reached for the light switch.

  * * *

  “Yeah, this is Eddie. I’m at the address for the order and no one is answering. Yeah, I know, this chick tips well so I kinda’ want her to be there. I tried the number on the order … Yeah, I banged on the door. What? I don’t know, there are no windows on this side, I’d have to go around and see if the lights are on … hold on …. Yeah, I can hear the TV on. What? No, I’m not going to call the police for this … unless … unless you think I should? I mean, she is a pretty regular customer …”

  * * *

  Joe and Ben walked back t
o their cruiser after assisting the other officers with a canvas of the apartment complex. Their search was fruitless, and they didn’t get a welcome greeting from some of the people they woke up to ask about their neighbor.

  “Joe, you get a ticket?”

  “What?” Joe asked in a half-chuckle turning his gaze to follow his partner’s. “Come on.”

  On the windshield, under the wiper blade over the driver’s side, was a slip of paper.

  Turning his head to the other officers in the area, he yelled, “Come on. Very funny guys! Who is the wise ass who gave me a ticket?”

  Some of the other officers chuckled, but all of them shrugged in a way that showed they weren’t complicit in the joke.

  “Joe, I don’t think that’s a ticket ,” Ben said as he stepped up to the window and reached for the note.

  “Stop!” Joe exclaimed. “You and I both know some weird stuff is going on and I think you’re right. If that isn’t a ticket it could be from …” His voice trailed off as he let the thought hang in the air; what they both knew it was.

  Reaching into a small pocket on his belt, Ben pulled out two nitrile gloves and put them on before carefully reaching for the paper. As he did, Joe took out his phone and snapped photos of the movement just in case they were needed later.

  Carefully, Ben unfolded the note that had been folded over twice. It looked like a single piece of plain, copy paper. He read the words printed on the page and turned to display the note to his partner. As Joe read, Ben called it in to dispatch and let the detectives know they had something else for the ice case.

  Joe was stuck on the words printed, not entirely letting his mind jump to the conclusion it wanted to.

  They knew the killer.

  The note revealed, in plain Helvetica font, the one piece of info they needed.

  * * *

  Thank you—both of you—for your kindness on the day of my attack. I’ve never said that out loud until now. You were gracious enough to stay with me until the ambulance came, giving me encouragement and kindness. It was hot that day and neither of you said anything about the heat. You just said that you wished you had a big block of ice to stand next to. Well, I gave it to you.

  Many times now.

  I’d hoped you would have figured it out long ago, and secretly have hoped you had, but now I need you to come to me. I need you to come and see where your kindness led me. To show them. To show all of them. They all need to see. They all need to see what happens when a man attacks a woman for what she is wearing. They all need to see what happens when a man attacks a woman for what she does in her spare time. They all need to see what happens when a man attacks a woman. You didn’t attack me.

  You saved me.

  I’m sorry these women had to suffer for them to see. They need to see that they can’t attack me anymore. I can be whomever, wear whatever, and do whatever. No man will attack me again.

  I’m at home. You remember where that is?

  Chapter Eleven

  “What?” was all Joe could get out as he stood next to the hood of their cruiser, note in hand, gazing into the distance.

  Ben stood on the other side of the car, bending forward, his hands on the hood. He was using the car to keep himself from falling over. He knew if he let go there would be no stopping his descent to the ground. His mind was in so many places, his heart sunk to the soles of his feet, and his stomach was trying to get his attention by bringing acid to the back of his throat.

  “What?” Officer Salk asked again, to no one in particular. The note in his hands started to flap slightly as his hands began to tremble.

  With his head hung low, Officer Obvari said, “Joe, this is her. This is her. We know her.”

  It took nearly ten seconds for the focus in Joe’s eyes to return. He turned his head to his partner.

  “She … she …she was so … nice.”

  At this, Ben bent his knees, hands still on the hood and crouched next to their car. He rested his forehead on the front tire-well corner, groaning softly.

  “We have to tell … have to tell the Captain,” Joe said, the focus in his eyes gone again, the note still softly flapping in his hand. “We have to tell the Captain and the detectives that we know …”

  “Man,” his partner said. “We know who this is. Think about it. We know who this is and we were already suspects—”

  “Persons of inter—”

  “Dammit!” Ben shot up and stared hard at Joe. “Don’t pull that with me! We were, and probably still are, suspects in this whole damn thing.” He pounded the hood of the car with the flat of his hand on the last two words. Joe flinched.

  “The detectives will be here any minute, and when we tell them what we know, they will call the Captain. We will be asked to step aside, and I guarantee we will be asked to testify at trial! This is going to-to-to-be a cluster in our lives of epic proportion! Don’t you get it?!”

  “What are you suggesting?” Joe turned to face Ben and returned the hard stare. Ben’s diatribe shook him out of his stupor. “Not tell them? Because I gotta say, that would be monumentally stupid of us.”

  Ben was already shaking his head as the words hit him. “No, no, no. Obviously we have to tell them. But let’s not be naive here. This will hurt us.”

  The look on Joe’s face showed his agreement before he even said it. “Yeah. I know … this will suck …”

  The other officers who, as part of the canvas for the missing woman had already left the area, were unaware of the events that were unfolding for Salk and Obvari. They didn’t see the car with the two detectives pull up next to the officers’ car. Nor did they see the heated exchange among all four of them. They did, however, through the back-channels of the police department where gossip is traded like currency, hear about the note and the two officers who knew who the ice block killer was.

  * * *

  “So …” the Captain said, pinching the bridge of his nose and squinting his eyes. The sun was just starting to peak through the blinds in his office and the sleep he was awoken from awhile ago hadn’t quite sloughed off just yet. “You two found this note on your car while over half a dozen of our officers were canvasing the neighborhood? And no one saw who put it there?”

  “That’s correct, Captain,” Joe offered.

  Placing his glasses back on his nose, he leaned in on his desk using his crossed forearms as support. Looking from Officer Salk to Officer Obvari, seated in the chairs in front of his desk, he said, “Tell me again how you know this person.”

  “Sir, if you look at the note where it—” Ben started but stopped suddenly when the Captain shot up a hand, palm out.

  “I didn’t say to tell me about the note, Officer,” his enunciation of the title was strained and stern. “I said to tell me how you know.”

  Joe leaned forward as Ben slumped back in his seat. “Sir, we know who it is because of the details she provided in the note. This clearly points to someone we met in the line of duty last June.”

  “She? You are confident that a woman perpetrated these murders and staged them in this unique way?”

  Both officers nodded.

  “OK,” the Captain leaned back in his chair, hands stretched in front of him, palms on his desk. “Tell me why you think this is the same woman you met.”

  Joe glanced at Ben who gave him a forward tilt of his head as if to say Joe should tell him. With a small intake of breath, Joe turned to the Captain and said, “We know it was this woman because of the ice comment. We’ve repeated this story to each other a lot over the last couple of years; it sort of became our thing. But this one … we remember saying it first this time.”

  “Last June we were called to a scene where a woman had been attacked while jogging. She was hurt, both physically and emotionally by the attack. Apparently, the attacker kept telling her that she looked so good he should keep her as a trophy. She resisted him, he pressed on, and by the time we got there after a passerby called it in, the attack was over. She was left, ha
lf-clothed, beaten pretty badly and sobbing around the far side of a building on East Robinson, near the post office.”

  “Well, we did what we could for her before EMS got there and tended to her. As they did, we wanted to keep things friendly, so we said this thing about the heat and the ice. And …” Joe looked again at Ben who nodded, “and she laughed. Like, laughed hard. So hard the EMT who was taking her vitals had to do it again because she was shaking too much with laughter.”

  The Captain raised an eyebrow. “She laughed?”

  “Yeah, Captain, but not like a simple chuckle. This was a full belly-laugh. It kind of unnerved us all. We thought she might be coping strangely to the events, so we didn’t press it further. When she was loaded in the back of the ambulance, she looked at us and laughed again.”

  Ben added when Joe finished, “We have talked about that day a few times since then. It’s one of those cop stories, you know? The kind where we tell it around the table at a party when someone asks for the weird sh—I mean, stuff, that goes on while on the job. We remember her. We know her name. We know where she lives because she requested us to drive her home from the hospital the next day. They called us and we were free, so we did. As she got out, she looked at us, thanked us, then walked into her house.”

  The two detectives had been in the room the whole time, listening to the entire story. One leaned forward and asked, “Why didn’t you mention this person when the whole things started?”

  The Captain raised both eyebrows and nodded, looking from one officer to the other.

  “Well,” Joe said, “It wasn’t like she said anything about using ice, or killing people, or freezing people in ice. It was the laugh that we remembered, not the ice itself.”

  “Whatever the reason,” the Captain said, “Get in your car and go get her. Detectives, you go along, too; just hang back until these two make contact. Let’s not spook … um, you never said her name.”