by Staci Hart
He had to get that box.
She left less than a half an hour later, and her apartment was dark. He pulled on his gloves as he cut through the buildings, finding the fire escape around the back with his eyes on her open window. A dumpster stood nearby, perfect to reach the ladder, so he climbed up and jumped for it, hoisting himself up rung by rung, then onto the platform. He waited by the window listening, but only heard music playing, so he ducked into the bedroom and walked through the apartment. Two desks sat against the long wall of the living room, and he spotted the box almost immediately. It was the exact moment that a girl walked in from the other bedroom.
They both froze, staring at each other with hanging jaws. He didn’t know who she was, didn’t realize that Campbell had a roommate. He’d been careless. Again.
They moved at the same time, both running for the desks where he saw a pistol behind her laptop. She was reaching for it when he punched her, and she spun around, knocking the lamp over as she fell to the floor and blood spilled from her mouth. He climbed on top of her and flipped her over. She kicked at him, but he leaned over her and wrapped his hands around her neck. She thrashed, scratching at his jacket, and he closed his eyes as they rolled back. It was too much to resist.
He let her go, and she gasped and clawed at her throat, trying to scramble back as he unzipped his pants, but she was still too stunned to put up enough of a fight to matter. He laid his hands around her neck again and squeezed, feeling her pulse against his palms, watching her mouth open and close, her eyes rolled back as her life slipped away, and he came as her body went limp, her fisted hands on his sleeves falling to the ground with a soft thump.
His heart beat like a piston as he pulled away and reached for her necklace, unclasping it as the reality of the situation hit him like a freight train. Rhodes stood and took off his glove, looked down at the girl, then at the silver disc in his hand, touching the small bird imprinted there, and he felt the circle of his ritual close.
He pulled on his glove again and stuffed the necklace into his pocket before taking stock of the messy room, devising a plan. He picked her up and carried her to the bathroom where he laid her in the huge, claw foot tub. His eyes scanned the room for bleach, anything he could use to compromise the DNA that he’d left behind, and when he opened the cabinet under the sink and found something even better. A bottle of Drano.
He turned to her where she laid in the tub and plugged the drain, then put the spout inside of her and squeezed, pouring what was left in the bottle in the bathtub. The faucet squeaked when he turned the handle, and the shower stream rained down on her body.
Satisfied, he went back to the living room to get what he’d come for. When he lifted the lid to the box, he found everything. Photos of Jane sprawled out in the snow, interview tapes, his fingerprints, and he knew his concern was justified. He grabbed the girl’s laptop, then made for the back window again where he placed the box on the platform and climbed out, closing the window behind him.
It wasn’t until he got home that he discovered that her necklace was gone.
He flew into a rage when he discovered it was missing and didn’t sleep for days after. The papers and tapes he burned that night, and the laptop he wiped and sold anonymously on Craigslist at a coffee shop the next day. He went back to her apartment three times but never found her necklace.
After a week, he knew that no one else had found it, either. It was little comfort. The necklace was not only the thing that he needed for his own devices, but because he touched it. If it was ever found, it could be the end of him. His only hope was that it had fallen out somewhere far away from her apartment and would never come to light.
He sat in his basement thinking back, sick at the thought of losing it again, fighting the compulsion to go back as he had so many times before. Even if it was ever found, his prints weren’t on record anywhere. But one arrest would be all it took.
So he’d prepared everything he could to leave town at a moment’s notice, though he hoped he’d never have to. He’d kept his nose clean for his entire life and doubted he’d start being reckless any time soon. Or at least never as reckless as he had been.
Rhodes’ fist was clenched, and Hannah’s earring posts dug into his palm. He relaxed his fingers and laid the earrings in the drawer next to Jane’s necklace, then closed it up and moved it back to its spot in the wall, reassuring himself as he climbed the stairs that if he was going to get caught, it would have happened already.
Josie zipped up her leather jacket as she walked up 8th toward the Port Authority bus terminal. It was just after dark, and the chill of the evening was refreshing after being stuck inside all day. She’d been digging through the previous week’s police blotters, the master lists of crimes committed by city, looking for anything that fit Rhodes.
Hitting up her contacts was also on her to-do list, which was where she was headed. Over the months, she made her way around the West Side and east Jersey to the common haunts of the working girls. All of the suspected victims had been hookers, and armed with a stack of photos, she went in search of any information she could find. She had befriended more than a few of the girls, and they were always willing to help.
Something was going to change soon. She could feel it.
There were a few girls who hung around the Port Authority, and she hoped to catch one of them as she walked the blocks around the terminal and then back to the garage where she kept her car. She had a long night planned staking out Rhodes, complete with a full grocery bag of candy and her favorite book.
Josie passed the terminal and looped back up 9th without seeing any of the girls she knew, disappointed by her misfortune until she spotted Trish leaning against a brick wall. Her gold sequined mini-skirt was short enough that her tan legs looked ten miles long, ending in platform stilettos. Her hands were in the pockets of her cropped jacket, and her hot pink lips stretched into a big smile as Josie walked up.
“Josie! Hey, girl.”
She smiled back. “Hey, Trish. How’s it going?”
Her hazel eyes twinkled. “Slow, but the night is young. What’s up?”
Josie leaned against the wall next to her. “Nothing, really. I’ve been researching all day and was just headed out for some surveillance. Just thought I’d check in. Any word?”
“Actually, I just ran into some girls from Jersey City the other day that I hadn’t seen in forever. Asked them if they knew anybody on your list, but they didn’t know any of your girls.”
Josie raised an eyebrow. “Did you commit the list to memory?”
“Oh, hell no. I carry it with me. Check it out.” She dug around in her huge purse and pulled out a sheet of paper with a grid of photos and names printed on the front and back.
Josie took the sheet and looked it over, impressed. “Smart thinking, Trish.”
“Thanks.” Trish grinned and gave a little shrug. “I know a little Photoshop, so I put this together to hand out to the other girls. Lookit, I put that scum’s photo here,” she said as she glanced over Josie’s shoulder and pointed at the paper, “and your number is at the bottom.”
“You’re a genius.”
“Why, thank you.” She tipped her head and popped her gum. “I got extras, if you want some.”
“Absolutely. Are you being careful?”
“Like always. I keep tellin’ the girls not to hang by themselves. It’s not easy, though. We make more money solo, but maybe if everybody knows what the John looks like, we can avoid him and call you if we spot him.” She deposited the paper and exchanged it for a cigarette, a lighter, and a stack of fresh flyers, which she handed to Josie.
Josie looked over them and shook her head. “Trish, I don’t know how to thank you.”
“Girl, don’t thank me. We oughta be thanking you. Nobody really gives a shit about us.” She lit her cigarette and blew out a long line of smoke. “It doesn’t matter that I started taking college classes, or that Gina works because her ma got real sick. It doesn’t
matter that this isn’t what we want, or that most of us are trying to get out of it. We’re not people to them, just a bunch of whores. But you care, and I’ll do whatever I can to help you.”
“You’re one in a million.”
“Psh, maybe a hundred thousand,” she said with a smirk. “So, how’s the business of chasing bad guys?”
“Slow, but the night is young.”
Trish laughed and bobbed her head. “That’s right. You keep that chin up.”
“You too, and call me if you hear anything.” Josie pushed off the wall.
“You got it, Josie. See ‘ya around.”
Josie turned and headed to her car, feeling a little lighter knowing that Trish was heading up the effort to keep the girls on alert. She needed all the help she could get.
It wasn’t long before she was in her car and across the river for her ‘surveillance’ job, which sounded so much less creepy than ’stalking.’ When she made it to Weehawken, she did a drive-by of his house. He was home, lights on, windows open, and she caught sight of him as he walked through his living room.
She rolled around the block, into the alley where she parked eight or nine houses down to watch his garage in case he should leave. Josie reclined her seat and turned on her portable speaker, then reached into her bag of candy in the back seat and pulled out a bag of Skittles with her eyes on his driveway.
Jon checked his watch when Josie walked out of her building. It was after seven, and the sun had just fallen, hiding him in shadows where he leaned against an alley wall down from Josie’s building. His legs were stiff as he pushed away and followed her.
He’d spent the day before digging up whatever he could on Rhodes but wasn’t any closer to seeing what Josie had on him. He couldn’t understand why she was after Rhodes, because he was cleaner than clean. Jon didn’t have a lot of friends in the PD anymore, not after leaving Josie. All he had was the guy’s name, address, and little else.
Jon and Josie had worked together long enough for him to know how focused she was when she worked a case. If she thought Rhodes killed Anne, he could only imagine that she was obsessing, and that worried him. A lot. So he decided to tail her, hoping he could get some insight. It was day one, and so far Josie sat in her apartment all day while he chewed through a Louis L’Amore novel and scribbled out letters to her that she’d never see.
He kept his distance as she walked toward 8th, her hair shining bright as she passed under a streetlight and turned south. The thrill of seeing her coupled with the rush that came along with tailing someone made his entire body hum in the crisp, spring evening.
Josie stopped to talk to a girl in a sequined skirt, and he hung back, stopping at a newspaper stand to flip through a magazine. He stood just out of the light, trying to figure out what she was doing walking around Manhattan in circles on a Wednesday night. When she took off again, he followed, smiling as he passed the girl who he assumed was a prostitute, confirmed when she cat-called him as he walked by. Josie turned another corner, and when he rounded it behind her, he caught a glimpse of her as she walked into the parking garage where they both had monthly passes.
Jon trotted to one of the stairwells and to his car, hearing her engine turn over, the sound echoing against the concrete walls. He followed her out of Manhattan at a distance, able to get away with tailing her easily enough. As good as she was, he was her equal, if not better. But as she made it across the river to Weehawken, his stomach crawled. Rhodes lived in Weehawken. He pulled up the address on his phone’s map, and the closer they got, he knew. His heart squeezed tighter when she drove past his house and rounded the corner to his alley.
He drove around the block and pulled into the alley with his lights off, parking well behind her. When he killed the engine, he just sat stunned in his Jeep, staring at the back of her head as she rummaged around in her car. She was still following Rhodes, and he wondered why the hell she’d do such a thing, and what in God’s name she had on him.
Jon shifted in his seat as he processed it all, and his knee bumped his keys with a small clink. He looked down at them and spread them out in his palm.
He still had a key to her apartment.
He didn’t know why he’d never gotten rid of it, even though he’d thought about it a hundred times. It felt wrong to throw it away, and he couldn’t mail it to her and break their silence with something so final. He’d considered taking it off, throwing it in a drawer, but instead, he kept it on his keyring, that little piece of cold metal the only thing he had to remember her by. Not that he needed help.
Jon weighed his options. She would be so pissed if he broke in. Actually, pissed was an understatement, though technically he had a key. Surely she had the locks changed after Anne died. Of course, that wouldn’t stop him if he really wanted to get in, since he always had his lock picks.
Could he justify it? There was no other way that he knew of to find out what was going on. He didn’t want to violate her privacy, but what other choice did he have? She could be in too deep, deeper than even she realized, as close as she was to the whole thing. What if Rhodes was dangerous? What if she got hurt?
That single thought was all it took. He left his lights off, turned his key in the ignition, and backed out of the alley to head to her place, buzzing the whole way with anticipation and guilt.
As he passed under the stone archway of her building entrance for the first time in three years, his memories rushed over him so fast he thought they might knock him over. He paused at the step in her stairwell where he’d kissed her for the first time, picturing the moment so clearly. She had hung on to him like she would have dropped to her knees if he let her go, and she said she’d follow him anywhere.
His feet felt like bricks as he kept moving. When he reached her door, he looked at the number hanging on it, thinking of all the times he’d stood there saying long hellos and longer goodbyes. He looked back to the day he’d stood there with his crying, pregnant ex in a U-Haul out front and laid a note on Josie’s doorstep that she’d never gotten. Remembered touching her name on the envelope before walking his broken heart out of that building and a thousand miles away.
Jon swallowed hard and pulled his keys out of his pocket, sorting through them in his palm until he came to hers. He took a deep breath and said a little prayer as he slipped the key in and turned, waiting for resistance that never came. The bolt clicked, and Jon was on the edge of giddy, just like that.
He pushed the door to the dark apartment open and closed it quietly behind him. Walking into her apartment was like stepping into a time machine. Anne’s desk was gone, and Josie had gotten a new rug and lamps, but otherwise, everything was the same. It even smelled like he remembered. It was almost too much to stand.
Jon reached for the lamp, and when he clicked it on, his heart fell into his stomach.
Across the long wall of the living room was an evidence board packed with papers, photographs, maps, and newspaper articles. Red string stretched across the wall in a web, and in the center was Rhodes.
Jon walked numbly to the wall with his mind racing as he stared, trying to comprehend what he was seeing. Murders across the years, starting in 1984. There were dozens of them, all documented right there in front of him. Crime scene photos of dead girls wrapped in plastic, their shades of purple and gray. He touched Anne’s photo at the end of the line and took a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.
He had no idea it was so big.
The weight of that wall hit him like a bucket of ice water. All of those girls, all of those years, and Josie had put it all together. He felt sick and impressed and scared for her in that moment, thinking about her sitting outside Rhodes’ place. How many times had she gone? If Rhodes knew, what would he do to her? He pictured her photo on that wall next to Anne and felt the contents of his stomach rush up. There was no way he could let her go it alone, couldn’t see her hurt, because he knew damn well she wouldn’t quit, not until Rhodes was put away.
He stepped back and ran a hand over his mouth, studying the photos as ominous awe twisted through him. There was only one thing he could do.
Jon pulled out his phone and moved to Jane Bernard’s case where he snapped the first photo.
Josie looked up from her worn paperback of Breakfast of Champions and scanned the still, quiet street. She didn’t even know if she actually expected him to leave, but she didn’t want to go home to the emptiness. At least she was doing something, putting energy into Rhodes. She wasn’t sure what else she could do.
Her stomach churned at the thought that there was nothing left to do, because she had to prove it. All of it. There had to be a way.
A knock rapped at her window, and she jumped so hard she whacked her elbow on her door handle. Her eyes bugged when she saw Jon smiling at her from outside the glass.
“What the fuck?” Her heart was a motor in her chest, and she took a long breath, trying to slow it down.
“You gonna let me in?” His voice was muffled, still clear enough to hear the timbre, deep and low, that soft lilt of his accent that made her lose her mind.
She didn’t answer, just hit the unlock button.
Jon popped open the door and slipped into her passenger seat, closing the door behind him with a thump. He angled toward her, putting his back to the door, and folded his arms across his chest.
Josie was shocked, confused, and madder than all hell. “Why are you following me?”
He glanced toward Rhodes’ house. “You decided you weren’t gonna tell me anything about anything, so I had to find out on my own.”
“Oh, you had to, did you?”
“I did. Did you really expect me to give up on wondering what happened to Anne?”
No. “Yes.”
He laughed, the low rumble filling the small space. “You know better than that. By the way,” he reached into his pocket and pulled out a key, “I’ve been meaning to give this back to you.”