by Paul Sating
Marshall broke the steeple, throwing his hands up. "Whoa, whoa, I'm not the enemy," he said. "Listen, it's not beyond reason to think there's something more going on here. Something we're not seeing yet. And I wasn't screwing around about being careful. The department is. It has to be. And if we are, you better be too. Even more so."
"Do you think it's serial?" Janis asked.
Full reporter mode now, Angelique assessed, exactly why she'd championed the cause to hire Janis. Focus and passion for a lead unlike any other writer she'd ever worked with, undeterred by the horror of humanity that typically surrounded tragedies. Able to do what I can't.
Marshall shrugged. "A serial killer? An anarchist? Someone in the middle of a psychotic break? Maybe some misogynistic asshole with a vendetta? Who knows? We aren't ruling anything out right now. You shouldn't either."
Monica got up and made another cup of coffee, her third this meeting. One day her heart was going to explode. "This—this is crazy. Who the hell does that? What nut puts a damn severed finger on a door?"
"That wasn't all we found," Marshall replied.
"What?" Branson glanced up from his disinterested scribbling.
"What else was there?" Angelique asked at the same time. How bad was this? Dozens of possibilities pulled her attention, demanding her focus.
Marshall examined each of them in turn before releasing a guttural groan. "This cannot get out, am I clear? At all. I mean it, Monica."
Monica paused halfway toward sitting. "Of—of course. If you need our full cooperation, you've got it. Everyone is onboard, Marshall."
Marshall slid the pen off the notebook and tapped it on the paper, softly at first, more aggressively as he updated them on the situation. "The finger belonged to a female, we believe. Now, we can't be sure it's one of the two victims until Forensics is done with their analysis, but I'm inclined to think it does. And it's not the only thing we pulled from the scene." He paused, looking down at his notepad. When he spoke again, his eyes held a fire Angelique hadn't seen before. "There was a letter attached to it too. Thankfully the person who called it in this morning didn't touch anything, including opening the damn letter."
"From the killer?" Branson asked.
"A letter?" Angelique said over top of him.
Janis leaned forward. Angelique swore the woman looked excited. "Do you have it on you?"
"Our guys pulled it first thing when they got to the scene," Marshall answered. "The preliminaries are good. Gives us some insight into this sick fuck. But the letter was typed, so we won't get much beyond contextual clues. Right now, I'll take that. My folks are going over it. The department set up a small cadre earlier—"
"You put a dedicated team on it now?" Janis' eyes widened.
Marshall nodded, providing no further insight. Angelique could have reached over and hugged the man! Her shoulders dropped as her chest loosened. More investigators, more resources invested in finding out what the hell was going on. All good stuff, reducing the room the killer had to move around. "What did it say? The letter?"
"I've got to be careful about what I release," Marshall said slowly.
"Come off it," Angelique snapped. "We're not loose with shit like this. How are we supposed to work the story and help if you aren't providing us with all the information you have?"
Branson sneered. "Are you even on the story, Angelique?"
"As much as you are."
"Okay, everyone is a little worked up, but," Monica said softly, her eyes closed, "can we please save the squabbling for another time? I'm sorry, Marshall. What were you going to say?"
Marshall's mouth twisted. "I'm not sure I was going to say anything. But, the letter is possibly a vital clue and one big misstep by our perp. One comment, even accidental, in your paper or even around the office, and shit's going to get real bad, real fast, and might scare the scumbag into hiding. Plus, we can't risk creating even the perception that there is a possible leak in the department. I need you all snooping, but it needs to be done smartly. No one better get reckless."
Monica looked legitimately hurt. "We've worked together for decades; you know me. I won't let anything fly without your knowledge or consent."
"It's not you I'm worried about."
This time Angelique didn't need to come to Janis's defense. "Hey, I'm on the story of my life and I'm not about to screw it up," Janis said. "Last time I checked, I was on your side, I promise. Whatever you've got in that letter, whatever you can share, I'll take it. It's only going to help narrow my research and you know, or you should, I'll feed anything I find right back to you. Making me smarter helps you. Just like keeping information from me only hurts your investigation. You choose."
No one filled in the silence. No one dared.
"Okay," he said, biting back a smirk, "you got me there. The letter was tacked to the finger, and it claimed to be from the person who killed Margaret Chapman. We believe it's legit, all of it. No one besides her family knows the details. So for that letter to include the information it did? This person who wrote it either did the killing or knows who did. They're aware of shit some of our investigators don't have access to."
"Couldn't you be feeding the very person you're looking for by talking to her family?" Branson asked.
Marshall nodded. "Not likely, but not impossible either. We're looking at a number of suspects and bringing others in for questioning. We've got no bites up to this point, though."
"Who have you looked at?" Janis asked.
They've got suspects. Thank God, they've got suspects! At that moment it didn't matter who, it just mattered they had narrowed it down to someone. That was progress. She'd take any form of it at this point.
"Some homeless guys and a few cons we know pretty well," Marshall responded.
"Why just them? Just homeless and ex-cons?" Branson threw his skepticism in typical fashion, coming in and attempting to wrestle control of a conversation from a rival.
"We've got a few others we're looking at, yes, but they haven't graduated past being anything more than people of interest at this point," Marshall said guardedly.
Branson harrumphed. "Seems like you could be looking right past the killer."
Marshall squared on Branson. "Mr. Stuart, I don't tell you how to do your job; you don't tell me how to do mine. We stick to those rules and we'll be fine. Step across the line and we'll have problems."
"Knock it off Branson," Monica said softly. "I'm sorry, Marshall. He's not on the story, but he is helping Janis with research and whatnot."
"Yeah, well, keep them collared for an old friend, will ya?"
Angelique snickered, watching Branson squirm at being talked about as if he wasn't in the room. He'd probably rage masturbate for days, might even do it in the paper's restroom. Angelique swallowed down the sudden revulsion of thinking of Branson in such a state. "Making friends again, huh? Got a real knack for people." The comment drew a laugh from Janis and a "whatever" from Branson.
Suddenly Marshall stood, slapping the side of his leg. "Listen, I need to run."
Janis held up a finger. "Before you go, isn't there anything about the actual contents of the letter you can share? It was typed and tacked to the finger, but we don't know anything beyond the fact that it contains information you presume only the killer, or killers, would know."
Marshall's face creased. "It was pretty gruesome."
"And?"
Marshall's lips pinched. "The writer claims he is responsible for both Ms. Chapman and Ms. Nichols' murders. He provided enough details to convince us he's legitimate. He knew about the severing of Nichols' finger, and provided one that is going to match, most likely. He knew the manner in which their throats were slit, and the uterus removal on both women."
"Sick fuck," Branson said under his breath.
"So this is our guy. We just need to find him before it happens again," Marshall said.
Again?
"How can you be sure it'll happen again?" Angelique asked.
A h
eavy silence fell over the office. Marshall looked each one of them in the eyes before responding. "Because he told us there would be."
16
Some people can control a room merely by being present. Some people hold positions of power. And some people do it by closely controlling critical information.
Marshall possessed all three capabilities, Angelique noted. And when he stepped out of Monica's office, he not only left a lingering scent of fear and trepidation, but also an office of stunned writers searching for grounding. When he walked out, Angelique felt the same way she had years before when her parents dropped her off for her first day of college. One absence and the entire feel of the world changed, becoming huge and unfamiliar. Intimidating and frightening.
Monica was doing what Monica always did, in good times and bad, drinking coffee like it would save her life and offering it away like a heroin pusher looking for new recruits. Only Janis took her up on the offer.
"This is bad," Angelique mumbled. "Real bad. Did he just tell us there's a serial killer in Memphis?"
"Sounded like it," Branson replied.
"We got to keep a tight lid on this," Monica urged. "We can't let anything slip. Marshall trusts me and I don't want to betray that. I won't let us."
"Come off it, Monica." The words came out as heated as Angelique had intended. "There's a serial killer out there. Someone in this city! And we've got half a million people who don't know about it."
"I realize that," Monica answered. "But we can't—"
Angelique didn't want her to finish the comment. "You realize it, but you not going to do anything about it?"
"What can she do, Angelique?" Branson stepped in. "You're being ridiculous."
Angelique spun. "What?"
"Will you two stop it?" Monica begged.
"Yeah," Branson said and Angelique was tempted to make him swallow his teeth. "What do you expect her to do? Have Janis write a word–for–word exposé on what just happened? Do you want to out Marshall as our source? All because some Plain Janes were killed? It's a mess, but you can't seriously think—"
"What did you call those women?" The icy tone in Janis's voice chilled the room.
Branson, being Branson, didn't seem to notice. "Huh? What did I say? Does it matter? Angelique is being unreasonable, and she knows it."
Angelique jumped when Janis slammed her notebook against Monica's desk. "Don't you ever, ever say that again!" A white dot of spittle spotted the corner of Janis's mouth.
"Don't start," Branson sneered.
"Open your filthy mouth again and you'll be sorry you did," Janis snarled.
Monica gasped, pulling back with a hand to her chest. Angelique blinked, unable to react. Janis could be a nasty bitch when she wanted to, but Angelique had never seen her like this. She'd seen Janis hurt, betrayed, and pissed off; but she'd never seen her animalistic.
Monica's voice shook, "Now, guys. Let's all just take a moment to collect ourselves."
But Janis wasn't listening. "So you can wipe that stupid smirk off your face. Got it? Don't you ever, ever use that term to describe those women, or any woman, or I swear to God, you'll regret it." Janis's chest heaved. Even with a few feet separating them, Angelique could make out Janis' mumbled conclusion, icing her veins. "I'll fucking rip your throat out."
Angelique waited for Monica to take charge now that this was well beyond appropriate. But Monica said nothing, her lips quivering uselessly. This needed to stop now. The two were a pair of bulls, neither willing to back down from the other.
"Hey," Angelique barked, "knock that shit off. Both of you!"
"Uh ... let's all take a break," Monica whimpered. "This morning has been stressful and we have a lot of work to do. What do you all say about that?"
"Fine," Branson matched Janis's icy tone. "See you later, Monica." He stood without another word and left the office, leaving the three women to avoid looking at each other in tense silence.
Angelique stood and crossed to her friend, placing a light hand on Janis' back. "Come on girl, let's grab coffee."
Janis didn't move or react to Angelique's touch. She didn't even turn around. "I don't want one."
She needed to get Janis out of this office, away from the situation. Angelique understood this meant playing babysitter again. "But I do," Angelique pressed, "and I want your company. So let's get out of here."
***
There was enough ambient noise in the coffee shop to cover their conversation. With that concern out of the way, Angelique needed to figure out how to get Janis to open up about what happened in the office.
On the way over, Janis played it off as an office spat. But it wasn't. Branson had touched a deep nerve. It was written all over Janis' face, a sign of a possible decline. Either it got managed now or there would be collateral damage weeks down the road. Angelique had enough t-shirts from that tourist trap and wasn't looking to acquire any more. This coffee trip was about more than exploring the bottom of a coffee cup.
Fifteen minutes later, Janis still hid behind that mask, stirring coffee that didn't need to be stirred. Slowly, round and round, the plastic straw traveled the intercourse of the white cup. Angelique let her have her time, but after a few minutes of nothing, she spoke up. "Are you going to tell me what that was all about?"
Without looking up, Janis responded, "I don't feel like talking about it." Her voice was soft, dark. "I shouldn't have acted like that. Now I'll be lucky to get a permanent offer. Fuck." The last word came out with a jab of her spoon into the brown concoction.
"Girl, seriously, what got into you?" Angelique asked. "I've seen you pissed before, but that? That was nuts. Not saying Branson doesn't deserve to be scared, but," she laughed, almost spilling her coffee, "did you see his face when you told him you'd rip his throat out? I think he shit his pants a little."
Even with her head bent, a small smile spread across Janis lips. "You're disgusting."
"Maybe that's why I'm still single," Angelique kept the conversation going, feeling that Janis was coming around.
At that comment Janis broke contact with the coffee mug and squarely confronted Angelique. "You're not single! What about Cameron?"
"Oh, her," Angelique smirked, knowing the inside joke would crack Janis' defense. Even slightly, she'd take it.
Janis shook her head and examined the contents of her cup again. "You whore."
The comment drew a wide-eye glance from the couple seated at the next table, but that only made it funnier. "Seriously," Angelique lowered her voice, "what was that all about?"
Janis' shoulders rose and fell quickly. "He touched a nerve, that's all."
"Touched a nerve? Sister, what I saw was much more than that. Sorry. I can't let you get away with that bullshit. What's the deal?"
When Janis spoke, her voice was soft, reflective. "When I was a kid, my mother made me go to Catholic school," she said. "To say that it was conservative would be an understatement. The kids were horrible. Absolutely horrible. I was picked on. A lot. You've met my mother; you know what she's like."
Angelique nodded. "I do."
"Well, she's old and tired," Janis continued. "Back then, she had the energy to be horrible. She'd always tell me to be a good girl, to act like a lady. All the time. I was eight, nine, years old, something like that, the first time she slapped me because I looked like a whore to her. Want to know why? Because I'd been pushed down by another girl and tore my stockings. They were part of my fucking uniform and she didn't care. To her, I was a whore, and that's all that mattered. An embarrassment."
For as strange as Pam Herring was, Angelique hadn't expected that. Childhood was tough for Janis. The family's history was dark and troubled, Angelique knew enough to know that. But to call a child a whore? "Damn girl, I knew your father was messed up, but your mom too? You don't talk about him all that much and your mom, well, she's a little odd. As long as I've known you, the two of you seem to have an interesting relationship. I figured there was some shit in your closet
, but what family doesn't have it? I'm so sorry."
"When guys don't like you, they ignore you. When women don't like you they need to find something, anything to feed their envy. Have you ever noticed that?" She didn't wait for Angelique to answer. "It never stopped. The bullying, I mean. There was a time, I was probably ten or eleven, when a group of girls decided it was time to point out how ordinary I looked. They spent most of that school year doing whatever they could to make me hate myself. And they did a good job. I was a quiet kid anyway, but that school, those girls, it's a good thing I left before my teenage years or I probably wouldn't be here now."
Angelique had been bullied. Who hadn't? She got it. "I can't stand bullies. They're horrible."
Suddenly Janis laughed harshly, once. An odd reaction. Angelique was sure she'd missed something in the infinitesimal microseconds that had just passed. Then, Janis shocked her, and she began to understand. "Did you know my name isn't Janis?"
"What you talking about?"
"My actual name is Jane, not Janis. My mother changed it when I was in that school after a particularly bad bullying incident."
"Jesus," Angelique sighed, choosing to ignore the revelation over Janis hiding her real name for the moment. "It got worse? What happened?"
Janis shrugged. "Just girls doing stupid girl stuff. Torturing me all year long. Thinking it was funny to pick apart every aspect of where I didn't fit in. When I didn't fight back, it got bad. Real bad. Until one day they had me cornered outside the school, away from the staff. Other girls distracted the teachers by yelling to boys through the fence."
Janis' face twitched, as if another one of her famous migraines was setting in. Angelique had seen Janis crushed by them before, in private, where she could lay down. That wasn't an option in the middle of this coffee shop, forcing Angelique to realize she might need to give Janis a reprieve on the conversation before Janis went to a time of pain. If Angelique could do anything to save her friend from the experience, she would. But how?