by S J Sargent
Bolin ignored her rant. “So it sounds like he had a pretty serious, motive?” She shrugged. “You’re saying that you don’t get along together.”
Christine shook her head. “No. I’m saying I don’t like him. I have no idea what he thinks of me.”
“You’re sure you haven’t talked to him since summer?”
She nodded.
Bolin’s phone went off a third time. Ignored again.
“Okay.” Bolin realized he needed to come back to Jonathan, or come from a different approach. “Let’s talk about Sofia. What was your relationship like with her?”
“I love Sofia. I’ve had many pasta dinners from her restaurant. We had a trade worked out between Bruno’s and Movie Madness.” She shrugged again. “She’s always been very sweet to me.”
Bolin gave her room to continue, to see if there was more to share. When she didn’t, he spoke up. “That’s odd. She didn’t exactly say the same thing about you. She described your relationship as very rocky. Seems like there has been a troubled past between the two of you.”
“Umm…” Christine said in her whispered voice. “I wouldn’t say that. That’s not how I would describe it. I’ve always gotten along with her.” She waited before adding one more thought. “I think she’s just a typical Italian.” Christine laughed at her joke.
Bolin smiled, to keep the comradery. “Okay. Let me ask you one more question.” Her lack of self-awareness was starting to surface. This wasn’t going to be as cut-and-dry as he thought it would be. Now he had to stretch out with a leading question. “If you had to guess who was in your apartment that night, who would you think it is.”
“Ken.” She nodded.
“Why?”
“For reasons previously mentioned. We never got along. I don’t know how you can get along with that moron. The fact that I waited this long to fire him was a miracle in itself. In my mind, he’s guilty until proven innocent.”
Bolin snickered. “Well, unfortunately, that’s not how the justice system works in our town. If it did, life would be a whole lot easier. That’s for sure.” Bolin looked up at her. “Ken, eh? Not Peter? I know you mentioned an attraction to you, which is common in these kinds of situations. At the least, it sounds like he had the closest emotional tie to you.”
Christine thought it over. “I guess it depends on what you’re asking. It’s hard to imagine who might have wanted to hurt me like this. Peter always tried to protect me, at least that’s what it felt like. Wanted to keep me safe. Looking out for me. So I can’t even fathom why he would want to do something like this. Then again, I can’t fathom why anyone would.”
Bolin continued her thought, trying to lead her imagination. “Right. And that’s the kind of behavior that makes it easier to control another person. When you build trust with someone, you look past them being a threat. You give them access to your life. Do you see what I’m saying?”
Christine refused to nod. “I see that you’re twisting around the situation.” She glared forward. “I think we’re done here.”
“Not quite.”
“Yes.”
“I just need another minute of your time. I want to come back to Jonath-“ Before Bolin could finish his sentence, his phone rang again. He pulled it out, knowing he needed to, and stood up to answer.
“Hey, it’s Bolin.” Bolin stood up as he listened to the other end of the auditorium. “Wait. What? How is that possible? She’s still in her cell, right?” Bolin scurried over to the corner of the room, mumbling into his phone so she couldn’t hear. Christine tried to make out what he was saying.
“Okay. Okay. I’m on my way.” Bolin hung up and spun around. “I have to go. There is an incident at the police station. I’ll be back very soon. This is my cell number if you need to get a hold of me. Or if you…think of anything else.”
Bolin handed her a business card and reluctantly slipped out the door to head back to the police station. He sped through the rain to get back as soon as possible. Simply so he could check-in and head back to the hospital before nurses came back in for her routine check-ups.
The deputies were still trying to figure out what happened when he got there. Peeking through the bars, he looked straight into her eyes. Sofia leaned against the cell wall on her thin mattress. Though Sofia didn’t look back. Because there was no life left in her eyes. Her motionless body stared forward, past Bolin and into the hallway. Her jaw was permanently open, frozen in the final gasp she gave before facing her own finale.
He examined the dark cell, looking for any type of evidence. Any clue as to what happened, and how this happened. How does a prisoner die while sitting in a guarded prison cell? None of this made sense.
With the deputies behind him, Bolin demanded answers. “Who talked to her? Who went in her cell?”
“No one,” one of the cops said. “She was completely on her own. Yelling complaints down the hall one minute. Then she got silent. We heard choking noises and ran down to see what was happening. And when we got here, she was by herself. Choking to death.” The deputy was at a loss for words. “Like a ghost was strangling her.”
Bolin unlocked the cell and went inside. He examined her body, her neck, her eyes. There was nothing in her hands. Nothing in her pockets. Nothing else in her cell at all. It was just her. Somehow behind those bars, Sofia died.
Or more accurately, Sofia had been killed.
39
The Next Morning
Tuesday, December 21 – 6:10 A.M.
It was a horrible night’s sleep. Molly wanted to blame the cheap mattress. Or the lonely room that she slept in while Peter and Alex bunked up together in the second bedroom across the hall. But the real cause of her sleep deprivation. Sofia. Molly laid awake for hours, staring up at the ceiling. Thinking about the last interaction she had with Sofia.
Molly had been up since around 4:30, so she went out to the kitchen and made some instant coffee. Reading a leftover mystery paperback that she found on one of the ancient bookshelves, Molly sipped the stale coffee and waited for one of the others to wake up and give her company.
Alex was first.
“Good morning,” he said, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes too. “How long have you been up? Or better question, how are you able to stomach instant coffee in a crisis like this?”
“I feel like I never even went to bed. I’m not sure when I finally got up.” Molly stared at her coffee mug, wishing it were full of something different. Better Brew’s house blend would have been a nice accent to her cold morning in the remote country house.
“You mean to tell me that all these violent crimes don’t help you sleep at night?” Alex smiled as he came and rested his hands on her shoulders, giving her a little massage. “At least you’re safe here. Regardless of what’s going on back home. Oh. Peter snores, by the way. Learned that last night!”
Alex came and took a seat next to her. She looked into his eyes and grasped his hand. “Thank you.”
“…for what?”
“You’ve gone out of your way to take care of me. I don’t know how I’d be doing without you.” She smiled at him. “So, thank you.”
Looking back into her eyes, a smile formed. They were frozen across from one another, each waiting for the other to make a move. Or say the next thing. Molly waited for Alex to come closer. He hesitated, distracted by his racing heartbeat. Wanting some more privacy, he made a gesture towards the backyard.
“Want to get some air together?”
Before she could respond, Peter emerged in his pajama pants and deflated the moment. Alex tried to hide his frown while Molly just buried her gaze into her coffee cup.
“Hey, Movie Madness team.” He kept going, completely missing the social cues. “As crummy as all this is, this place isn’t too bad. And the rain stopped. Things are looking up!”
“True.” Alex finally agreed. “Outside of the fact that people are literally dying inside the police station. A new low for the Pecos police department.”
/> “I’m just glad we’re not there right now,” Molly said, taking a sip of her bland coffee. “I honestly don’t think I was safe. I don’t think anyone is right now.”
“Speaking of which…” Alex interjected. “I talked to Ken late last night before going to bed.” Molly’s brow scrunched up. “I invited him to come up here until everything blows over.”
She sat up. “Alex....” Molly shook her head in disbelief.
“What? Why?” Alex asked. “Ken’s on our side here.”
She stood and paced toward the back-patio door, which looked out on two acres of open farmland. The most appealing aspect of the location was its privacy. She was comforted in knowing that no one knew where they were. But now Ken did.
Did anyone else know? Her mind wandered as she stared out at the morning fog.
“Molly?” He put his hand on her shoulder.
“I know.” She spun around. “I just…I don’t know who to trust right now. It’s hard to…” Her voice faded off. “Can you promise he’s the last one you invite up here?”
“Absolutely.” Alex nodded. “I’m not looking to have a house party here. Remember. We know Ken is clear. Amy told us that in her message. And he was literally in Bolin’s custody when Christine went missing. If there’s anyone we can trust, it’s Ken. And I want to make sure he’s okay, too.”
Alex went across the kitchen and poured two more cups of coffee for himself and Peter. They pulled out some cereal, had a few bowls, then threw the dishes in the sink. Eventually, Peter and Alex started to play a card game together while Molly played around on her phone.
She didn’t want Alex to see, but she was pulling up Ken’s social media accounts and scrolling through them. “Did you already give him the address?”
Alex nodded. “He’s on his way. Should be here soon.”
He put his hands up to calm the situation. “Ken is our friend. Let’s not get carried away here. The suspect is in custody. Jonathan is in custody.”
“But you said Amy said it was a girl,” Peter pointed out. “What does Jonathan have to do with it?”
Alex hesitated, connecting the dots as he talked. “I think maybe there were…two?” When Molly and Peter stared, he elaborated. “What if Jonathan and Sofia were in on it together? Just like we told Bolin.” His voice grew less confident as confusion grew in Peter’s face. “Sofia killed Amy. Jonathan tried to kill Christine, but he screwed it up. Something went wrong. So they…hid her in his insurance office knowing that no one would come there on a Sunday morning. But then Bolin did. He found her before he could kill her…”
Peter nodded. “And then…Jonathan killed Sofia?” Alex nodded, also uncertain. “Maybe to…clear his name?”
This made Alex pop up and clap his hands. “Yes! That’s it! To clear his name!” He paced out of excitement. “
I’ve seen enough of these movies. Now he’s covering his tracks. If a murder takes place while he’s behind bars, he’s not the prime suspect anymore. He’s off the hook because it happened while he was in custody. It’s genius. To me, Sofia’s murder affirms that it is him.”
Peter shrugged. “That makes a lot of sense.”
“But if Bolin doesn’t see that, he’s just going to keep chasing after us. We have to solve this before he pins it on one of us.” Alex looked over at Molly. After a few moments of silence, she eventually nodded.
So did Peter. “I hope that’s right. I’m sorry. I’m not trying to throw Ken under the bus or anything. I’m just…I don’t know. I need to be sure.”
Molly thought through everything Alex said. There were still parts that didn’t make sense, but she didn’t want to be the naysayer. She wondered if it was better to let them all believe his theory, even if it wasn’t true. At the least, it gave them temporary comfort. A rare commodity that week.
She turned on the TV and sat in the dusty furniture. The local news didn’t have anything new pertaining to the case. It was just different interviews reflecting on Sofia’s life and shots of Bruno’s on a busy weekend night from a feature they had done on the restaurant a few years before. The outside shots had Movie Madness in the corner. It made her cringe a little bit to see her job get turned into a crime scene.
She pulled up the note on her phone with all the numbers from Amy’s first clue and read it over and over again.
“Help. No guy. From Amy.”
It seemed like the more she read it, the weirder it got. If Amy had the ability to send a message, why wouldn’t she be more specific? Surely she had more details than just ‘no guy.’
As Peter and Alex went back into a game of cards together, Molly read the little message again and again. Waiting for more to appear. Instead, a frightening feeling came over here
What if that wasn’t the code from Amy? What if she was sending something totally different with her last words? What if all the theories that Alex had based on this clue were actually wrong? And they were never unscrambled numbers in the first place? What if it was just random junk mail?
Out of the corner of her eye, Molly saw a familiar car starting to pull up the driveway. It left a cloud of pollution behind it with its old muffler. Every now and then, someone drives a car that perfectly matches their personality. That is Ken’s busted up, cigarette-stained Camry. It was him in the form of an automobile. She’d seen that disgusting thing pull up at Movie Madness countless times. But seeing it pull into the driveway on this muddy, December morning sent a shock down her spine.
Either Alex’s theory was right or they just invited the prime suspect to the one place that they were supposed to be safe.
40
Final Word
Tuesday, December 21 – 1:34 P.M.
Christine started to cough. Then gag. The doctors weren’t sure why. Had Bolin been there, he could’ve told them his hypothesis - poison in her bloodstream. From Amy’s autopsy, it didn’t appear that there were any side effects until it ultimately took her life around forty-eight hours after it had been injected.
The doctors felt helpless as they raced around her and tried to give relief to her spontaneous convulsions. All of her vital signs were stable until a few minutes earlier. Now she was starting to turn blue. The lead doctor whispered something in the nurse’s ear, and she darted out the door. Moments later, she came back in with a needle large enough to make an acupuncturist leap.
Before Christine had a chance to object, he shot it into her arm. she suddenly shot up in her bed and screamed through her continued dry coughs. Choking on her own breaths, Christine’s eyes shifted over to the doctor. He tried to hide his fear as he stared back. But it didn’t work. Christine could tell from his reaction that the injection didn’t work.
“Call Detective Bolin,” the doctor said to the same nurse.
Call Bolin. That line triggered a new memory in Christine’s mind.
It was the last thought she had as her door flung open and she stared at the silhouette in her door frame. She tried to dial the detective, but her phone was snatched out of her hand before she could finish. Had she been able to, maybe he would have come in time. And maybe she wouldn’t be in this bed.
Her body started convulsing again. Nurses began shouting different things around her. Her body shook violently, but her mind stayed fixated in a Nirvana-like state as her memory began to replay the abduction again. This time with more details than what she had remembered before. While doctors and nurses tried everything they could to stabilize her body on the outside, her mental state was elsewhere. Perhaps the trauma from her present moment was forcing her mind to remember new things, to find resolve.
Back to Saturday night.
A solid hit to her head had caused her vision to go blurry as her abductor walked through the doorframe. Her eyesight was next to nothing as she was dragged across her apartment floor. Her head slammed against the dirty carpet.
Christine tried her best to cling to something, anything. But the headshot barely allowed consciousness. She felt paralyzed, trying to lo
ok up at who was pulling her. But the room was black.
Now the memory kept going past where she had previously recalled.
As she had been dragged out the door, she remembered looking up at an antique mirror on the wall next to her TV. With the light from the hallway, she could barely see her own reflection. And then, bam. Another hit to the head.
This one put her out cold.
She remembered something else in the mirror reflection, though, before going out. With this mental replay, it was as if she was there again watching it from inside her apartment hallway. Just above her own body, the hallway light was bouncing off of something that almost looked like it was glowing in the mirror. The shirt was dark, maybe black or dark brown. But on the shirt was a logo. A logo Christine had become all too familiar with over the past several years.
MOVIE MADNESS.
The video store logo, embroidered in silver on the polo shirt. Reflecting in the mirror, in a way that only that logo would. She wouldn’t have even seen it if it hadn’t been for the signature font and silvery shine that the owners insisted on having. Molly had always joked about how it was the only shirt of hers where the logo glowed at the sign of any light. The silvery finish caused it to almost glow in the dark at times.
No doubt about it now. Her abductor was wearing a Movie Madness shirt.
And just like that, Christine’s mind was back in the hospital room. Her gagging got worse. Her breathing was no longer up to her. She was at the expense of the involuntary actions of her body. All of the doctors stopped what they were doing and gazed at her as if her face had just transformed into something they’d never seen. The doc put a hand on the back of her neck and said something.