by Somer Canon
“I actually grew up just in Parkersburg. I’m sort of a local girl,” I said.
“Oh? Well then there’s more than just morbidity bringing you here?” Stephanie asked.
“Professional calling,” I politely corrected.
“If you say so,” Stephanie said.
I cleared my throat, my mind working to try to get Stephanie back on track and out of her unnecessarily rude rut. Quaint curiosity is one thing, but this bitch was being downright hostile. Luckily, our drinks came and Stephanie sucked on her straw, staring me down the whole time.
“Your articles are more detailed than what I would expect from your usual small-town rag,” I said. “You have more details than the official police statements would give. I know, because I’ve looked over a few hundred of them at this point.”
“You’ve only been doing this for a year, Ms. Cunningham,” Stephanie said. Her tone stayed polite and cool.
“But it’s all I do,” I said, holding a finger up. My patience was at the breaking point. “While someone like you might see two murders a year, I’ve covered over 30. In detail. I’ve done over 150 interviews and I’ve worked with a lot of law enforcement. Ms. D’Agostino, I am NOT just some smear mag writer.”
Stephanie blinked at me for a moment and then nodded her head as if she had just received the answer to an important question.
“Alright, then,” Stephanie said. “You can call me Stephanie, by the way. Look, sorry I got rude with you there, but I just wanted to see if you were going to get all weird murderer fan-girl on me. I’ve been to your site and while I don’t completely agree that you aid in the hero worship of some of these sickos, I don’t exactly think it’s not about that either. But it IS journalism. Your research and interviews are very good and thorough.” Stephanie sat back and waved a hand magnanimously at me. “You can ask your questions now.”
I had to resist the urge to scoff and leave. Instead, I smiled politely.
“Thank you,” I said.
“I’ve been doing this for about ten years and I had to work hard to get my sources and name secured,” Stephanie said. “I’m happy to help a fellow snoop.”
My smile was a little sincerer this time. I understood the pain in the ass of getting people to talk to you and starting from nothing. She was still a bit of a bitch, but I had to at least respect where that bitchiness was coming from. I took out my cell phone and opened my note-taking app.
“Okay, I know you have a source in the police force who’s speaking under terms of anonymity. Any chance I can get a name?” I asked.
Stephanie inhaled deeply and took another long sip of her drink.
“He’s a personal friend, not just a business contact. I think I’d say no if he were only a mole.” She squinted at me and then winked and smiled. “Let me text him, hold on,” she said.
Our food came while Stephanie tapped away at the flat screen of her phone. I stayed politely quiet and even waited until Stephanie started eating before starting myself. Manners matter.
Stephanie finally set her phone to the side and smiled at me as she popped a French fry into her mouth. I raised my eyebrows and stared at Stephanie expectantly.
“His name is Terry Knight,” Stephanie said. “We were friends in high school. I’m a local girl too. I’ve vouched for you, so please don’t make me regret that.” I was adding this to my note taking app and Stephanie even gave me Terry’s phone number.
“He prefers to be texted,” Stephanie said. “Just introduce yourself and he’ll be cooperative. He likes talking.”
“This is fantastic, Stephanie,” I said, smiling and putting my cell phone back into my bag. “Thank you so much, this makes my life so much easier.”
“Stay in touch. Hopefully this sick bastard is finished, but if there is something else, let’s be in communication, okay?” Stephanie said.
“Sure thing,” I said.
I went back to my hotel and sent Anais an update text. Then, I texted Terry Knight, and I introduced myself politely at the beginning of the first text. He replied immediately.
“Stephanie told me about you. What do you need from me?” he texted. I appreciated his getting to the point.
“I’d like to be able to see the crime scenes so that I can photograph them. I understand that they’ve since been cleared. I’d also like to see the reports. I’ll try on my own to talk to the detective leading this case, but your help is very much appreciated,” I texted back.
“I’m a nine to fiver,” his next text began. “I like to have dinner right after work.”
I knew he was angling to get me to offer to go to dinner. Stephanie must have told him that I was a credit card flinging bribe artist.
“There’s a steak house up here by my hotel. I’m not really familiar with the area, but I’d love to treat you to a meal in exchange for some info,” I texted back.
“I know the place. I’ll be there at about five after,” he texted back.
I turned off my phone and got back onto my laptop. I had some work to do on other files and I needed to contact an officer or detective to give me an official statement. I worked for a few hours, and then I showered and changed my clothes into something more fetching. Although I’m not every person’s cup of tea, I’ve found that fixing myself up and wearing clothes that look professionally sexy makes people more willing to gab with me. And yes, that includes women. It’s amazing how many buttoned-up women I’ve flirted with and gotten nice and gabby. If I can get them to gab, I can get them to answer a few more questions. I’m not happy about it, but it’s part of the job of getting results. Yeah, it sets the feminist plight back about 50 years, but I’ve got bills to pay and interviews to do. When looks matter less, I’ll be happy to conduct interviews in yoga pants and old comfortable T-shirts.
I chose a black dress that hugged my body in a way that showed nothing but curves. It was knee-length, so it wasn’t advertising Sex Kitten to anybody and it still looked professional. I let my hair stay down. My stark white skin and long face can tend to look a bit severe when I wear my hair back. Unfortunately, my hair wasn’t being very cooperative, and it sat flat on my head, not diffusing the severity of my features at all. I tried bending at the waist and fluffing it as well as I could and when I flipped back into the upright position, it was just right. I put on a berry-colored lipstick and made sure I smelled nice and headed out to the steak house.
The steak house had a very large room that you walked into to meet the hostess that wasn’t part of the eating area. There were benches along all of the walls, but there were families and small children taking up the benches. I gave the hostess my name and stated that it would be a party of two, took my red-lighted beeper thingy, and stood with my back against the wall. Every time the door opened, I would look. Like any person who battles anxiety, I really fucking hate waiting.
The door swung open, letting in a warm breeze, and I turned and the tall man who had just walked in smiled and waved at me. He jogged over to me and held out a large hand. I took it, noting the roughness and warmth.
Oh no, I thought as I smiled up into his clean-cut smiling face.
He was gorgeous.
Dark, straight hair fell over his clean, clear forehead and deep, brown eyes squinted and twinkled when he smiled. His mouth was the devastating part. Perfectly-shaped, naturally colored lips spread over white, impossibly perfect teeth.
“Um, are you Terry?” I asked.
Great, I’ve turned into a stupid question asking weenie, I thought to myself.
I am not at all suave and confident around those that I find attractive. But this time, I at least had a good excuse for my bumbling. It just so happened that I was in the middle of a rather long dry spell sexually, and this tall, dark, gorgeous man was the absolute last thing that I needed on a business trip.
“Yup!” Terry answered happily. “Real nice to meet you, Miss Cunningham!” He pumped my hand in both of his. I smiled and slowly removed my hand.
“You can call
me Christina,” I said.
He nodded and beamed down at me. I smiled back in an uncomfortable, tight-lipped way. He took a step back from me and leaned on the wall opposite, maybe six feet away. We stood like that in the loud waiting room until the red lights flashed on my beeper thingy, indicating that our table was ready.
We sat in two hard, wooden chairs looking across a small table at each other. Terry was still smiling, and I was trying to get used to his face so that I could think clearly enough to actually talk. I coughed into my hand to clear my throat and smiled at Terry, causing him to smile wider at me.
“I really appreciate you talking with me. Of course, all of the information you give me will be anonymous,” I said, noting his unadorned blue polo shirt. “Can I ask, what is your position with the police department? I mean, you’re not in uniform.”
“Well that’s because I’m not actually a cop,” Terry said. “I’m a secretary.”
“Oh.” I said, smiling politely. I thought that I did a good job of hiding my shock, but I was annoyed with myself for being shocked. Of course, in this day and age, the job of secretary would be for men as well as old ladies named Doris.
Terry laughed, and I knew I must have made a face.
Smooth operator, as usual, Christina. God, I suck. My mind berated me.
“I get heck for it sometimes, but I always knew I was going to be in a job that required a lot of organizational skills. It’s something that keeps me relaxed, organizing and filing. The phone calls? Not so much, but the other stuff I actually quite like,” he said.
“I eat snack cakes to relax,” I said, glad that my natural speech had returned to me.
“Oh yeah?” Terry said. “What kind?”
“Nummy Nellie,” I answered.
“Just…all Nummy Nellie?” he asked.
“Well, yeah,” I answered. “I mean, I guess if I had to pick a favorite, it would be the Stripey Cakes, but I love all of them. I love Choco Crunch and Fudge Mounds and Peanutty Bars and Fudgey Rolls. It just has to be Nummy Nellie. No other brands.”
“That’s…that’s pretty specific,” Terry said. He laughed to himself. “To each his own, though, right?”
“Right,” I said, smiling.
We ordered drinks and an appetizer. Terry gushed about the onion blossom and the horseradish dipping sauce that came with it, so we ordered one of those and he ordered a whiskey sour while I got a rum and Coke.
If the interviewee orders booze, you order booze too. You don’t make a person drink alone.
“So, how do you get to be in a line of work like this?” Terry asked after taking a sip of his drink.
“My roommate and I were friends in college and we stayed really close after graduation. She came to me one day with this idea of profiling murderers. She had noticed that aside from diplomats and presidents, murderers tended to get the most media attention. They get book deals, biographies, movies, and even magazine covers. She’s a bit of a horror lover, and she wanted to make these ‘files’ on each murderer where we sort of made a story out of the murders and who committed them. I needed a better job and I’ve always been good with interviews, so I joined her.” I’d given versions of this story to almost every person I’d interviewed. Everybody seems to be dying to know the why.
“Have you met anybody that gave you the creeps?” Terry asked. I took a sip of my drink and admired the way his Adam’s apple moved when he swallowed.
“It’s creepy that I haven’t met a creepy murderer yet,” I answered truthfully. “By the time I can interview them, they’re already in jail and are chastened for the most part. We profile people who do really horrible things, but at the end of the day, they’re still really ordinary people.”
“That’s unexpected,” Terry said, frowning.
“I agree,” I said. “I expected to be talking to complete detached crazy people, like Charles Manson or something, but they’re all sort of boring aside from what they did.”
We sat in silence for a bit. I made an effort not to look at Terry too much. I was extremely uncomfortable, and I was pulling a really shitty interview because of it. I cursed my dry spell and had a fleeting thought of inviting him back to my hotel room and screwing his brains out just so I could think straight around him. I chanced a glance at his left hand when he took a drink and saw that his ring finger was bare. I entertained my fantasy for a moment longer before the reality of my sexual appetite hit me. If we went back to my room, I wouldn’t be able to unwrap my thighs from around him for at least a week, and Anais might have had a problem with our business account paying for a hotel room just so I could have a sex marathon.
“So, Stephanie said that you two went to school together??” I asked, needing to get out of my own head.
“Oh sure. In these small towns, once you’re friends with someone, you stay friends until you die or get in a fight over a land contract or something.” Terry said, smiling at me. I smiled back, feeling myself warming in the middle thanks to his good looks and the rum.
“We went to school together, yeah,” Terry answered. “All levels of school. She used to chase me around the playground in grade school, pass me notes in middle school, and try to get me hooked up with her girl friends in high school. I was a pathetic kid.”
“How did you two get into this information exchange situation?” I asked. Terry shrugged lazily and leaned back in his chair. I swallowed hard.
“I had the job and she needed the information. I’m not breaking any rules as long as I’m not speaking in an official capacity,” Terry said.
“So it’s a pretty easy going situation, then,” I said, bobbing my head up and down thoughtfully. “Gosh, that’s nice. I have to pull out almost every trick in the book to get people to talk to me sometimes.”
“I’ll talk to you,” Terry said reassuringly. “Stephanie said you were alright, so you don’t need to charm me or drug my drinks or anything.” He smiled and winked at me and I shifted in my seat, crossing my legs and squeezing my thighs together.
Christ, I’m like a cat in heat, I thought to myself. Calm the hell down, Chris.
“That will be a nice change, especially considering that there’s no actual murderer to profile as of yet, just the murders themselves,” I said, hoping that I sounded nonplussed.
“Exactly how many details do you typically like to have?” Terry asked. “I have to admit, there are quite a few things that were kept out of the papers because there was some seriously sick stuff at those crime scenes, and I know that not as a cop or detective, but as the person who files away the reports and overhears talk.”
“We like to be pretty detailed, actually,” I said. “We’re not going for gore porn or anything but the professional, clinical reporting on the murders doesn’t make for very good reading.”
“So, it’s for entertainment purposes then? Your website?” Terry asked. I frowned.
“Yes and no.” I said. “That’s not an easy answer. I mean, we do want to hook people and we do take pictures and get as many of the horrible details as we can, but there’s seriously a lot of work that goes into what we do. My partner, Anais, says that we are writing little biographies on the murderers and that it’s not sensationalism. Like how people can write books about Jack the Ripper and include actual pictures of the victims and crime scenes while they were still fresh, and those books are seen as almost intellectual because a lot of research goes into them. I mean, we don’t include pictures of the crime scenes until after they’ve been cleaned up, and although I have seen a few pictures of the dead bodies, I would never ever post them on our site.” Terry smiled broadly and pointed a finger at me.
“We have something in common,” he said. “We both catch heck for what we do.”
“Is it obvious?” I asked, smiling down into my drink.
“Oh yeah,” Terry answered. “I can tell you’ve had to defend your job many times.”
“Yeah, well,” I said. “We get some pretty awful allegations thrown at us.”
“We have a lot to cover. We’re going to be talking quite a lot. I can’t be comfortable around someone who isn’t comfortable themselves,” he said. “I saw how your nostrils flared when this was sat on the table. Look at this thing,” he said, gesturing to the battered, petaled, deep fried monstrosity that was easily the size of a large dinner plate. “There’s lots here and I don’t want to eat it all by myself. Please, eat it with me and stop picking at it.”
I frowned at him, having a moment where I took sincere offense to what he said. I looked at him staring back at me, eyes wide and chewing happily. I picked up another petal of onion and did an obnoxiously hearty dip into the horseradish sauce and jammed the entire thing into my mouth.
“Happy now?” I said through the mouthful of food. Terry burst out laughing and gestured to the waitress to come back to their table.
“We’re going to need more of the dipping sauce,” he said. “There’s no way this little cup is enough.”
I smiled despite myself.
Charming and good looking. Damn it.
CHAPTER FOUR
I was sitting on the hood of my car waiting for Terry to meet me in the parking lot of my hotel. It was early Saturday and when we had had our dinner on Thursday over large plates of food, we planned to meet then so that Terry could drive with me to where Matthew Hart’s remains were found. I argued that I could use my GPS to find the place, but Terry told me that the place was off-road and down a dirt path and that if I weren’t with someone who knew what they were looking for, I’d never find it. I’d managed to convince myself that that was a good argument, but the fact of the matter was, I was hoping to spend more time with the cute guy. Like a damned teenager, I was looking for any opportunity to be with my crush, and I was even playing the helpless little lady to boot. If I thought about it, it made me mad. So I was working to not think about it.