“Ms Greyson?” Alex said, acknowledging her question.
“Captain Mendez, I’d first like to say that wasn’t very nice of you the other day. Giving us a false lead is irresponsible.”
Alex smiled, “Well, you know. I heard there was something there. It was just a rumor. I’m glad to know that we have such a vigilant reporter as yourself to separate fact from rumor. I can sleep rather soundly at night knowing you’re on the job. Now. What is your question or did you just want to trade barbs this morning?”
Smiling, as a cat with a new toy, she looked down at a small piece of paper she was holding.
“Actually, I have a question. I’m wondering if you can comment on autopsy reports that suggest the presence of poisonous substances in the bodies of the victims.”
Alex looked at the chief, who motioned at Alex. As he leaned over, the chief whispered an update in his ear.
“If you’ve seen an autopsy report, Ms. Greyson, you’re a better police officer than I am.” Alex sneered. “The official autopsy report will not be ready for some weeks and I am told that the preliminary report just arrived on my desk this morning.”
“And I have sources everywhere, Captain Mendez. So, can you comment on this?”
“As I stated earlier,” he said, not flinching, “I can’t comment on a report I have not yet read. That would be irresponsible of me. But, even if I’d read it, I can’t comment on something that might lend itself to would-be copycat killers or, again, give the person responsible a heads up that he or she needs to change tactics. Neither do I want to give any aspiring sickos any ideas, truth be told. You’re a smart woman. You should know better. Our job is to catch this guy. Your job is not to get in the way of us while we do our job.”
“Actually, Captain Mendez, my job is to make sure to report on the news at hand. In part, to make sure you’re doing your job for the citizenry present today and for those hard working citizens who could not attend this meeting. If you haven’t read the report, Captain Mendez, One must question the level of care and preparation the department is under, in the absence of Captain Peterson.”
“The problem with some reporters, Ms. Greyson, is that they put the story ahead of the community welfare. We don’t live in a police state. I understand and respect the need to know. Last time I checked, however, there’s only one badge between the two of us. I cannot tell you how to be a journalist. I’m not a writer. But I can advise you that safety is often compromised when some dogged story seeker puts the scoop above the personal welfare of the public they serve. As I recall, you gave birth to twins a couple years ago. By the way you protected your abdomen the other day, one might assume you are pregnant again. How would you feel if a story you printed led the alleged killer in this case to seek you and your children out? As I said to Ms. Halloway, I don’t want our next meeting to be over your dead body either. Responsible journalism is, or at least should be, about knowing when to hold something back for the greater good. What I can tell the public is that they should never touch a dead body regardless. It could be booby-trapped. There could be any number of dangers. It could be a trick that would ultimately lead to the capture and killing of an innocent person whose curiosity got the better of him. I would ask you not to reveal speculative things, as it is both of our jobs to keep the community safe, even if we employ different methods by which to secure them.”
His rebuke was met with a smile and a nod as Jennifer Greyson returned to her seat. Her face flushed and Alex knew he had struck a nerve with her. Perhaps his chastisement had given her the reality check she needed. Perhaps, however, it had thrown down just the challenge she’d been searching for.
Slightly unnerved by the exchange, Alex looked at Josh. His smile, slight as it might have been, was nothing short of a silent “high five”.
“Okay, boys,” Chief Steelman whispered. “Time to wrap.”
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Alex said, “We really appreciate your involvement. Remember to call the police department if you have any tips.” Pointing to the table off to his left, he continued, “There are cards over there, by the exit, with the tip line on them. You can also file tips via the internet if you have access. Hopefully, we don’t have to remind you that you should not attempt to apprehend anyone yourself. All suspects in any crime can be assumed armed and dangerous until declared otherwise by a duly-appointed law enforcement officer. Ones with a badge.”
Looking at Jennifer Greyson, Alex had already begun to regret the words, even as he fought to offer his best conciliatory smile.
He paused, stepped back, allowing the chief to step forward.
“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you again. And we have to go get back to the business of catching this person.”
Chapter 11
Thursday, October 13
10:13 a.m.
“Remind me not to let you do any more Q&A’s with the news people, eh Alex?”
“I couldn’t help it.” Alex laughed. “They had it coming.”
“Well, you sure gave it to them, from what I could hear,” Lisa said. “I think you must have chewed five pounds of back fat off that Greyson lady.”
“Yeah,” Alex said, suddenly serious. “I did not make a friend in there today. I’m actually glad this is only temporary.”
“About that,” The chief said.
“Chief, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something. I didn’t want to say anything in that briefing without running it by you first.”
“What’s on your mind, son?”
“This investigation.” Alex ran a hand across his neck, nervously. “Look, you know and I know I can’t be here twenty-four hours a day.”
The chief nodded, but said nothing.
“The point is, Chief, I need some help. I need another point of contact if I can’t be there. Someone P.D. yanno? And, with Danny sidelined, Kellan is the only one I’d really trust right now. He works the same shift as me right now and, honestly, it’s wearing on both of us to be there. I’m willing to take the night shift at least until this is over if he can cover the day shift and be the point of contact while I’m away.”
“Way to discuss this with your wife first, Alex.” Lisa interrupted.
“Honey, I’m sorry. I just really think it’s for the best. And it would only be temporary. Until this guy is caught.”
“And it puts you right in the line of fire, Alex.” Chief Steelman said. “Frankly, you and Kellan are a dynamic team that I’d hate to break up, especially with you training that rookie. But, I’ll make you a deal. You are right. You need a rest. You can’t be here 24/7. So, I’ll cover the day shift with Lt Coleman and Agent Cade. You and Kellan keep this nightshift going with Josh. No sense breaking up the Three Amigos. We’ll start the shift change Monday night, if that’s okay. That’ll give you time to get adjusted and you have Sunday off anyway. I’ll let Josh know. I have a lunch with him. And, for God’s sake, Lisa stop looking at me like that. The boy is right!”
A sudden wind gust whistled through the nearby trees. A red Ford pickup drove by, blaring some sort of thumping beat. It was already unseasonably warm and Alex reached up to undo the tie, allowing a sudden breeze to cool his sweat-covered neck.
Pointing, Alex said, “boy, I wanna be just like them when I grow up.”
“Okay, so where were we? Chief, I’ll come in on Sunday night. We don’t need to wait till Monday. It’ll be rough making such a sudden shift, but we gotta catch this guy. I can’t really afford for me to be off.”
“Alex, you take Sunday. Get clear. If anything happens, we’ll get it straight to you. But you need to be fresh. So, you’ll work days through Saturday, take Sunday off and come in Monday evening. Sound good? What’s so funny, Lisa?”
“I wish Danny could have seen you in action today,” Lisa laughed, nudging Alex. “He’ll never believe it.”
“Oh, I’m sure we’ll all be on the news. Say, where’s Josh?”
A dark blue sedan stopped by Alex’s vehicle. Josh got out, accomp
anied by an official-looking older man with salt and peppered hair.
“Alex, Chief.” Josh said, “I need you both to meet me at Longview Regional.”
“What’s wrong, Josh?”
“Uncle Moe had a heart attack this morning.”
***
Thursday, October 13
11:17 a.m.
Rance Remington. That was the name of the agent that had given the bad news to Josh. Standing in the waiting area, waiting on Josh to come back and let everyone know how Moe was doing, Alex regarded Agent Remington with a curious fascination. He reminded Alex of an off duty member of the Queen’s Guard who’d forgotten it was okay to move.
As Lisa entered the waiting area, Alex smiled.
“How are the kids?”
“They’re good. Your mom’s watching them. Alyson is on her way up here.”
“Think it’s a good idea leaving Mom alone with those two?”
“She said she’d be fine,” Lisa assured him. “Christina’s a big girl now. I’m sure she’ll help out as much as possible. I hate to say it, but she’s learned how to stay out of the way when there’s trouble and how to pitch in when there’s a need.”
“Sad,” Alex agreed. “I know. But she’s a sweet one. Great big sister. No denying it.”
“I called Danny. Told him what’s going on. He sends his best.”
Over the hospital intercom, a few whispered calls requested doctors and referenced codes with which Alex was not familiar.
“I guess we just wait now. Anybody want anything?”
The chief shook his head.
“I’m good,” Lisa said.
“Agent Remington, uh Rance, can we get you anything?”
Silent, stiff, Remington shook his head
As he was turning to walk toward the vending machines, Alex caught sight of Josh walking through the door of ICU.
His face was forlorn. His complexion pale beyond measure. He smiled, a weak attempt to comfort and reassure, but it was written on his face.
Without a word, Josh Sutton sat down and wept.
Chapter 12
Thursday, October 13
12:21 p.m.
--Instant Message from PhanTOM14—
PhanTOM14: A/S/L?
BellaDoniA23: 23/f/Longview. U?
PhanTOM14: 35/M. How are you?
BellaDoniA23: I’m fine. How are U, Hon?
PhanTOM14: Bored. Lonely. The usual. LOL!
BellaDoniA23: I hear U. Where are you from?
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BellaDoniA23: Honey, I work nights.
PhanTOM14: I saw.
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BellaDoniA23: So U know what I do?
PhanTOM14: Certainly do. So, dinner?
BellaDoniA23: Where we going?
PhanTOM14: It’s a surprise. See you at 8:00?
BellaDoniA23: Sure thing. But, U have to pick me up. I don’t “meet”.
PhanTOM14: Addy?
BellaDoniA23: 2795 Houston St. Apt 471
PhanTOM14: I’ll be out front at 8:00
BellaDoniA23: How will I recognize you?
-- PhanTOM14 is attempting to send you a file. Receive? (Y/N). --
BellaDoniA23: Y
-- PhanTOM14 has sent you a photo --
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-- Send file “Bella1.GIF to PhanTOM14 (Y/N) --
PhanTOM14: Very nice… See you at 8:00.
BellaDoniA23: Looking forward to it! :)
-- PhanTOM14 has signed off and did not receive your message. --
***
Thursday, October 13
6:47 p.m.
She was born Shelley Donella Ferguson. Married at 19, widowed at 21, she’d kept her married name until six months ago when twenty-three-year-old Shelley Ferguson became Bella Winters. Her roommate – another working girl known as Harmony Winters – was not her sibling, though they’d been known to pretend, if that is what the customer wanted.
Standing 5’2, possessing little in the way of curves, she looked closer to 13 than 23. She certainly could not have passed for a legitimate sibling of the curvaceous 5’9 half-Latina, Half-Vietnamese Harmony. When she considered the other working girls, which she often accompanied, Shelley never felt as though she fit into her chosen line of work.
Chosen?
Did anybody ever choose this life, she often wondered? Like most girls, she realized, she was just waiting for her handsome prince to ride in on his mighty steed, take her by the hand and rescue her from this life of filth and degradation. Of course, her prince had already been killed in some Middle Eastern desert. It didn’t seem likely to her that anyone in her position was likely to get a second chance. Choice or not, for now at least, she was stuck in a life that was no more a choice than the fact she had been born with strawberry blonde hair that had lost the strawberry before her fifth birthday.
Her friend, DeeAnna, might have chosen this profession. If anyone had, 38-year-old DeeAnna Franklin had chosen this life. Or, she thought, maybe DeeAnna had just given up so long ago that she no longer had the desire for anything more than the familiar. More than once, Bella had considered that DeeAnna was, in fact, herself in 15 years. Somewhere inside, Shelley still held out some glimmer of hope. Bella had long ago conceded reality. She’d stopped counting the number of prayers she’d made for God to rescue her from this world. In truth, she’d recently given up praying for rescue. If God was going to do it, He’d do it. If He wasn’t, well…
Faith was not something she’d ever really known, so it would be a lie to say she had faith in God, or His desire to rescue her. It wasn’t really that she questioned God’s ability. Raised Southern Baptist, she’d always been taught God could do anything He wanted to do. For some reason, she thought, He’d allowed her to remain in this life. So, while God could do anything, for some reason, he chose not to act on her empty, faithless prayers. She didn’t question why.
She had always heard that pain got easier to deal with in time. As she struggled for every breath, she lived with a keen awareness that time seemed to move in cycles. Forward, then back again. Today was one of the “back again.” Standing in the shower, her eyes awash with tears, the falling water, hopefully, drowning out her cries, she missed Matt more than she could remember having ever done so. She was proud of the fact she’d married a war hero. Ten years her senior, Matt had been quite the family scandal. Her parents had refused to accept him, partly due to his age. The other part was because she’d been raised by devout pacifists. While her church might have been Southern Baptist, her parents’ religion had been one of total pacifism. To the point that her parents had actually left every church within a 20 mile radius of their home at least once. It was at one of those churches that she’d met Matt. Her blessing. Her true love. Her hero.
Now, when she needed a hero the most, hers was rotting away in some distant grave. Buried with hero’s honors, he now rested six feet deep in the hallowed ground of Arlington National Cemetery. A lifetime away.
A lifetime ago.
She’d initially fought for his survivor’s benefits. But with her parents estranged and no real money to speak of, it was a short, fruitless fight. She’d been denied because the government determined they hadn’t been married long enough. A poor excuse, really. She’d known a couple others in Matt’s regiment that had been married much less time when they died. One had married the day before the unit shipped out. Perhaps if they’d had a child, the government would have looked more kindly on her situation. Perhaps, as she’d so often assumed, it was just life shooting her in the foot yet again.
“Suck it up, Bella,” Shelley whispered. To her very core, it seemed as if she was talking to someone else. A stranger. And yet, she was talking to herself. Her new self.
“Hurry up, Bella!”
She screamed when Harmony knocked on the show
er curtain. Harmony laughed.
“You scared me!” Shelley screamed. “When did you get home?”
“Just now. You got one tonight?”
“Yeah,” she confirmed, with absent enthusiasm.
Turning off the water, she grabbed her towel and wrapped it around herself before opening the shower curtain.
To her left, she saw Harmony fixing her make up in the mirror. The air conditioning vents rattled themselves awake after a brief slumber. Stepping on to the small rug, a rush of cold air fell upon Shelley, causing her to shiver. She groaned slightly under the weight of unwelcome muscle quakes.
Turning around, she bent over the bathtub and squeezed her dirty blonde hair, kneaded it, wringing excess water from her long tresses.
She felt Harmony brush up behind her, turned and fell into a tight hug.
“I missed you.” Harmony said, her voice possessing something uncharacteristic to the dusky Latin melody.
Reciprocating the embrace, Shelley patted Harmony’s back.
“What’s wrong, chick?” Shelley asked, releasing the hug.
“Nothing,” she said, looking down.
“Don’t lie to me, sister,” Shelley said, pressing her fingertips into Harmony’s cheeks. Feigning a playful anger, she teetered Harmony’s face side to side. “Why you so gwumpy?”
Fighting a small giggle, Harmony pushed Shelley’s hands away, turned and walked toward the toilet. Unrolling a small bit of paper in her hand, Harmony blew her nose.
Flushing the toilet, Harmony turned toward the mirror.
“You’re too good for this life, kid.”
“Yeah, well,” Shelley answered, pulling her gown over her head, “We both are. So what?”
“I mean it,” Harmony said, “You’re young. Get out. Get out while you can, okay? Get out and go meet a real man. Make some babies. Have the white picket fence. That whole 1950’s garbage.”
Shelley didn’t say it, but the idea of a home, husband and family was not garbage to her. She’d had it once, on a Marine base and minus the kids or picket fence.
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