by Banks, R. R.
His chuckle is a low rumble and sounds like an oncoming freight train. “So, in addition to jumping to some wild, and outlandish conclusions,” he says. “You’ve also accused the department of doing shoddy police work.”
“I never explicitly stated that in my article.”
He gives me a sour look. “It's definitely implied.”
Ava shrugs. “Well, you have to admit, she has some solid points.”
“I don't have to admit anything,” he snaps. “As for some solid points, I don't think very much of junior, wannabe FBI profiler work. It's not very reliable.”
“You seem awfully hostile, Deputy Chief,” Ava says. “All this article is meant to do is spotlight the murder of three young women – murders which are all seemingly connected – and have pretty much been forgotten. The killer is still out there, Deputy Chief.”
“Killers. Plural,” he says. “These were three random incidents, and as tragic as it is, these three young lives were taken. But, there isn’t a connection between them. No matter how many conclusions you may jump to. And it is irresponsible for you to stoke fear in the community by suggesting that a serial killer is operating in the city.”
“I think it's actually very responsible,” I say. “I'm alerting the community that there may be a serial killer operating in the city. And since you won't see the connection, let me remind you that each of these girls was around the same age, build, body type, same hair color, similar eye color, and oh yeah, they were all strangled with some unknown ligature.”
“I'm aware of the details, Ms. Simmonds.”
“If that's so, how can you not draw a connection between these killings?” I ask, honestly stunned. “I mean, how likely is it that three girls who could pass for sisters, basically, are strangled by three different men, with the same, or a similar ligature?”
He continues to stare at me, stone-faced. He knows I have a point. I can see it in his face. But, he must toe the party line. Which tells me, it really was either shoddy police work that failed to find a connection any ten-year-old who regularly watches Criminal Minds could draw. Or, more ominously, that the department is covering up for Carlyle.
And I really want to find out which one it is.
“That's your theory, and you're entitled to it, Ms. Simmonds,” Avilla says. “But, I'm here to appeal to you, in the public's interest, and our concern for them, that you drop this. There is no serial killer operating in the city. We've conducted a thorough and proper investigation, and the links you're claiming, just aren't there. There is no serial killer. If there were, we would have found, and caught him already.”
“Maybe,” Ava says. “I mean, how long did it take the police to find Ted Bundy? Jeffrey Dahmer? Dennis Rader? Shall I go on? How long did those killers operate before they were taken in by the cops?”
“Apples and oranges,” he says.
“How about this,” I say. “What if I told you that I found a string of open unsolved murder cases that involved women very similar in age, and appearance, to the three I already wrote about? And what if I told you this string goes back to 2010, and this killer has claimed twenty-three lives?”
“I'd say you have quite an imagination, Ms. Simmonds,” he says, chuckling again. “And I'd also say you should probably consider dropping the journalistic gig and take up fiction writing.”
Ava snorts. “Based on what I've seen, I would suggest most of the brass in your department drop the policing gig and go into something better suited to your skills – like clowning.”
My mouth falls open, and I barely contain the guffaw that threatens to come bursting out of my mouth. I can't believe Ava just said that to the Deputy Chief. Apparently, neither can he, since he's staring back at her with dead eyes, and the darkest, angriest expression I've ever seen on a person before.
“I don't appreciate the commentary, Ms. Drake,” he says flatly.
“And I don't appreciate you coming in here like some bully, trying to intimidate us and shut down a legitimate line of inquiry,” she says.
“You have a funny definition of the word legitimate,” he snaps.
“No funnier than your definition of proper and thorough investigation,” she retorts.
“So, am I to take all of this to mean, that you will not retract or amend the story?” he asks.
“You would be correct, Deputy Chief. There's some sharp detective work for you,” Ava says. “And you can also take this to mean, that we will be adding onto and expanding the scope of this story.”
“That would be a mistake, Ms. Drake,” he says, and then turns to me. “I'm appealing to your sense of civic duty, Ms. Simmonds. Drop the story.”
“I'm afraid I can't do that,” I say. “This is a legitimate story. There's a legitimate suspect out there, and I am of the belief, that either incompetence on the part of the PD, or somebody inside the command structure, is helping cover up for this person.”
He chuckles again, shaking his head. “So, now it's a conspiracy,” he says. “This gets better and better. I should remind you though, that libel lawsuits can get very, very expensive.”
“I'm aware of that,” Ava says. “And we have been very careful to avoid naming anyone or printing anything that could even be construed as libelous. That's not how we operate here. We only print the facts.”
“You sure could have fooled me with that fairytale you printed.”
“That's your opinion, and you're welcome to it,” Ava says. “Just as all of our readers are free to read our work and form their own opinions. That is the basis of a free society, isn't it? Freedom of thought?”
Avilla stands up, casting a disapproving frown at both of us. “This is disappointing,” he says.
“Life is a series of disappointments,” Ava continues to jab. “I would have thought, at your age, you would know that by now.”
He snorts derisively. “Papers like yours are why people hate the media these days.”
“The only people who hate the media are those who fear the truth,” she counters. “People who fear being exposed by the light of day.”
“One day you're going to need our help,” Avilla says. “Be a damn shame if our response times are lagging because we're chasing phantom serial killers.”
“Is that a threat, Deputy Chief?” I ask, my blood really starting to boil. “I can quote you on that, right?”
Avilla gives us both a long, meaningful glare. “Good day, ladies.”
We watch him walk out of my office, tracking him until he walks out the front doors of the building. It's only then, we both slump back in our seats and let out a long breath. We both look at each other and start to laugh like idiots.
For the first time since I came back to the Times Daily, I feel like Ava is really on my side. Like she'll go to bat for me. Watching the way she handled Avilla was amazing, and really pumped me up. I had my doubts, but I can see now that she's the type of editor who will go to war for her staff.
“Thank you,” I say. “For handling the Deputy Chief.”
She waves me off. “That was fun,” she says. “And, just a warm-up. Just you wait until the Chief himself comes in here. I always prefer sparring with the higher-ups, rather than the underlings.”
“I think we should put that on pay-per-view,” I laugh.
She falls silent, and the mood in my office starts to turn serious. She looks at me, and I can see the concern in her eyes.
“The ball is rolling now, Em,” she says. “We can't stop it anymore. And I have a feeling that things are going to get a lot nastier before they get better.”
“I understand,” I say, and give her a crisp nod. “If I couldn't handle it, I wouldn't have put the story out. Hawkins needs to be brought to justice. One way or another, he has to go down. I'm not going to back down just because some pencil-pushing bureaucrat came in here and pitched a fit.”
She gives me a tight smile. “That's my girl,” she says. “I think we're going to turn you into a damn fine journalist yet.”
>
I give her a warm smile. “Thanks, boss.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Brice
It's Halloween night, and I decide that the two of us need to have some fun. Emma has been pretty much cooped up since the articles started coming out about the murders. She's had calls – and visits – from some in the police department hierarchy, not at all pleased with her illumination of their failures.
Her stories have ignited something of a firestorm in the city – and the police are the ones taking most of the heat. Which they're not happy about. The people are upset – as they should be – and are demanding answers. Answers the force doesn’t seem to have right now.
There's no question that Emma kicked a hornet's nest, and it's been nerve-racking and stressful ever since. She hasn't wanted to go out, preferring to stay indoors, and avoid all the shit flying around. All in all, I think she's handled it pretty well so far.
It took some doing, but I convinced her to come out and have some fun tonight.
We walk through the gates, and I pull her closer to me. She’s worried about being out in the open with Hawkins running around, but I think she feels safe with me by her side. Besides, it's a very public place, and if he's as smart as Emma believes he is, he won't do a damn thing.
Costumed actors in ghoulish and scary costumes roam the park, jumping out and scaring passers-by. Emma is tense at first, and practically screams when a guy in a werewolf costume pops up out of nowhere. It's a scene that repeats several times as we walked through the park.
“Want something to drink?” I ask.
“Sure,” she says.
We go to one of the refreshment trailers, and I order us a couple of lemonades. I hand her one, and we head out again. I'm looking around at the various haunted mazes, eager to go through a few of them. I've always loved Halloween. There's nothing better than a good scare – though, judging by the look on Emma's face, I think she might disagree with me right about now.
“What do you think?” I ask. “Should we do Mummy's Tomb or Vampire's Nest?”
She looks up at me and gives me a small smile. “I'm sorry,” she says. “I'm just –”
“I know,” I say. “But you have nothing to worry about. I'm here with you. I'm not going to let anything happen to you. And besides, Hawkins isn't dumb enough to try anything in public. Trust me on that.”
She nods, but I can see she's not entirely convinced.
“You really love Halloween, don't you?” she asks.
I nod. “Always have,” I say. “How did you know?”
“You have this goofy-ass grin on your face,” she teases. “You've had it since we got into the park. You almost look like a child.”
I laugh. “Halloween is for me what Christmas is to others.”
“Well, I don't want to spoil your Christmas, so let's go check out Mummy's Tomb.”
“That's the spirit.”
With my arm around her, she loosens up and relaxes – but only a little bit. She's still edgy and on guard. But, at least she's trying. I appreciate it and can't fault her for not quite having the same level of enthusiasm as I do. After all, I'm not the one being threatened by a serial killer. If I were I'd probably be pretty tense too.
But, she's trying. She screams and laughs during the Mummy’s Tomb, and we emerge through the doors on the other side, unscathed, and laughing.
“That was terrible,” she says. “So cheesy!”
“I know, that's what makes it great, isn't it?”
She shakes her head. “No way. I want a haunted house to be scary,” she laughs. “I don't want to see a guy wrapped up in toilet paper running around pretending to be a mummy.”
I can't help but laugh, because it's true. “Okay, you have a point there.”
We make it through several other mazes, and her mood seems to lighten more with each one. She's laughing a lot more often and seems to be having an enjoyable time. Which I'm glad to see. That's the point of tonight.
It's getting late, and we're both pretty tired, so we decide to call it a night. She leans against me, with her head on my shoulder, as we walk through the parking lot, toward the car.
“Thank you,” she says. “For this.”
“Of course,” I say. “You needed a night out to blow off some steam.”
She nods. “I did,” she says. “And I appreciate you taking care of me.”
I laugh. “This wasn't taking care of you,” I say. “This was as much for me as for you. I'm the child here, remember?”
She looks at me, holding my gaze with her own. Her expression is serious, though not exactly grim. More – weary.
“You take such good care of me,” she says. “I appreciate it.”
“It's no less than you do for me.”
I place a gentle kiss on the top of her head, and she nuzzles even closer to me. I see them before we reach the car and start to tense. Perhaps, sensing my unease, Emma straightens up.
“What's going on?” she whispers.
“Just, stay behind me,” I say.
“It's not –”
“No,” I say and shake my head.
Two men. One white, one black. Big, strong. Clean cut. Physically imposing. And with the unmistakable air of off-duty cops. The two of them leaning against my car, drinking beers. The black guy taps the white guy on the shoulder when he sees us, and both men stand up, tossing their cans to the ground, effectively blocking the way to my car.
“This is the bitch causing all kinds of problems for us,” the white guy sneers. “Says we don't do our jobs.”
“Says we suck at our jobs,” the black guy scoffs.
“Yeah, this bitch is creating a lot of problems for our man Hawkins,” white guy says. “Guy's never done a damn thing wrong. He does everything for this city, and this bitch is gonna fuck up his reputation to sell a few papers.”
“Total bitch, man,” the other guy says. “Total bitch.”
They're carrying on this dialogue between each other like it's scripted and rehearsed. Emma and I have no part in their little play, so, I guess we're just supposed to stand there and listen. Yeah, I'm not really interested in what they have to say though.
“Get out of the way,” I say. “You're blocking my car.”
“That's too bad,” says the white guy.
“What do you want?” I ask.
“For the bitch to –”
“If you refer to her as a bitch one more time, I'm going to beat your ass,” I threaten, my voice low and cold.
The two men laugh, playfully slapping each other in the arm. “You believe the balls on this guy?” the black guy says.
“Balls of steel, man,” replies the white cop.
“Just stating a fact,” I say. “Move. Now.”
The white cop spits at the ground in front of me. “Hey, tell me something football boy. I heard rumors that you were higher than a fuckin' kite when you took the hit that ended your career. That true?”
“Last chance,” I say, feeling the adrenaline and anger racing through my body in equal measure. “Get out of the way, or I'm going to beat your asses.”
“Brice, let's just call the cops,” Emma whispers from behind me, her voice colored with stark fear.
“Bitch, we are the cops –”
He never finishes that statement because I bury my fist in his face. The black guy's head snaps back violently when my fist makes contact. He falls backward, landing on the ground in a heap. Clutching his nose, he rolls over, crying out and moaning as blood oozes out from between his fingers.
The white cop is in motion before his buddy hits the pavement. He's fast, I'll give him that. He darts in and throws a blow that grazes my cheek, but I'd already moved enough that it's mostly a miss. He's a little off balance though, so I seize the initiative.
Grabbing him by the hair, I spin him around, and slam him headfirst into the tailgate of an SUV. He howls in pain and clutches his head, but he's still struggling and fighting. Still gripping his hair, I pull his h
ead back and punch him hard in the face. His nose breaks, the blood flows, and he cries out loud – just like his buddy still rolling around on the ground.
I look over at Em, who's staring back at me with wide, terrified eyes. She's clutching her hands to her chest, and any sense of the good time and sense of relaxation from earlier has vanished. Right out the window. These fuckers ruined a good night with their bullshit.
“Are they –”
I shake my head. “They’ll be fine. The two of them will have one hell of a headache tomorrow, though.”
I put my arm around her waist and usher her to the car. She's looking at me with awe and gratitude in her eyes.
“That's twice you've saved me now.”
I shrug. “What can I say? You keep life exciting.”
She presses her lips to mine, and climbs into the car. I close the door and look at the two men on the ground.
I point to them and nod. “That'd be a great Halloween get-up.”
“Go fuck yourself.”
I climb behind the wheel of my car, start it up, and get us out of there. I'm beyond pissed that those two jackasses ruined my favorite night of the year.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Emma
“Hey, I'm heading out for the night,” Ava says. “You need anything before I go?”
I look up from my computer and give her a smile. “No, I'm good, thanks,” I say.
“What time is Brice coming to get you?”
I glance at my watch. “About an hour and a half,” I say.
She nods. “Okay, well, security is on their regular patrols,” she says. “You need them for anything, you hit the panic switch. I don't care if it ends up being a mouse, you hit the panic switch. Keep it on you in a discreet place at all times. You got me?”
I laugh. “I got you,” I say. “I'll have this copy to you by the morning.”
“You better,” she says and grins.
“Oh hey, Ava?”
She turns back to me. “Yes?”