B-Side

by Janis Jones

  “Yeah, you too. See ya, D.”

  Chapter 29

  Freaks and Killers

  Mara straight-arms the Interrogation Room door and comes out blinking hard, a set expression on her face. She has just questioned a ‘person of interest’ in a serial child murder case. Derek is already back from his interview of an assault victim in the trauma ward of a local hospital. It was a different case, and he worried whether the victim would live through the night. He was glad to have it over and sorry to see the misery in the family members of the victim. He was a convenience store cashier who worked solo on the night shift as a second job. Wife, worried sick, and two children scared for their father. Technically, the kids shouldn’t have been allowed on the ward, but it was touch-and-go. Very sweet the way the two boys comforted their Mom. Already good little men at seven and four, Derek thought wistfully. He had the urge to touch their hair and say something reassuring, but he stopped himself knowing it wasn’t professional and that they only wanted their Daddy.

  He’d been waiting for Mara to finish up so they could both follow up on a lead phoned in by a manager of a bargain store across town, which Mara hoped would net something helpful on the child-killer. It was very much a long shot, but the case was in its third torturous year and they needed to stop the horror and nail him for their own sanity. And the pressure from upstairs didn’t help either. The schmuck had been given a name by the goddamn press: The Zip Tie Killer.

  “Hi, how’d yours go?” Mara is trying to calm down and talk herself back into the real world. She begins to feel a little bit better as Derek answers. That familiar voice.

  “I’ll tell you on the way to Dollar Jax… and you can give me the rundown on whatever freak of nature you just had to deal with. Then we can eat. Mexican still sound okay? ‘Zacatecas’ is about a mile or so from the store. Or we could do Thai.’ Jesus, she looked wrecked. She looks like I feel. They both hated these cases involving child abuse and murder. The worst.

  “Okay. Let me hit the restroom first and lock up my notes. Are you driving or should I follow you?”

  “I’ll drive. Less miles and you’ll get home sooner, distance-wise. I guess you know you won the Nickel Bet?” Maybe a free dinner would cheer her up. Looking at her across the table would sure do it for him. There are just some things you never get tired of, and her face was one of them.

  “Well, that’s something. Be right out.”

  In Derek’s car and on the road. He’s given her a little time to decompress, and they’re nursing some drive-through iced lattes as they drive.

  “You wanna go first?” I really don’t even want to hear myself repeat the story. But it was churning and twisting around inside her, and it felt like it had barbs. Bite the bullet - what a stupid saying.

  “Okay.” Mara takes a couple swallows of coffee and launches into her truncated version of the interview.

  “So, he’s not the guy we want, but I think… he thinks he might have met him in some chat room. These bastards just have to share and get off all over again with their pervert BFFs.”

  “What did he say? Just take a deep breath and get it over with. It’s just me.”

  “This filthy bastard… I don’t even want to tell you.” Her eyes dart around, and she feels the anger rise up all over again.

  “I’m pulling over. We have time. You can’t carry this all on your back.”

  “Thanks, D. Just for a few minutes.”

  Derek pulls into a sparsely occupied parking lot and leaves the air-conditioner on. For a minute or two they are quiet, drinking their coffees and watching the traffic go by the way people stare into aquariums in dental office waiting rooms.

  “So, anyway…I already know that he really just wants to show off, try to get a rise out of me and talk about his proclivities. I stayed calm because my sense of it is that we’re getting a little closer and if I have to listen to his sick crap, I will.” She holds her coffee and stares out the side window as a teenage skateboarder hauls by, towed by his happy Border Collie. She grits her teeth and dives back in.

  “He suggested that he likes to see them playing sports and staying fit…” She trails off.

  “Just spit it out. You need to get rid of it, knock the edges off… Just spill it all. I need to hear it.”

  “He likes it when they fight him at first… before they get really scared and start crying. Which he just hates. Feisty.”

  “What?”

  “He actually said, ‘I like them feisty’.”

  Derek makes a fist and presses it to his mouth.

  “Son of a bitch! These are babies. I want to burn this mother-fucker to the ground. Sorry, this doesn’t help you… I just…”

  “And we will. But we need to pile on him with a mountain of evidence. We’re just not quite there yet. That’s why I have hopes for this discount store thing. The cord, the cheap pliers, the duct tape and crap… Tools and Marks says there was a Vise-Grip though, and some anchor ties or something similar. They’re getting to the shoe prints. Not too promising. Danny said he’ll have that in the next couple of days. Isa is doing the bite marks and scratches or whatever the hell they even are!” Derek had been right. He knew how to ease her gently into getting the worst of the worst details off her chest. And she did the same for him… or tried to. Now she was almost back in full professional mode, and really… who else could she tell anyway? She realized that she had been breathing shallowly and exhaled long and slow a couple times.

  “Better?” A slight smile from Derek.

  “Yeah. Your turn.”

  “Yeah, okay. Thirty-five year-old Vietnamese guy working two jobs and he gets pistol-whipped at his night job at a convenience store. On the overnight shift, alone. He can barely speak, and all he’s worried about is his younger wife and two boys… He’s got shunts draining fluid and one of those Angel things…”

  “What do you mean?”

  Derek puts his coffee back in the cup holder and gestures with both hands curved around his head.

  “Oh… Halo traction. They had Casey in something like that for most of a week to…” Mara trails off.

  “Sweet, sweet little boys, taking care of their Mom. She was translating… I mean he spoke English very well but she knows him and his jaw is wired-up so… I could hardly stand it. The four year-old is, is… he’s rubbing hand lotion on her hands to make her feel better. A little bottle he knows she carries in her purse. I sure hope the guy makes it. Killing himself with two jobs. Anyway, let’s go. I’ll give the duty nurse a call later to see how Quang’s doing. I left my number but they’d only be calling me, you know…if the guy… if he didn’t make it. You ready?”

  “Yep, let’s do it. Valuable info first…” She crosses the fingers of both hands.

  “Then my awesomely FREE dinner with the best guy around. Nice tie, incidentally.”

  “Thanks, my partner got it for my birthday. She knows me almost too well.”

  He cranks the wheel, makes a nice squealing little donut and they are back on the road.

  Chapter 30

  Dollar Jax

  A run-down discount store in a working class L.A. neighborhood, with cracks and lumpy patches like arteries branching all over the asphalt parking lot. Stucco exterior with a fresh coat of pastel yellow paint and lots of happy shoppers with bales of purchases rolling out the door - generic groceries, toiletries, imported toys, cheap cleaning supplies and a wonderland of merchandise from failed businesses.

  Derek and Mara walk back to the stockroom to speak with the manager, Mr. Delahunt, who is taking inventory and shuffling cartons around.

  “Hello, are you Mr. Delahunt? The cashier said we could find you back here.”

  “How can I help you, gentlemen?... Whoops, excuse me, Ma’am. I didn’t see you there at first. No offense.”

  Mara smiles.

  “No problem. Thank
you for your time. I’m glad you called.”

  Mr. Delahunt slides one more carton onto a grey steel shelving unit and tips his head.

  “Please, follow me. She’s on her break in the lunchroom right now.”

  They enter a brightly-lit room with a refrigerator, a snack vending machine, coffee maker and an encrusted workhorse of a microwave. A middle-aged woman sits at one of the four round Formica tables, eating a casserole from home and trying to read a paperback under the flickering fluorescent tubes above her. A tired oscillating fan pushes warm air around the room, its plastic fringe fluttering with the promise of coolness.

  “Linda, these are the detectives I called. Could you tell them what you mentioned to me?” Linda checks the wall clock, the microwave and her watch.

  “Oh sure, but I’m due back on the floor in a few minutes.”

  “Don’t worry about that. Take the time you need. I’ll take your first half hour. I was getting a little dingy back there doing inventory for so long.” He laughs and asks if Derek and Mara would like anything to drink.

  “The coffee is horrible, but I’m buying if you’d like a can of soda. There’s ice in the freezer and some Styrofoam cups fresh off the boat from China. It’s pretty damn hot in here and the A/C has seen better days.”

  “Thanks for the nice offer, but we’re all coffee-ed up already. I don’t think this will take too long.”

  Delahunt leaves and Derek and Mara take chairs at Linda’s table.

  “So, should I just go ahead, or do you have to ask me particular questions first?” Linda didn’t seem nervous but just wanted to do things the proper way.

  “How about if you just go ahead with whatever you feel might be useful, and we’ll ask if we aren’t clear on anything. Mind if we tape this? It’s just for accuracy, but we could just take notes if you prefer?”

  Derek places a small digital recorder in the center of the table.

  “No, that’s fine. I just hate the sound of my voice, but I won’t have to listen I guess.” She smiled and pushed her glasses up her nose. She snapped the lid closed on her Tupperware, took a sip of her 7-UP and cleared her throat.

  Derek stated the time, day, and his and Mara’s names and that they were interviewing Linda Bessemer.

  “Well, I don’t know if it’s anything really but this guy comes in every once in a while. He seems okay and everything, but it just bothers me, I guess…”

  Derek nudges her along, sensing that she’s self-conscious.

  “What is it about him that makes you take note or feel uneasy or…?”

  “It’s what he gets, what he buys and the way he acts partly, too. He gets two of each thing, each item, and he stacks it real neat on the belt… really, really neat and pretty much the same every time. Two rolls of duct tape, dishwashing gloves, the little utility knife box-cutter things with the snap-off blades, two of those packages of cheap tools… Don’t tell Don - Mr. Delahunt, but they are sooo crappy and everyone brings them back because the first time you use the hammer, it bends.” She makes a swan neck gesture like a flower wilting.

  “I don’t know why we keep carrying them.” She looks sheepish and continues.

  ”It’s a blister-pack with a little hammer, pliers, two screwdrivers. But then…” She pauses, looking uncertain.

  Mara takes a turn encouraging her.

  “It’s okay… go ahead, really. You never know what details might turn out to be helpful.”

  “Okay, well it gives me a funny feeling, because it’s all this neatly-stacked tools and fixer-upper stuff, but then he gets little girl hair things, like little elastic hair things with beads or sparkles, little comb and brush in a purse things and some small juice boxes that have Princess-type stuff - Pink Lemonade or whatever. And he just… just, well, he looks at them so hard or something.” Derek tried very hard not to think of the little girl victims in their case file.

  “Anything else that strikes you as odd?”

  “Not really odd but he always says, ‘Thank you so very much. You have a good evening now.’ And he has very neat money. It looks like it’s ironed or something, with a sharp crease right down the middle, and he hands it real nice by the fold and the edges, which is kinda unusual. Most customers toss some gross, wrinkly bills at you. Ugh, not good.”

  She gets very self-conscious and stalls out, sounding apologetic. “Well, I said it was stupid but it just bothers me… how it’s always the same - two of the same everything.”

  She taps the cover of her paperback and pushes her glasses up again.

  “Maybe I just read too much, and my imagination runs away with me. I do like those forensic crime shows, too. You know the ones. Very interesting. But maybe this guy is just a neat freak or a Virgo like me.” She laughs and shakes her head, checking her watch, the wall clock and microwave for the time.

  “I should talk, huh? I’m a little OCD myself, I suppose.”

  Derek shuts off the digital recorder and slips it into his jacket pocket. He and Mara thank Mr. Delahunt and Linda and start to walk out of the store. Linda calls after them, adding one more thing.

  “He never takes his receipt or any change either… he has me put it in the charity jar thing and says kinda weird, ‘Every little bit makes a difference!’ But it doesn’t sound nice or friendly. It sounds nasty, like he’s mocking the idea. And he wears long sleeves, buttoned.”

  Chapter 31

  Not Possible

  Derek and Mara, still on duty, take a quick break at a Mexican Restaurant for tacos and cold drinks. It’s been a scorching day in L.A. and it’s just beginning to cool off. They sit at an outside table, jackets off, enjoying a slight breeze.

  “I have to take the file back, before Phil starts asking questions. You finished with it?”

  Derek nods slowly.

  “What? What is it?”

  “What is what?”

  “Come on, you think I don’t know you by now? You’ve got one of your ‘I-think-I’ve-cracked-the-case’ looks on your face.” Mara raised her eyebrows and waited for him to catch up and tumble.

  “No. I don’t.” Was she trying to fake him out or did she actually pick up on something? Her instincts were uncanny.

  “Yes, you do. What, you want me to call the waitress over and ask her? Because you know I will.”

  “No, it’s not like…”

  “Hey, waitress! Can you tell me if my partner is holding out on me or if I have to...”

  Under the table, Mara steps on Derek’s feet, first his right, then his left. He gives her a look.

  “Mars Bar. What are you doing?”

  “What?” She could play dumb too. Blink, blink.

  “Stop stepping on my good shoes!”

  “They aren’t that good.”

  “If that’s supposed to be ‘Footsies’, you suck at it.” Ha, finally got a laugh out of Ms. Deadpan. She had blinked first.

  “Not me. I just don’t know whether to speed you up or slow you down. Is the right one the gas? And this one…?”

  “Ow, damn! First you punch me…”

  “Yeah, to save you from yourself.”

  “… and now you’re kicking me.”

  Derek raises his hand to surrender.

  “Alright, okay. But it’s nothing. Really.”

  “Why don’t you let me be the judge of that?”

  Derek hauls his little black leather notebook out of his coat pocket.

  “Okay, so I’m going through the file, while… while I’m up late, and the whole thing with Jeff is going through my head. Then it occurs to me…”

  “Go on.”

  “Why piss on someone? I mean, that’s such a… personal thing. You really gotta hate someone to do that.”

  “How can it be personal? What, you’re thinking it’s an ex-boyfriend or some guy she wouldn’t go out with? Not poss
ible. Trust me.”

  Why was she saying ‘boyfriend’? Casey had told her she knew she was gay when she was five, so no real boyfriends, except guys she went to obligatory high school events with. But brutal attacks were almost exclusively by male perpetrators.

  “I don’t know… maybe some guy was torqued off and followed her home from her bar?”

  “Casey is the nicest, sweetest, kindest person I know. But it’s real. I can’t imagine anyone ever being angry enough to want to…”

  “See, I told you. It’s probably nothing. The file is in my car. You go ahead and take it. I’m done.”

  “I’m sorry, D. I don’t mean to… I mean your instincts are impeccable. I’ll talk to Casey later and see if she can remember anything.”

  “Just go easy with her. She’s been through a lot.”

  “Aw, you’re the best. You really are.”

  “Come on, let’s hang it up. Long day.”

  He slides their food trash off the trays into a trashcan and heads for his car, flipping his key ring around his trigger finger toward himself in a propeller motion. The round red enamel disc on his keychain - the Marine Corps logo.

  “I’ll get you the file. Be right back.”

  Chapter 32

  Paying the Piper

  Motorcycle cops pour out of a driveway after a police funeral. A short glimpse of a Bagpiper in full dress, packing his pipes into a fitted case and loading it into a mini-van.

  In uniform for the occasion, Derek and Mara stand talking. She has removed her cap, tie and long-sleeved uniform shirt and stands in her white T-shirt, her shirt and tie draped over one arm. Her hair is up. Black mourning bands still cover their badges. Even though neither of them knew the officer well, these official duties still take a toll and leave them feeling restive and unsettled.

  “Did you get a look at his wife and kids? Horrible. I can’t even imagine…the little boy looked like he might be ten, if that.”