Jex Malone

by C. L. Gaber

  “Oh, darling Jessica, of course. Bring your little friends,” Katt is now purring into the phone. “I’d love to meet them too. Do they live in the dead girl’s neighborhood?”

  “Why, yes they do,” I inform her.

  “How’s tomorrow at ten A.M.? And Jessica darling … don’t tell your dad. Let’s keep this just between us for a while.”

  “No worries, Katt,” I respond, tempted to call her “darling” back but worried she might think I was mocking her. “Telling my dad is the last thing I’d ever do.”

  She gives me the address of the station and we hang up, which is fortunate. Nat is ready to have a total mental breakdown the minute my finger hits the “end call” button.

  She’s actually jumping up and down like a human pogo stick.

  “This is incredible!” she exclaims, seriously beyond her normal contained self. “This is the best thing that could ever happen to us.”

  I’m taken aback. “Really, Nat, you’re that big of a fan?” I ask, puzzled.

  “No, are you kidding! She’s a joke. She’s the worst actress on television,” Nat nearly shouts.

  “But do you know what TV reporters have that nobody else does when it comes to digging up information on crimes?” Nat poses, the string from her sweat jacket flying. “Do you know what Katt Kaetan could mean to our investigation?”

  I’m lost.

  I’m out.

  Nat can see it written all over my face.

  “They have interviews—with witnesses. And you know the beauty of those interviews? Some of it gets aired, but sometimes the most important stuff isn’t obvious at the beginning of the case,” Nat says.

  “People say all kinds of things during those interviews, but the station only broadcasts a little bit of it because they don’t have time to show everything, or what the witness is saying doesn’t make sense until new facts in the case develop. Katt Kaetan probably has great stuff on the Patty Matthews case and doesn’t even know it,” Nat explains, talking wildly with her hands. It’s like she’s conducting some little murder symphony.

  We fall silent thinking of how to get Katt to give us enough time to get into the tapes. We’re still staring at each other when I hear the distinct sound of my dad’s car pulling into the driveway.

  “Daddy’s home!” Nat announces, jumping up to put the case file back in the box and then shoving the box into the closet of doom.

  “That’s it, Nat!” I exclaim as my brain starts to churn. “Katt won’t be able to say no to a little girl who missed seeing her daddy come home for all of those lonely years.

  “We’ll play the daddy card,” I say with a smile.

  Chapter 16

  Famous Girl Detective Quote:

  “I’ll find out. It might take me a day or two, but I’ll find out!”

  —Precious Ramotswe, The No. 1 Ladies’ Detective Agency

  “Remember, Jex, you do not answer questions. You ask them,” Nat instructs the next morning as we walk the last ten paces into my first-ever official television studio.

  We enter the cool atrium lobby and are immediately confronted with the biggest television screen I’ve ever seen in my life. It’s a few minutes before 10 A.M. and the station is wrapping up its morning talk show, where the anchor had the head of the city zoo bring the newest baby chinchilla for his debut.

  An elderly security guard looks up from his desk at us with zero interest registering on his face. “Are you here for the Girl Scout tour?” he asks in a monotone voice.

  “No,” I speak up. “We have an appointment to see Katt Kaetan.”

  A little shocked, he gestures for us to sign in on a sheet and hands each of us a plastic security badge that clips to our clothes.

  “Miss Kaetan will be down in a second to get you. You can wait over there.” He gestures to a collection of plush leather couches with a view of the giant television screen. Deva grabs a small bottle of Chanel No. 5 from her purse and gives herself and a nervous Cissy a last-second spritz.

  We settle in for just a minute when a glass door to the atrium flies open and Katt Kaetan strides confidently into the lobby.

  “Jessica, darling, so good to see you.” Katt approaches me with her arms outstretched and grabs my shoulders as she pulls me in for a kiss on each cheek like they do in Hollywood.

  Deva thrusts out her hand to shake Katt’s.

  “Miss Kaetan, it is an absolute honor to meet you. You have no idea how much I admire you—you are my local-television fashion icon! I mean that cerulean Diane von Furstenberg wrap dress you wore on that story where the dust storm caused that huge pileup on the interstate was to die for!”

  “Oh my heavens, you have quite a memory,” Katt replies, clearly flattered. “Such a sad story with so many people killed and injured—please tell me that dress didn’t diminish the gravity of the situation because it was, well, sort of festive.”

  “Oh no, it was a dress that said: ‘Life is for the living!’ It was a perfect statement for such a tragic day,” Deva goes on as the three of us stand there with our mouths slightly agape.

  Nat interrupts and announces in the most businesslike voice. “Hi, I’m Natalie and it’s great to meet you. We all admire your work and your commitment to truth and justice.”

  Katt takes her hand and shakes it firmly. Cissy giggles and offers hers too. “It’s so cool to meet an actual television star!”

  “Oh sweetie, I am not the star,” Katt announces. “The stars are the real people who invite me into their lives to tell their stories. Real people. Real stories. That’s what it’s all about.”

  We pause awkwardly and look at each other before Katt announces, “Well let’s not waste any more time! Come with me and I’ll show you around.”

  She leads us down a long hallway draped in giant pictures of the station’s stars: longtime anchor Bob Burkett and his young blonde costar, Angel Jones. There’s weatherman Steve Storms (he swears that’s his real name, Katt informs us as we pass his huge toothy grin) and traffic reporter Kimberly Speed (again, Katt tells us that she swears it’s her real name too, but no one at the station believes that one).

  Cissy is thrilled when backup weatherman Zip Zanders runs through the lobby, Starbucks cup in one hand and cell phone in the other. He’s hunky with broad shoulders and wears a slim-cut suit.

  Reporters and producers buzz about balancing scripts and cups of coffee, every now and then stopping to crack a joke. In the corner, the noon newscast anchor is preening while reviewing scripts and practicing saying some of the longer words famous for tripping her up on air.

  We are ushered into Katt’s large office and told to sit in deep, cushy black swivel chairs. I restrain myself from flying around like a human top.

  Katt cuts to the chase. “So, you girls are now about the same age as she was when she disappeared and you live in the same neighborhood. That must really be creepy,” she says, leaning in closer to us.

  “No, it’s not creepy. But it is interesting—don’t you think?” Nat says. Katt turns to me. “Jessica, you have suffered as much as anyone because of Patty Matthews’s disappearance. Tell me, what has it been like for you, pumpkin?”

  I take a deep breath.

  I feel like I am throwing my dad under a bus every time I answer one of her questions. Yet, I try to remind myself it’s crucial to get at what information Katt has, so I start to speak while trying to be diplomatic.

  “Well, it has been kind of difficult having my dad so far away and I don’t know if that would have happened if Patty Matthews disappeared or not,” I answer, trying to sound mature and reasonable. Katt is listening to me intently and nodding her head in mock sympathy as I answer.

  “But I can tell you it isn’t easy being the product of … ” I halt for dramatic effect and allow my breath to catch before I finish.

  “It isn’t easy being a product of a broken home,” I say in a low tone.

  Katt looks very concerned and reaches out to pat my hand.

  “I fee
l as I grow older, I just need to know more about what happened—everything that happened,” I continue. “If I knew exactly what people said and what they did, maybe I could come to terms with this awful, awful case and move on. I could find … ”

  Wait for it!

  “Closure,” I sniff.

  Katt is staring at me so intently it’s actually unnerving. Part of me thinks she really does care, and then a bigger part of me thinks she’s saying to herself, “Damn, I wish we were rolling tape on this!”

  “Jessica—may I call you Jex as your friends do? We are friends, aren’t we? What could I do to make this happen for you? What can I—Katt Kaetan—do to bring healing to your heart after all these years?” she asks and then in one swift, mortifying move grasps both of my slightly damp hands with both of her chilly ones.

  “I was too young to know what was going on, but I need to know now, Katt,” I answer. “Can I see your old tapes on the disappearance like you mentioned yesterday? Maybe when I experience it for myself, I can start to process what really happened on that horrible night.”

  Katt takes the bait and begins to nod in agreement. “Yes, I think you girls are onto something. What you need is information—because information is power.

  “You are old enough to know what really happened, and Katt Kaetan can be the one to show you,” she continues.

  “I interviewed everybody and kept every minute of every conversation just waiting for one of them to get arrested,” Katt volunteers. “I knew the minute they slapped the cuffs on someone, I’d be the first reporter to have an interview with the suspect. Sometimes if you’re lucky, the suspect will say things on camera that only the real killer would know—that’s Emmy gold!”

  “And you’ll show them to us?” Nat asks a little hopefully.

  Cool it, Nat. Just breathe.

  “I don’t see why not,” Katt agrees. “On one condition.”

  She’s slick and it’s obvious she’s not doing this out of her need for younger friends.

  “Afterwards, I want you to talk to me about what it’s like being a teenage girl living in a neighborhood where such a horrifying crime was committed. I want you to tell me how you feel the ghost of Patty Matthews hovering over you, walking with you, and cautioning you to be careful because killers are lurking.”

  “Deal?” Katt asks us, narrowing her eyes.

  “Well, that’s not exactly true,” Deva interrupts. “I mean, I hardly think about her at all.”

  Katt turns and glares at Deva and I hear a thud as Nat kicks her under the table.

  “Ummm, I only said that because I don’t walk anywhere and I don’t really think about anybody—but myself, of course,” Deva stammers, trying to recover. “I have my nanny drive me. It’s too unsafe, you know, since Patty disappeared to walk anywhere. And hot, it’s too hot—but that’s beside the point. It’s mostly too dangerous. Killers in the bushes. Just waiting to jump out at you.”

  Katt nods knowingly and pats Deva on the hand. “Excellent, let me get those tapes.”

  “Stephan!” Kat yells at no one in particular. No one answers. So she yells the name even louder. “Stephan!”

  Three beats pass. Katt gets up and marches into the newsroom, gets on the intercom, and calls for Stephan one more time.

  Then the heavy door bursts open. An ultra-nervous curly-haired young man in his twenties comes running at top speed and his Nikes skid to a stop in front of Katt.

  “Did you leave the country?” Katt demands.

  “Sorry, Katt. I was upgrading you to first class on your flight to DC tonight and arranging for your pet-sitter and I was remaking your salad for lunch. I’ve almost removed all the bacon bits. By hand. With medical gloves on. Like you said,” he explains, smiling nervously at the end of his exhaustive list.

  “I want her life,” Deva whispers with an admiring sigh.

  Katt holds up a hand to silence him.

  “Stephan, meet Jessica and her friends.” Katt introduces us. “They are going to help me on my Patty Matthews anniversary story. But first, they need to see the raw tapes so they can properly reflect on the heinous incident. Can you set them up in one of the editing bays and show them how to use the player?”

  Just like Nat said. It was just that simple.

  Stephan picks one of the editing suites and brings us a box of videotapes, smaller than the ones I remember seeing my mom pop into our old movie player until she finally relented and bought a DVD player.

  “Press the ‘open’ button and a little door slides up and out, like a hungry mouth waiting for a tape,” he explains, showing us how to pop a tape in and work a round knob that makes the tapes go back and forth as quickly or as slowly as we want.

  He tells us he’s just two doors down in the kitchen dealing with those offending bacon bits. We’re told to come get him when we’re done and he’ll take us back to Katt. We nod obediently, pulling the door closed as soon as he leaves. Almost immediately, Nat yanks a digital recorder out of her bag and is ready to copy whatever we hear on the tapes.

  Every tape has a date scribbled on it, and we start with the first one and pop it in. The grainy footage springs to life on the screen in front of us, and it takes us a few seconds to recognize its footage of the street where Patty lived—the same street we were on yesterday.

  I gasp.

  My dad, years younger than I ever remember seeing him, fills the next flickering camera frame and I hear Katt’s voice demand: “Detective Malone, we hear a young girl has been kidnapped. Can you tell us what’s going on? Can you confirm she was in fact abducted?”

  Dad’s hand raises up to silence the question, and I recognize that familiar look of agitation on his face. “Not right now, Katt, we’re trying to work here,” Dad answers.

  In another tape, Ricki is carrying Cooper, who is adorable with his long, sun-streaked blonde hair and a little half-broken dump truck clutched in his tiny hand.

  “We got nothing to say to nobody, other than if you know where Patty is, please call the police,” Ricki barks into the camera, and we hear Katt’s voice off camera shout to her. “Mrs. Matthews, do you know what happened to your daughter? Do you blame your husband? Was he drinking? Was he violent? Is he violent?”

  “Get your skinny butt off my property! I don’t want to tell you again!” Ricki barks.

  Nat pops in another tape and it springs to life. Almost instantly, we all sit up straight as a large image fills the screen.

  “That must be the boyfriend,” Cissy whispers.

  Billy looks nervous and continually glances away from the camera. He has curly black hair that curls around the crooked collar of his bright blue and black sports shirt. He rubs his eyes and looks everywhere but at the camera as Katt starts to talk.

  “What is Patty like?” she asks.

  “She’s the greatest girl in the world,” Billy answers as Katt nods reassuringly.

  “Okay. Let’s try this another way. What can you tell me about the night Patty disappeared? Were you with her?” Katt asks.

  “Yes. No,” Billy stammers.

  “I was with her for a little while,” Billy responds defensively. “Look, I don’t know anything about that other stuff.”

  “Wasn’t there some kind of neighborhood party going on? Why wouldn’t you be there with your girlfriend?” Katt is now peppering him with questions faster than he can answer them.

  “’Cause we had a bad fight,” Billy responds, looking off into the distance. “I have a right to have a fight with my girlfriend. That ain’t against the law, is it?”

  “Billy, it’s not your fault what happened to Patty, right?” Katt sneaks that question in.

  He shakes his head slowly yes. Then no. Then yes again.

  Katt’s eyes go wide. Billy shakes a no again. I turn and look at Deva, Nat, and Cissy, and they’re transfixed.

  Tears overcome Billy and the next words he blurts out make our blood run cold.

  “I think we need to leave this alone. Leave me alone!
Maybe Patty got what she deserved,” Billy shouts angrily as tears are running down his face. “Maybe she’s in a better place right now.”

  “Like heaven,” Katt says in an almost whisper.

  The tape goes black.

  When Stephan returns, Nat casually tells him, “Would you mind telling Ms. Kaetan that we had to go … home? For lunch. But we will back. Someday.”

  “And tell her thank you,” I sniff. “For the closure.”

  Chapter 17

  Famous Girl Detective Quote:

  “Whatever I may or may not be, I am definitely no angel.”

  —Miss Jane Marple

  The Galleria Mall is a big sprawling retail wonderland—complete with giant Spanish arches and parking lots named after famous conquistadors separated by medians decorated with giant cactuses.

  “Remember, the point here is not to get a confession out of Billy—although that would be nice—but to ease him into talking,” Nat instructs. “If he were going to confess to murdering his girlfriend, he would have done it all those years ago when she first disappeared.

  “We need to play on his emotions to get him to want to help us. Then we let the guilt that has been building up inside him all these years bubble over, once and for all,” Nat insists.

  “Oh, c’mon, this guy is a psychopath,” Deva answers. “The only thing he’s going to confess is that he will kill us, too, if we keep bothering him. We have to let him know that we can prove he killed Patty because we found her diary and she wrote everything down and practically named him as her killer. You know, shake him up. Play with his mind,” she adds with a fake wicked laugh that sounds like a cross between the Wicked Witch and some actress in a really bad horror movie.

  “But Deva, she didn’t do that,” Cissy interjects nervously. “I mean, why would we tell him that when it’s not true? He’s going to get really, really mad at us.”

  “He doesn’t know she didn’t write that,” Deva hisses back. “We have to make him think his only chance of escaping the electric chair, Old Sparkly, is to confess now and take the police to where he hid her body.”