by Becky Durfee
At that moment, an inexplicable peace encompassed her body; any fear she’d had was gone. Despite the unusual situation, she couldn’t help but feel she was about to strike up a conversation with a perfectly harmless and likable man.
As she resumed her walk, his features became more discernable. He had long, unkempt, dirty-blond hair and a beard to match. He looked up at her, and she was struck by how young he was—he appeared to be in his thirties, although it was difficult to tell behind the dirt and the hair that masked his face. A few more steps allowed her to notice that his eyes were a piercing shade of blue, reminiscent of a clear sky on a beautiful fall day. She imagined that, in a previous life, this man had been the object of many high school crushes.
And now there he was, sitting under a bridge.
Unsure where to begin, Jenny simply asked the question that had popped into her mind.
“Is your name Mick?”
Chapter 4
The homeless man looked at Jenny with cynicism. “Depends who’s asking.”
“That’s just it,” Jenny replied with a shrug. “I don’t know who’s asking. Wait a minute…” She held up her hand as she heard a voice between her ears. “Whoever it is says, ‘up and at ‘em, candy ass.’”
The man, who may or may not have been Mick, stared blankly at her for a few moments, eventually demanding, “Who sent you here?”
Jenny felt an undeniable fondness for the homeless man in front of her; the person contacting her must have had a great relationship with him once upon a time. “I don’t know the person’s name, but apparently it’s someone who called you candy ass.”
Despite her attempt at humor, he looked away from her. Jenny couldn’t determine whether his reaction was due to sadness over his lost loved one or anger that she had walked over and brought it up.
She gestured to the ground next to him. “Do you mind if I have a seat?”
“Suit yourself.”
Using her hand to lower herself slowly, she sat down and leaned back against the footing of the bridge, just like the man was doing. She extended her legs, crossing one over the other, and asked, “Do you have any idea who I’m talking about?”
His response was slow in coming. “Yeah, I do.” He picked up a pebble and threw it gently in no particular direction.
Jenny nodded, unsure how to proceed. Although she could tell in her heart he was a kind man, she realized she was upsetting him. After releasing a deep sigh, she said, “This happens to me sometimes. I get contacts—voices in my head…visions—and I often don’t know who they’re from. Although,” she continued, “I do know they have to be from someone who has passed away. That’s the nature of my gift.”
“So, you’re telling me this is some kind of supernatural experience?” His tone had an edge to it.
Jenny nodded again, despite the fact that he wasn’t looking at her. Her voice was little more than a whisper when she replied, “Yup. I know it’s hard to believe, but it’s true.”
“Is this a joke? Because it isn’t funny.”
“Oh, I assure you, it isn’t a joke. Trust me—I have a newborn; I have better things to do with my time than make up cruel pranks to upset people.”
His hand found its way to another pebble on the ground; he remained silent as he picked it up and tossed it.
“I was over at the park, and I felt a really strong pull that brought me to you. I got the sense that your name was Mick, and I heard the ‘candy ass’ comment as if he said the words right in front of me.” Jenny’s tone was soft, reflecting her sympathy. “So, who was this person?”
Again, the man took a long time to respond, “Rodriguez.” The anguish in his voice was obvious.
“And who was Rodriguez?”
His hand found its way to his face; he wiped his eyes and replied, “A Marine buddy.”
Jenny instantly knew where this was going; her mood plummeted as a result. When he didn’t say anything more, Jenny asked, “Is it safe for me to assume that’s why he’s not here anymore?”
He nodded slowly.
“Were you deployed?”
“Iraq.”
She paused uncomfortably. “Is that where it happened?”
The man shifted, showing his discomfort with the topic. “You got it.” His resentment was palpable.
Jenny curled her legs into her chest, resting her chin on her knee. “Well, if it makes you feel any better, I am quite certain that your friend, Rodriguez, is at peace. He’s giving me a distinct aura of happiness—I’m not getting any negative feelings from him at all.”
The homeless man cleared his throat, looking down. She wondered if he was battling tears.
“You never did answer my question, you know.” Jenny made her voice chipper, trying to distract him from his sadness. “Is your name Mick?”
“It was in the Marines.”
“Ah,” she said with a nod, “a nickname, then.”
“Kind of. My last name is McDonald.” He resumed his pebble throwing.
While his short answers made Jenny uncomfortable, she tried not to show it. “That’s right; your nickname was candy ass.”
Mick allowed a slight smile to grace his face. “Rodriguez called everybody candy ass.”
She kept her tone soft to reflect her sympathy. “Was he a funny guy, Rodriguez?”
Lowering his eyes, Mick whispered, “The funniest guy I ever met.”
Their conversation was interrupted by the sound of screaming—baby screaming, to be precise. She looked to her left to find Zack pushing the stroller in her direction. “Great,” she said before she could stop herself.
“Is that the newborn you were talking about?” Mick asked.
“Yeah,” she replied. “He pretty much does nothing but cry.” Irritation bubbled under her skin, but the anger was directed more at Zack than the baby. Couldn’t he have watched the baby for ten lousy minutes while she accomplished something? She sighed when she realized the answer to her question was apparently not.
“Hey,” Zack called as soon as he was able to be heard over the baby’s cries. “What’s going on?”
She allowed him to get closer before she answered. “This is Mick.” She reluctantly stood up. “He has a friend who wanted to say hello to him, and he used me to do it.”
“How’s it going?” Zack asked as a greeting.
Mick simply gave one emphatic nod in return.
Jenny scooped the crying baby out of the stroller, her nose immediately letting her know that his diaper was still full. Looking over at Zack, she demanded, “Why didn’t you change him?”
“I wasn’t sure if he was done.”
He wasn’t sure if he was done. That was a line of bullshit if she’d ever heard one. However, she bit her tongue, refraining from saying all of the ugly things that were crossing her mind, instead bouncing the baby on her shoulder to keep him from crying. Turning to Mick, she said, “Well, it looks like I need to head out of here and do diaper duty. Although, I do want to ask you something, if you don’t mind.”
“Knock yourself out.”
“The reason I was at the park to begin with was because it was the scene of a brutal murder a few years ago. A man was sleeping by a bench in the middle of the night, and someone killed him with a large rock. I’m trying to figure out who did it. Do you know anything about that?”
Mick looked up at her with his bright blue eyes. “I’d heard about it, yeah. It was before my time out here, though.”
“How did you hear about it?”
“A couple of the other guys told me.” He lifted his thumb over his shoulder, pointing backward. Jenny assumed there were other homeless men living in the direction he had gestured. “They warned me to be careful—that it might be some kind of twisted game for people, or a gang initiation or something.”
Jenny’s mouth formed into a tight line; if the other men thought it was an initiation, they obviously didn’t know who did it, either. She shook her head before saying, “It wasn’t a game. It wasn
’t anything like that. It was the act of a mentally ill man—who is apparently dead, if that makes you feel any better.”
Mick seemed surprised. “I thought you said you didn’t know who did this.”
“I don’t, candy ass. But the man who did it is contacting me, so he’s got to be dead.”
Zack interjected, “Did you just call him candy ass?”
Jenny couldn’t help but giggle. “I sure did.”
Mick held up his hand in Zack’s direction. “Don’t worry; it’s all good.” He turned his attention back to Jenny. “The killer is contacting you?”
“Mmm-hmm. He’s letting me know the horrible things he’s done; he’s just not letting me know who he is. That’s what I’m trying to find out, so I can give the families of the victims some answers.”
The smell of Steve’s stinky butt was beginning to get to her. She needed to stage an exit. “Zack, do you have your wallet on you?”
“Yeah.” He began reaching into his pocket.
“How about this, Mick? Can you poke around out here a little bit—try to see if anyone has any information about who this killer may have been? I’ll come back out in a few days and see if you’ve gotten anywhere. In the meantime, we’ll pay you in advance for your trouble.”
“You don’t need to give me money,” Mick insisted, almost sounding insulted.
“We’re not giving you money; we’re hiring you. Although, this is strictly under the table; don’t expect a W-2 in January or anything.”
Mick accepted the two twenties Zack offered him. With a reluctant smile, he replied, “Don’t worry; I won’t claim it on my return.”
She turned to Zack. “Are you ready to head back to the car? Steve needs to be changed, and it’s a little too chilly for me to do it out here.”
“I was born ready.” Zack began to turn the stroller around.
“Well, Mick, it was really nice to meet you. Like I said, I’ll be back out in a couple of days to check in. Will you be here—like, in this very spot?”
“This is where I always am.”
“Okay, then, I’ll see you in a few.” Jenny flashed him a smile. “I’ll bring lunch.”
Finally situated at a quaint little restaurant on Palmer Street, in the more favorable part of Oakton, Jenny yawned for the fifth time in a row. She felt as if she could have fallen asleep instantly if she were to lie down on the seat. Or the table. Or the floor. In the state she was in, she wasn’t fussy. If she got horizontal anywhere, she’d have been out in seconds.
Her mood reflected her fatigue. “Seriously, though…why couldn’t you have just changed him when I asked you to? It sucks that I had to leave Mick so early. I wasn’t done talking to him yet. Not even close. I wasn’t able to get anything more than just a superficial message from that guy Rodriguez, so I don’t even know what he wants.”
Zack shrugged. “I figured you’d better do it. I’ve never changed a poopy diaper before.”
“I showed you how.”
“Yeah, but I don’t think I’d be good at it. Besides, it’s gross.”
The far-reaching implications of his statement hit Jenny all at once, and she found herself unable to contain her anger. “So, what you’re saying is that because it’s gross, you’re never going to do it? Am I going to have to change every poopy diaper this kid makes?”
“I never said that,” he replied, his tone also escalating.
“Yeah, you kind of did.”
At that moment, the waiter arrived, asking if they were ready to order. “I’ll have a beer,” Zack said almost instantly. “Whatever you have on tap; surprise me. And make it a tall one.”
Once again, Jenny found herself struck by the inequity of parenting. She wasn’t a drinker, but she wouldn’t have been able to have a beer even if she wanted one. Meanwhile, Zack could eat and drink anything his heart desired since the day this child had been conceived. It didn’t seem right.
They finished placing their orders, and the conversation resumed. “I’ll eventually change some of his diapers,” Zack insisted. “It’s not like I’m never going to.”
“Well, today, when I asked you to, would have been a very nice time to start.”
An uncomfortable silence ensued, broken only by the familiar sound of Steve fussing in his car seat. Jenny took him out and put him on her shoulder, bouncing him in an attempt to keep him pacified.
After her irritation wore off a little bit, Jenny said, “I guess we should go to the Oakton police and let them know about the connection between the two murders. I’m thinking that the Longfellow campus police won’t have jurisdiction over Hammond Park.”
Zack didn’t look at her when he replied, “Do you think the Oakton PD will have jurisdiction on campus?”
Jenny shrugged to the best of her ability with a baby on her shoulder. “I think it’s more likely than the alternative.” She gestured toward his phone with her head. “Can you find out some more information about the man in the park?”
Without saying a word, Zack picked up his phone and began his search. A few minutes later, he announced, “It looks like our victim is named Timothy Reynolds. As you might suspect, it says ‘of no known address.’”
“Does it suggest that the murder was some kind of gang initiation?”
“Not specifically, but it lists that as one possibility. They aren’t eliminating the notion of bored teenagers or even that he may have been targeted because of something he had done. Or owned. Out there on the streets, you can get killed over a pair of shoes.”
“Or just because you are in the wrong place at the wrong time,” Jenny concluded.
The waiter brought their drinks, and Zack immediately took a long gulp of his beer. “You kind of have to wonder what the killer was doing at that God-forsaken park in the middle of the night.”
She patted the baby’s back. “Drug deal?”
“Maybe. If he was a regular user, that could explain why he heard voices. Maybe he wasn’t mentally ill--maybe those voices were drug induced hallucinations.”
“Do you know what type of drugs would cause those?”
“Hallucinogenic ones.”
Jenny didn’t look amused. “Yeah, thanks for that. Seriously, are there drugs that could cause him to hear voices or believe the people around him were evil?” While Jenny didn’t say it, she privately acknowledged that she would have had far less sympathy for the killer if it was a condition he’d brought on himself.
Zack drank more from his beer and flipped through his phone as Jenny waited patiently. Eventually, he replied, “Well, it looks like we may be using the wrong term. Hallucination means you are seeing things that aren’t there; delusion means you believe something that’s not true. Based on what you described, he was delusional rather than…” He furrowed his brow as he contemplated the correct word. “Hallucinatory? Hallucinating? Whatever…Having hallucinations.”
Jenny nodded as she took a sip of water. Placing the glass back down, she said, “Yes, he was delusional. No, there were not hallucinations…at least not visual ones. He did hear voices that weren’t there, but the people he saw were real—he just believed they were out to get him.”
“I’m glad we cleared that up.” Zack looked for a little while longer before announcing, “It looks like our biggest culprit would be PCP, and high doses of it. A lot of other drugs cause objects to appear distorted or visions of things that aren’t there, but not a ton of drugs are attached to delusions.”
“PCP. I know I’m completely uneducated on the topic of drugs, but that doesn’t sound like one people talk about much these days. Is it still used?”
He grimaced as he read his phone. “Dear God. There are some horror stories about this stuff. It sounds like a lot of the druggies won’t even touch it anymore.”
“I don’t want to know.” She held up her hand and shook her head, emphasizing how much she meant those words. “I’ll just trust that it’s no longer a popular drug.”
Making his face even more contorted,
he replied, “Good call.”
“Well, considering these murders happened within the last few years, it’s unlikely that his delusions were caused by PCP. It’s more likely that our friend was mentally ill as opposed to an addict. But that leaves one very obvious question.”
Zack pried his eyes away from his phone to look at her.
“If he wasn’t buying drugs, then what was he doing at Hammond Park in the middle of the night?”
“I hope he hurries,” Jenny said anxiously, speaking of the Oakton police officer they were supposed to be meeting. “Steve’s getting fussy; he’ll need to eat soon.”
“Go ahead and feed him,” Zack said. “Who cares?”
This was the first day she had brought the baby out; she never had to consider nursing in public before today. Breastfeeding in the back of the car was one thing, but doing it in front of a stranger was something else entirely. She was unsure what to do until Steve’s tiny cries turned into loud wails. At that point, she pulled a receiving blanket out of her diaper bag, slung it over her shoulder and unbuttoned her shirt.
As if on cue, the officer walked into the room, but she found that she actually cared less than she thought she would about her compromised state. After having been in the delivery room, any shred of modesty she once had was gone. It was as if she had pushed all of that out with the baby.
The middle-aged officer didn’t seem to care, either. He sat down quickly behind his desk, leaning forward onto his elbows, mechanically saying, “I’m Officer Stanley. What can I help you with today?”
Jenny did the speaking. “I’m here because I have some information about the bludgeoning death of Timothy Reynolds in Hammond Park three years ago.”
“Okay, what do you have for me?”
“I have reason to believe that his case is related to the murder of Elaina Maldonado at Longfellow.”
Officer Stanley sat back in his chair, eyeing Jenny suspiciously. “What makes you believe the two cases are related?”