by Becky Durfee
Normally, Jenny would have felt funny saying the words, but she was so exhausted that she didn’t have the energy to be embarrassed. “I’m a psychic, and I saw both killings through the eyes of the murderer. He was a mentally disturbed man, either naturally or through the use of drugs, although we are assuming it was most likely due to mental illness. He attacked them because an inner voice told him that the victims were going to harm him if he didn’t act first.”
The policeman’s eyebrow went up, and immediately Jenny knew there would be trouble. “You’re a psychic.” He said it more like a degrading statement than a question.
“I am,” she replied adamantly. “You can look me up. I have helped with several murder cases in the past.”
“I don’t need to look you up,” he replied, impatience in his voice. “I know what I need to know already. You’re sitting here telling me that the same perpetrator is responsible for the strangling death of a twenty-year-old female Hispanic college student and the beating death of a homeless fifty-three-year old male Caucasian.”
An equal level of impatience rose in Jenny’s tone. “Yes, that’s what I’m saying.”
“Let me tell you something…serial killers don’t change their MO that drastically. They don’t strangle one victim and bludgeon the other. Their victims don’t come from two entirely different demographics. So, please, do me a favor—if you’re going to come in here and make fictitious claims, at least make them reasonable. We are busy people, ma’am. We don’t have time to entertain your desperate little pleas for attention.” He stood up and headed for the door.
This was the last straw. All of Jenny’s fatigue and despair and anger and irritation rushed to the surface, exploding in one gigantic burst of hate that radiated throughout her whole body. She knew she only had a split second to act because the officer’s hand was already on the door knob. “Hey, officer?”
He spun around and looked at her, the impatient expression still on his face.
“Do me a favor, and go fuck yourself.”
Chapter 5
“I can’t believe you told an officer to fuck off,” Zack said in the car.
“I didn’t tell him to fuck off,” Jenny replied. “I told him to go fuck himself, and, as far as I’m concerned, he deserved it. His attitude was poor.”
Zack yawned as he leaned his head back in the seat. “It was still ballsy. You could have gotten in some serious trouble.”
“What would they have done, put me in jail? At least there I could get some decent sleep.” Strangely, she meant those words. A short stint in a holding cell seemed more pleasant than the inevitable crying and screaming awaiting her at home.
Zack yawned again, which irritated Jenny. As far as she was concerned, he had no right to be tired.
He let out an emphatic groan as he finished the yawn. “Man,” he said, “I shouldn’t have had that beer; it’s killing me. I need a nap.”
She gripped the steering wheel; if he was looking for sympathy in that regard, he was barking up the wrong tree. Instead of voicing her disgust with him, however, she decided to focus on more productive topics. “What do you think about helping Mick?”
“That homeless guy?”
Her grip grew tighter. “Yes, that homeless guy. He’s an Iraqi war veteran; I think he deserves better than to be living under a bridge.”
“What do you plan to do? Buy him a house?”
She didn’t like his tone. “I don’t know. Maybe. But I’d rather help him be self-sufficient, you know? It’s the whole ‘give a man a fish’ thing. If we just bought him a house, he wouldn’t be able to afford to live in it. He needs some kind of a job.”
“Are you going to hire him?”
“I’m not sure what I’d hire him for,” she replied with disappointment. “It’s not like we have so much work we need a secretary or anything. We go long stretches without any contacts at all. What would he do then?”
“I don’t know. This is your brain child.”
Jenny tried to think, but her mind was too feeble. All she could focus on was her overwhelming desire to climb into bed and stay there for a week. Sadly, she knew that wasn’t going to happen at home.
But it could have happened in a holding cell.
The chirp of her phone interrupted her train of thought. She didn’t recognize the number, but that no longer came as a surprise to her. She pressed the button on her steering wheel to answer the phone. “Hello?”
“Is this Jenny Larrabee?” The voice was deep.
“Yes.”
“Hi, Jenny, this is John Zeigler.” He said it in a way that implied she was supposed to know who he was. While the name sounded familiar, she wasn’t quite sure where she had heard it before. In a brief moment of panic, she actively searched her brain for some kind of clue about the man’s identity, only to find that her mind was nothing more than a giant vacuous hole, undoubtedly made vacant by the little person in the back seat.
“You performed an intervention on me,” he continued.
In a sudden moment of recognition, Jenny practically shouted, “Oh, yes! John! How are you doing?”
“Good…now,” he replied sheepishly. “It’s been a long road.”
“I’m sure it has been. Are you out of rehab?”
“Yeah, I got out a few weeks ago.”
“And you’re doing well?”
“I’m clean, if that’s what you’re asking.” His tone was free of bitterness. “I moved in with my sister, Amanda. You remember her, right?”
“I do,” Jenny said.
“She’s been helping me a lot,” John added. “I don’t know what I would do without her.” His voice became softer. “Or you, for that matter. I’m actually calling to thank you for everything you did for me.” Jenny could sense he was blushing. “Not only did you help me get clean, but you fixed up my house while I was gone...and I don’t even know you.”
“Well, I was acting on behalf of your parents...I assume Amanda told you about that.”
“She did.”
“They were the ones who actually got this whole ball rolling.”
His silence on the other end of the phone led Jenny to wonder what he was thinking. Had she upset him? Quickly changing the subject, she asked, “Did your house sell?”
“It’s under contract right now.”
“Excellent. I’m glad that worked out for you.”
“Yeah, me too. It’ll help pay for school…once I get in. Unfortunately, I missed the application deadline for the spring semester, so I’ll need to wait until fall to go.”
“Oh, that’s a shame.”
“Yeah, it does kind of suck. In the meantime, some of that money from the sale of the house will be used to help Amanda with the bills. The last thing I want to do is be a freeloader—especially after everything she’s done for me—but I’m having a tough time finding a job. I don’t think anyone wants to hire somebody whose last known address was the Baylor Treatment Facility.”
The fine thread that kept Jenny’s mood at a tolerable level broke, and she felt her heart sink into her feet. “I’m sure something will come up.”
“It will,” John replied with optimism.
In an instant, the baby started wailing from the back seat, invoking a familiar wave of irritation that encompassed Jenny’s entire body.
“Is that a baby?” John asked.
“Yes, it’s my son,” she replied loudly so she could be heard over the murderous sounds coming from the back seat. “He’s very opinionated.”
“Well, I guess I should let you go, then. I just wanted to thank you and give you an update.”
“I’m so glad you did,” Jenny said sincerely. “Please, don’t be a stranger. I’d love to hear how you’re doing from time to time.”
They ended the call, and Jenny pressed the gas pedal a little harder. Although, she wondered why...it wasn’t any better to hear the screaming at home than it was in the car.
Once Steve had finally calmed down and had fall
en asleep in Jenny’s arms, she leaned over in the recliner and allowed her own fatigue to take over. Waves of sleep came on quickly, having been only inches away for the past few hours.
The air changed. The warmth of the house dissolved, replaced by the chill that accompanied a gentle midnight breeze. The dim image of Timothy Reynolds appeared in front of her. His long, gray beard fell in tight, unruly curls around his neck; his hands were interlaced neatly over his chest. She could smell the alcohol on his breath; it repulsed her. Her arms were growing tired from holding the large rock in her hands while she admittedly delayed this unpleasant task ahead of her.
Don’t be an asshole. That familiar, unwelcome voice penetrated her ears, replacing her temporary sympathy with the fear the commands always invoked. I told you he’s evil. He’s going to kill everybody on the planet if you don’t stop him. For God’s sake, do it!
She took a deep breath. She didn’t want to do it—she would end up regretting it, just like she always did.
Do it!
She closed her eyes.
DO IT, you worthless waste of space. Be a Goddamn man for once.
Anger began to rise within Jenny.
You’re afraid, aren’t you, you pathetic coward?
She wriggled her fingers around the rock.
Atta boy. You’re thinking about it, aren’t you? You might actually have a backbone after all.
She took a final look at the homeless man’s face before raising the rock over her head. With a thrust that took all of her might, she swung it down, hearing the horrific sound of rock crunching bone. Blood spurted all over her pants. She didn’t look at the damage she had done; she simply raised the rock and beat him again, making sure he was actually dead and not going to get up and hurt anybody.
Jenny sat up straight with a start, looking around to make sure she was in her living room. Once she realized she was safe, her rigid body collapsed, reflecting her physical and emotional exhaustion. Tears filled her eyes; that man had just been sleeping in the park, and his life was taken from him so brutally. He may have been somebody’s father.
She froze at that last notion, shifting her body to reach the phone on the end table. With the touch of a button, she dialed a familiar number. “Kyle,” she said once he answered, “I’m wondering if there’s something you can find out for me.”
“This is what I don’t get,” Jenny said to Zack, the information from Kyle still fresh on the screen of her phone. “Kyle says Timothy Reynolds had three grown children, Carolyn, Grace and David. He gave their addresses, and they’re all local.” She wiped her exhausted eyes with the back of the hand that held the phone; the other arm was holding the nursing baby. “Why would Timothy have been homeless if he had three children living in the area? Don’t you think one of them would have taken him in?”
Zack sat on the sofa with his feet on the coffee table, beer in hand. Tucking a half-eaten bite of pretzel into his cheek, he replied, “Maybe Timothy Reynolds was an asshole.”
Jenny scrunched her face; that wouldn’t have been the first conclusion she would have leapt to, although it very well may have been the truth. Shrugging one shoulder, she memorized the first phone number on the screen. Dialing before she had the chance to forget it, she put the phone to her ear and waited for an answer.
When a woman picked up, Jenny asked, “Is Carolyn there?”
“This is Carolyn.”
“Hi, Carolyn, my name is Jenny Larrabee, and I’ve recently been made aware of what happened to your father in Hammond Park. I’d like to begin by offering my condolences.”
“Thank you,” she replied, although her tone was suspicious.
“I wanted to make you aware of the fact that I’m looking into who may have done this.”
“Really.” Carolyn’s tone shifted to dismay.
Jenny let out a sigh as she tried to figure out the best way to word what she was thinking. “Under the circumstances, I can only imagine this case wasn’t treated with the urgency it deserved back when it initially happened.”
“That’s an understatement,” Carolyn said with a scoff. “Are you with the police department?”
“No,” Jenny replied, “I work…independently. To tell you the truth, I wasn’t given the time of day by the Oakton PD when I went to speak to them about it.”
“I know the feeling. The police told me that they had very little chance of catching who did it, so they wanted to focus their limited resources on cases that were more likely to get solved. While, logically, I understood that, it was still heartbreaking to hear. I mean, I realize my father was homeless, but that didn’t make his life any less valuable than anyone else’s.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” Jenny said. “Although, I have reason to believe the same person is responsible for Elaina Maldonado’s murder on the Longfellow campus, and I’m sure the police spent a lot of time investigating that one. Unfortunately, it still didn’t get them anywhere.”
“What?” Carolyn seemed confused. “You think it’s the same person? What makes you think that?”
Jenny was too tired to go into it. “The facts are shaping up that way,” was all she said. “Anyway, I am sure Elaina’s friends and family were interviewed to no end, but I have the feeling that you, Grace and David were barely questioned. If you don’t mind, I’d like to get together with the three of you to see if there may be any leads in this case. I still haven’t figured out if this was a completely random act or if the perpetrator had contact with your father ahead of time.”
“I’m sure we can do that. Let me just call them and see if we can figure out a time that works.”
Jenny leaned her head back on the chair. “That sounds excellent. I hope you don’t mind if I bring my baby along.”
“I don’t mind at all,” Carolyn said, her tone implying she was smiling. “I love other people’s babies.”
Jenny had loved other peoples’ babies, too.
The siblings appeared to be in their late twenties, each with dark hair and dark eyes. As they sat side-by-side on the couch in Grace’s apartment, Jenny was struck by their physical similarities, leading her to wonder whether their father had comparable features before his overgrown gray beard took over his face.
With Steve sound asleep in his car seat, Jenny was able to begin the conversation in peace. Zack had stayed behind this time, meaning Jenny had no help if the baby started crying—not that he would have been all that helpful anyway even if he had come along. “Thank you all for meeting with me today,” she began.
“No, thank you,” David replied. “We’re so happy that somebody is finally looking into this. It felt like nobody has taken this seriously since the day it happened.”
Jenny couldn’t help but think that these were the words of a son who cared, not the words of a man who regarded his father as an asshole. “I was hoping I could ask you a few questions, and I’d like to get right to it, if you don’t mind. I’m not sure how long the baby will be asleep, so I need to take advantage of it while I can.”
Carolyn, who had asked to be called CC, laughed knowingly. “I understand, believe me. I left my two at home for that very reason.”
Pulling out her notepad with a smile, Jenny began the interview. Her expression quickly grew serious as she said, “I am under the impression that your father was homeless at the time of the murder.”
“He was living out of his car,” Grace explained.
“How long had he been doing that?” Jenny asked.
The trio looked at each other. Finally, Grace said, “I think it was about three years, maybe?”
“Do you know of anyone who may have had a problem with your father?”
They simultaneously shook their heads, although David was the one who spoke. “Not at all.”
“Is it that you didn’t know his associates, or you can’t imagine anyone having a problem with your father?”
“Both, really,” David explained, “but, who knows? Life on the street can’t be easy. He may have done
something to tick someone off somewhere along the line.”
“He had an alcohol problem,” Grace added sheepishly. “As I’m sure you can imagine, that can make people do things they wouldn’t ordinarily do.” She shrugged her shoulders. “Maybe he did something out of character that led to someone being angry with him.”
CC chimed in, “And I’m sure some of the other people on the street had alcohol or drug problems, too; their behavior could have been unpredictable as well. This may not have been a result of anything our father had done, but rather somebody else’s bad episode.”
Jenny found herself confused about one thing. “You’re saying your father had an alcohol problem while living on the streets?”
Her question was answered with wordless nods.
“If you don’t mind me asking, how was he able to afford alcohol? Was he involved in criminal activity?”
Grace placed her head in her hands while CC offered an explanation. “I don’t think he was involved in anything criminal, honestly, but I’m pretty sure we were the reason he was able to afford alcohol.”
“Did you give him money?”
“At first, we did,” CC continued, “but then we figured out he was only going out and buying alcohol with it. So then we started bringing him food and clothes instead…but that just enabled him to use any money he got from panhandling to buy alcohol.”
David interjected with a sigh. “There’s a very fine line between helping and enabling.” He closed his eyes and shook his head, the pain from the memories still evident on his face. “We weren’t sure what to do. Each of us offered to let him move in with us…many times, actually…but he always refused. He said he didn’t want to be a burden. But how are you supposed to rest your head at night—especially when it’s freezing out—knowing your father is out there sleeping in a car? The only thing we could do was offer him some help in the form of money, food and personal items.” He gestured toward his sister with his thumb. “I know CC used to bring his clothes home and wash them from time to time.”