He was jogging through the park when he slipped on somebody’s misplaced bike lock. He hadn’t even seen it because it was late evening in the early winter months and he was looking out, not down. He yelped, what he was sure was loudly because somebody had heard him. He saw the shimmer of light come from across the pond and he looked over. It wasn’t so dark in that area that he couldn’t see what was going on. What he saw was a man with his pants down past his butt and another man beneath him just the same. He figured they were just getting physically in touch with each other in the park. He thought how dumb that was given the fact that public sex was against the law and also that it wasn’t midnight. It was seven at the latest by the time he looped around toward the small pond and he was sure if he were out jogging somebody else could be too. Then he remembered there was an event downtown that was supposed to draw a crowd so the likelihood of anybody coming down to the park during the week when there was an event in the city was slim.
He thought it was just two men having sex until he realized the light that caught his attention was the hint of moon and park lighting reflecting off a long edged blade. Then he saw the blood, and he saw the man on top—his eyes connected with his and that’s when Colt knew he was in deep trouble here. By the time the man was pulling himself up and fixing his pants Colt was already on the run. He flagged down the first cop car he saw. Trying to get them to understand that he was deaf and not drunk was difficult, especially since he used his voice to try to tell them what he had seen. What felt like fifteen minutes later another car pulled up, two officers stood with him while two went to check out what he was trying to tell them about.
Now, he was sitting down at the station waiting on a translator and trying to give a description. He had stopped using his voice because it seemed to be unnerving them when he did it. He tried to tell them he could draw the killer but they seemed opposed to the idea so instead of picking up the paper and drawing what he saw he just sat there and waited. He tried to keep the memory in his mind. Even though he had a clear look at him, and he was an artist himself, there were some hazy details. There was a scar, he was certain of that, but now he couldn’t remember exactly what it looked like. Was it jagged like from a knife? Or was it from a rope? The scar was on one side of the man’s neck. That was odd too because it was cold as Hades out there and there was that man with just a hat on his head, a t-shirt on his upper body and his pants down beneath his butt. He found the t-shirt the oddity at the time because even runners put on at least a jacket in this weather.
Colt shook his head. He wanted to clear the image from his mind, but he couldn’t. There was no way he would ever forget that scene. If he had just stayed at home painting the same woman he always painted, or just doing nothing at all then he wouldn’t have seen a murder taking place right in front of him—not just a murder, but a rape and murder. The fact that the suits had come in told him this case might have something to do with the case he had been reading about when he did his twice weekly read through of the local paper. There was a serial killer on the hunt in their city, and maybe beyond the city too for all he knew. From the last article he read he knew the cops hadn’t caught the guy, or even gotten a description. They were going on a full nine months of murders now and there hadn’t been any breaks in the case—until now. Now, if he were reading body language correctly, they were planning to use him as a witness if they could. First they would have to catch the guy and then get him to trial, but Colt was sure he would be called upon for eye witness testimony.
He brushed his fingers through his brownish blond hair. It was more brown than blond, but he never had anybody complain about the color—not that he would care. He was just fine with the mess of hair on his head. He had waves meets curls, meets a hint of straight hair that a few of his ex-girlfriends seemed to love to run their fingers through. He didn’t wear it long and shaggy, but he didn’t wear it cut super low either. He kept the sides cut shorter than the top, but not even the top was so long that it hung in his face. His lifestyle didn’t really lend itself to long hair. He liked to run and he liked to climb and whenever he did a free climb the last thing he needed was for strands of hair to fall in his eyes while he was fifty feet above bottom. Besides, having his hair fall in his eyes would cover up one of his noted features—the pale blue-green that everybody seemed to get fixated with. He would have laughed at the thoughts his mind was taking but he knew thoughts about the superficial were running wild in his mind because he was scared, not just at what he saw, but what the controlled chaos around him meant. The suits were here and to him that meant his life was about to get a lot more complicated.
The interpreter finally showed up. He could have drawn the guy while waiting on the interpreter to show. His name was Frank Dillinger, or at least that’s what he said. Colt hadn’t heard of him and he was fairly sure he had heard of a large majority of the interpreters in the area. Then again, he had never worked with any who worked for the police helping deaf witnesses describe a crime. By the end of two hours, when it was too late to even think about having a meal or anything else normal before bed, the Feds were finally getting to the point.
“You’ll testify at the trial when we catch this guy,” Agent Catskill said. Colt’s eyes narrowed as he stared at the man. He didn’t even ask; he just assumed. Sure, Colt knew he wouldn’t have a choice whenever it came to trail but a little respect wouldn’t hurt the aging, balding, agent. Okay, maybe he couldn’t pinpoint the man’s age. He was losing his hair in the top leaving a light coat of blond to cover the sides and back of his head, but that had happened to younger men. He had a beer gut that had happened to younger men too, but the aging lines made him look late forties in Colt’s opinion. Whatever the man’s age he could at least be respectful.
“And of course you’ll go into the protection program so we can keep you safe.”
Like hell he would! He was not leaving his home. He was not abandoning his life. He made sure they knew that too. His hands started flying in a barrage of signs. His signs were angry and large enough to let them know he would not let them dictate his life. He was deaf, not stupid. He knew his legal rights, probably better than they did.
His interpreter tried to keep up, but Colt knew when he was angry he was like a speed signer, very few people could keep up with that. It was fine by him so long as they got the point that he was not going into their stupid program.
“Am I free to go now?” He signed.
“Um…okay, sure, but the program would be for your protection. This guy is a serial murderer.”
“You don’t care about me. You care about your case. I said no. You want protection, park your crap car down the street,” he signed furiously. “I’m not some disabled puppet you can control.” He had experienced more than his share of people who tried to rip him off or control him just because he was deaf. He wouldn’t allow it again. The trusting man that he used to be left the moment he realized being deaf was something the unscrupulous saw as a doorway to swindler heaven.
He pulled his keys out his pocket and started to leave until one of the detectives told him an officer would take him home for safety reasons. He didn’t understand why until he found out the media was in front of the precinct because they caught wind that there was a witness this time. Great, that was all he needed. He tried to avoid the media circus of clowns even when he was doing an art show. He certainly didn’t want to deal with them now.
Colt took the ride in the unmarked blue Sedan as requested. He even let the officer into his studio apartment so he could be sure it was secure. Colt had his doubts on their over protective nature. The guy didn’t even know who he was. Sure, he had seen him, but unless this killer was a purveyor of the arts there was no way he would know exactly who Colt was and he wouldn’t be able to find out where he lived.
When Colt bought the studio apartment building with the store included downstairs he had a distinct vision of what he would do with the place. The building had sat empty for nearly four years so
he got a great deal. The original idea was to turn the upper area into his home and the lower into his studio, but after he settled in at his new home he realized he wanted to paint with a view so he took a portion of the studio and turned it into an area to paint. The downstairs just became an empty free space that he still didn’t know what he planned to do with it. Right now he would house supplies, like paints and canvases. He had learned how to do his own frames so he had wood and tools down there too. Everything was neatly done, but there was still a great portion of the downstairs that needed something done to it. He had put up shutters up and downstairs in order to have privacy when he wanted it. He loved the place. He loved the peacefulness of his surroundings, and the view of the lake area wasn’t so bad either. Come late winter that lake would be framed with trees covered in snow and he always found something relaxing in that.
When the officer had finished his walk through Colt took a hot shower and went straight to bed. He had hoped to just sleep, but the images of that night kept flickering through his mind like a horror movie he just couldn’t turn off. He thought about the victim. He thought about the man he saw lying on the ground and he shuddered at the thought of what he must have suffered. Colt wouldn’t wish that kind of death on anybody.
Since he couldn’t sleep he got up and turned on the news, making sure the captions were turned on. He didn’t watch the television often because he was too busy. The morning paper, whenever he went down to the local small general store, was enough news for a lifetime. His sister had bought him that television the last time she came back to the States to visit him and she had raved about the features, with the new design in closed captioning being the best. “I wish I had thought of it,” she had said. “I would be super rich.”
Lena was doing just fine on her own, he would say. She had moved to Italy and was working at one of the major fashion houses. He couldn’t imagine what else she needed financially with the paycheck she took home. She had a loving husband and a solid career. She always seemed happy and for that he was thankful. She was his older sister by four years yet she always seemed to try to act like his mother—no, she had picked that trait up when he went deaf. If he didn’t love her so much he would be angry with her for smothering him every time she came to visit, but he couldn’t be angry with her. He could only shake his head and laugh at her for being so over protective, yet still the best big sister a man could have.
Colt poured himself a cup of cran-apple juice and sat down on the sofa in front of the television. He watched as the captioning appeared on screen. They were talking about him, not him in detail of course because they still didn’t know his name, but they were talking about the witness.
“This is a big break,” the reporter standing outside the police station had said. “This is going to stop this madman and police are sure of that. They aren’t releasing any details, but one can only assume they’re going to be vigilant in their protection of this witness.”
He sighed as he picked up the remote and turned the television off. He didn’t need to deal with this right now. Or maybe it was just that he didn’t want to deal with it right now. It was nearing midnight now and he couldn’t sleep. He would go for a run to work off the stress, but that hadn’t worked out so well for him the last time so he decided going into his studio would be safer. He checked the window, opening the shutter just enough to peek out and see the unmarked police car still sitting across the street before pulling the movable wood sections back down. His life was about to change even if he didn’t want it to. He might not be going into protective custody, but that didn’t mean they were going away. He couldn’t really be angry. He was the one who told them to park their “crap” car down the street. Of course he would have preferred if they had just left him alone.
“Oh well,” he shrugged. There was nothing he could do about it now. Since he couldn’t sleep he could paint, even if that did mean painting the same boring woman all over again. Maybe he should just change her features some. It wasn’t as if he didn’t see women weekly that he could draw inspiration from; it was just that none of them really inspired him. They all looked the same.
“You’re an artist,” he reprimanded himself. “Create a woman.”
Chapter Four
“We’ve had this discussion before, Nathan.” Candice popped a mini Snickers into her mouth. “My answer is no.” She said as she chewed on her food.
“I couldn’t understand you. There’s something in your mouth prohibiting speech.” Nathan quipped. “Look, this will be good for you.”
“How so?” She sloshed the food around.
“Let me talk so you can finish whatever you’re eating,” he snapped. “When we catch this guy and the witness goes to trail you’ll get full credit for keeping him safe. I know this doesn’t fall into your special unit conditions, but think of the press. And we both know you’re interested in going political.”
That was an understatement. She was planning to run for president in the next election. She was setting herself up with the right people, in the right places, and it was going to happen. She had money saved and money lined up. People owed her favors, too, so she knew she could make her bid actually turn into a nod for the nomination, but good press was still needed. “Go on,” she said.
“He’s deaf. He won’t go into protection and I can tell you he’s being a dick about communication.”
“Or more like it’s costing you a lot of money for interpreters.” She laughed as she unwrapped another piece of candy. “You all are just too cheap to want to keep paying the interpreter.”
He agreed. “Once it goes to trail the cost of the interpreter will be on the DA and you know that. Hell, if we can catch this guy and the DA takes over the cost of everything goes to his office. So, can you help me out or what? We need this guy alive at least long enough to testify against this guy.”
She laughed. “I still don’t see how this helps my goal. Why should I uproot my people for this?”
“Oh come on…this is a huge, very public, serial killer and I don’t mind telling you a lot of men are scared. Just think about the press, and the favors that will come your way. Your agents can’t take the limelight because they’ll need to keep their face off the screen just in case they want to go undercover. You know the drill as well as I do, but you…you can take all the credit for this.”
She thought about his words with a glint in her eyes. She was looking straight at being called Madam President.
“What do you say? Can you help me out? Can you put this guy into your program? He won’t leave his house. I can tell you that much. And he hates all the Feds I’ve sent his way.”
She chuckled. She could understand why. She wasn’t that thrilled with them either, but Nathan Hollister was a good man to have in her corner for future endeavors. “I’ll set it up,” she said. “I’ll call you tomorrow with the details.”
“Thanks, Candice. I swear when you embark on that presidential bid you have my resources at your fingertips.”
“I’ll hold you to that, Nathan. You know I will.”
“Oh don’t I know it,” he chuckled before disconnecting the call.
By morning Candice was ready to put her career aspirations front and center. She took a trip down to the unit and pulled Autumn out of a staff meeting along with Huck. She didn’t care that they were going through the usual motions. She needed one of their people on it and to her Huck was the easiest sacrifice because he served the least purpose for what she needed done.
“So you and Huck go by there. Huck will be our protecting agent, but Autumn you’re going to have to interpret to set it up.”
“Huck is really busy around here, Director. Are you sure this is our kind of case?”
“It is now,” she said; her raspy voice dominated the conversation.
“And what if he doesn’t want me moving into his house?” Huck balked.
“I don’t care. If he doesn’t want that then you can sleep outside in the car.”
“Director…”
“This isn’t open for negotiations. Now I know what you’re all doing here,” she cut Autumn a look to remind her that she knew what her place in the unit was too. “But this is big and we’re taking it on. Whatever he wants you get it for him.”
“What if he doesn’t want one of our agents?” Autumn reminded her they couldn’t perform miracles here.
“I don’t care. You get him what he wants. If he wants God then you get him God.”
“Like I have that kind of connections,” she mumbled.
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