by M. Leighton
My insides started to boil and I was suddenly furious, not only that they’d viewed me in that derogatory light, like some kind of booby prize, but that they were purposely mean to Grayson like that.
Before I was even aware I was thinking about it, I had visions of a real crackpot finding her way into the station. I could just see DeCarlo leaning back with one foot propped up against the wall, talking to his buddies, nursing a cup of coffee when she walked in. They’d dismiss her immediately because of her clothes, which were tattered and worn. She’d walk right up to him and ask if she could have a word. He’d exchange insulting glances with his buddies, but he’d do as she asked.
Then she’d pull out her gun, aim it at his chest and pull the trigger. I could even see the shocked look on his face when the force of the bullet pushed him backward.
Grayson’s voice shook me out of my imaginings, leaving me with a panicky sort of feeling that I’d let my thoughts get that far out of hand and not even notice.
“DeCarlo doesn’t matter. At least he’s gone for the moment. Plus, I’m pretty sure the captain will see this from my perspective. I’ve already established a good relationship with you and they can’t argue your importance to these cases. I mean, you were the one who called to tip me off. And as long as your alibis hold up, there’s nothing they can say.” I could hear some commotion in the background and he muttered, “Hang on.”
I listened to the muffled sounds, unable to make out any words, until Grayson came back on. He sounded a little harried. “I’ve got to go.”
“Is something wrong?”
“DeCarlo’s just been shot.”
I literally dropped the phone and fell to my knees, heaving bile into the thick grass. Some perverse part of me actually felt satisfaction at the news and that just made me retch all the more.
When spasms finally stopped squeezing my stomach, I picked up the phone and stood to my feet. As I suspected, the line was dead. Grayson had already hung up. I flipped my phone closed, but it rang the instant I snapped it shut. It started me and I jumped.
“Hello?”
“Are you alright?”
“Yeah. I dropped the phone.”
“It sounded like you were puking your guts up.”
How embarrassing! “Well, it’s been a trying day. Some girls got in a fight right in front of me and a couple of them really got hurt. I just think I’ve had my daily quota of violence.” And that was absolutely true.
“Well, I really do have to go, but I’ll let you know how things are going. Call me if you think of anything else or if something happens. Feel better.” Then, with a click, he hung up. I guess I was just going to have to get used to his abruptness.
For some reason, right at that moment, I thought of the smile I’d seen last night and I realized that he wasn’t always so abrupt. Thoughts like that almost made me want to smile, like a ray of sunshine trying to peek through cloud cover. But as I put my phone away, the dark cloud of the day settled over me once more, drowning out any signs of light.
When I got home I went straight to my room again and stayed there until Mom got home. She came and knocked on my door then poked her head in.
“Are you hiding out, crankopotamus?” I knew she was trying to be cute, turning the name I’d called her a hundred times back on me. Normally I probably would’ve found it amusing, but not today.
“Not today, Mom,” I said as pleasantly as I could manage.
Her eyebrows rose and disappeared beneath her bangs. “Oh. Well I’m sorry. I’ll call you when dinner’s ready.”
She closed the door and, though she didn’t say so, I knew she was in a snit. The guilt over treating her like that when she didn’t deserve it just piled on top of the shame I’d already amassed for the day. If possible, my mood actually worsened.
After about fifteen minutes of sulking, I decided to go and help her with supper. It was the least I could do and suffering through some common courtesy surely wouldn’t kill me.
I might’ve argued that later. By the time we were all through eating, I was itching to get back to my room. It took a huge amount of effort to be nice and cheerful, to seem happy, things that I used to do and feel without any effort at all.
As soon as it was acceptable without raising eyebrows, I excused myself to my room, citing a headache. And that wasn’t much of a stretch, as my head had been throbbing ever since Grayson told me about DeCarlo.
When I got back to my room, I dialed Grayson’s number. His voicemail switched on so I left a brief message saying that I was just checking on the status of DeCarlo. Then I hung up, feeling inordinately disappointed. Not only had I wanted to check on DeCarlo whose injury I could possibly have been responsible for, but I also just wanted to talk to Grayson. Even though it made no sense, for some reason I felt like I needed to hear his voice.
I didn’t get a return call from him that night, so even though my sleep was not plagued with gruesome real-life killings, it still wasn’t really what I’d call good sleep either. And my mood the next day reflected it.
The gloomy gray sky that hovered over me on my way to school did nothing to alleviate my sour mood. When I got to the sidewalk, the last thing I wanted (or expected) to see was Jake Wheeler.
At first I doubted my eyes. He was supposed to be in jail. How could I be seeing him on his jogging route?
I blinked several times, but still the image of Jake jogging slowly through the dissipating fog remained clear.
“Mercy Holloway,” he called when he got closer to me.
“H-hey, Jake,” I stammered, trying to sound natural and botching it big time. I tacked on a smile to add authenticity, but it felt a little plastic and forced, too.
He slowed to a walk then came to a complete stop several feet from me. Though I knew I should’ve been alarmed, I wasn’t the least bit afraid. I didn’t see a murderer in front of me. I saw a pathetically shallow playboy that I felt stupid for having wasted some decent daydreams on.
“Sorry about the other night, at the party. I got sidetracked when I went to get you a drink and when I came looking for you, you were already gone.”
I wanted so badly to laugh in his face and tell him what an idiot he was, but I showed admirable restraint and just smiled politely. “Don’t worry about it. My friends and I left right after you…after that.”
Jake eyed me a little longer than what was necessary and I wondered if he was wondering whether I knew what had happened with the vomit or not. Inwardly, I was pleased at the thought that he might squirm a little over it.
“Oh. Well, I hate I didn’t get to spend more time with you. I was really looking forward to it.”
I just kept smiling, not saying a word. I wasn’t going to help him out. Not even a little bit.
“So,” he kept right on talking as if my silence wasn’t bothering him. “I was thinking that maybe I could make it up to you this weekend with a movie.”
Had I not been so ill, my ego would’ve been flourishing. “I appreciate the offer, but I have other plans this weekend.”
He was eyeing me again, this time a little more suspiciously. Finally he said, “Is this about the other day? With the cops?”
My frown was genuine. “No. Why?”
“I just don’t want you to hold that against me. It was all a mistake, a big misunderstanding. Don’t give it a thought.”
“Oh, I haven’t. I know you didn’t kill Lisa.”
It was his turn to frown. “You do?”
“Of course I do. That’s ridiculous.”
“I know, right?”
“Well, I’m glad they let you go. I’ve really got to run, though. I’m about to be late for class.” I turned to walk off then looked back over my shoulder to say, “See you around.”
That image of Jake, the one where he’s just standing there, dumbfounded, watching me walk away, was one that I’d be able to bring out on many dreary days in the future and derive great pleasure from. It actually went a long way toward improving my mood.
&nbs
p; As I made my way to class, I found myself wondering what the police had found that caused them to let Jake go and how they were going to find the real killer.
All day long I had to listen to wild speculation about Jake’s reappearance at school. It was wearing on my fragile nerves, making me very anxious to get home and call Grayson. I had to find out what was really going on.
Later, with my house key still in the door, I was jiggling it with one hand and dialing with the other. The key wouldn’t budge and the phone was ringing, so with a growl, I put my foot against the door and pulled the key as hard as I could. It finally dislodged, saving me from having to rip the door off its hinges in a juvenile fit of temper.
I slammed the door shut, wondering again what in the world had gotten into me lately. I got Grayson’s voicemail again, but this time I didn’t leave a message. It hadn’t done me a bit of good last time and I didn’t want it to seem like I had nothing better to do than hound him (even though I didn’t).
Dumping bag, shoes, phone and keys right by the front door, I stomped into the living room and flopped down on the couch. I had to find something absorbing to watch or I was going to lose my mind.
I channel surfed, which provided absolutely no significant amount of stimulation. It just left me with a mindless use of my finger while my thoughts raced to parts unknown. My frustration and impotent indignation rose pretty steadily by the second.
When my cell phone rang about twenty excruciating minutes later, I jumped up and launched myself at it where it lay at the front door, nearly tackling it from the living room doorway.
I tried not to dwell on how relieved I was that it was Grayson calling me back. Instead, I answered in a very casual, rather bored voice.
“Mercy, it’s Grayson.”
“Oh, hi.”
“I saw where you’d called. Sorry I didn’t get back to you last night.”
“That’s ok. I know you’re busy. I just wanted to check on DeCarlo.”
“He’s doing better. The bullet hit him in the shoulder. It’s a miracle considering how close the lady was when she shot him.”
I could almost hear him shaking his head I amazement.
“I’m glad to hear he’s alright. So how’s the other stuff coming?”
“Well,” he said on a sigh. It was one of those bone-weary types of sounds that said he hadn’t slept again and he was desperately missing it. “The crime scenes are a nightmare. Both rooms were rentable by the hour and you know what that means. There were so many different DNA and fingerprint contributors, the lab is having trouble keeping them all separated. It makes it nearly impossible to pin down any real suspects.
“We got a couple of hits in the NCIC and IAFIS. I’m going to run those down and see what I come up with. Cases like these are usually very labor intensive, but with very little pay off. Do you have anything else for me?”
I had to smile at how hopeful he sounded. It’s funny how far we’d come, from him scoffing and calling me a psychic to him basically asking for my help. I’d never have guessed things would have turned out this way.
“No. But I do have another question for you.”
“Shoot,” he said lightly as he chewed something that sounded like a potato chip.
“What happened with Jake Wheeler? I saw him on the way to school today.”
I heard the squeaking of Grayson’s chair. He must’ve sat up. My guess was that he had been leaning back in it, having a bite to eat until I mentioned Jake.
“Did he approach you? He didn’t get aggressive toward you, did he?”
“No, of course not. I told you before that I don’t believe he killed Lisa.”
“I hope you’re right, but I still don’t want him hanging around you.”
I smiled. That sounded an awful lot like either concern for my safety or jealousy. Or maybe even both. That would be nice. Either way, I’d take it as a huge compliment and leave it at that.
“Well, I don’t think you have anything to worry about. I pretty much blew him off.”
“Good,” he said, but he didn’t sound like he felt any better about it.
“What happened? What did you find out that made you let him go?”
“His alibi finally turned up. He’d said he went back to his apartment with a friend, but we couldn’t find that friend. And when the wig turned up, I really didn’t care. The hair was a match; it was a done deal as far as I was concerned.
“But now this friend turns up, swears they were together all during that time period.”
“What about the wig then?”
“That’s another thing. Jake told us that he’d taken it off after Lisa left the party. Said he laid it down in the bathroom then didn’t know what happened to it after that, but it was in his apartment Sunday morning. He thinks someone borrowed it and then returned it to him.”
“That does sound kind of suspicious. I’ll give you that. I still don’t think he did it, though.”
“Well, maybe you’re right. I don’t know. This puts me back at square one, though. And the body doesn’t have any more information for me either. The river washed it clean of almost all forensic evidence.”
He sounded so frustrated and I wanted to help him so badly, but I just couldn’t. I’d told him everything I knew about the murder.
That’s when it occurred to me that there was one other thing I could try again, one thing that might help him if it worked. I could always walk over the spot where Lisa died again, see if I could trigger the vision one more time. Maybe I didn’t see it before because Grayson had been with me. Maybe I had to be alone.
“I wish I could help more,” I said. “Tomorrow on the way to school, I’ll walk by the site and see if maybe I can get a flash of something, ok?”
“I know how much you don’t want to see this stuff, but I’d really appreciate it if you could get anything else that might help.”
“I’ll try my best.”
“Thanks,” he said. He started to say something else, but stopped after the Uh that he muttered. Though it was just one short word, the way Grayson said “uh” reminded me of someone making a segue into something unpleasant. Turns out, he was. “Look, there’s something I’ve got to tell you, but I don’t want you to panic yet.”
“Yet?” My stomach twisted up into a tight knot. “Will there be a need for me to panic later?” When he said nothing, I had to ask. “What is it?”
“I’ve done everything I can to keep your involvement in these cases to a minimum, as far as who knows how much information you are giving me and that kind of thing. But since DeCarlo was looking into these last two as a serial crime, some of that is out of my hands now. I won’t be mentioning your help to the press, but I can’t be absolutely certain that he won’t let it leak out or even announce it on purpose.”
The bottom dropped out of my stomach. I could just see me being labeled, very publicly labeled, as some sort of psychic-wannabe, freak show, spotlight hound. All sorts of cheesy clichés and B-movie lines flitted through my mind in one long and humiliating treatise.
He must’ve taken my silence to mean that I had decided to panic now rather than wait until later. “In every statement and interview I’ve done so far, I’ve just referred to you as a reliable source and that’s what I’ll continue to do. I just wanted to give you a head’s up and let you know that some things are now beyond my control.”
He sounded remorseful. And, really, it wasn’t his fault. I’m a big girl and I’d done what I thought was right. I knew there would likely be consequences and I was just going to have to deal with them.
“I know. And I appreciate that. We’ll just deal with it if and when it happens.” I hoped I sounded more calm and optimistic than I felt.
“It’s a terrible thing to say, I know, but look at it this way. DeCarlo should be out of the picture for a little while anyway. He has to be medically cleared for duty before he can return to work and who knows how long that could take.” He paused and then said quietly. “It couldn
’t have happened at a better time.”
Sadly, that did make me feel a little bit better. It also lessened my guilt over possibly pushing some innocent woman into shooting him. It didn’t kill him, which was good. And he obviously wasn’t the nicest guy in the world. Not that his character made a shooting excusable, but it sure did lessen the horror of it. I was almost wondering to myself what I had to feel bad about. Almost.
A thought popped into my mind as a response to that, but I refused to even think about what had become of the woman who’d shot DeCarlo, his assailant. She was no doubt having a very bad week. I’d have plenty of time to feel guilty about that later, though. Right now I was just going to be relieved about DeCarlo’s timely absence.