Mad, Mad World

by J. D. Sloane

  Susan pressed her lips together and then dropped her eyes as she walked around the corner, throwing Alicia one last wide-eyed stare before disappearing. Alicia raised her brows as the man at the counter trailed her departure out of the tail of his eyes and then gave Alicia a professional nod as he waved his hand in the direction of the hall.

  “Our manager would be happy to answer any questions you might have, Miss Gale. His office is down the hall. Third door on the right.”

  Alicia thanked him and followed the length of the hallway, her eyes flitting up to the ceiling as she went. Okay, so no cameras in the hall, she thought. Just the courtyard cameras, the two over the entrance and one big one right over the counter. The one our mysterious manager is probably watching me on right now.

  Alicia came to the third door and counted back rapidly before knocking twice, arranging her face into a polite mask. After a full minute she raised her hand to knock again and paused as the door sighed open as if by magic. Alicia hesitated before stepping inside and then looked around the small, cramped room, all the shackles on her back going up as someone cleared their throat in the corner.

  “You can close the door behind you, Miss Gale. I get the feeling this is going to be a private conversation.”

  Alicia turned towards the voice and took a step forward, trying not to trip over the stacks of paper filled boxes all around her. She met the eyes of a thin, older man across the desk, her eyes narrowing as she tried to make out his features in the gloom.

  “The door, please,” the man said, waving his hand as he sat forward for a minute. “It took us months to shake off that ‘Bloody Night’ story. You’ll excuse me for not wanting my office staff to get all riled up again and start spreading rumors.”

  Alicia closed the door and relaxed a little, something she was coming to recognize as a professional tic. Whenever people don’t want to talk about a story, reporters should always get interested, Matt had told her once. It’s the people who do want to talk to you that you should watch out for. They usually have an agenda. Or worse, they’re just liars looking for attention or an easy target.

  Alicia stepped over to the manager’s cluttered desk and he made a big show of sliding a high stack of papers from one side of the desk to the other, which did almost nothing to help matters.

  “You’ll have to excuse the mess,” he said, extending his hand ironically to the small office chair in front of him. “We’ve been doing some renovations out front, and somehow my office got designated as the catch-all storage room.”

  Alicia sat down as the phone rang and set down her bag next to her, pulling out her recorder as she glanced around. She noticed that there seemed to be at least four different computers surrounding his desk and that they all seemed to be linked to one keyboard, each with a different program pulled up. Alicia craned her neck towards the one closest to her and the manager shook his head and then hung-up the phone, his face hardening with sudden anger.

  “No. No recorders. This conversation isn’t going to be used or we won’t have one. It’s as simple as that.”

  Alicia gave him a small smile and then tucked the recorder into her bag as she held up her hands.

  “Okay. No problem, Mr…?”

  “Hall. Harold Hall. And I’d appreciate you not using that in the story either, Miss Gale. Like I said, we’ve been trying to shake that kind of attention for months now.”

  Alicia tipped her head towards him as the name tugged at her memory and then looked him over quickly as her eyes widened, the long row of crime scene photos she had laid out the night before flashing through her mind like some kind of doomed royal flush.

  “Mr. Hall? You were the assistant manager back then, weren’t you?”

  Hall’s eye narrowed and then he shrugged, his face relaxing slightly.

  “I was, Miss Gale. The only staff member who made it out of that lobby alive. So as you can imagine I have bit of an aversion to people who come into our office looking for an easy byline.”

  “Mr. Hall,” Alicia said, holding up her hands in a gesture of acquiescence. “Let’s understand each other. I sometimes say things to gate keepers that aren’t precisely true, just to get in the door. I am working on a story about Mr. White, that’s true, but this place isn’t my primary focus. I’d just like some general information about the security in your motel a year ago. If you wouldn’t mind. It’s kind of a- side project of mine.”

  “I’m not sure how helpful that information will be but go ahead.”

  “I noticed that there are a lot of security cameras on the grounds. Is that a recent upgrade or were they here a year ago?”

  “They were here. We’ve replaced a few since then.”

  “And were they all put up in the same places, or were they moved?”

  “Same places. More or less.”

  “So, the night that Ronan White came into your building, those cameras up front were there and working.”

  “I’m sure you’ve seen the footage Miss Gale. That wasn’t taken from a cell phone.”

  “I have, Mr. Hall. And it was horrible, it was. Which is why I’m trying to piece together what happened that night. And what happened the night before.”

  Hall’s brow furrowed and then he looked her over quickly, his face filling with sudden flash of understanding.

  “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me. I thought we were through with this.”

  “Excuse me?”

  Hall sat forward at his desk, his eyes leaping with an uneasy blend of anger and contempt.

  “There wasn’t anything on that camera footage, young lady. Nothing. No kidnapper. We checked. The police checked. The city’s entire forensic team went over our archives again and again and again.”

  “The kidnapper. The photographer, you mean.”

  “Yes. The photographer. The kidnapper. Whatever you want to call him. He doesn’t exist. He never existed. White killed that poor girl in that filthy warehouse down the street and then he slaughtered four innocent people in cold blood to cover his tracks. To have an alibi. To blame someone else for it.”

  “You saw it? The footage that night. You went over it?”

  “I didn’t have to. I was there, remember?”

  Alicia’s brows pulled together as Hall suddenly sat forward and shifted his right hand into the hollow of left shoulder, his arm dropping off of the desk like a wireless marionette.

  “Permanent nerve damage. Here and here. You see this is what White and his men do to people like me, Miss Gale. People they can’t use. People they can’t lie to.”

  Alicia felt her stomach do an uneasy flip as Hall used his right hand to set his arm up onto the desk again, the angle of his shoulder concealing his injury so cleverly that if he hadn’t turned his body she wasn’t sure she would’ve have noticed it.

  “And you can tell your boyfriend that those security tapes are all over the internet now,” he said stiffly, inclining his head towards one of the computers as he tapped at his keyboard with his right hand. “Anyone can look them over.”

  “I’m sorry?” Alicia said, clearing her throat. “I’m not his girlfriend, Mr. Hall. I’m just trying to follow up…”

  “Right, follow up. His girls are good at doing that. So go ahead. Look them over. I dare you. You’re going to find the same thing the police did. Because no matter what he’s telling you, he’s the only lunatic in this equation.”

  Alicia sat back as if she’d been slapped and pressed her lips together as she tried to gather her thoughts.

  “I’m sorry if I’ve given you the wrong impression, Mr. Hall,” she said curtly. “I really am just working on a side project for my story…”

  “I’m sure that’s what you think you’re doing,” he said, flinching as he tapped at his keyboard again. “He’s good at that too. I’m sorry I couldn’t be more help to you, Miss Gale, but I actually have some other matters to attend to. I’m afraid I’m going to have to cut our interview short.”


  “Mr. Hall, I assure you, I’m not working on anyone else’s agenda. I just think some things may have gotten missed, that’s all. It wouldn’t be fair to anyone if I just swept that under the rug.”

  “Oh no? Well I’m afraid I’m going to have to disagree with you on that, Miss Gale. Rough justice is better than none at all in my book. And this city should declare a fucking holiday for the day someone put that homicidal lunatic away.”

  Alicia controlled a quick sigh and then stood up and tucked her bag over on shoulder, giving Hall a wan smile as Hall looked at his phone.

  “Thank you for your time, Mr. Hall.”

  “You’re welcome,” he said without turning. “And please don’t take this personally, but I’d prefer if you didn’t come and bother my office staff again. The public has a long memory, Miss Gale. Better to just let the past take care of itself, if you know what I mean.”

  Alicia reached for the door and then paused with her hand on the knob as she threw Hall one long, last look.

  “You said his ‘girls’ are good at following up. Other women have come and asked you about this? About the cameras?”

  Hall snorted with derision and then looked up from his keyboard, his eyes sharp and intense.

  “At least once a month since they locked him up. Although you’re the first blond one I’ve seen. That guy definitely has a type.”

  Alicia crawled into the large four poster bed in the middle of Matt’s bedroom and tossed the tufted gray throw pillows onto the floor as she smoothed out the comforters around her, jostling her body into the center of the mattress as she reached for the remote. She flipped through a couple of stations, settling on some political show that never seemed to let soft facts stand in the way of fine entertainment and then swung her leather satchel up onto the bed with a grunt, her mood taking a smooth dip southward as she noticed that it was after 1 am. Again.

  Look at that, she thought, turning the volume down to a soft hum as she watched the endless reel of breaking news scrolling beneath two pundits laughing in agreement over something. That’s two nights in a row now. Looks like Matt decided to take our discussion about the club pretty literally. Unless he found some other blushing young intern to show the proverbial ropes to.

  Alicia scratched at her arm, letting out a quick sigh of annoyance as she realized that her cigarette patch was causing a pink, raised rash right around the edges. She brushed her long bangs out of her face as she unzipped her satchel and then dragged a brown organza of folders onto the bed in front of her, opening the sleeve closest to the front as she picked up her phone and scrolled through the incoming calls.

  Nope, she thought setting the phone down next to her as she pulled out a manila folder. Not even a good night text to make sure I’m not still upset. Hmm. Chance of incoming storm, Matt? Oh, I’d call that about a one hundred percent possibility. Be sure to bring your fucking umbrella.

  Alicia thumbed through the folder rapidly and pulled out a crime scene photo, one of the more gruesome ones that Ronan had toyed with investigators about but had never really allocated to. She checked the date and then set it down in front of her as she reached for a pad of sticky notes and scribbled on it quickly.

  Stephen Holmes, she wrote. Motel worker. Night Brooke taken.

  She paused, almost scribbling out the word taken and substituting something a little more decisive and then shrugged and slapped the sticky note to the bottom of the photo. She flipped back through the folder with her thumb, yanking another photo out of the stack and then checked the back, scribbling on the sticky pad while she held it between her fingers.

  Richard Beck, she wrote. Motel manager. Night Brooke taken.

  She scratched her cigarette patch thoughtlessly as she flipped through one file after another, yanking out photos to add to her pile and then paused as she came to an incident report without a photo and skimmed it quickly before adding it to the others.

  Harold Hall, she wrote. Motel assistant manager. Stabbed and left for dead night Brooke taken. She tapped her lips, her gold eyes passing from one bloody scene to the next. She glanced at the two other men Ronan had killed, both rumored to be members of his own crew and then slid them into place with the others as she tapped her pen against the comforter.

  Four murders, she thought. No, four executions. Five if you count Hall. All of them committed within 72 hours of Brooke’s disappearance. And these two were his own men. That doesn’t sound like a guy who just murdered his girlfriend. That sounds like a man who was searching for her. Desperately. But there’s no mention of this photographer anywhere except in Ronan’s original account. I mean someone else must’ve seen him, right? He isn’t a ghost.

  Alicia set her pen and reached for another folder, her bright gold eyes moving rapidly in the darkness. She checked the dates of the police reports and then read through them one by one, making a low noise of annoyance as she realized that Ronan’s mystery guest was mentioned in his initial interview alone, just like she had believed. A lead that looked as if it had been given a brief, perfunctory follow-up before being dismissed completely as the case against White grew.

  Once they found out that the lobby footage was gone, that is, she thought, thinking of Ronan’s comment about the city’s ex-chief of police with a sudden pang of curiosity. After that it was pretty much his word against the mob’s. And who else would have access to that initial chain of evidence?

  She picked up the first report from the motel again, scanning it for the name of the first responding officer and glanced at her phone as she heard it give off a low rattle of vibrations beside her. She set down the photo, flipping her phone over as Matt’s number scrolled across the screen and picked it up as his text popped up like magic, her eyes narrowing as she read it quickly.

  Still in editing. May not be in until late. Don’t wait up.

  Alicia read the message twice, rolling her jaw as she realized that he was giving her just enough information to meet the perimeters of basic politeness and shook her head as she tossed the phone away from her, her mind suddenly tumbling down a dozen unhealthy corridors at once.

  Working late in editing, Alicia thought, scratching at her arm again as her face lit up with a wave of nasty amusement. Come on, Matt. I bet that excuse never even worked on your first wife. Back in the eighties.

  She let out a low sigh as her temper climbed higher and then yanked the cigarette patch off of her arm with a sudden violent tug, tossing it over the side of the bed as she reached for her purse. Alicia rooted around for her lighter as she tucked a cigarette between her lips and then lit it with an annoyed snap, inhaling deeply as the end flared red. She let out a long sigh of smoke, glancing around Matt’s perfectly appointed bedroom with a sudden irrational rush of hatred and then glanced down at her phone again as it began to ring.

  Alicia waited through the third ring, almost letting it roll over into her untouched voicemail and then fished it out of the covers as she rolled her eyes, hitting the accept button as she took another drag of her cigarette.

  “Thought you were working late?’ She said, her voice cool and clipped as she turned her head to the side and let out a quick stream of smoke.

  “All alone at this hour, Alicia? That seems like a shame. Some men really don’t appreciate their good fortune until it’s gone, do they?”

  Alicia sat up all at once, her eyes widening and caught her cigarette as it dropped towards the covers, every nerve ending in her body jumping to high alert. She pulled her phone away from her ear, trying to read the number and then snapped it back as she heard Ronan clear his throat, the smooth growl of his voice so low and careless she felt her stomach flip.

  “What do you think he’s up to at this hour? Because I’ve got news for you, when men say things like that, you can pretty much bank on it being exactly. The opposite.”

  Alicia licked her bottom lip, the amused mockery in his voice hitting her like a slap and stamped her cigarette out into a plate
on her side of the nightstand, scratching the back of her neck in sudden annoyance.

  “How are you calling me? How did you get this number?”

  “Oh that. Well, let’s just say I’m borrowing against the good will of some potential business associates.”

  Alicia glanced towards the mirror and felt that strange stirring of butterflies in her stomach again as she heard Ronan let out a low sigh, the image of him reclining back against his headboard so vivid she had to blink to shake it.

  “Friends in low places, you mean,” she said sliding off the edge of the mattress, her feet hitting the hard wood floor with a quiet slap.

  “The absolute lowest. What can I say? This profession makes prisoners of us all. Your boyfriend and I have that in common I guess. What did you say he does at the station again? Something like directing, wasn’t it?”

  “He’s the producer,” Alicia said, pacing over to the windows in a sudden spurt of nervous energy. “Not the director. They’re two separate things.”

  “And does he usually let you sleep all alone? Is that part of your arrangement?”

  “Sometimes he works late. Sometimes I work late. He doesn’t need an excuse, Ronan. I’m not really the jealous type.”

  Alicia felt all the hairs on the back of her neck stand up as Ronan laughed softly at her and she got the distinct impression that he was toying with her, purposely keeping her on the defensive simply because her temper amused him.

  “I bet that’s what you tell him, anyway. But don’t worry, Alicia. I’ll never tell. Those marks on your neck. Is that another one of your boyfriend’s pastimes? Is that why you wear all those high-necked blouses of yours?”

  Alicia stopped in her tracks, as she heard Ronan’s bed springs creak on the other end of the phone, his attention suddenly so palpable she felt the blood rush to her face.

  “What marks?” She said quickly. “You mean the ones I got from you?”