by Lee Alan
“I heard talk of some hot–shot journalist taking an interest in the case,” he said, giving her a wink.” Apparently she promised to produce killer proof of dodgy deals.”
“But how do you know?” Anna didn’t finish the sentence before the penny dropped. “What have you done, Corey?” She felt both a combination of alarm and elation. His corresponding grin may as well have been a signed confession.
“Looks like you’re gonna need a sugar daddy with deep pockets to pay those legal bills, kiddo,” he remarked, stretching. “If you do find said amaze–balls guy, I’d be considering what you can do to keep him happy,” he commented with a salacious intonation. This earned him a well–deserved slap on the chest from Anna.
“Thank you,” she said, after her initial shock had passed.
“Don’t thank me, hon. This is my fight as much as it is yours. Cheating scumbags like Peterson could ruin my business,” he said before throwing off the bed cover. “Tis my solemn duty to help you kick his mother–fuckin’ ass!”
“Mind your language!” She glanced at his prominent display of skin.
“The dear lady doth peruse my wiener. Does she like what she sees?” Anna could see that he’d awoken with more fun in mind.
“What is wiener?” asked George. They both ignored the question.
Anna tapped the notice against her chin, pondering her next step. “What are you thinking?” Corey asked, sounding disappointed that she had other business in mind.
“George, could you call the office of Congressman James Peterson, please?”
“No problemo.” George’s eyes went dark as it hooked up to the internet to start the call.
“Do you think that’s a good idea?” Corey asked with a note of concern in his voice. She raised her finger to signal her intention to see the action through. This particular insult required a direct response.
The sound of the phone ringing followed the dial tone. “Good morning, Congressman Peterson’s office. How may I help you?” an officious female voice answered.
“Hello. May I speak with the Congressman, please?”
“I’m afraid the Congressman’s busy at the moment, but I’d be happy to take a message for you.” The voice took on a guarded tone obviously reserved for cranks calling to alert the government about the impending Martian invasion of Earth.
“He will speak to me. Could you tell him that Tracey called to discuss, well, things,” Anna said with a hint of suggestion. “We met at the party last week.”
“What?” Her voice trailed for a second, clearly not missing the implication. The level of concern Anna detected in the other woman’s tone went beyond the natural curiosity of a work colleague. She began to think that Jim’s PA did a lot more than her contract demanded. “Hold,” the woman said curtly, adding further weight to Anna’s suspicions.
“Er, should I be feeling a little jealous, at this point?” Corey whispered.
“Trust me,” she mouthed silently. Corey huffed before retreating back into his man cave. The pause on the other line lasted for an unduly long time before the gruff voice of Jim Peterson greeted her.
“Listen, Miss, I think you may have called the wrong number.” The statement was a projected one, seemingly for the benefit of his personal assistant.
Jesus, is there anyone this guy doesn’t try to screw? Anna thought as cold fury grew inside her. “Jim, listen to me, you sack of shit.”
“Anna?”
“Yeah, remember me, the woman you tried to snare in your sick games? I’m not as stupid as you thought. I’m gonna nail you to the wall, buddy boy. Do you hear me?”
His reply lacked the oily smoothness she remembered: he was rattled. “Look, all that legal business can go away, if you—”
“Did you know what happened to my sister?” She cut him off.
“Yes. It was all over the papers, but I don’t see what it has to do—”
“Therein lies the problem, Jim: you’re a selfish, little prick. Didn’t it occur to you that I have bigger issues to deal than your pathetic schemes?” She spoke with a steely calm that surprised even her. “Oh, but guess what? The note from your lap dog just reminded me of unfinished business. I’m writing the article. Sue me, if you dare.” With that, she clapped her hands twice in quick succession: the signal for George to hang up the call. The line went dead.
“Wow. Remind me never to piss you off,” Corey said.
Chapter 5
Tony stared at jury member number four and knew he was screwed. The ugly bitch looked like she would puke over her shiny, white stilettos every time the prosecutor detailed more of his handy work. No, that particular self–righteous skirt wanted him to fry. She would also persuade the dickless men on the jury that death was exactly what he deserved. Cowards, he thought, knowing they must secretly wish for the same power he wielded.
Tony turned his efforts back to sketching on the legal pad before him. He enjoyed the sense of unease it caused the great and the good gathered within the cramped confines of the court room to watch his public flogging. It also helped him ignore the monotonous whine of the prosecutor’s voice, while she delivered yet more tedious details about fingerprints, DNA, blood splatter trajectory, yada yada, yada.
He yawned, and the action mercifully cut out the incessant drone for a second. Annoyed, he continued to outline the picture of the woman with huge breasts hanging by her neck.
“This shows the defendant had a premeditated intention to lure the victim…”
Scribble, scribble. If only it was as much fun hearing about it as doing it, he thought.
The memories brought a smile to his usually–passive appearance, but the momentary display of emotion caused the wound in his eye to protest. It thudded with a persistent itch he’d never quite become accustomed to. Although insignificant in comparison with the white–hot fire he’d experienced in the early days, it still remained a distraction.
His hand rose instinctively to scratch the irritation, only to stop half way. As always, it would prove physically impossible to reach the source deep within his now–empty eye socket without causing a wave of agony. At the beginning of the trial, he’d arrived each day without bothering with the eye patch. After several horrified glances from observers, however, the judge ordered him to cover it.
It’s important to meet expectations, old boy, he thought.
Remembering was good—so, so good. He loved to visualize his favorites. The jury heard the technical terms, but he could see the real flesh of it. They couldn’t possibly understand the control one felt from taking the life of another. Maybe if they were real lucky, he would teach them—especially juror number four.
The itch interrupted his wonderful reminiscences once again, bringing less pleasant memories of a gun being raised toward him while fear snaked down his spine. He saw the gleam of the barrel before she pulled the trigger. He hadn’t died, though. Even the doctors had seemed curious about his surprising powers of survival. As one cop had uttered before spitting straight in his face, he was a “tough fucking cockroach.”
He liked to imagine Anna as the figure swinging from the paper gallows he drew, with her blonde hair matted with gore. Tony smiled at the encouraging image and looked up at White Shoes again. She returned him another scowl of repulsion, and he gave her a slow, deliberate wink in reply. Go right ahead, sweet cheeks, barf on those lovely tootsies.
Despite such small victories, though, even his most desperate hopes had failed. He’d eagerly waited for the moment Anna came to court. Perhaps it would give him the opportunity to lunge from his seat and snap her neck right in front of that pompous, old judge. He could almost feel her soft hair beneath his fingertips while he wrenched. She hadn’t come, though—not once. What’s the point of a circus if the lion has no one to maul?
Before the trial started, he’d so looked forward to scrutinizing her expression, especially while they described the finer details of his final masterpiece: Julia. Alas, there’d been no opportunity for one last d
alliance with his beloved. Such a shame. The pain would have been… exquisite. Now he understood why she hadn’t come. Not wishing to pass on the chance to inflict petty torments, the court guards had one day thrown him a magazine during one of the many long recesses.
“I hope they’re happy while your carcass rots,” had been the accompanying sentiment.
He’d read the title: “Arizona’s Richest Man Finds Love Amidst Tragedy.” After that came the kicker: a picture of Anna and some other fuck emerging, hand–in–hand, from an upmarket eatery. He’d only read the first paragraph before losing his shit and rewarding the young court officer with a broken jaw. The resulting fracas had left him with a Taser burn to add to his list of mementos.
She was no longer his. Another had claimed her—a fucking billionaire, no less. Tony ripped the paper from the pad then crushed it into a tight ball. The outburst drew the attention of the court, including the prosecutor, who paused mid–flow and then gave the jury a look that said, “See what I mean?”
“The man before you has a pathological hatred of females. Furthermore, I believe the state has proved beyond any reasonable doubt that the defendant is guilty on all counts,” she said, resuming her tedious rant.
She paused to allow the entire jury to stare at him in unison—a ridiculous sight that caused him to laugh out loud. In all their righteous indignation, they reminded him of the nodding porcelain dogs Mother used to keep. This prompted the fat, red–faced judge to bang his gavel. Nodding dogs and a toy monkey bashing his drum.
The judge droned on—something about contempt of court. Of course, Tony did his best to appear ashamed, stifling the grin that threatened to spread across his face. Another contempt of court ruling would only delay matters further, and he wanted this over and done with. He had a plan now that required him to exit the main stage—for a little while, at least.
I’ll be a good circus beast while they parade me around the ring. I won’t even snarl when they poke me. Must be patient.
He faced the front of the court, waiting for the inevitable verdict. The peacocks had completed their intricate dances, the media had their juicy meat thrown to them, and all was ready to condemn the bogey man. Soon, it would be time to serve a good, old fashioned slice of star spangled, apple pie justice.
“The court will recess for one hour,” said the fat monkey, bashing his drum once more.
Tony stood with the others while renewing his internal vow: no matter how long he waited, he would find a way to get to her. Even if just for a fleeting moment, she would be his once again. Once he did have her, he would take her down to that dark place where his soul lived. Down to the stone. There, he would feed on her light forever.
***
Anna looked out at the court room from under the thick, black wig. The heavy disguise added discomfort to her already–unbearable anxiety. She’d positioned herself at the back of the gathered spectators behind a tall man who could be used to block the view from the front, if necessary.
It’d been difficult to decide if she should attend the verdict. As for the rest of the trial, the judge had deemed the circumstances extreme enough to allow her to give testimony via video. The prosecutor had agreed, due to the mountain of extra evidence against him. At the time, this small mercy had been a massive relief, because she knew her presence would have fed his perverse mind. But the cross examination could hardly have been more testing if she’d been there in person.
The crux of the defence had been one of insanity, painting her as the cold, distant partner who’d pushed away his repeated pleas for help. The timing of her relationship with Corey formed the backbone of that spurious crap. They’d tried to claim the “affair” had contributed to Tony’s fragile mental state. This line of attack had clearly failed, however, when she’d responded to the question, “Do you have anyone who can support that story, Miss Price?” Her reply was, “My sister, but unfortunately, she can’t be here today.” The answer had received cries of support from the families of the other victims and had visibly shaken the defence. After that, the overwhelming procession of evidence seemed to crush any remaining doubts.
Despite her previous avoidance of proceedings, she needed to see him receive justice for Julia and those other poor women. Finally, they could rest in peace. The decision hadn’t been an easy one, though. Telling Corey had caused their first serious row, ending in several days of miserable silence between them. But she couldn’t blame him for worrying. The media had already been in a frenzy over the so–called Phoenix Strangler case, and it hadn’t taken long for them to connect the dots between that and their relationship. Shortly after, the first scandalous headlines had appeared. One particularly vicious web blog read, “Arizona’s most eligible bachelor linked to Mrs. Strangler.”
The resulting press interest reached a fever pitch, testing even Corey’s considerable resources. The security team at the Estate had to be tripled, and she hadn’t been left alone for five minutes without some towering ex–service type nearby. The whole thing had become so oppressive that Anna had threatened to leave. Only then had Corey agreed to relax some of the more extreme measures.
“All rise.” The command from the clerk made her heart beat faster. Dread mixed with anticipation within her.
There he was: Tony appeared smaller than the hellish version of himself filling her darkest nightmares. He shuffled passively behind three burly guards, seeming uninterested by his surroundings. The events of the past year had taken a toll on him not only because of his visible injuries, but also his leaner frame. He reminded her of a wiry, old panther pacing its cell and biding its time. There was nothing frail or defeated in that look, though. Instead, he oozed brooding tension.
As if picking up on her morbid interest, his gaze roved across the public surrounding him with one bright, penetrating eye. The gesture held such a deliberate quality that she guessed its purpose immediately: he searched for her. Determined not to give him the satisfaction, she ducked behind her unwitting protector.
The different protagonists took their seats, ready for the drama to unfold. The atmosphere buzzed, and it took several gavel knocks to quiet the loud speculation. Occasional sobs from broken relatives punctuated the charged air.
“The court may rise.” The creaking sound of bodies rising from wooden benches followed, and then there was complete silence.
“In the matter of the State of Arizona versus Tony Eckerman,” the judge paused to shuffle some papers around, “Madam foreperson, have you reached a verdict on all counts?” A thin woman with bags under her eyes, wearing a flower print dress, rose with a notepad in her hand.
“We have, your Honor.”
“Verdict form count one, Stacey Williams,” he pressed.
“We, the jury, find the defendant guilty of murder in the first degree,” she croaked, clearly intimidated by the situation.
“And the second count, Marie Hernandez?”
“We, the jury, find the defendant guilty of murder in the first degree.”
An audible groan went up from the family of the eighteen–year–old college student.
“Verdict count three, Darleen Maxwell?”
“We, the jury, find the defendant guilty of manslaughter in the first degree.” Anna recalled that the prosecution had failed to find enough supporting DNA evidence to push for murder, but they had established Tony’s presence at the scene of the prostitute’s murder.
“Verdict count four, Patricia Smith?”
“Not guilty,” the chair–woman confirmed. The note of regret in her voice was not entirely disguised.
“Please keep to the formal procedure, please, Madam foreperson.”
“Verdict count five, Connie Ramirez?”
“Guilty. Sorry. I mean, we, the jury, find the defendant guilty of murder in the first degree.”
A woman began to shout in Spanish. The judge banged furiously in response. “I will have order!” If the tragic litany of death didn’t seem to move the old public servant, a breach
of court room protocol did.
“Verdict count six, Mary Gentle?” he continued with a steely edge. Mary was believed to have been his earliest victim. She came from the same trailer park where he’d been raised. The poor thing had been his first girlfriend, and he’d beaten her to death in a drunken rage. How dreadfully familiar that tale sounded to Anna, now. The case had lain cold for years, after the original investigators were unable to find the mysterious boyfriend several witnesses had alluded to. They found him guilty.
Here it comes, Anna thought, knowing the final victim was her own beloved. She couldn’t help but look toward Tony, hoping to see something approaching the pain and regret she’d experienced these past months. He seemed oblivious, though. Instead, he continued to doodle on a pad before him.
“Verdict count seven, Julia Price?”
Anna had cried so much that she’d thought it wouldn’t be possible to shed further tears. They did come, though, thick and fast.
“We, the jury, find the defendant guilty of murder in the first degree.”
She closed her eyes and wept.
Chapter 6
Anna sat at her usual spot in the auditorium, feeling like she’d just emerged from a dream. Their time together over the past weeks during her recovery and since the trial had been wonderful. There remained a part of her, however, that was in need of grounding away from the constant stimulation of Clear Water. And wow, what a lot of stimulation I’ve had, she mused, a flush rising in her cheeks.
Asking to resume her writing studies had come from a need to return to reality. Corey agreed, albeit with a slight pout to his bottom lip—a sure sign that he disagreed, but wished to avoid an argument. Today, though, he was in fine form, running through the many techniques a writer could use to improve their craft. Most involved a good dose of constant practice. Anna noticed that his workman–like ethos didn’t always sit well with her fellow audience members. In particular, his frequent calls to “just write” were often greeted with audible sighs.