“Yessir.”
“I’m assuming the scene’s been photographed since evidence is already being collected?”
James nodded. “Took care of most of that myself, actually.”
“Who authorized that?!” Alex yelled.
“Detective Wilkes,” James said, nonchalantly. “He said that he couldn’t be ‘bothered’ with it, so he handed me his field kit and told me what to photograph.” James could see Alex’s disapproval. Only a detective or some other specially trained ident officer was supposed to photograph a crime scene. On rare occasions, a criminal psychologist had been allowed in for a few specific photographs, in order to complete his profile of the accused but, even then, he was escorted by two detectives to ensure the integrity of the crime scene.
“I promise you,” James continued, “I did a very thorough job. I wrote down everything. Detective Wilkes yelled at me for 10 minutes because of all the notes I took. I measured everything myself. Twice on some things. Really, Detective, I think you’ll find everything you need in the files.”
“I’m not doubting you, James,” Alex said, rather gruffly, “Detective Wilkes knows department policy, though. He screwed up. Again. And if anyone figures that out—If we arrest somebody— there’s going to be some smart aleck lawyer that could have a field day with the sloppy work we displayed in letting an unauthorized person photograph the scene.” Alex ran his fingers through his ebony mane, growling. “I swear I’m going to beat that idiot senseless if this guy gets away with murder!”
James recognized Alex’s frustration. He understood the rules all too well. He had known that if anyone got wind of his rule breaking, even if under the orders of a superior, it would likely be him to be disciplined. Rules were made to keep officers out of trouble. Orders were made to be followed. Sometimes it just came down to a choice as to which one held more ground.
“Fields?” Alex shouted, turning his attention to Chris Fields, the other police officer in the immediate area. He was now “sweeping” the area with the metal detector. “I’d like you and Officer Brenton to write up a full report of anything you find, touch, move, photograph, spit on, slip on, break, bend, see, hear and smell. And have it to me before you go home. Is that understood?”
“Understood, Sir,” Fields shouted, waving in acknowledgement.
“You better get back to work, James” Alex said
“Yessir.”
“Oh and James?”
“Sir?”
“Two things. One, call me Alex,” he said, then leaned in closer and whispered “But not when other officers are around.
“Yessir—Uh Alex. And the other thing?”
“Oh yeah. Well, just don’t worry. We’re going to catch the guy that did this. We just won’t tell anyone for about 30 minutes afterwards, if you get my meaning.”
Alex winked at him. He turned and began walking toward his car.
“Hey Alex?” James called.
“Yeah?” Alex said
“You can have first swing. We’ll let that one be for Ted.”
Without a word, Alex smiled, nodded and turned back toward his car. He barely had time to give thought to the two steps he had taken before finding himself face-down in gravel and dirt.
He’d fallen to the ground out of reflex. Such a loud bang. In that instant, he hadn’t had the time, or the desire, to know where it had come from. His mind flashed to a story his brother once told him about being in Desert Storm. He had talked about being under intense fire. Bombs going off here and there. It had totally broken the silence with which he had been embraced. In an instant,
Ted said he felt himself trying to sink into the ground only to find the buttons on his jacket getting in the way of his own lifesaving maneuvers. Alex couldn’t believe the similar feeling with which he had suddenly been engulfed.
“Oh my God!” Alex thought “I’m gonna get myself shot because these stinkin’ buttons are getting in my way!”
* * *
He was born rankled. Harboring a grudge against the humanity which refused to serve him. Even in the womb, he had been pure evil. Every time. Cast out of the world in one form, only to be reborn in another over and over again. He was thankful to each nesting ground that lent herself to the manifestation of his life’s work.
Amazing that someone like him could come from something as fragile as a womb.
As he sat in the seat of the Ford Bronco, he smiled. It was becoming less fun. Far too easy to mess with the minds of the simpletons, but he was still able to fondle the occasional titter.
There’s a little reality in every fantasy. A little fantasy exists within each reality. That which you don’t believe can often kill you. That which you do believe can save your life. Everything that can save you can kill you just the same. So exists reality. Such is his existence. Fantasy and Reality. They aren’t all that different.
“Oh well,” he thought to himself. “Time to pay a visit to Tina.”
CHAPTER 8
UNDER WRAPS
Dressed in her best business outfit, Tina exited her home with the classified section folded and tucked neatly under her arm. She had circled only three ads that she was going to check out. Of the three, two wanted her to simply fax a resume. The other, a receptionist position in a psychologist’s office, allowed her to set up an interview. From the phone rapport, it appeared to be a quiet office. The man she talked to and one partner. Even on the slim chance she was to see somebody she knew, there was little chance that anyone would want to strike up a very long conversation, for fear she might ask “So, you’re a nutcase huh?”
Should make for a nice, quiet existence.
“The nuts can stay outta my way and I’ll stay outta their way.”
She chuckled to herself, checked the time. The radio was playing one of her favorite songs. A recent hit by Natalie Merchant. Softly, she hummed along. Got to love small towns. It was only a 7 minute drive from her home to the offices of Drs. Malcolm Shepard and DeAndra Clifton, Psychotherapists. How odd, she thought to herself, that no one’s ever pointed out that the word psychotherapist breaks down into the phrase psycho the rapist.
She found a parking spot about two suites down from the office, parked and shut the engine off. Before exiting, she checked herself in the rearview mirror, just to make sure everything was in order. No lipstick on the teeth. No unsightly hitchhikers hanging from her nostrils. Not one hair where she did not want it. Now she just hoped she could hold it together mentally as well as she was physically presentable. For some reason, she found herself tingling with apprehension. A sensation she could not wholly embrace. She placed her car keys in the front pocket of her business slacks. She was glad that she had decided to wear slacks instead of the skirt she had originally tried on. Cautiously, she slipped her brown leather purse under the passenger seat. As she had her resume in a manila folder, and her keys tucked safely in her pants pocket, there was no need to carry a purse, which would only serve as a distraction in an interview.
How she wished she had bought a day planner or some other organizer before the interview, as she did not possess any sort of professional looking instrument with which to write, let alone anything to write on. As she made her way down the corridor, she took deep breaths and whispered the mantra “confidence” over and over again. The door to Dr. Shepard’s office was glass, framed in painted black metal. Aluminum. Maybe Tin. Sharp corners, but looking slightly fragile in its frame.
It opened, and closed with the use of a sensor, as you might see at the front of a huge Wal-mart, or an outlet mall. Strange for a small strip mall such as this. As she stepped into the outer lobby, a small bing bong announced her presence.
Down the long hallway which extended directly in front of her, she could see a man turning the corner, headed toward her. A slightly shorter man, perhaps 5’7. Salt and peppered hair and beard. No mustache adorned his otherwise unshorn countenance. He was dressed in khaki slacks, denim shirt and a patterned tie that was colorful but conservative
. To Tina’s amazement, he was not wearing shoes. Looking at his black dress socks, she judged that his shoes were likely waiting his return, somewhere around the corner from which he’d come. He was smiling and walking with the confidence that only education and life could give.
“I’m here to see Dr. Shepard,” she confidently announced, as he was still part of the way down the hall.
“Ahhh . . .” he said, slowing his pace and directing her to meet him. “Then you must be Tina Miles. I’m Dr. Shepard. You can call me Mal if you want. Most of my friends do.”
As they walked back around the corner, Tina found herself looking around the office. The outer lobby was extremely small. Only two waiting chairs and a small magazine rack, which most likely housed many outdated subscriptions to various psychology journals and general interest rags. There were no decorative rugs, but there was a huge rubber and felt floor mat both inside, covering the orange-yellow carpet, and directly outside the door to the outer lobby, as if the cement walkway it covered needed protection from the elements. To the left, she noticed a glass partitioned window, which obviously led to where a receptionist sat, if and when there ever was one. The main hall had two doors on the left side of it. As she descended the hallway, following behind Dr. Shepard, She noticed the name “Dr. DeAndra Clifton” on the first door. As they passed by the door, Dr. Shepard turned toward Tina, smiled.
“This is my partner’s office. You won’t be handling her patients. She has her own secretary for that. Lucky little twerp. She’s not in the office much anyway. Makes her own hours, so you never know when to expect this office to be open.” He laughed out loud and continued. “Unlike DeAndra, some of us have to work for a living. When she’s here, her office door will always be open. Don’t feel like you have to make yourself a stranger.”
Tina was amazed at the tone of Dr. Shepard’s office tour. He was acting as if she already had the job.
“How will I know her when I see her?” Tina thought. Though she wouldn’t dare ask a question as presumptuous. One might think she was assuming she already had the job. Even if she did have the job, simply for showing up, she didn’t want to give the impression that she was too eager or, by chance, too dumb.
As if reading her mind, Dr. Shepard spoke up. “You’ll know DeAndra really well. You’ll be able to pick her out of any police line up anywhere in the country,” Dr. Shepard laughed again. As they made the way around the corner, the hallway quickly ended with but a single door at the very end, facing what she had thought to be a supply closet of sorts. It was a small office. Pictures of Dr. Shepard lent themselves to them impression that this was indeed his office. Pictures with him and a dark-headed woman. One with the same woman and four children of varying ages and sizes. Strange that there were no degrees, certificates or records of alma mater anywhere in the confines of his small abode. There was his small wooden desk, littered with notepads, file folders and indiscriminate forms. There was a leather-backed chair and a small auburn leather sofa, which was obviously where the patients either sat or laid during their sessions with Dr. Shepard. Two small lamps gave the room a dim light. Cozy, Tina thought. In any other context, it just might be romantic.
“This is my office.” Dr. Shepard confirmed. “That door there,” he added, pointing to the closed door at the end of the hall, “is how you will enter and leave every day. It’s through the back way. You’ll park back there, too. It’s safer anyway. There’s no sensor, but don’t worry. I’ll give you a key so that you can let yourself in. So, any questions before we get started?”
“Uh yeah,” Tina thought to herself. “At what point did I say I’d take the job?”
To Dr. Shepard, she stammered “Well, um, not really. I—”
“Let me guess.” Dr. Shepard interrupted. “What happened to your interview? Is that what you’re thinking?” He smiled so annoyingly innocent that Tina couldn’t help but think of Santa Claus.
“Well, yeah, actually. I mean, Yes I—um, kinda.”
“Well,” he said, his smile fading into an air of professionalism that was nonetheless jovial and friendly. “Here’s the way I see it. I need someone that can set appointments for me, schedule speaking events, type and answer phones. You said, in our conversation, that you could do all of that so, as far as I’m concerned, you’re as qualified as any other person I could choose. According to your resume here, you’re currently attending college. You graduated with honors I see. And you don’t dress provocatively, which is always a plus when it comes to eliminating sexual harassment in the office.” He laughed again. Dr. Shepard was nothing if not greatly amused by his own wit. “Seriously though, I am a psychologist. It’s my job to know people and I think that you’d be perfect for this job. It’s yours if you want it.”
“Nobody else interviewed, did they?” Tina joked, amazed at her own frivolity.
“Not a soul!” Dr. Shepard laughed.
Tina was amazed at how at ease she felt with Dr. Shepard. It reminded her of Devin, which made her insides tingle.
“So, how many college classes are you taking?” Dr. Shepard asked.
“I’m taking 3 classes,” Tina confirmed. “A History class, English and an Intro. To Psych. Class, but that one’s just Wednesday nights.”
“Ok,” nodded Dr. Shepard, slipping back into his professional mode “So essentially, you can work Tuesday and Thursday, all day? Right? And then Monday and Friday evenings? Does that look about right, from where you’re sitting?”
“Looks like,” Tina nodded. She found herself increasingly aware of the ease at which the conversation flowed. In another life, Tina might have allowed this man to have been somewhat of a father figure. Well, probably not, but he did possess that air about him. A very fatherly man.
“Don’t be silly!” she thought to herself “You’re forgetting yourself, Little Girl!” And she was, truth be told. She was, if only momentarily, forgetting the isolation that had served her so well throughout her years after the deaths of her parents. It had happened twice now, and it was no easier to accept this time than the last.
Before she could get too far lost in the memories of pain and loss, a voice in the present jarred her senses.
“Tina?” It was Dr. Shepard.
“Yes?” she said, as the fog of confusion slowly lifted “I’m sorry.
You were saying?”
“I was saying that I’d show you the rest of the office now if you’d like.” He looked at her, Tina thought, as if she were a leper, a handicap, or perhaps judging her to be among those that were in need of his services.
“Um, sure.” Tina said, smiling.
Again the look, Tina thought to herself.
Without clarifying his strange look, Dr. Shepard turned and walked around the corner. Tina followed, though a couple of steps farther behind than she had followed on the way back to the office.
He was standing in front of Dr. Clifton’s office door by the time Tina rounded the corner.
“Ah. There you are,” he said, smiling at Tina. “Thought I’d lost you.”
“No,” Tina whispered, blushing.
“Something wrong?” he asked.
“Huh? Oh, no. I’m fine. Little nervous I guess.”
“Oh,” he said, smiling and rolling his eyes, “Nothing in here to be nervous about. We don’t bite. Now our patients—” he laughed.
Using a key he retrieved from his pocket, Dr. Shepard opened Dr. Clifton’s office.
“I want to show you DeAndra so that you’ll know her when you see her.”
“I thought you said that I’d know her.”
“Well, you certainly won’t forget her, when you meet her. That much is for certain. I just want to make sure you have seen her face, so that you’ll recognize her when she comes in again.”
“Oh. Ok.”
Without turning on the light, Dr. Shepard retreated into the office of Dr. DeAndra Clifton, returned in a flash with a green wooden picture frame. Small, maybe a 5x7. In it there was a picture of a black w
oman, mid-forties most likely. She was very striking. Not spokesmodel beautiful, but exuding an preeminent brilliance that was unmistakable. Standing next to her was a guy in a Dallas Maverick’s jersey. His height was evident, even in the small picture. Dr. Clifton’s own height was nonetheless the most striking attribute about the entire picture. Dr. Shepard had been right. She was tall.
“Six foot four” Dr. Shepard said.
“The guy?” Tina asked, sure he was much taller than that.
“No,” Dr. Shepard added. “The guy’s almost 6’10. That’s her brother. Plays forward for the Mavericks. He’s one of the reasons they’re doing so good this year. Told you she was tall, didn’t I?”
Awestruck, Tina could only nod.
“You watch Basketball?” Dr. Shepard asked. Tina shook her head, still focusing on the picture, trying to imagine what it must be like to be that tall. Admittedly, Tina was not short, as women go. But she was not 6’4.
“No.” Tina admitted. “Not much time for it.”
“Well, let me just tell you. This guy is the greatest thing to come to the game since Michael Jordan retired. Not a leading scorer, mind you, but the boy can block shots with the best of them. And rebound . . .”
Perhaps noticing Tina’s lack of sports interest, Dr. Shepard stopped himself, winked knowingly, turned and replaced the picture from wherever he’d retrieved it.
“Well, I just wanted you to know her when you saw her,” Dr. Shepard said. “Don’t be alarmed if she comes in wearing heels. She does that sometimes, just to freak people out. Weird sense of humor, that one.” Dr. Shepard chuckled as if thinking of some inside joke that Tina was sure she would not understand even if told. As he closed the door to the office, Dr. Shepard said. “So, see you Thursday then?”
“What?” Tina asked, momentarily confused. “Oh. Oh yeah. Thursday.”
Dr. Shepard handed Tina a small key as he showed Tina to the door.
“This will get you into the back door. It’s my key, but don’t worry. I have a spare.”
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