Mad

by Miller, Renee

  The door slammed, and then he smelled vanilla. Joy loved vanilla. As far as scents went, he found it one of the least offensive.

  “Oh thank God,” Joy joined him on the floor. “When you hung up on me, I was so worried you’d go shoot her in the face or something.”

  “Contrary to public opinion at the moment, I’m not crazy,” he said, keeping his face down so she wouldn’t see the evidence of his crying like a little bitch for a full five minutes.

  “No, you’re not. Jesus, she really went to town, didn’t she?”

  “She pissed on my books. Pissed, Joy.”

  Joy sniffed. “That’s not human piss.”

  “What is it?”

  “I believe it’s cat piss.”

  Milo shrieked. He didn’t mean to, but it just exploded out of his mouth. “What?”

  “Yeah,” Joy nudged his arm. “Stand up. Let’s take a break.”

  “No.” He pulled away, still vibrating at the knowledge that cat piss was in his home. You never got rid of cat piss. Once it was in your home it was always there, lurking, wafting up your nose when you finally thought you’d got it all. He’d have to move, and he loved this apartment. “I have to fix it.”

  “Milo—”

  “She left one extra.” He held up the thirteenth broken pen. “One’s not as bad as two, but it’s still just one. One left over. One extra. One too many… or two less than it should be. Two is very bad luck. Fuck, she knows two is bad luck. That’s why she did one more, so I’d have two less than was needed.”

  “Stand up.” Joy’s tone was cold and firm. “Now.”

  He clutched the pages he’d gathered to his chest, but obeyed her order. “Joy, if I don’t fix this—”

  “The world will still turn, and you won’t die.” She wrenched the pages from his hands.

  “But I have to rewrite them.”

  “They’ll never be the same anyway. You can’t remember every single detail in every single book.”

  “Sure I can,” he said. “One time, someone broke into my old apartment. Set the desk on fire. I think it was Jones, but I could never prove it. Anyway, I had to rewrite seven books. Seven’s a bad number. I rewrote two more because nine is better, even though they didn’t need a rewrite.”

  She stared. “How did you remember?”

  “Photographic memory. I told you about that.”

  “No, you didn’t.” Joy rubbed her forehead.

  “But I did. Last year at Lou’s funeral.”

  “You did? I guess I forgot.”

  “I didn’t.”

  “If you have a photographic memory, why keep all these notes?”

  “Because I can’t remember it if I don’t write it down. I have to see the words to remember them.” Sometimes Joy was really dumb. He was already itching to get the pen in his hand. Too bad he couldn’t get more notebooks until morning. He supposed he could break two more pens, and he’d feel a little better. But then Rochelle would have broken thirteen, and he’d have broken just two. There was no way to stop the misfortune he was about to experience thanks to her assholery.

  “But once you’ve made the notes, it’s in there forever,” Joy said. “You won’t ever forget. Is that right?”

  “Yeah, but....” He thought for a moment. “I still need to record it.”

  “I’m going to say some things right now, and I want you to listen carefully, because I think that while this doctor is a class A bitch, she might have just given you the breakthrough you sorely needed.”

  “She ruined my life.”

  “No.” Joy pointed at the mess in the corner of his living room. “You don’t need any of those books. Don’t rewrite them. Don’t fix them. Just clean it up, and while you’re at it, let’s box up the rest and store them somewhere else. The station is a good place. Maybe in the evidence room, where someone else can use the information.”

  “Why would I do that?” He felt faint at the very idea of getting rid of his books. “I need that information too.”

  “Do you?” Joy crossed her arms over her chest. “July 15th, 2004.”

  He frowned. “What about it?”

  “Tell me what you were doing that day and who you arrested.”

  Milo saw the book in his mind. He remembered almost immediately. “It was a Thursday. I walked twelve thousand, one hundred and seventy-three steps. Only outside, though. I’m sure I walked more, but I don’t record inside steps. That’s crazy. I record outside, because it proves I went outside and normal people don’t do that. Sometimes I find it difficult to go outside, but I love my job, so I have to do it.”

  “Good.” Joy’s voice held no judgement, which impressed him. Even he would say the steps thing was dotty.

  “I didn’t arrest anyone, but I was investigating the murder of Michael Salvatore, a butcher. He was killed with a T-bone. Someone stuffed it down his throat.”

  “Did they?”

  “Yeah. Strange thing, though; the shop was locked. No one else had a key. Michael was closing the store. His key was on the counter and nothing was stolen. His wife was at home waiting for him, and she called it in. Security tapes were ruined, but I sent them to the tech guys anyway. Sometimes they can work a little magic.”

  “And did you solve that case?”

  He pictured another notebook. He nodded. “Yeah, on August 3rd. We salvaged the security footage. Tech guys taught me about servers that day. Everything goes there. Computers never forget. If the murderer had been smart, he’d have known that and might have worn a mask. Criminals are depressingly stupid.”

  “Interesting.” Joy smiled.

  In his mind, he read the notes he’d copied four times since. Four was bad. Maybe that made him unlucky. He should’ve copied them twice more, but then the others would be out of line. He’d have to copy them too.

  “Milo?”

  “Yeah, it turns out his mother had a key she thought no one knew about. Her boyfriend didn’t like Michael, because Michael always came first with the mother. My take on it was that she loved him in a really creepy way. Anyway, the boyfriend stole the key, killed Michael, and then locked the store back up after pouring bleach on the video recording equipment. Sometimes the foolishness of people astounds me. As if bleach would destroy everything. Thank God everything’s digital now. Makes my life much easier.”

  “How’d you know it was him?”

  “I went to give the key back to the wife, who had to keep the business going to pay the bills. She called, because she thought it was the only key and couldn’t get in the shop without it. Anyway, she was already inside when I got there. I asked how she got in, she said the mother-in-law’s boyfriend was there when she arrived. Turns out Michael kept a spare at his mother’s place, just in case he lost his. She kept it in her nightstand. I put two and two together, then the tech guys salvaged the video and we had our perp.”

  “Interesting. You just remembered a crime from more than a decade ago, Milo.”

  He paused. “I did. It was one of my first murders. I just got assigned to homicide.”

  “And in impressive detail. What time did you arrest the mother’s boyfriend?”

  “Four thirty-two in the afternoon. I didn’t like the time at first, but when you add the numbers together, you get nine, which is three groups of three. Perfectly acceptable. Still, the four and the two were troubling, but what can you do, right?”

  “Hmm. That doctor fucked with you, and for that, you’ll make sure she goes down.” Joy said. “But her screwing with you just made it possible for you to let go of a very time consuming habit. There’s no need for you to keep every note from every case like this. It’s redundant when your brain stores it all anyway.”

  “I can’t not keep notes,” he said. “It’s what I do.”

  “Keep notes,” Joy said. “But prove to everyone you’re not a psychopath by tossing these things away when you’ve solved the case, or by locking them up with the rest of the evidence related to it. Or you could step into the real
world with the rest of us and lose your fear of computers. You can keep all the notes you want and no one can ever totally destroy them.”

  He hated the idea of using the computer, but he knew Joy was right. He still wanted to cry. He still wanted to kill Rochelle. Computers were untrustworthy. “I know this seems simple to you, but it’s not. I’ve taken notes in those books my whole life.”

  Joy sighed. “Okay, keep what you have. I’ll help you clean up. Don’t rewrite the old ones. Resist the urge, Milo, and you’ve beaten this woman at her own game.”

  He nodded. He could try at least. What a burden it’d take off his shoulders if he didn’t spend hours curating his damn notes. And he did remember all of it. He rarely forgot a thing.

  “Oh, and I found something on the good doctor.” Joy said.

  He smiled. “Like what?”

  “Well, I Googled Rochelle Middleton, and found an obituary from fifteen years ago.”

  “Really?”

  Joy nodded. She moved around his kitchen, grabbing a knife from the drawer, and then paper towels and cleaner from under the sink. “So I clicked on this picture I found. It was posted by an old school friend who wanted to remember her dead classmate.”

  “Rochelle?”

  “Yep. She wrote the names of a few people in the photo at the bottom. It was a pre-graduation photo. I noticed that Rebecca Donovan looks remarkably like the Rochelle Middleton whose website our captain perused while searching for a doctor for you.”

  He was so excited, he thought he might piss his pants. “So you’re saying…?”

  “Rochelle Middleton is actually Rebecca Donovan. When I realized that, I dug into Rebecca’s life. I called the university and asked about the graduating class from the same year Rochelle Middleton died. Turns out, Rebecca attended the same university as the late Rochelle Middleton. In fact, they were part of the same sorority. I also found out that an esteemed psychiatrist and university professor to both Rebecca and Rochelle had been fired for having an affair with the late Rochelle. The real Rochelle died shortly before this was revealed, but not before said doctor petitioned the university to remove Rebecca from its medical program.”

  “She’s a fraud. I knew it.”

  “Not exactly,” Joy said. “Rebecca graduated, but she never went on to get her Ph.D. In fact, Rebecca just vanished. Rochelle, on the other hand, had completed hers. Since she’d grown up in foster care, moving from one home to another until she was old enough to be on her own, she had no family, so it was easy for someone to just take over her identity.”

  His brain worked furiously to connect the dots. “How did Rochelle die?”

  Joy knelt on the carpet. She took the scissors and carefully began cutting the stained portion of carpet. “Suicide. Took a nosedive from the university roof.”

  “I bet she had a little help.”

  “And....” Joy lifted the cut carpeting and rolled it up. She then poured cleaner on the subfloor beneath. “I found the doctor who tried to get Rebecca thrown out of school.”

  He smiled. “Joy, I should’ve married you. Why aren’t we married?”

  She laughed. “If I wasn’t too old and already married, I’d hold you to that, Milo.”

  He was itchy. The energy coursing through him was almost painful. He had to do something. Anything. “Where is the doctor? I’ll go see him.”

  “No need.” Joy patted the floor with some towels. “He’s arriving in the morning. I asked him to meet us here as soon as he gets settled.”

  He didn’t even care that he’d have to let a stranger into his apartment. “Perfect. I could kiss you, Joy.”

  “And then you’d have to bleach your mouth or something. Help me clean up this mess instead.”

  He walked around the long countertop and then opened the drawer beneath the sink. He pulled out a box of rubber gloves and then walked toward Joy. “I still want to fix this mess.”

  “No more notebooks.”

  His chest hurt. “I’ll try.”

  She sighed. “I guess that’s all I can hope for.”

  CHAPTER 19

  Joy stayed the night. She claimed it was too late to drive home, but Milo suspected she wanted to make sure he didn’t stay up and rewrite his notebooks.

  Shortly before midnight, he overheard her talking to her husband on the phone, explaining that Milo was extremely upset and she wouldn’t be home after work. The husband must’ve balked, because Joy’s voice turned cold briefly, as she told him he was being an asshole. Then she said she loved him.

  He wished she’d leave. He wanted to fix his books desperately, but after staring at the ceiling for a while, he decided Joy was right. Even if she wasn’t, Joy would just try to stop him and they’d argue. He didn’t like arguing with her.

  Rochelle meant to send him chasing after his own tail. She wanted him to crack. He could fix his books once she was behind bars.

  “Coffee’s on.” Joy’s voice carried through the living room and into his bathroom.

  He didn’t have a coffeemaker. Milo didn’t drink coffee. In fact, he didn’t even own a kettle, so she couldn’t have boiled water and made instant either. Taking one last look in the mirror, he smoothed his hair and then washed his hands.

  As he walked out of the bathroom and down the short hallway, he smelled cleaner and coffee. Joy had tried to remove the smell of cat piss again, bless her. He would have to contact his landlord. He’d be sacrificing his security deposit, because he was pretty sure the alcoholic asshole would say vandalism wasn’t the building owner’s fault, but he had to get new flooring. Couldn’t leave the cat piss covered boards there.

  Joy smiled at him as he entered the kitchen area. She held up a white cup. “I went out while you were showering. Normal people have at least instant coffee.”

  “I don’t drink it.”

  “I know. For you, I got a rum and coke.”

  “It’s rather early in the day for rum.” He said, but took the cup anyway. He sniffed the lid. Yep. Rum and coke. “Where’d you get this?”

  “I went to the pub you and Lou were so crazy about. Jerry had a few of your cups, all pre-wrapped and thus pre-sanitized, beneath the bar. They were closed, but I saw the lights on and banged on the door until he answered. I explained you’d had a rough night, and he did me a favor.”

  “That’s illegal. He can’t sell booze before—”

  “As I said,” she interrupted. “He made an exception.”

  He was touched that Joy would think of his aversion to germs, and that Jerry would bend his usually strict rules and let her carry booze out of his bar. Still, she had to cart the cup back to his apartment. Joy was good, but he doubted she was careful about touching the lid. “Thanks, Joy.”

  A knock at the door interrupted Joy’s reply. He set the cup on the counter, he really wasn’t going to drink rum before noon, but the thought was nice, and then walked to the door. He peered into the peephole. A tall man, terrifyingly thin, but somehow still sturdy, stared back at him. Milo noted the grey hair, but the man’s face was relatively unlined. He could be seventy, but he could also pass for fifty.

  He opened the door.

  “Milo Smalls?” The man held out his hand.

  He looked at it, but didn’t shake it. “You the doctor?”

  “Eli Shepherd.” The man put his hand down. “May I come in?”

  Milo stepped back. “Thanks for coming so quickly. I’m amazed you could get a flight so fast.”

  Eli walked past him and into the apartment. “Well, when one is retired, spontaneity is kind of easy. Besides, I haven’t traveled in years. It was amusing to get on a plane again, if a little unnerving. I was surprised at all of the security. Terrifying.”

  Milo shut the door. “Times are changing, I guess.”

  “Indeed.” Eli stopped when he saw Joy in the kitchen. “You must be Joy. Goodness, you’re lovelier than your voice implied.”

  Joy laughed. “And you’re just as charming as I thought you’d be.”


  “Okay, are we through with the niceties or do you two want to lick each other’s butts too?” He didn’t like the way Eli looked at Joy. The man was a predator. Maybe this wasn’t such a great idea. Maybe the good doctor was the reason Rochelle was a fucked up identity-stealing killer.

  “I can see why Rebecca and you would have problems, Mr. Smalls.”

  “By Rebecca, you mean the person I know as Rochelle Middleton?”

  Eli set his briefcase on the counter. Milo cringed, but didn’t move to put it on the floor where it belonged. Eli then pulled out a stool and sat down, opening his jacket as he did so. “Yes. Rochelle, I’m afraid, died a long time ago. You can imagine how devastating such a senseless loss was for me. I truly cared for that girl.”

  “Right,” he joined Joy in the kitchen, where he leaned against the sink. “So what about you and Rebecca?”

  “There was no “me and Rebecca.” Don’t get me wrong, I cared for her, and there was a brief sexual relationship, but Rebecca became like a daughter to me. There was nothing romantic between us in the end, although she’d wanted more. I was a handsome devil in my day, and I’m ashamed to admit I took full advantage of my share of women.”

  He didn’t care about Eli’s sexual prowess. The old fool was as evasive as Rochelle. “And did Rochelle—I mean, Rebecca, get jealous of these other women?”

  “Your home is possibly the cleanest I’ve ever seen.”

  “Thank you, but you’re not here to talk about me. Tell me about Rebecca.”

  Eli smiled. “Rebecca was my patient for many years. I thought for a while she’d overcome her demons, which is why I encouraged her to apply to medical school. Hopeful fool that I was, I thought perhaps helping others would aid in her own treatment. Besides, she was quite brilliant.”

  Eli lifted Milo’s cup, sniffed it, and then raised an eyebrow before setting it back down.

  “She had a gift,” he continued. “I suppose that’s why I was attracted to her initially. I do love a beautiful mind.”

  “What sort of gift?”

  “People just instinctively trust her, and quite often Rebecca could persuade them to do whatever she asked.”