It's Killing Jerry: A Comedy Thriller

by Sharn Hutton

  “This is the only picture you have of your client?”

  Adam smiled sheepishly.

  She continued unabashed, “You can email it to this address.” She pointed to the top of the form.

  Adam plucked a pen from the pot between them and settled onto a nearby chair, not wanting to abandon his position at the front of the queue.

  The form was six pages long. Name, address, not sure about his date of birth—he knew the year. His relationship to the person? Attacker? Wife thief? Lowdown scum bag life wrecker? He’d said Jerry was his client so plumped for ‘Friend and Colleague’. Family? Obviously he knew about Rachel and ‘Peanut’ (the clerk wouldn’t like that) and he cast his mind back to school days, trying to picture his parents. Bossy woman, dark hair and his dad was always working late, a banker or something. Their names escaped him utterly.

  Filling it out in triplicate had seemed like a daunting task, but Adam didn’t actually know many of the answers. Medical history—who knew? Insurance details—he probably didn’t have any, knowing Jerry. Adam resolved to cover everything and added a note to that effect.

  He sent the photo from his phone and returned his clipboard to the desk, waiting for the clerk to finish her conversation with the man now there, struggling to extract blood from her stone.

  She slid the clipboard down to her lower desk level with not even a passing glance. “We’ll call you in a few days if we find something.”

  “A few days?” Adam was incredulous. “I’ll wait.”

  The receptionist snorted.

  Adam leaned in. “Stephanie, I need to find my friend.” He cranked up the winning smile. “Can I call you Stephanie?”

  “No.”

  “I’ll wait.”

  “It will take some time. This is a big place with a lot of departments. It’ll take a day just to get through the internal mail.”

  Adam chewed at his lip. There had to be a way to get this done faster. “Could you email it around? Just the basics to see if he might be here? Please, Ms Gray?”

  She glared at him.

  “Please?”

  “Oh for Pete’s sake. When I get through my admin I’ll send something round, OK? There’s no guarantee on how long it will take for the answers to come back though. We’re busy, you know, saving lives. If I were you I’d check somewhere else while I was waiting. Why don’t go over to High County and pester them?”

  Adam trotted back to the cab to find Toni taking forty winks in a disabled bay and slid into the back without disturbing him. In his absence the cab had taken on some extra embellishment. An inch-wide golden medallion now hung from the rear view mirror. Adam leaned across to take a better look.

  “St Anthony,” said Toni, shuffling upright on the velour, “Patron Saint of lost things. We could use a little divine intervention, no?”

  “Oh, you just happened to have…”

  “You crazy? I’m a taxi driver, I get lost all the time.”

  Adam gave him a raised eyebrow.

  “Not aaaaalll the time. Never with you, my friend.” He winked at Adam and slapped him hard on the shoulder. “So what happened?”

  “I have to wait to find out. Let’s go to the next place while they’re checking.”

  Toni turned back to the wheel and twisted the ignition. Nothing happened. “Uh-oh.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “It won’t start.”

  “What? What the hell? Can’t you fix it?” Adam couldn’t believe it.

  “Oh sure. I just need a fifty.” Toni flopped an open palm over his shoulder.

  He wasn’t going to get away with anything with this guy. Adam pulled a few notes from his shrinking wallet and passed them over. Toni made a big show of turning the key and this time the engine caught.

  “Well, what do you know?”

  SEVENTY-FIVE

  DINWIDDY LIKED TO KEEP HIS LIFE IN ORDER and if an undertone of bleach said home, then Sunset Medical Centre took him right back to Alabama. The woman behind the desk, however, had none of Momma’s warmth. Scowling into her monitor, she hit at the keys like she was hoping to hurt them, or perhaps give anyone watching an idea of what she might do that to them. She showed no signs of paying him any attention. It wouldn’t have happened in Wetumpka: you’d never leave a person standing there longer than was polite.

  “Pardon me, Ma’am. May I have a minute of your time?” Dinwiddy whispered, not wanting to disturb the hush.

  She took her time turning, but the sight of a uniform livened her up. “Of course, officer.” It looked like she was trying to smile, but that face wasn’t co-operating.

  “I’m investigating a disappearance, ruling out local hospitals. Can you check your records for this man?” He flopped open the wallet, extracted a paper and placed it before her.

  She looked at it, then back to Dinwiddy. “Him again. Who is this guy?”

  “Excuse me, Ma’am?”

  “A lawyer was here earlier looking for him, said he was his client.”

  “Is that right? What did you tell him?”

  “He filled out forms. I said I’d contact him if anything turned up.”

  “May I see those forms please?” Dinwiddy’s heart rate quickened: there was another player in the game.

  Though thick, the form she brought contained little new information, save for the contact details of the enquirer: Adam Fox, a London lawyer. Well now, that was a turn up. The disappearing acquaintance was turning out to be more. Why would Adler need a lawyer and why was he searching the hospitals too?

  Dinwiddy chewed over the facts again and this Fox discovery had changed the flavour. He’d have information pertinent to his case, most likely be in on it. This Fox was quarry now.

  Dinwiddy considered the contact number. If he was involved, a call from the cops might set him running.

  “Ma’am, do you have any idea where I might find Mr Fox?”

  “I don’t suppose he’ll be at his home address, no. He’s searching hospitals just like you. I sent him over to High County.”

  “Thank you, Ma’am. Be sure to contact me if he returns or if you do find Mr Adler.” Dinwiddy tucked his papers away in their pockets and zipped up the wallet. A new hunt was on.

  SEVENTY-SIX

  ADAM STRODE UP TO THE RECEPTION DESK AT HIGH COUNTY with his chin held high and an expression of confident superiority on his face.

  He’d diverted off to the bathroom on arrival to get into character. Dampened hair had been combed into a neat business-like style and a breath mint bobbed on his tongue. At least when he was standing at the desk the clerk wouldn’t be able to see his ill-fitting trousers. It felt like the old days, like getting ready to put on a show in court.

  They had a ticket number system here, just like Sunset but Adam purposefully ignored it: Joe Public stood in line; top flight lawyers that struck fear into the hearts of lowly receptionists marched straight up to the desk.

  Without waiting for her to speak, he introduced himself and slid her a BSL business card. Of course, she couldn’t know that he didn’t work there anymore, but the mobile was the same and it gave him authenticity.

  “Good morning, Madam. I am making investigations on behalf BSL Lawyers of London. My client—,” he cast his eyes down to the notepad he’d borrowed from Toni as if he needed prompting“—Jeremy Brian Adler, also of London, was hospitalised this Saturday last and has since been lost in the administration system. It is of utmost importance that he is located immediately, if additional legal action against the health care providers of Southern Nevada is to be avoided. I trust you are in a position to assist me?” He gave her the Fox smile. The clerk stared at him wide-eyed, and said nothing.

  He raised his eyebrow to her in prompt.

  “What is it exactly that you are asking?” she said.

  “Is he here? That is the question. Tap his name into your computer and find out, then I can be on my way.” He mimed typing on the raised counter with his free hand.

  She didn’t
look sure that she wanted to do that, but tapped at the keyboard just the same.

  “No, sorry, no-one of that name.” She looked a little relieved.

  “It is possible that my client was unable to identify himself upon arrival. Check for John Does.” Adam looked down at the pad, scribbling pretend notes. Had that been too rude? It was a fine line: if he asked too politely the answer would almost certainly be ‘no’. To Adam’s relief she turned and obediently typed. “We don’t have any unidentified patients currently. I’m a little surprised actually, after Saturday’s rush.”

  Saturday’s rush? Adam gave her the eyebrow to continue, not wanting to reveal his lack of knowledge.

  “After the fire at the Monte Carlo. All those extra admissions. The paperwork’s been a nightmare. Still, looks as if we’re all up to date.” She smiled at Adam and it had a hint of the grin from the receptionist at Sunset. He was losing her and had to work fast.

  “Sunset is still checking its records,” he sighed at their ineptitude. “Which other facility would you suggest was accepting ambulances on Saturday?”

  She thought for a moment. “You tried Canyon Springs? I know they topped out on Saturday and diverted crews to us.”

  “Did they indeed? How fortuitous for you to know that.” Adam cast his eyes around the reception desk, pretending to be impressed and turning up his English accent to the max. “It seems to me that you are at the hub of things here. I bet there’s not a thing in this hospital that you don’t know about.”

  “Oh, well yes, I suppose.” She was obviously flattered, but confused by his change in tone. Adam pounced on her bewilderment. “Still, everyone has their limits. I don’t suppose you’d know anyone at Canyon Springs…”

  “Actually I’m very pally with Sue, I mean Mrs Donnehugh over at Canyon Springs. She’s in my book group.” She looked pleased with herself.

  “Are you?” Adam looked incredulous. “But I don’t suppose she’d trust you with information about patients, wouldn’t tell you if my client was there.”

  With a huff she snatched up the phone and stabbed a single button. “Speed dial,” she said with a wobble of her head. “Sue. Jules. How are you, hun? Good. Good. Me too. Say, could you check your patient roster for me? Uhuh. Jeremy Brian Adler. Uhuh. No. OK. Any John Does admitted Saturday? Age?” She raised her eyes to Adam who told her.

  “Uhuh. Uhuh. Oh. Uhuh. Yes. Got a lawyer here looking for him. A Mr Adam Fox. Yes. I expect so. OK then. Bye bye.”

  She laid the handset in its cradle and regarded Adam with a smug smile. “They have three John Does over there in the right age range.” Adam smiled with relief, momentarily dropping the front.

  Jules grinned back. “They’ll be expecting you.”

  SEVENTY-SEVEN

  ADAM SLID TO THE CENTRE OF THE BACK SEAT AND SLAMMED THE DOOR. There was a thin white candle burning on the dash next to the Virgin Mary and Toni had hung a rosary over the rear view mirror. He rubbed at the cross with his thumb.

  “The Holy Father himself blessed this rosary,” he said in hushed tones.

  “Then the Holy Father is on the team—we’ve got a lead! Canyon Springs has three possibles. Let’s get over there.”

  “Canyon Springs eh?” Toni started the engine and pulled away. “That place is not so good, my friend. Terrible things in the papers.”

  Adam’s phone buzzed in his pocket and he snatched it up. It was Stephanie Gray from Sunset. “Turns out we do have a John Doe, well at least we did. He passed away this morning.”

  Adam gasped and fell back in his seat. “You think—”

  “That it was your weight training ‘client’?” The sarcasm dripped down the phone. “No, the guy was in his eighties. The police were here by the way, looking for your ‘client’ too. I gave them your details. I hope that’s OK. Have a nice day now.” She disconnected.

  Bitch. The police now knew what he was doing. It was only a matter of time before they caught up with him and he couldn’t have them interfering before he’d found Jerry. He’d have to be more careful. “He’s not at Sunset,” Adam told Toni.

  “Let’s hope he is no at Canyon Springs either,” Toni muttered.

  “What’s that?”

  “Canyon Springs. My friend, that place it has the kiss of death. Mal de ojo.” He shuddered.

  “Toni, the candle…” The candle was listing, dripping wax onto the Madonna.

  “My brother’s sister-in-law went there for an in-growing toenail. In and out it should have been. They butchered her. Butchered her! Infection. Then MRSA. Three weeks she was there. Three weeks! In the end we bust her out, took her home, but that’s the least of it. You no want to be there if you can help it.”

  “Toni, the candle...”

  They pulled up at lights and Tony pushed the burning candle straight. “I hear it’s dirty. Surgical equipment left out in the hall for God knows what to get coughed on it.” He crossed himself. “And the staff, no-one want to work there so there is no enough staff. They are all too tired or too lazy. I pray to God I never need to go there.” He rubbed at his rosary crucifix and pulled away when the lights turned green.

  The candle toppled from its precarious perch into Toni’s lap. He slapped at it and hopped about. “Aw no! I burned a hole in my tiger skin.”

  Adam rubbed at his eyes: his best friend was missing, possibly murdered by him; the police were on his tail and he was trapped in a Laurel and Hardy sketch.

  “Come on, Saint Anthony.” Adam pressed his palms together and prayed.

  SEVENTY-EIGHT

  “OH SURE, HE’S BEEN HERE. You working on the same case?”

  “That’s right, Ma’am.”

  This fellow was wising up. No form this time, just a card slid across the desk and a smooth tongue. The receptionist had patted at her hair when he’d asked about him; twiddled it around her little finger with a faraway look in her eyes. Fox had got what he need here with considerably less trouble. He was a fast learner.

  Dinwiddy flicked at the card pinched in his fingertips. “Mind if I keep this?” He wondered if the firm was real and tapped the address into the browser on his phone. It turned out that BSL was a heavy duty practice, specialising in complex fraud, terrorism, drug trafficking and money laundering, to name an unsavoury few. And now he was ahead of him again, on his way to Canyon Springs.

  “Could you call them for me, ask them to keep Mr Fox busy until I get there?”

  “I’m not sure…”

  “Nothing dangerous, perhaps just assist him in every possible lengthy way?”

  The receptionist pulled her thin lips into a pout. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  SEVENTY-NINE

  HE DROPPED THE LEATHER BRIEFCASE BY THE DOOR. No secret files were held inside. There was no mission to complete. Otto Clack was someone else’s problem now. Remi shed his heavy overcoat and hung it next to her pink parka. Side by side and worlds apart, he hadn’t noticed the weight of it until it was gone.

  He prowled down to the kitchen. A half-full tea cup stood on the scrubbed pine table. Life had continued on without him. He wrapped his palm around the cup—it was still warm.

  A sound. Remi pricked up his ears and padded back out into the hallway. A chuckle came from the living room. Nudging open the door he found her, sitting cross-legged in a nest of cushions on the floor. Soft light painted the scene with warmth and the distinctive aroma of newly washed baby infused the air like fresh baked cakes. A game of ‘Peepo’ was at hand.

  Unseen in the doorway, he watched them with a steady gaze. He knew that he could travel the world and chase down deals and villains, but this was all that mattered: the three of them, together. Love filled his chest, and pride, and fear.

  Bilbo Bunny snuck another look over the knitted hill, provoking gurgles of enchanted laughter from their child. Rachel’s face was animated with happiness: a forgotten emotion that transformed her. At once he recognised the girl he used to know and realised she’d been there all along.

 
His mobile buzzed inconveniently in his pocket and she noticed him at last. Smiling broadly, she made motions to shuffle Peanut away to go to him.

  “Don’t get up.” Remi tossed the silenced phone to the sofa and bounded over. He stroked back her hair and planted a soft kiss on her forehead. It felt good to touch her. “How’s my baby been?”

  “Oh fine, fine. We’re getting along. There was a bad nappy situation yesterday, but no sign today, so fingers crossed!”

  “And the little one?”

  Rachel laughed and batted at his leg, “She has a nice clean nappy too.”

  Remi dropped into the armchair and gave himself a mental check. He never would have imagined returning home from a mission to talk to his girl about nappies and actually being happy about it. Times sure had changed.

  He had no training to fall back on, nor past missions in this particular war zone. This was a whole new adventure, a road untraveled and he was going to travel it with them. It didn’t matter that he had no plan to follow, that his own father had opted out and stayed at work. That was not going to happen here.

  “I’m sorry that I couldn’t be here before, but I am now. I really am.”

  Rachel lifted her hand to his face. Her eyes searched his expression for the truth. He thought for a moment that she might slap him and looked down into her deep brown eyes for reassurance. Brown? Hang on a minute, weren’t Rachel’s eyes green?

  Something pulled at his shirt sleeve. Soft, but insistent, Bilbo Bunny grasped at his arm with felt paws. “Jerry. Jerry. Jerry. Jerry.” Wool whiskers flopped up and down.