The Tear Collector

by Shawn Burgess

  “Clancy? You there, Clancy? Over.”

  “Call Marcy on your cell. And do it discreetly. From one of the cars. And not a damn word to that reporter!”

  “Yes sir.” Clancy retreats to Officer Ivansek’s squad car.

  Detective Holt grimaces at the approaching news van, a nightmare scenario. Dammit! What’s she already know? A lot if she’s been monitoring our radio channel. And how else would she know to be here? Shit! And I don’t have any answers. Suspicions, leads maybe. Nothing definitive. Hell, I can’t even give legitimate confirmation of the deaths without bodies. No next of kin notifications. The parents don’t even know something’s wrong. I’m screwed! He takes a deep breath and prepares himself for the impending onslaught.

  Chapter 39

  Horse Trading

  BEFORE THE VAN even comes to a complete stop, Kasey Norton is airborne, leaping from the sliding door. She lands with graceful precision on the pavement in her high heels. Her black skirt, plucked from the discount racks of Ann Taylor, flutters as she hits. She clutches a microphone, determination in her eyes and an air of confidence in her stride. She brushes her blonde locks from her eyes and closes in on Detective Holt. She can smell it, taste it, feel it. This story is going to grab the Cincinnati Network’s attention, her station’s parent affiliate. She’s always dreamed of working in the big city. Big City—Big Stories. Her big career break stands a few yards away with his arms crossed and a temperament-matching scowl on his face.

  Once the van comes to a stop, her cameraman emerges from the opening and takes a twisting step onto the roadway, tweaking his ankle. He regains his footing and hobbles after Kasey, lifting the camera lens to his eye, ready to follow his young reporter into the fray.

  She doesn’t wait for an invitation from Detective Holt. Without saying a word to him, she positions herself at his side. She motions to her cameraman, directing him into position for the shot she wants.

  “Right there’s perfect, Norman.”

  “Perfect for what?”

  “For our exclusive.” Kasey’s reply comes without hesitation.

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Wait just a damn minute.” Detective Holt raises his arms in protest and takes a few retreating steps.

  “Detective Holt, the way I see it, you’ve got two choices. Give me my exclusive. Tell me what your department’s doing to protect the public. Where you’re at in your investigations—”

  “These are official investigations. They’re open. Notifications haven…” Detective Holt stops for a moment and clears his throat. “If there were a need for that type of thing, notifications, they wouldn’t have even gone out yet.”

  Kasey takes a few steps forward and leans near Detective Holt’s ear. “I’m going on air with or without you. I’d rather it be with you. Wouldn’t want this to be a speculative story. We heard the radio transmissions on our scanner about the killings, or bloodbath, wasn’t it?”

  Detective Holt takes an assertive step forward. “You’re compromising our investigation. This is official police business. We’re going to need you both to leave. Now!”

  Kasey, undeterred, motions to her cameraman and twirls her pointer finger in small circles.

  “Don’t you dare turn that damn camera on!” Detective Holt delivers an icy glare to the cameraman. He lowers the camera.

  “Roll it, Norman.” Kasey’s defiant words push a shot of color into Detective Holt’s cheeks. Norman raises the camera to his eye.

  “You want to go to jail for interfering in police business, son?”

  Norman’s face contorts.

  “No sir.”

  “Norman, roll it. You can’t go to jail for setting up for an interview and Detective Holt knows it. He’s just trying to scare you.”

  As Norman begins to raise the camera, Detective Holt pulls his handcuffs from his leather pouch, a proven tactic he uses to deescalate dicey domestic disputes. Success hinges on the authenticity of his deadpan stare instilling fear of imminent arrest. His own unwavering eyes bore into Norman. In Holt’s experience, people confronted with the perceived reality of jail staring them in the face tend to acquiesce. He senses Norman’s susceptibility to his ruse, detects a semblance of surrender in his wilting posture, and determines him as the weak link. If he breaks, Detective Holt can avoid giving this interview under such precarious circumstances. No cameraman, no story.

  He begins lowering the camera.

  “Norman…Norman!”

  “Kasey, I can’t go to jail. My divorce.”

  A rush of relief washes over Detective Holt, and a hint of a smile creeps into the corners of his lips. Norman’s breaking. Holt takes pride in the subtler nuances of police work, whether sculpting an outcome into reality through manipulation or breaking a suspect in the interrogation room. It’s gratifying. There’s a certain primal pleasure that’s derived from it each and every time.

  “He’s bluffing.”

  “You know how that’s going to look. Maggie’s bloodsucking attorney’s going to use it like a sledgehammer. Try to make sure I don’t have any shared custody rights. I can’t lose—”

  “Norman, I feel for you. I really do. But I need you to do your job. You’re not going to jail. Detective Holt’s bluffing.”

  “I’m not bluffing, Norman.” Detective Holt opens the cuffs and conjures a grave expression. “What’s more important? This interview or seeing your kids?”

  “How dare you!” Kasey storms forward. “Bringing his kids into this. Really? And Norman, what do you think J.T. is going to do when I tell him what happened? Tell him why we didn’t get the story. It’s going to look worse to a judge if you don’t have a job.”

  “What?” Norman’s word wobbles out on an exhale. “Kasey, please don’t do this.”

  “I’ll call him right now if I need to.” Kasey pulls out her cell phone and flips to the keypad screen. “I can get Joe out here if need be. But you know that probably doesn’t bode well for your career.”

  A rush of anxiety pours back into Detective Holt’s gut. Kasey is quite adept at this game. Each latched on to one of Norman’s jugulars, a tug-of-war ensues. They’re both playing bad cop, destroying the old paradigm. The resulting gridlock paralyzes Norman. Dammit! She’s going to win. She’s got the benefit of the relationship. Ah, shit. He’s breaking. Time to change the tact.

  “Look, I know you have a job to do. So do I.” Detective Holt softens his posture and employs a more compromising tone. “Right now, my job is to protect the integrity of this crime scene.”

  “So, it is a crime scene then? You know I have a responsibility to Channel Four’s viewers as well.”

  Detective Holt nods. “Yes, I know that too.” Oh bullshit. Other than traffic, weather, and sensationalizing news, what real responsibility does your station feel toward Harper Pass? Detective Holt holds a pleasant smile. You and your station serve one responsibility and one responsibility only—ratings.

  “Detective Holt, I need an exclusive. Channel Four should be the one to break this.”

  Detective Holt moves in closer trying to get out of earshot of the cameraman. “Okay. Look. Off the record?”

  “You know I can’t do that.”

  “Just hear me out. I’m going to tell you what’s going on, what we know is going on, but you’ve got to give me an assurance that it’s off the record. Could jeopardize our investigation.”

  “And what do I get?”

  “You get the on-the-record exclusive on the Margo Combs missing persons investigation.”

  “That’s not enough. We’re talking about murder here.” Kasey narrows her eyes on Detective Holt. “That is what we’re talking about, right?”

  Detective Holt takes a deep breath, mulling his limited options. Just one bargaining chip left. Matter of time before the details get out, anyway. Loose lips in Harper Pass. Deputies, coroner and shit, Frank Gibbs from Fish and Wildlife. Hell, he’s probably telling the story in some neighboring jurisdiction right now.

  “And I’ll gi
ve you the exclusive on the John Watson murder.”

  Kasey’s eyes ignite. “Murder? I thought it was a bear attack?”

  “We did too. But now we’re not so sure. Things aren’t right.”

  Kasey bites her bottom lip. If Detective Holt’s telling her the truth, this promises to become a huge story, one with the capacity to launch a career. But if it’s subterfuge, she could miss out on one of the biggest stories to ever happen in Harper Pass. The deliberation doesn’t last long.

  “If you’re lying to me, misleading me in any way, you’re going to look just as bad as me. And I can assure you, by the time I’m done, you’ll look a hell of a lot worse than—”

  “I’m telling the truth…So, do we have a deal?”

  “Promise I get to break the story on this too?” Kasey bites her lip.

  “You were the first to get wind of it. Only seems fair that you’d get to break this story too, but only when it’s ready to be broken.”

  “And you won’t leak this to Channel 3 first?”

  “You have my word.” Detective Holt extends a hand. “Do we have a deal?”

  Kasey pauses for a moment before extending her hand. She clasps Detective Holt’s worn hand, which wraps around her own.

  “Deal.” The two shake hands.

  Chapter 40

  Exclusive

  ANGELA MITCHELL SITS on the living room couch playing with Snapchat on her cell phone. She contorts her body and pushes her chest out into an unnatural pose. With phone in hand outstretched, she makes an awkward attempt to capture the right angle. She radiates her best smile, puckers her lips a smidgen, and it’s a simple click, but she’s far from done. She tries applying different filters while attempting to capture the perfect selfie, a process that takes ten minutes or longer on occasion. The television show in the background fills the empty house with white noise but fails to capture much of her attention. She clicked it on merely out of habit and didn’t bother to change the channel. She’s somewhat pleased that it’s only an episode of Family Guy playing in the background.

  Her mom, Sandra, somewhat of a local news junkie, tends to keep the television tuned as such for all the latest tidbits of gossip and scandal. And she feeds her addiction with her favorite fix, Channel 4 News. They rarely disappoint.

  Angela kicks her feet up onto the couch, something she would never do with her parents at home. But they went out to dinner and assigned Angela to watch Tee under the guise of her learning some responsibility and self-reliance before she heads off to college. Responsibility, bah! More like date night on the cheap.

  The first rosy hues of sunset creep through the blinds and spill onto the carpet. The gradual retreat of light and deepening shadows suggest Tee should make an appearance soon. Better make dinner. What’ll it be tonight? Chicken nuggets, a frozen pizza, or frozen dinners? Frozen Pizza, no hassle. After starting everything, she plants herself on the couch and pours her attention into her smartphone.

  The tail end of a teaser for the evening news pulls her out of her trance. Something they said struck a chord deep in the recesses of her subconscious, but with her attention split, she can’t decipher what, only that it carries the feeling of importance. The buzzer in the kitchen alarms indicating the preheated oven, and she leaves her perch.

  After getting the pizza in the oven, she returns to the couch. Images of a reporter at the scene of a three-car pile-up flash on screen. Boring. She opens her Instagram. Why’s the news even on? This is prime time. Where’s… After a quick transition, a singing competition comes on the television. That’s more like it!

  She lets her phone hand drop but never relinquishes her clutch on it as she switches her full attention to the show. It’s one of her favorites, and the tall country singer judging it is one of the biggest reasons why. She’s enthralled by him, by boys in general, really. After one of the contestants gives a rousing performance, the judges give their feedback. As the camera pans to the country star, the image on the television switches to the news anchor desk.

  “Oh…my…God.” She throws her hands up. “Come on.”

  “We break from our regularly scheduled programming to bring you a Channel Four exclusive interview with Detective Holt of the Harper Pass Police Department. Kasey, are you there?”

  “I’m here, Tom. That’s right. Kasey Norton coming to you live with Channel Four News. I have with me here, Detective Holt, of the Harper Pass Police. He’s agreed to share the latest with us on the Margo Combs missing persons investigation and…on the murder of John Watson.”

  “Suspected murder,” the detective corrects.

  The cellphone slides from Angela’s hand and hits the carpet. She straightens from her reclined position on the couch. Her hand fumbles on the coffee table for the remote, but her eyes remain locked on the television. She raises the volume.

  “Okay, so, suspected murder. Why don’t we start there? What leads the Harper Pass Police to believe John Watson was murdered?”

  “Well, to be honest, we initially attributed his death to a bear attack. But after careful examination, we’ve determined that the wounds sustained by John Watson are inconsistent with a bear attack.”

  “And do you have any suspects?”

  “We have some leads we’re following, yes.”

  “So, you’re saying you don’t have any suspects? That there’s a killer on the loose right here in Harper Pass?”

  “No, that’s not what I said. I said we’re following some leads. We may have some potential persons of interest.”

  “So, suspects?”

  “Potentially. Yes.”

  “Maybe our viewers can help. Do you have a description of the assailants?”

  A flash of color washes through the detective’s cheeks before he answers.

  “At this time, we don’t have a description we can share. But as I mentioned before, we do have a couple of persons of interest.”

  Several tiny wrinkles etch themselves on the bridge of the reporter’s nose. She leans in closer with her microphone.

  “So, what you’re saying is that there’s a killer on the loose, potentially looking for his next victim right now, and you don’t have any suspects?”

  The detective’s eyes tighten for a moment. Shots of crimson flash on his cheeks before they dissipate as quickly as they arrived. The onset of a scowl melts away from his lips as his chest rises and falls with a deep breath. And after a moment, he answers.

  “Ma’am, I don’t think that’s an accurate description at all. I’d say that’s highly speculative. We don’t want to cause any undue alarm in the community. The Harper Pass Police Office is aggressively pursuing any and all leads, and like I said, we have a couple of persons of interest at this point.”

  “Yeah, you mentioned that.” The reporter’s tone is caustic. Her eyes click wider the moment after making the curt comment, and she straightens her posture.

  A faint smile emerges on the detective’s lips, and he leans into the microphone. “I’d like your viewers to know that we’re here to protect and serve. We’ll do everything, and I mean everything, within our power to make sure this community and everyone in it is safe.”

  “That being said, where are you at in the investigation of the disappearance of Margo Combs? Especially in light of the killer on the loose.”

  “Again, with the Margo Combs investigation, we’re working every lead.”

  Two uniformed police officers emerge from the woods behind the detective. They make a swift turn and disappear from the camera shot.

  “Excuse me, Detective Holt, but how do you think it is that a severely autistic child’s able to evade detection by the Harper Pass Police?”

  “I can’t answer that. But I assure you and your viewers we’re doing everything we possibly—”

  “Don’t you think these two might be related? After all, wasn’t John Watson murdered during the search party for Margo Combs?”

  “No, we haven’t been able to establish any connection between the tw
o events.”

  “What exactly have you been able to establish?”

  The door swings open. Angela sits transfixed on the television set, her mouth hinged open. She doesn’t even notice Tee come inside. She can’t get Brady out of her mind. How did he know that John Watson wasn’t killed by a bear? Tee jitters, coming through the doorway, but Angela still hasn’t registered he’s in the room.

  “Angela! What in the world? You tryin’ to burn this place down?”

  The oven in the kitchen continues its unacknowledged beeping plea. Alarming for several minutes, the smell of scorched cheese permeates the house.

  “Oh Shit! The pizza!” Angela leaps from the couch and runs into the kitchen.

  Chapter 41

  Visitation Hour

  ROBBY’S MOM ARRIVED home from work around nine o’clock and long ago passed out in her typical spot on the living room recliner. Her loud snoring provides unconscious testimony to her exhaustion.

  Robby hammers away on the controller of his PlayStation from the confines of his room. Ever since the death of his father, getting lost in video games provides a temporary escape for Robby. In those hours of respite, Robby’s mind buoys an eyelash above the dark troubles awaiting him beneath the surface, taking him to a place where his anxieties seem to melt away. But it’s not working tonight.

  The encounter with the creature that mimicked his dad earlier in the day has awoken the pain deep within him. From that reopened wound, images of his father bubble up. He’s standing over his father’s open casket, eyes locked on his lifeless face. It’s visitation hour at the funeral home, and it’s packed with people engaged in meaningless small talk. The hands of distant relatives, his dad’s friends and colleagues pat him on the shoulder and back. They tell him ridiculous things like, it’s going to be okay, it’ll get easier and he’ll always be looking down on you. The normal well-intentioned platitudes absent any real meaning.