Authors: Jason Austin
“
All
right,” Roberts said. “I still got other angles. I’ve
wanted to take another shot at Malcolm Block, anyway. His type can't
stand being in the cooler this long. He's probably itching to cough
up the goods by now.”
Penfield
looked away, as he was reminded of the second reason he had called
Roberts into his office. Roberts, not being blind, got the signal
straight away.
“
Captain,”
Roberts said inquisitively.
Penfield
cocked his chin. “Malcolm Block is dead. They found him taking
a swim in one of the prison laundry’s industrial Maytags.
Nobody’s talking so far, but he’d been tenderized pretty
good. They’re figuring some of the other inmates gave him the
once-over on Glenda Jameson’s behalf.”
Roberts
simmered a moment, unable to decide on, “I told you so,”
or “Sweet Jesus, what have I gotten myself into?” “You
don’t believe that,” he said decisively.
Penfield
rolled his eyes. “Prison brawls do not a conspiracy make.”
“
Well,
at least their hearts were in the right place. I’m guessing
yours was, too, and that’s why you didn’t tell me about
Block when I walked in.”
“
I
wanted to see where you were with this Kelmer angle first. If I had
told you about Block from the jump, everything I just said would’ve
been in one ear and out the other.”
Right
again
, Roberts thought. If he'd been told about Block
before Penfield’s lecture, Roberts would have been too
concerned with overturning Millenitech’s fat cat litter box to
consider the woes of the department. Now, it didn’t matter.
With Block dead, the knot tying Roberts’s hands had just gotten
a whole lot tighter.
“
Then
you won’t have to put on your glasses, Captain,” Roberts
said. A spell of hopelessness nested on his shoulders. “Looks
like it won’t be going anywhere.”
“
You
have my word,” Penfield said empathizing. “I’ll
give you as much leeway as I possibly can. But like it or not, we’re
not in a position for you to launch a full frontal assault on
Millenitech.” He paused, unsure if he should encourage Roberts
in any way. “You’re gonna have to work around the edges.
And
if
you come back
with something that just happens to put Millenitech on the
radar...then we’ll blow up that bridge when we come to it.
Maybe I can get Camille Cosgrove to ride shotgun for us in case we
need a warrant. God knows
she’d
like to stick it to Wallace. I,
myself, would love to chop a few inches off of Miles Gabriel, with
all the scum he’s put back out on the street.”
Penfield’s
office phone line beeped and he picked up the receiver. Why in the
hell he was forever refusing to use a speaker or compiece Roberts
could only guess.
“
Aw,
shit!” Penfield cursed. “No, I’m not. Tell her
she’ll have to wait like the rest of them.” He thrust
down the receiver without a goodbye.
Maybe
that was it?
Roberts
realized. Penfield enjoyed slamming the phone down in someone's ear.
“
Well,
your job just got a little harder,” Penfield said.
“
So
I should’ve enjoyed the down time while I had it?”
Roberts responded.
“
Press
corps is lining up downstairs. I actually had three reasons to call
you in here.”
Roberts
shrugged. “I should've read my horoscope this morning.”
“
It
seems they broke out their pooper scoopers and have been doing their
own digging on Glenda Jameson. They found out about her two prior
arrests, including the car theft. Did you know she hit a cop at a FFP
rally?”
“
Yeah.
The report said she hit an officer who was attempting to site her for
disorderly and blocking the entrance to a public building. She said
he got grabby and she kneed him where it counts. I also found out
that the same cop had been written up twice for sexual harassment;
one of them by a fellow female officer. He was transferred, and then
eventually fired.”
“
That’s
the good news. The bad news is the rally that she was arrested at was
organized by Hellene Dickerson. You know, the Sapphic nutcase who
shot and killed a police officer two years ago and robbed a dozen
adult bookstores across the country before she was hunted down by the
FBI? Then there’s that little stink Glenda Jameson raised when
you were getting her statement—when she thought you were
accusing her of lying. They might be looking to spin the Stockholm
syndrome on this, and make her out as something other than the
victim. If it works, you’d come out smelling like a rose, with
having seen through her deception.”
Roberts
looked beyond annoyed. “Aw come on, I talked to Glenda
Jameson’s parents and two of her former coworkers. She hadn’t
even attended one of those rallies in over three years. They said she
thought they were getting too radical for her, that they were more
concerned with pissing people off and making the nightly news than
they were about changing anything. She’s not even in the same
ballpark as
Helen
What’s-her-face
.”
“
If
you were a reporter looking for your spotlight, which angle would you
play up?”
“
If
it goes that way, it’ll only make her more desperate. Guilty or
innocent, it could put her that much closer to ending up in a meat
wagon.”
Penfield
arched an eyebrow. He wasn’t sure what Roberts intended by
saying that and he wasn’t about to leave it hanging. “Are
you saying you think she could be guilty?”
Roberts
turned thoughtful; not to give weight to the question of Glenda
Jameson's innocence, but to carefully choose his words to make sure
Penfield didn’t misunderstand. “Glenda Jameson is as
guilty of murder as you are of...having good taste in ties.”
Xavier
sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the bits of morning sun that
dotted the walls as they poked through the separations in the room's
curtains. He was trying to decide what he was feeling. After a day
and a half without a drink and crying his own weight in tears, he was
shocked not to find himself swinging from the end of his brother’s
showerhead by a makeshift noose. It was as if his brain was bagging
up the worst of the grief, and remorse for use at a later date. It
all seemed to collide with an emotional speed-bump—or something
like that—and vaporized before it could really rip him to
shreds. Xavier pulled the packet of Theracol from his jacket pocket.
Two of the little green capsules were absent from the casing.
The
wonders of modern medicine
, he thought. He looked across
the room into a full length mirror opposite the bed. Now, if they
only had a cure for chronic loser-itis.
Glenda
tried desperately to avoid those awkward sideways glances she was
both giving and receiving in Cassandra’s direction as they sat
side by side on the broad sectional sofa. Glenda had become fast
friends with Cassandra and was starting to agonize terribly over the
whole Hannah thing. She longed to believe Cassandra had caught on
that it wasn't her real name after the couple of times Glenda had
failed to respond to it right off. Cassandra was so accommodating, it
wouldn't have surprised Glenda a bit if she had simply chosen to keep
mum on the subject. Glenda refocused her attention and giggled
impishly as Cassandra's digital photo album flashed to a picture of a
six-year-old, bare-bottomed Xavier dancing his version of a foxtrot
in front of a television.
Xavier
was right not to want to stay
, Glenda thought. By some
miracle, the Hawkins’ were not avid webscreen watchers, but the
news was everywhere and it was only a matter of time before they were
exposed to all the sexy details of the motel shootings. Glenda cupped
her mouth. As if obsessing over her parents' safety and Kelmer's
whereabouts weren’t enough; now there was the threat of being
on the business end of Cassandra's heartbreak when the truth came
knocking. Would Xavier's brother turn them in?
This
is just
...Glenda looked up, her eyes suddenly lit like
Times Square.
Amazing
!
Xavier
had emerged fully dressed from the spare bedroom. He was wearing a
crisp, shiny new pair of black Dockers along with a pair of gray,
suede Timberland hiking boots. And in place of the old vagabond
flight jacket was now a black, leather, Brooks Brothers front coat
covering a white polo shirt. Since Xavier and his brother were
roughly the same size, everything Xavier plucked from Benny’s
closet was virtually a perfect fit.
Glenda's
hand spread even wider across her mouth. What used to look like a
dead animal on top of Xavier's head was now a glistening pillow of
wavy black locks—a little thin up top, but still good for a few
fingers. And for the first time, she could actually
see
his
entire face
. No
dirt or scraggy beard shadow and the bruises he'd suffered on her
account were naturally less noticeable. All the ladies' man hearsay
Glenda had gotten from the doctor's wife—some not so
flattering—suddenly didn't seem so far-fetched. Glenda stood up
and casually closed the distance. Xavier then smiled openly,
surprising her with a mouthful of bright, even teeth—the only
thing his father had ever given him that was actually worth anything.
“
What
do you think?” Xavier asked. “My brother’s a real
tight ass, but he’s got good taste in clothes.”
Glenda
smiled back solicitously. She could see now, that Xavier's eyes were
a deep, bedroom, brown and had adopted a luster that wasn't their
before. However, she could still see the pain of his mother’s
death behind them.
“
Yeah.
Yeah, he does,” she said. “You look good.” She had
digressed enormously.
In
fact, it was all she could do to keep from applauding.
Xavier
hadn’t
just cleaned up well; he was downright handsome. Hell, he looked like
something that had been carved from marble. Glenda wanted, very much,
to touch him, but honestly didn't know where to start.
“
Thanks,”
Xavier said and smiled at her again, this time holding it a
while...then a while longer. “Are you ready?”
“
I
guess.” Glenda glanced quickly at Cassandra to make sure they
were scrupulously out of earshot. “Things were getting a bit
'normal' here anyway
.
”
“
I
know. But we have to go. I never would have come here in the first
place if I’d known my brother was married. And he has a baby on
the way. I can’t stand the thought of what could happen if they
get dragged into this. No more than I can stand the idea of something
happening to you.”
Glenda
took
that
for
everything it was worth and then some. To have a man, a
real
man, value her welfare above all else, ready to slay any villain that
dared move against her was so...
Forgive
me, Susan B. Anthony!
“
I
understand,” Glenda said, “and you’re right. I
couldn’t live with it either.”
“
Do
you know where you’re going?” Benny Hawkins asked. He had
walked into the room holding a small white envelope. He took one look
at the coat his brother wore and instantly regretted giving him the
run of his closet.
“
I
got a place in mind,” Xavier answered, purposely short on
details.
Benny
walked over to the couple and handed Xavier the envelope. “It’s
about seven-hundred; something I keep around the house for just in
case.” Benny saw a hint of resistance in his brother. “Just
take it. Pay me back when you can.”
Xavier
took the envelope and stuffed it into the coat's pocket. “Thanks,
man.”
“
Sure,”
Benny said. He then paused for as long as it took to gather his
courage. “And uh...try not to be a stranger.”
By
the beginning of the afternoon Marcel McCutcheon was already tired of
coffee and had moved on to colas. As much as he was drinking, he
still hankered for a nap something awful. Just a
couple
of hours to make up for the last
thirty-six
he and Brisby had spent picking apart the evidence gathered from the
El Dorado motel. McCutcheon collected the two bottles of Pepsi from
the chute and then leaned back in a wide full-bloomed yawn.
Did
they even put caffeine in colas anymore?
He raised his
chin and flared his nostrils in no particular direction. The
Cleveland FBI headquarters had recently been remodeled and still
dallied in the aroma of fresh varnish. McCutcheon loved it. He loved
everything about the remodeling. The walls and furniture had evolved
from the drab grays, blues and whites of your average post office to
the chunkier earth tones and wood-grains of a vacationer's cabin in
the Poconos. The desks were retrofitted with new computers with
holographic interfaces and new lightweight webscreens jutted from the
ceilings every ten feet, replacing the old LED televisions.
McCutcheon cracked the seal on his drink. There was just nothing
quite like the air of newness.
A
few seconds later, McCutcheon was walking over to Brisby, who was
cozied at a desk, awaiting the latest findings on the motel evidence.
He handed Brisby the unopened bottle.