Even though she was the one with the loaded Glock under her jacket, she felt oddly vulnerable. But she still wanted to cross that small bridge. Maybe it was that damned curiosity of hers that never seemed to be satisfied or maybe it was the fact that she always tended to do whatever she was told
not
to do. She fired up the Mustang and followed his directions. As she drove over the rickety bridge, for a fleeting moment she wondered if this was actually a kidnapping. Was this how Jordan lured Jake off the bridge? Did he make the boy feel safe and secure and then do something wicked when he had his back turned? Maybe. But there was no way Jane would ever let her guard down with him.
Never
.
Once across the bridge, Jordan instructed her to drive to a spot behind his cabin where her ice blue Mustang would be shrouded from view. She waited for him to get out of the car before she followed.
“This way,” he directed, pointing to an even more densely forested part of the property. Jane stopped. “You don’t want them to see you, do you?” He smiled. “Ladies first,” he said with that queasy timbre.
“After you,” Jane insisted.
“Aren’t you a lady?”
“Yeah. A smart one.” She motioned forward with her chin. “After you, Jordan.”
Jordan smiled and began to chuckle, walking ahead of Jane and leading her deeper into the wooded area. She cautiously pulled her Glock from its holster and held it at her side. “Is that really necessary, Jane?” he asked, still with his back to her.
She was always good at covertly removing her gun, but this guy seemed to have the same heightened sense of hearing that she’d developed over the last two days. “I’ll keep it out for now, Jordan.”
He sniggered. “Suit yourself.” He led her farther into the property. The ground was sloppy from the recent blast of snow. “I have another riddle for you,” he said without turning his back. “There is one word in the English language that is always pronounced incorrectly. What is it?”
Jane kept five feet of distance behind him. She considered the riddle. “The answer is
incorrectly
.”
“Very good, Jane! You
listen
!
You pay attention
! Well done!”
His response wasn’t lost on Jane’s suspicious mind. “You need people to listen to you and pay attention, don’t you?”
There was another snort of condescension. “You’ve determined that your cunning kidnapper is doing the same thing, eh?” He stopped and turned. Jane halted, never taking her eyes off him. “One more riddle. Why don’t Mormons drink coffee?”
Jane didn’t have a clue but she was sure he was winding up
to sling another politically incorrect salvo. “No clue.”
“Because if they did, they’d wake up and realize how really fucked up their lives were.” He let out a quick laugh.
“You’re an equal opportunity hater. I get it.” She started to take a step back when her boot slipped in the slick mud. Before she could get her balance, she hit the ground hard, splattering mud over her jeans and shirt. Jane quickly raised the Glock toward Jordan, unsure of how he might take advantage of this opportunity.
“You certainly have a difficult time keeping clean, don’t you?” he said, completely unruffled by the loaded firearm pointed at his chest. He reached out to Jane, offering his hand. She waved him off and gingerly stood up, training the gun on him the entire time. He leaned his large body against a spruce tree, unaffected by Jane’s aggressive stance. “You got that tough girl vibe on overdrive, don’t you? You’re not exactly reeking of the pure feminine archetype. More like Betty Butch.” Now Jane was really pissed. This was the second asshole in two days who referenced a dyke vibe coming from her. Her first thought was to beat his head into the spruce tree but then she realized that would probably validate his observation. Jordan reached up toward the new growth on the tree, snapped off a few of the pale green needles and popped them in his mouth. “Did you know that spruce needles can prevent scurvy?” he asked, chewing the needles into a mush. “It’s true. Natural vitamin C. All those pioneers dropping dead on the Oregon Trail from scurvy and they were surrounded by their cure. Don’t you just love irony, Jane?”
“How about if we walk back to your house?”
“No chance. That’s sacred territory in there. Nobody’s allowed in my dwelling.”
“Really? Cops went through it after Jake went missing.”
“True. I had to air it out for days to get rid of the
blue
stink. Nah, I like it out here. You spend thirty-four years in a six-byeight box and you’d be partial to the outdoors too.”
“Is that why you roam around your property at night?”
“Who told you that?” A devious smile crept across his face.
“Bo Lowry.”
“Christ. What a bloated chatter-fuck. Nothing worse than a little man who thinks he has big power. Bo Lowry is a
farce
to be reckoned with! You hear that sucking sound? That’s Lowry’s career circling the drain.”
“But you
do
roam this place at night?” Jane said, moving back on message. “What’s curious is that Jake Van Gorden also liked to ramble around when it was dark. It’s not outside the scope that the two of you might have made contact, especially with nighttime to cloak the communication.”
“I already covered this with you. I’m not allowed within one hundred feet of a school or in the presence of a child under the age of eighteen…”
“You’re wily. You’d figure out a way.”
“
Wily
. Interesting choice of word.” He grabbed another few needles off the tree and ate them. “We talking about me or you?”
“Don’t change the subject.”
“You’re wily as hell, Jane. Must I remind you how you gained entrance to my property the second time we met?” Jordan seemed to know more about her personality than she would have liked. “Yes…”
“Yes, what?”
“I roam my territory at night. But you don’t know much about a man, do you? If you did, you’d know that a man’s territory is wherever he’s standing. A man learns to own that.”
“When you’re out of your safe zone, you don’t own the land you stand over. I saw you at the diner. I bet you sit in the same booth every time you go there.” Jordan furrowed his brow, an indication to Jane that she was right. “You don’t tread far from your safety zone because that’s unchartered water for you. Swim too far and you might drown.”
He regarded her with a sharpened stare. After a few heavy seconds, Jordan straightened his spine. “I could swim out there if I chose…if I was unhampered by the unwashed masses. But
there’s too many sharks waiting to pull me down.”
She immediately spotted a vulnerability in him. This monster with the acid tongue had been beaten by a life unlived; a life spent mostly confined in a cell with a small window on a world that felt too treacherous to navigate. “You certainly have a flair for the English language.”
“Would it be more conventional for me to be stupid? I wasn’t staring at the fucking wall for thirty-four years.”
She recalled what Bo told her about Jordan’s jailhouse education. “Right. You got two degrees. Philosophy and esoteric psychology, whatever the hell that is.”
“Whatever the hell that is,” he repeated in a monotone. “I can outthink most people, Jane, with my left brain tied behind my back.”
There was no doubt in her mind that he was highly intelligent. Superior intelligence and criminal degeneracy were not mutually exclusive. It was another facet of Jordan’s personality that red-flagged him as a suspect in Jake’s disappearance. “You own a television?”
“No. I don’t need to watch TV so I can be fed all the news they feel I need to know.”
“How about a phone?”
“No.”
“Really?”
“
Really
.” Jordan looked a Jane more closely. “Your kidnapper is calling and leaving messages?”
“Strange you wouldn’t have a phone…”
“I know I’m the number-one suspect…”
“No, actually, you’re a
person of interest.
It means the same thing as
suspect.
We just use that gentler term now because we don’t want to sound like we’re violating your good name until we decide it’s time to violate you.” Jane moved toward a spruce tree opposite Jordan and leaned her back against it. She kept the Glock close at her side. “You on meds?”
“They wanted to give me drugs to amend my anti-social
behavior. I told them socializing was overrated. I don’t do well amidst the groaning clog of humanity. When I left prison, the docs wanted to give me pills that would
quiet me
,” Jordan said with a greasy tenor. “I feel too much and they think that a drug is going to help that.
Typical
. Choke the underbelly of emotion even though it has the right to exist in a person.” He pulled another few needles of new growth off the spruce tree and ate it, spitting out several needles that disagreed with him. “I think, therefore, I’m dangerous. I observe, therefore, I’m worthy of suspicion. Odd, isn’t it, that
thinking
has become a liability in our society. Better I should follow the mediocre sheeple to slaughter than dare entertain ideas that provoke and frustrate the drones. And nobody understands the art of observation anymore. All the zombies wait around for the Big Boys who run the joint to spoon feed them their commentary on what we’re seeing because critical thinking died a quick, painful death. Original thinkers are as common as a rotary phone. Those who choose to ruminate outside the box are either condemned or destroyed.”
Jane had to check herself. There were too many similarities between the way she and Jordan looked at life. Even though they were standing in a circle of evergreens, she would continue this interview as if they were seated in the green-walled interrogation room back at DH. “You smoke, Jordan?”
“No. Nasty habit. Why? You cravin’ a ciggie?”
“I don’t smoke.”
He observed her the same way she scrutinized liars and smiled. “
Riiight
.”
Obviously, the aroma of tobacco still lingered on her clothing. “I quit.”
“Of course you did.” His eyes dove into hers. “But they didn’t quit you. You haven’t smoked your last cigarette, Jane.
Mark my words
. You smoke to smother all those feelings. You suffocate your sensitivity because somebody made you believe that feeling is dangerous.” His translucent blue eyes fixated on her. “But you
do
feel, don’t you? You feel and see what others
can’t. Ah, you have the gift!
Yes
!”
Jane ignored him. Her thoughts turned back to the classic Chesterfield cigarettes and ashtray. “You collect antiques?”
Jordan seemed pissed that she changed the subject. “Oh, yeah.
Love
antiquing. Next to romantic walks on the beach at sunset, it really jerks my chain.” He gave a sarcastic wink.
“You could go online and buy archaic crap…”
“No phone, no TV, no computer.”
“The library has free computers.”
“Don’t own a credit card. I’m taken care of once a year by a long time friend of my father’s. Edward Butterworth.
Eddie
. He
hates
it when I call him
Eddie
. He’s a real East Coast, stuffed shirt, cocksucker. Ass so fucking tight he squeaks when he walks. He always stands back at least five feet from me when he slides that big ol’ ugly trust fund check in my direction. Doesn’t want to get too close to the family’s little mistake.” He took a step toward Jane. “
Da blackest of da black sheep, dats me
!” Jordan made a point to be as mordant as possible. “Yes, sir, Eddie’s been takin’ care of business for our family since heck was a pup. He’s the cleanup man, you know? Makes sure the status quo is kept up and running. Makes sure everything that has to be buried stays dead.”
It was important for Jane to toss out more questions, quickly changing the subject to try and throw off Jordan. “You a religious man?”
“That’s hard to say. I don’t believe in atheists.” He waited for Jane to absorb that retort. “If God resides in every one of us, then isn’t an atheist just someone who doesn’t believe in himself?”
Jane figured these were the types of philosophical contemplations a person comes up with after spending way too much time wandering the woods at night. “So, you’re not religious?”
“Life has enough challenges. I don’t need to walk a dogma around and make it more complicated. Ah, religious folk! Why have one limiting belief when two or more makes your life that
much more insular?” He stiffened his back. “I don’t trust any faith that uses fear to keep me compliant. And I certainly can’t be part of a religion that requires the suspension of thoughtful debate. I don’t question the belief in God. I question the humanity of those who believe in Him.” Jordan’s stance relaxed and his facetious posture re-emerged. “I made Jesus a deal. I don’t hide behind His name and he doesn’t use my name to get into clubs. I’ve kept up my end of the deal. He’s kept up his… as far as I know. It’s hard to trust those Jewtians.”
Jane was afraid where this was headed. “Jewtians?”
“Jews who go Christian. Slippery lot. They retain their drive for absolute power but now they’re doin’ it for J.C.!” Jordan winked and smiled. “You can take the Jew out of the synagogue but you can’t take his edge off.”
“Isn’t Copeland a Jewish name?”
“Could be, I guess. But I’m not Jewish. I was raised Episcopalian. Just a wine glass and wafer away from being Catholic and playing
hide the weenie
with a homo priest. I could be a Buddhist, being that I enjoy the solitude and live like a fucking monk. But I couldn’t stand having to worry about reincarnating as an inbred lap dog. I could never be a Muslim because I have bad knees and I can’t kneel down to tie my shoes let alone hittin’ the rug and facing Mecca five times a day. Although, it would be pretty damn cool to pop the cherries of seventy-two nubile virgins when I croak.” His expression soured. “Does that answer your question?” He picked up a branch off the wet ground and proceeded to drag it through the dirt. “What are we gonna yak about next, Jane? How ’bout my childhood? That’s always good for a few shits and grins. We know I was an outcast, right? I’m sure you’ve read all the yellowed newspaper clippings on my sordid life. I imagine the psych reports also enlightened you.”