Angry Jonny

  “Tomorrow,” Jessica concluded. “Dinah, you go on and wave your freak flag high.”

  Casper flipped his cell shut. “You sure?”

  “Yeah…” Jessica nodded, wiped damp curls from her face. “Clarence Davenport don’t know he’s in the clear. I can wait for tomorrow.”

  “All right then,” Casper relented. “I’ve got to head back. Call me if you need me. Anything, all right?”

  Jessica nodded, watched him run back across the street.

  Had a pretty good feeling he was already gathering names for potential witnesses.

  “Take me home, Chaucer,” Jessica said.

  He silently obliged, leading her towards an immaculately restored, maroon 1976 Eldorado.

  “You sure you OK, Jess?” Dinah asked.

  “Yeah, yeah… You two have a drink for me. Have a couple thousand, send some of those good vibes my way.”

  Jessica could hear Eli and Dinah debating in low mumbles.

  Whether or not to go ahead with their night on the town.

  She didn’t feel like sticking around to sway the jury one way of the other.

  Chaucer held the door open for her, and Jessica slid into the soft interior.

  Chapter 12: Midnight Teatime.

  Jessica had just finished drying her hair, when she heard a shrill scream through her bedroom door.

  She dropped the towel, tightened the sash around her cornflower bathrobe, and ran like hell. Yanking the door open, she leaped across the hallway. Her white socks slid on the kitchen floor as she scrambled to gain traction. Grabbing hold of the counter, she propelled herself forward.

  With a quick, rehearsed flick of her wrist, Jessica turned the stove off and removed the kettle from the back left burner. The wail of white-hot steam died down. She flipped the lid, poured. Watched the teabags rise to the top. Scooped some sugar, added some almond milk.

  Chaucer was standing at the living room window, staring out into the night. Hands behind his back. Dressed in khakis and a white-cotton T-shirt he’d stashed in his trunk.

  Without a word, Jessica placed the mugs on the table alongside her closed laptop.

  She walked back across the room. Turned the radio on, tuned in to 90.07.

  The jangling chords of four-bar blues eased out into the room.

  Chaucer’s voice gave away what sounded like a sly smile: “The blues, really?”

  “Usually a jazz station. Broadcasts from Verona Central University. Friday nights, though, they’ve got this show. Blues Before Sunrise. Straight out of Chicago.”

  “Bet you twenty bucks that’s Blind Lemon Jefferson we’re listening to.”

  “Not letting you take any more of my money,” Jessica said, collapsing into her chair.

  “Beautiful view.”

  Jessica tilted her head, checking out his profile. A past life of peak physical fitness was slowly giving way to traces of fat and loose skin. Not bad for a man his age, no doubt, but mortality wasn’t done with him yet.

  “You’re looking at low rent apartments and a cemetery,” she reminded him. “Come get your tea before it gets cold.”

  Chaucer obliged. Sat down across from her, removed the teabag and tossed it into the ashtray. Lit a Dunhill and did a French-inhale.

  “Thanks for taking care of Davenport,” Jessica said, taking a careful sip of tea.

  “Taking care, nothing…” Chaucer sighed, shook his head. “Shouldn’t have let him get away. Getting old, that’s the real problem… There’s times I forget I ain’t a detective no more. Even after all this time… at the end of the day, it’s a young man’s game.”

  “You ever miss it?”

  “It’s like a virus,” Chaucer said, drinking his tea. “Know why you never get the chicken pox after the first time?”

  “Because of the antibodies.”

  “Because of the antibodies, that’s right… But even if you’re immune, that virus is still with you. Inside you. The price you pay for moving on is realizing there was always something wrong to begin with.”

  “Kind of like how there’s no such thing as an ex-alcoholic.”

  “No such thing, no…” Chaucer snubbed out his cigarette

  Jessica nodded.

  Chaucer smiled from across the table, and unsheathed another cancer stick.

  “So speaking of detectives,” Jessica ventured. “They never showed up.”

  “Say what?”

  “Donahue. Randal. Never came back for me.”

  “Hmm…” Chaucer brought the cigarette tip to his lips. Blowing smoke, watching the glow intensify. “Well, this new business with Jason Castle. All that money under the table. It’s a pretty effective distraction… but that’s all it is. Delaying the outcome doesn’t change it one way or the other.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Chaucer motioned to her laptop. “Mind if I use that?”

  “Hang on…” Jessica opened it. Brought up the Internet Explorer, guiding the mouse along with varied left and right clicks.

  “Erasing your browser history?” Chaucer asked.

  No point in lying about it. “Yeah.”

  “Making sure I won’t know you were checking up on me?”

  “Yeah.”

  “How’d I do?”

  “I let you into my home, didn’t I?” Jessica slid the laptop over. “Go ahead.”

  Chaucer typed in a few keystrokes, mostly using his index and middle fingers. He scrolled down, while the blues continued to bemoan the loss of everything that had once made life worth living. “Here…” He slid the laptop back across the table.

  Jessica sat up, scooting her chair close.

  For a moment, she was sure Chaucer was taunting her. The glare of the Verona Observer website washed over her face, reminding her that this was where she had once belonged.

  She ground her teeth, forcing the thoughts away.

  Focused instead on the content before her: a long list of user feedback on the latest Angry Jonny article. Commentaries from the kind of people who wrote letters to the editor, listened to talk radio, or who had been told by one too many bartenders to keep it down, or pay the tab and get out.

  Kindred123: Too long, they have taken our money, stolen our country from us. Castle got what he deserved. As will everyone, when the time comes.

  Chaucer stood up, rounded the table.

  Leaned in close, resting his hand on the back of Jessica’s chair as she continued to read.

  Patriot_Cash: Why stop at the eyes? Why stop at the tongue? Rip out the heart. Show it to Jason Castle, let him know it was black as night before he finds his place in hell with the rest of the politicians.

  Brown1999: While Angry Jonny shouldn’t have done what he did, I sure do get it!

  FightThePower: Angry Jonny is a hero. A warrior. While the rest of the country rots, while unemployment goes rocketing, while the icecaps melt and polar bears slowly drown, while corporations dump their stink into our water and our children, and the rest of the world starves, Angry Jonny is the revolution.

  ADAMS_FREEDOM: Liberals are laughing not because such things couldn’t happen- even with their perfect, false GOD, we must now face ANGRY JONNY.

  GRACEOFGOD: “Every city and province, without exception, that does not observe this decree shall be ruthlessly destroyed with fire and sword, so that it will be left not merely untrodden by men, but even shunned by wild beasts and birds forever.” (Esther 8:24)

  Adam8: Are we really thinking there’s justice in the courts? Where would Castle be ten years from now? I won’t allow it. Even though Angry Jonny must be punished, his death won’t change what he did. And if there is more, then I hope it takes all the fat bankers and vile elites with him.

  “It kind of goes on like that,” Chaucer informed her.

  “Yeah…” As a rule, she generally avoided user comments. Wasn’t just the raw anger, hatred, frightening diatribes. Mostly, it was the shoddy quality of the words that most upset her. Opinion in plac
e of rationality. “It’s getting weird out there.”

  “Strange days,” Chaucer agreed, straightening up. He took a few steps into the living room, leaving a smoky trail. “There’s people who say it’s always been like this. That the times we live in are no more, if not less chaotic than what’s come before. Just a problem of modernization. Now that it’s so easy to find out what some lunatic over in Burlington thinks, we just take it to mean things are reaching a fever pitch.”

  “Doesn’t sound like you buy it.”

  “What do you think?” Chaucer asked, turning back to the table.

  Jessica crossed her legs on the chair, stretched her spine. “I think anger is rewarding. There may be any number of expressions to contradict that; so angry I couldn’t see straight, so angry I couldn’t think, so angry it made me sick… Truth is, it’s a mighty big endorphin rush. And like most chemical releases, it’s always going to be easier to say yes to anger. Fighting it is just too much damn work.”

  “You seem to have a pretty good handle on yours…”

  “Maybe. But it ain’t a walk in the park. Add to that the fact that I’m never even sure why I even bother to keep it from taking over. There’s days I feel I’m just two steps shy from being one of these.”

  Chaucer silently regarded the endless list of anonymous rants.

  Her point now made, Jessica closed the window.

  Chaucer’s face softened. The desktop pic of baby Jessica and her mother smiled up at him. He moved in for a closer look. “Is that you?”

  Jessica shifted in her seat, absently toyed with the desktop touchpad. “Yeah.”

  “And is that your mom?”

  “That’s her, yeah.”

  “You miss her?”

  “Sometimes.” Jessica brought the laptop towards her and brought up her homepage. “Kind of like a virus, ain’t it?”

  Chaucer nodded, didn’t press the issue. He snubbed his cigarette out, drank the last of his tea. “Well, thanks for the conversation, Jessica. Best I be moving on.”

  “Thanks again for taking care of Davenport.”

  “Hmm…”

  Something in his response stopped Jessica midway through keying in her password. She glanced up, caught him staring out the window, once more.

  “Something wrong, Chaucer?”

  “Nothing wrong, no.”

  “Can’t be that nothing, right?”

  Chaucer gave it some serious consideration before asking, “You know, I’ve come across men like Davenport more times than I care to count.”

  “Me too.”

  “And it’s been my experience men like that don’t quit. They have exceptional problems letting go of their obsessions.”

  “As I said, I’ve also had my fair share of –”

  “How would you feel if I were to pay Davenport a visit on your behalf?” Chaucer offered, keeping the suggestion flat and free of intention.

  “Pay him a visit why?”

  “Maybe it might help. Might help if I were to… lean on him a little bit.”

  The very notion left Jessica breathless with excitement. She gave herself half a minute of happy speculation, fantasies running wild, before stepping back with a shake of her head. “Remember what we were talking about earlier?”

  “Yeah. Guess we’ve already got ourselves one Angry Jonny.”

  “You let me handle Davenport.”

  “You sure?”

  Jessica shrugged. “Mamma said something about there being days like this.”

  “Is that a reference to The Shirells?”

  “Better know it.”

  “Got to say, I’m bursting with pride.”

  “Unless you’re filled with Mexican candy, please don’t.”

  “Candy free zone, I’m afraid.” Chaucer gave his stomach a few pats. “Mind if I use your facilities before getting out of here?”

  While Chaucer hit the head, Jessica took their mugs back to the kitchen. Threw some ice in a glass, filled in the blanks with tonic water. She returned to the living room, checked her email. The red and blue flash of police lights glanced off the walls, a disco moment before the engine of a cruiser roared past outside.

  Jessica had one new message.

  From Angela Lansing, the building manager.

  SUBJECT: so sorry.

  Jessica winced, wondering if maybe there had been some problem with their lease renewal. One apprehensive click later, and Jessica found herself nervously mouthing the opening words to herself:

  Dear Jessica. So sorry to have to tell you this way. I’ve attached the email I’ll be sending to the rest of our tenants come Monday. I just wanted to let you know first. You’ve always been one of my favorites. You and your aunt. If you have any questions, please stop by tomorrow after midday. I’ll be in the office, clearing things out. Again, so sorry it ended up this way…

  Jessica scrolled down, more confused than worried.

  And as she began to read, those two emotions quickly changed sides.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Chaucer was standing at the threshold, wiping the back of his hands against his shirt.

  Jessica stared back at him, not bothering to retract her stunned expression. “They’ve sold the building.”

  “What?”

  “Camelot Apartments,” Jessica clarified, more for her own benefit than for his. Trying to keep the news from overwhelming her, eyes unable to focus on any part of the email. “They’ve sold my home.”

  The clock on her computer ticked five past midnight.

  In a little under ten hours, Jessica would find herself in an interrogation room, doing all she could to assure the police that she bore no responsibility for Angry Jonny’s second victim.

  Chapter 13: Fringe Benefits.

  The windows were the biggest surprise.

  Jessica had always envisioned interrogation rooms as death traps. She’d read somewhere that the ideal setting to coax a confession was to start with a small, soundproof room. Add a table, three chairs. One for the suspect, two for the authorities. Thick steel door sealed shut.

  And of course, no windows.

  Nowhere to turn, nowhere to run.

  Jessica shifted in her seat, took a look behind her. Some seven feet up the wall were two windows, carved into the gray concrete. Pastel sunshine streaming through wire mesh. The room may not have been cramped, but it was symmetrically bare of all personality. Not even fitted with the iconic, one-way mirror.

  The table before her was empty, save a digital recorder, slender and elliptical.

  Despite the present circumstances, all she could focus on was the email Angela Lansing had sent her.

  Jessica had already been fully dressed, on her way to the main office, when Donahue and Randal came knocking at the back door.

  We need to talk to you, Donahue had informed her, not so much as a good morning.

  And we’re going to want it on the record, Randal had added.

  Jessica agreed to accompany them downtown. Or, in less dramatic terms, five minutes down the street to the Verona Police Department. And now, in a room less dramatic than she had imagined, Jessica continued to think about the sale of Camelot, right up until the door swung open.

  The detectives sat down across from her without a word. Randal laid a folder on the table, reached for the recorder and switched it on.

  “Questioning Jessica Marshal Kinkaid,” he dictated. “Ten hundred hours, Saturday, June twenty-seven, two thousand and nine.”

  Donahue reached into his coat and pulled out a bottle of spring water. He placed it before Jessica, leaned back. “Anytime you want us to grab you some coffee, just let us know.”

  “I will.”

  “Where were you last night, morning of June twenty-seventh, between the hours of one and five in the morning?” Donahue asked.

  “Not wasting any time, are we?”

  “Please answer the question, Jessica.”

  “I was at home.”

  “Co
uld you please state your address?”

  “Fifteen Hundred, University Road. Verona, North Carolina. Apartment K3A. Need the zip?”

  “No. What were you doing between the hours of one and five in the morning?”

  Jessica frowned. “I was asleep.”

  “Could anybody corroborate this?”

  “I was asleep at the time, so if you’re asking me if there’s anyone who habitually watches me sleep –”

  “Was your aunt, Dinah Titus, home at the time?”

  “I don’t know... Like I said, I was asleep.”

  “What time did you fall asleep?” Randal asked.

  “I’m guessing around twelve-thirty.”

  “Guessing?”

  “I was checking my email. Right before I closed my laptop, the desktop clock read twelve-thirty, so… maybe more like quarter to one.”

  “And Dinah wasn’t home at the time?” Donahue asked.

  “No.”

  “Do you know where she was?”

  Jessica reached for the water. Twisted the cap, heard the neck snap. “There was an opening downtown. A new place called The Cardinal.”

  “Was she in the apartment when you woke up?”

  “No.”

  “Do you know where she spent the night?”

  “Don’t know. She was due for a shift over at the Prescott. Could’ve come in, crashed, then gone off to work before I woke up.”

  Randal smiled. “But you can’t tell us for sure, right?”

  It wasn’t exactly checkmate of the century, but Jessica felt she’d left her flank exposed. “Yes, sorry. Of course, I have no idea.”

  “Coffee?”

  Jessica kept quiet.

  “I really was about to get some myself,” Randal assured her.

  “Sure.”

  “How do you take it?”

  “I think you remember.”

  Randal nodded, gave his partner a pat on the shoulder as he stood form his chair.

  Jessica watched the junior detective exit the room. She took a sip of water that became four massive gulps. Drained clean. Sat the empty down and locked eyes with Donahue.

  Hadn’t Eli mentioned something about that last night?

  I see a player reach for his drink, that’s when I reach for my chips.

  “What’s going on, Detective Donahue?” she asked.

  “Sorry to say, the time for show and tell is over.”

  “Shame.”

  “Not that you were ever in the loop. Everything we ever let you know, we let you know because we wanted you to know it.”

  “In case you’re worried I might scurry off to Al Holder, rest easy. I am no longer in his employment.”