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- Story Listed as: Fiction For Adults
- Theme: Mystery
- Subject: Crime
- Published: 01/25/2016
Deadline
Born 1968, M, from Kingston, CanadaCold rain, early morning and murder. It was a cliche, Jess Lyons thought, stepping from the warmth of her battered Focus, eyes locked on police cruisers barricading Tanner Motors. Cold rain, early morning...murder. Maybe she'd start her story like that.
Twirling lights painted the scene in splashes of red and blue outside the dealership, reflecting off the large windows of the Tanner Motors' office. She hadn't thought Canton had this many patrol cars. One of the other writers on staff took care of community budget crap. To the right of the office, shiny automobiles faced the street from the show yard, black prices stencilled on windshields. To the left of the building, an alley. Orange sawhorses had been set up there. More cruisers back there. An ambulance. Employee parking, she bet. And the scene of death. Just out of her line of sight.
Cold rain, early morning, murder and... questions unanswered! Okay...Cliche or not, Jess thought. She had to move. God, but it made for a great start to a story, didn't it? She fought back the urge to smile. Nothing happy about murder, of course, but the story behind it...
Her heart raced. Calm now, easy... She needed to focus. Yes, focus! She stopped, lifted the Nikon around her shoulder and snapped off some establishing shots. Rain tapped her lens and she wiped it off with her baggy t-shirt and snapped a couple more pics. Needed a front page shot, for sure. This was definitely front page news for the Canton Gazette.
Or anywhere really.
Time had no meaning right now for her, she admitted. She had rocked her battered Focus across town the minute her editor had hollered through the phone. “Git yer ass down to Tanner Motors... Allan Sinclair's been found murdered...”
Even now, her mind reeled, barely concealed excitement urging her forward.
Finally, finally! A real story had come her way. All before her thirtieth birthday. And it was Tuesday. She had till midnight to file. She would make Wednesday's deadline for sure. Only twice a week editions of the Canton Gazette were published. She wanted real stories, printed in hours, not days. And she would get it. Soon.
She pursed her lips. Very satisfied right now. Just over one week til her thirtieth birthday, too. A real story that would be the crown of her portfolio. Those editors in the large metropolitan newspapers would really take notice of her writing skills with something this serious, something, well, less small town like!
Walking towards the cruisers blocking the dealership's show yard, Jess's heart soared. She might be a small town girl, yes, but the world beyond the twice weekly Canton Gazette beckoned. She was small town, yes. For now.
Spectators gawked, trying to see. She vaguely heard the chatter as she moved forward.
“Poor man!”
“He was so nice... who would do such a thing!?!”
“He gave me such a deal on my car!”
“Poor Mel!”
Get the story! Every bit of her being soared, adrenalin fuelled with purpose. Go, Jess, go....
She ran right into him. Or, rather the cop ran into her, blocking her from any other step. Okay... two steps back. The cop glowered at her, large arms across a chest that looked oddly out of proportion to his tiny head.
“Where do you think you're going? Move back please,” he said.
She smiled. Never a cavity. She had been too focused, she guessed.
She had been starting to slip between two cruisers she saw now. Play the game...get the story. Yep...
With one finger, she tucked a strand of her wet red hair behind her right ear and cocked her head. “Sorry, sorry. Canton Gazette.” She reached for the badge around her neck. Oh, God! She wasn't even wearing a bra. God!
He stared at her chest now. Great! 5:30 in the morning! The call had woken her. Ugh! Her press badge was still at home, too. She pulled her jacket tighter around her body and shivered. Cold, rain, and no bra... not a cliche maybe, but definitely the beginning of an erotic novel.
“I need to see the Chief, please.”
“No one gets past here. No one.”
No! She was getting through. For once, her story wouldn't be about strawberry socials, minor misdemeanours, high school football games, or town council meetings to showcase her talents. By thirty! That was the deadline. To be something or be stuck in Canton forever. News travelled fast in small towns. News like this though, was uncommon. A murder. Right on the main street. Had anyone seen anything? Anything at all?
Allan Sinclair was dead, is what she'd heard. She'd known Allan all through high school, knew he'd married into the Tanner family, quickly taking on the manager position at Tanner Motors' Canton branch. When was the last time she really saw Allan? Last week maybe. He'd stopped by the newspaper, armed with ad copy, the latest sales and deals.
“I need to see the Chief,” she said again. More authority in her voice. “Tell him Jess is here.”
“Please step back.”
She saw him. Chief Walter Sinclair walking beside one of his officers. Great pic. Head bowed, obviously listening to one of his uniforms, nodding his head as they strolled from the alley way – - to the front of the building. Fingers numb – damn it was cold and miserable - she drew the camera up again, twisted the lens out for a close up... Her finger hit the button. Walter's head rose then. Near ten years, she had known him. Council meetings, small crimes she needed to report on, typical court stuff he was involved in... yes, they certainly knew each other, had developed a rapport.... The face she saw now looked aged beyond Walt's fifty some years. His face looked bleached of all colour, and he was rubbing his double chin, his mouth. What the hell had happened to Allan?
She waved, “Walt!”
He nodded her way, dismissed her with a hand wave, and then started to walk towards another officer on the sidewalk, eyes glaring, seeking anyone to challenge him.. “Walt! I need a statement! Please...” He was clearly not interested in talking. When would she get a chance to get the story? Later today? Tomorrow morning? She had to think of something or risk being ignored. Right now she wanted to hear what was up.
Her birthday was getting closer.
“People are talking,” she hollered over the chatter of the crowd. “Walt, is there a killer in Canton? Should we, as a community, be worried?”
He turned around; his eyes flared. Oh boy! Her cheek heated up. Colour of her hair, she bet. She may have gone too far. But to hell with it! He was doing his job, well, so was she.
He wiggled his finger, scowling. “Let her through!” he growled to Large Chest. Seconds later, Walt grabbed her by the elbow, and guided her away from the crowd to the other side of a cruiser. His anger was palpable.
“What the hell are you doing, Jessica? Trying to stir up shit is what you're doing.” He towered over her. “I do not need this! Get me!?”
“I just want to know what is happening. How many times -?”
“Have you said you want a great story? Millions! You think this is one? It isn't. It is sad.”
“Are you okay?”
Ignoring her concern, he said, “I will give you what I have at this time. As soon as I know more...but stop with the theatrics!”
“Of course.” Her small recorder she slipped from her pocket. “Go.”
“Allan Sinclair stabbed,” he said, a veteran of brief statements. A just the facts, mam, cop. “Looks like it happened just after 11 last night. We are questioning people at this time. His father-in-law, Dominick Tanner, found him near his vehicle out back of the building when he came in at 5... he was always there before his staff. He called us. At this time, looks... looks like the victim was robbed. Wallet gone, watch missing, car window broken, rifled through. Looking for more valuables. That is all we have, Jess...”
Her reporter's instinct knew that there was in fact more. His face from earlier as he'd walked down the alley... that was not all!!
“Tell me.”
He eyed her and she knew that he was well aware that she wasn't naive. His shoulders visibly slumped, she noted. He was defeated. He moved and leaned against the hood of a cruiser.
“He wasn't just stabbed,” he said. All the power, the vehemence of moments ago was gone. “He was stabbed repeatedly. Face, neck, hands. Let's keep that out of the story for now.”
Bile rose in her throat as he rambled on. One week ago she had seen Allan at the office, had spoke to him over weak coffee.
Now he was dead.
Suddenly, the thought that she had been pleased to get a real story... a story where someone died....
Bile rose in her throat. She closed her eyes. Shame, she felt.
When she opened her eyes, Walt's eyes were focused over her shoulder, lost, gazing into the main building, dark at this hour minus the soft glow from a computer monitor somewhere in the back.
“A mugging, gone bad,” he said, still shaking his head. “Allan fought back.”
“Stabbing someone,” she whispered, “cutting him up the way you tell it, that sounds personal.”
His eyes again came alive, nailed her. “You are not a cop,” he said. “We are going to follow up, ask questions. Right now we have officers out looking for our guy. We'll catch the person who did this, for sure. Maybe we'll get some DNA off of Allan. Do not go looking for some nefarious reason.... the evidence speaks for itself. Understood?”
“Yes, but -”
“But, but... we will look at all avenues, Jessica. Now, I have to get back to...”
She saw an officer wearing gloves, putting a blood spattered duffel bag into the trunk of a nearby cruiser. Looked like it had been rifled through, bits of clothing viewed through the open zipper. Had the police done that? No. She didn't think so. And there was a tag on it, too. Obviously evidence. Why would it be here? Allan's duffel bag?
Close to Allan when he was murdered.
But someone had pawed through it.
Looking for something?
Money? Something else to steal?
But, Allan had had a duffel with him? Where was he going? Or why was he bringing it to work?
Questions. Jess bit her bottom lip. A story, yes. Something definitely here.
“What was he doing here so late? Tanner's closes at 9.”
He shook his head. “He was dedicated, you know. Father in law says he left late some nights, came in early sometimes.”
She nodded. Allan was a well loved member of the community for sure. A hard worker, chaired many committees, worked with organizing the Christmas food drive every year... Not one person, she thought, didn't like Allan. He was personable and worked well with people and customers alike.
Walt was right. Must be a mugging. But... The duffel. Was he leaving the business? Or coming in? Was he meeting someone? What was in the duffel? Clothes? Questions. So many questions.
The stabbing was so brutal, too. And the back of the building couldn't be seen from the street. Sounded like maybe somebody was waiting for him?
Maybe. Or maybe... Maybe she was fishing.
“Have you contacted, Mel?” Allan's wife, Melissa, would be devastated, she knew. They'd been high school sweethearts.
“Her dad is with her. My guy is there questioning them both.”
After leaving Walter, she stood around for a bit, asked some of the people who were there if they'd seen anything, got a few teary “who would do such a thing? He was such a nice man” comments, but mostly no one knew much.
Right on Canton's main drag.
Not one person had witnessed the brutal murder.
Back in the car, she sat there, staring at the crime scene. Squiggles of water ran down the windshield.
Tap, tap, tap!!
Startled, she looked up to see a green rain slickered Myles Elliott outside her passenger side window, all smiles. Ugh, just what she needed right now.
She leaned over, threw open the door. “Myles, I have no time...”
Without an invite, he slid in beside her and handed her a Styrofoam cup. The smell of coffee greeted her. He slammed his door, smiled her way.
Perfect smile, noted, Lock of wet brown hair plastered to his forehead made him look... well cute....
Eyes so blue.
Stop, Jess...
“Thank you,” she said, giving a quick lift of the coffee cup. “Could use the warmth.”
“No problem. Knew you’d definitely be here. Already had the coffee brewed...Heard it was Allan Sinclair.”
“Look, Myles, I have no time...”
“Neither do I,” he said. “Just gave myself five, then gotta head back to the diner. But, don't you wonder why he was here so late? Or early?”
All she had been thinking about really. Smart guy. He could do better than being a fry cook at Katrina's Diner.
None of her business.
Back to the duffel bag. Why did Allan have a duffel with him?
“I think he's been spending quite a few nights here,” he interrupted her thoughts. “He lets himself in after 11, sleeps, has to let himself out so none of the other employees knows he slept there. He is almost always my first customer of the morning, Jessie. Toast and coffee, a creature of habit.”
She offered a smile. Again lifted her coffee. “I was thinking that. Why was he here so late? Seems weird to me. Dedicated doesn't fly.”
“I know how you think. Great minds. Perfectly tuned minds. Like soul mates maybe.”
She returned his boyish smile. Was he for real? Sometimes she wondered. And he never gave up with the flirting.
Almost two years ago now, Katrina's diner, had been robbed at gunpoint during a slow Sunday. Myles had managed to wrestle the would be thief down, risking his own life to save the customers there at the time. She'd covered the story, interviewed Myles on his heroics. He'd lunged over the counter, tackling the thief, stopping a robbery.
Yes, the gun had been a fake, it was quickly realized. The assailant truly didn't want to hurt anybody, was just a guy down on his luck, but nonetheless, Myles hadn’t known about the gun. He'd done it as the right thing to do, he'd said. During the interview, he'd asked her out. She'd declined.
“Why?” he'd asked.
“Focusing on my career, don't need the complications. Thank you all the same.”
“Do you believe in fate? Some people are meant to save each other, you know.”
She grinned. “I don't need saving.”
“Maybe not... but from the time you stopped in here today, I didn't know a heart could beat so fast. I feel like you saved me from never feeling this way.”
A line. He was good. And he looked sincere. She had patted his hand.
“Not gonna happen,” she said. “You better get back to work.”
Since then, he never stopped trying to hint they were a perfect match.
“Gossip at the diner is his wife had been spending a lot of time in Napanee,” he said now.
She'd heard that, yes. Napanee had welcomed the latest Tanner Motors franchise only a few weeks back. The Grand Opening she'd covered with another staff member. That time at least, she had someone else taking the pictures.
Myles’s eyes locked on her. Felt as though he was seriously holding her soul in that gaze, examining it, and trying to fully understand it.
“Stop, looking at me like that.”
He smiled. Yes, he loved that he got to her. She broke their stare. Needed to focus. What had he been saying -? Oh yes, gossip. Melissa. Was there someone else in her life? Someone in Napanee?
“What do you know?” she said.
“Nothing, not a thing. But people say Melissa was seeing someone down there. The new manager, maybe. You know as well as I do, that in every scrap of gossip -”
“- there is a little truth.” She had long ago discovered this fact. “Thanks for the tip.”
She had met the manager in Napanee. First impression: arrogant, a true salesman, fake, a ladies man. The complete opposite of Allan's bookish, composed, nice guy status.
More Melissa's type, by Jess's judgement.
He shrugged. “It’s only talk... but you know, might be something there.” A quick shrug and then, “’Course, we could talk over dinner, see if I might remember hearing more..”
And there it was again. Never stopped trying. What would she do if he did stop?
“Thank you,” she said. “But no.”
“Okay.”
As she pulled away from the curb, her eyes watched her rear-view mirror for a second, at the ambulance motor down the alley to the main street.
Inside a body bag. She sighed.
By early afternoon, she found herself sitting on a loveseat across from Melissa and her father, thee Dominick Tanner, at Melissa's home. Upscale neighbourhood, too. Rosewood was a gated community where Allan and Melissa had lived for their entire marriage. Her father didn't think talking to the press wise, but Melissa said it was fine. Red, puffy eyes, a scrunched up Kleenex in her hand, and a far away look in her eyes gave credence to a woman wrought with grief.
Father and daughter sat perched on the couch across from her, as though both were ready to flee if Jess should ask questions not appropriate to their social standing. Instead of a recorder, which might seem intrusive, Jess had pen poised over notebook. She had to wonder about Melissa's grief. Yes, she appeared upset, but Jess had to wonder. Jess had seen the duffel bag at the crime scene and hearing what Myles had picked up through the diner gossip mill....
Questions, questions...
She had to play it cool if she wanted any info.
As cold as it might sound, Jess knew Melissa had been quite the actress in her day. That's how Allan and Melissa had met, she well knew. Through drama class. Jess had hurriedly scribbled Allan's obit already but the reason for her visit, she had told them, was to do a story on Allan's life and his sudden, tragic death. Murder.
Melissa wore her hair down. She twirled one of several colourful rings on her fingers but seemed to avoid her wedding band.
Was that a tell? Had her marriage been crumbling?
Even as she sat there, listening and jotting notes, she had to wonder if what Myles, the diner gossip, said was true? Had Melissa been seeing someone else? Was Allan staying at the car lot?
Melissa spoke of their life together. High school, the wedding after high school... always happy, it seemed. Jess sensed Melissa said what she thought was expected. Just a feeling though.
Melissa and Allan, high school sweethearts, People hadn't understood how the tall thin bookish Allan Sinclair had captured the most popular of girls, Melissa Tanner.
But then did anyone need to understand anything where love was concerned?
God, she was beginning to sound like Myles.
“I felt sorry for him, remember Daddy?” she said, as though in answer to Jess's thought. She leaned back on the sofa. “His dad had died that August and he looked so broken when school started in September, destroyed, like he was just going through the motions. His mother had to work all the time. Poor thing. We lost her last year.”
Then her eyes filled up with tears and she gazed at the floor sobbing. Her father offered a reassuring hand on his little girl's back as she ripped and ripped tiny pieces of Kleenex, watching them flutter to the thick carpeting below. He shook his head. “Mel brings home this scrawny kid. Well, he looked like nothing, but how could you not love him? Smart as a whip. A plus student. Wasn't a great salesman, but I taught him the sales game.”
Melissa rambled on about what a great guy he'd been, how much she'd adored him.
Never said love, Jess noted. She wrote love with a question mark, and circled it. Interesting. It was all good, but it wasn't what she wanted to know. There was a story here. A real story.
Melissa pursed her lips, then dabbed her eyes. “I can't believe it. He was so well liked.”
She watched Melissa. She was so popular in high school and drama was where she excelled. Was this an act? Jess wondered.
“Daddy became like a surrogate father to him. Please do put that in your story, will you?“
She listened and by the end she had everything that would make a nice human interest piece. But she wasn't satisfied... she needed to keep things going.
“I would love to have some pictures of Allan, of you two together maybe, if you have anything.”
Melissa nodded. “Please, yes. Daddy, I'm okay. Make me some tea would you?”
Together, Melissa escorted Jess upstairs to a closed door down the hallway.
“This was what he called, his man cave,” she said. She pursed her lips as though she hadn't approved, but what do you do, right? “I never go in.”
Wasn't a huge room, no. Jess took it all in. Flat screen bracketed on a wall. A futon against another. A blanket lay folded up on it. Had Allan slept here? Book shelf full of books. Another book shelf with tons of blue ray, DVD movies. The far wall had one tiny window that looked onto the spacious backyard.
“He loved his movies,” she said. “He loved to read. It was his sanctuary, he said.”
She played her fingers along the spines, eyeing up the book titles, Patterson, MacDonald, Grisham...
“Here,” Melissa said, pulling a large yellow book off the shelf.
The Canton Yearbook, Jess knew. Yep! Grade 12, the final year they'd all been in school together.
A piece of paper started to slide out between the waxy pages.
Jess caught it. She’d kept all of the school papers during her four years at Canton High. Every month, another article bearing her byline. Whether a slice of school life, a rally, a sporting event, a teacher’s retirement, Jess wrote anything she was assigned.
“What’s that?” Melissa asked.
“Canton Condor clipping,” Jess said.
Melissa nodded, looking over. “Our Grade 12 play,” she said. “We took that play to one of the festivals. We won 2nd place, but we almost took first! They raved about how I was amazing.”
Jess mentally gave an eye roll.
“I wrote this.”
“My first review,” Mel said. “You said Allan was wooden. He wasn't much of an actor. He knew that.”
Sigh. She remembered.
Allan had kept the article. Most likely for his beloved. SENIOR PLAY CASTS SUPERIOR TALENT IN MURDER MYSTERY 'TANGLED WEB'. Jess liked the headline. Remembered, smiled.
The clipping revealed a picture of all the students standing on a stage, all smiles. Melissa wore a lovely dress and beside her was reed thin Allan. The others she recognized, of course. Some she knew by name, others vaguely. Some had left Canton over a decade ago. A list of all the class names and the parts they played were listed below the pic.
“May I borrow this. Might use the picture.”
“Keep it,” she said. “Can’t imagine I will keep any of this stuff for long.”
Kind of a cold thing to say, but Jess actually chewed her lip to keep from saying a thing.
“I will go get you a couple pictures of Allan, our wedding picture.”
She had to think of something to say now.
“Melissa,” she said. “He had a duffel with him. At the crime scene. I am sorry, I just need to ask. Were you two not getting along?”
She gave an audible sigh. “Oh.” She looked shocked. “The police asked, too. I told the police that our marriage was not perfect, that we had had a fight about money, usual husband, wife stuff. He left. He felt I was spending too much, and he was...” She dabbed her eyes with another Kleenex. “He was right. Seems so silly now. I didn't know where he was staying though. I would prefer you leave that out of the story. The police didn't think it was relevant.”
Ten minutes later, she thanked Melissa and her father both for their time and found herself sitting in her car.
A fight? Over money? Hmmmmmm
Melissa had just lied. She was sure of it. The lie came easily, and appeared rehearsed. What was really going on?
Walter listened as she drove 401 to Napanee the next morning, her cell open on the passenger seat, speaker on. She hadn't slept much. She kept going over her talk with Melissa. The whole latter part of their convo bothered her. “Couples fight,” he said when she told him it was too easy an answer. “After this many years together,” she said, “just seems odd that he just now gets upset about her spending habits. It sounds too simple.”
“The simplest answer is often the one.”
Sometimes, yeah. Maybe. But Jess wasn't sure that was the case this time. She pictured Walter seated at his desk, a glass of water and Advil popped every few hours.
“I get the feeling something else was going on,” she continued. “This is not just a mugging. What was in the duffel bag? I know Allan had a duffel bag with him, Walt, so don't even -”
“It was a bag full of money,” he said, snarly. “Diamonds and fake IDs, tons of them, all with Allan's face -”
“Are you done?”
“Are you? Underwear, socks, shirts and a couple pairs of pants. Toiletries. Good enough! Pretty much follows through with Melissa's story, I think. Husband walks away for a couple days. Noting nefarious in that. Leave police work to the police, Jessica. Like I told you! She did overspend. You know she liked nice things. But who knows why a fight now? These things build up.”
“Sure, but -”
“Stop hounding me. I gotta go!”
By 10:30 she pulled into the Napanee's Tanner Motors and found herself greeted by a dark receptionist in the small sales room. Her name tag read Amy.
“Ian CAllan please, Amy.” She had checked her own story for the manager's name.
“Can I ask what it's in regard to?”
“Personal,” she said.
The woman's eyes seemed to study her more closely now as she lifted the phone. Lines furrowed her brow, crinkled around her eyes as Jess felt clearly scrutinized. Worried about something, Ames?
Yes. A story was here.
“Jessie Lyons. You covered our grand opening.”
Nice to be remembered. She nodded.
Amy punched a number on her phone. Somewhere down a narrow hallway behind the counter, Jessie heard a phone ring. Then stop.
“Jessie Lyons, the reporter, here to see you.”
She hung up. “He'll be a few minutes if you wanna have a seat.”
Amy's fingers played with the the round emerald on the end of her necklace, finger and thumb rubbing away.
Yep, definitely worried.
Onto something, Jess most definitely was.
She could hardly contain her mounting excitement. But she needed to be professional. Keep calm. Breathe.
In less than a minute, the tall good looking man she'd met two weeks ago strode down the hall. Ian. Suit, tie, hair neat and tidy. Exactly the kind of guy Melissa would attract. He offered his hand and then guided her to his office near the back..
The office was quite large and the furniture all new. He slid into his large leather chair and took his time eyeing her up and down.
Pig!
She noticed the pictures on the wall. Him and a woman, obviously his wife, in front of a blue background. He stood behind her, his arms lovingly holding her, her hands on his, leaning into him.
She drew a card out and slid it across the ink blotter.
He lifted it, and she could see his thumb run across it, feeling the embossed letters that spelled her name.
“I remember you, Jess. Hard to forget. The red hair, I mean. How can I help you, Jess?”
So familiar already. Like he really knew anything about her. Was he hitting on her? She inwardly cringed, pretended to not understand him.
Yep, a cheater!
“It's about Allan Sinclair.”
He leaned back in his chair, hand smoothing his grey tie. Yes, he was smooth this guy. But she'd seen him flinch when she mentioned Allan.
“Dominick called me this morning. Sad, very sad. He was a great guy.”
“He was. How well did you know him?”
“Sorry. What is this all about?”
“I'm just trying to talk to people who knew him, get a feel, see if anyone knows anything that might help the police.”
He leaned back in his chair, a smirk on his face. “Excuse me, Miss. Lyons. Dominick said it was a mugging. Are you working with the police? If you're not, I am not sure why you're here.”
He definitely wasn't gonna keep talking. Think Jessie, think...
“Well, nothing is official. Allan was a friend.” A lie, true. More of an acquaintance really but Ian didn't need to know that.
“Well, I know you spent a lot of time with Allan.”
“With Dominick mostly. Allan ran the Canton Branch. I was starting here as a manager. You think I had something to do with Allan's murder?”
“No, I never said -”
“What? That I maybe killed him? I am a salesman and I know other sales people... and you're feeding me lines... tell me the bottom line. What do you think, Jess?”
So smug! She put the recorder on the desk. Pushed record.
“You mind?”
“Nothing to hide.”
“You and Melissa...I think there was something between you, yes?”
“Of course there was.” He smirked. “I worked for her dad, that's all. Look, you have nothing on me.”
“Her father is quite wealthy and with his son in law gone-”
“I swoop in, take his daughter, take the franchise when he dies. Yes. Sounds great. I am married.”
“You're not the first man -”
“And you write fiction, I guess. That's quite a story.”
She felt her hand on her lap curl into a fist. He was smooth, a talker... she had been a fool to think she could win with a guy like this. But there was something going on. His eyes told her she was getting close to something despite his false bravado. Definitely something there that he wasn't saying. Her reporter's instinct was onto something. But was he a killer?
“And if your wife were to find out?”
His resolve faltered. “Look, I am a dedicated husband and father, okay? There is nothing between Melissa and I, okay? Never was.”
Hard to read him but Jess was sure he might be pleading a bit. But she refused to stop.
“Would you like to talk to the police?” she said. “I happen to know the Chief of the Canton PD. Quite well. I am sure -”
His lips curled downward and his eyes became hooded slits.
“We are done, Miss. Lyons.”
Jess shivered. No more Jess from this guy,
“Do what you have to do. But you'll never prove a damn thing between us.”
Lifting his phone in a tight grip, he jabbed a button on the base.
“Ensure our guest leaves the premises immediately, Amy. She is on her way out now.”
She grabbed her recorder. Were they, Melissa and Ian, so close that both would protect the other at all costs? But you'll never prove a damn thing between us. Both could probably lie quite convincingly.
One a proven actress, one a skilled salesman...
She started through the showroom seconds later. Amy stood there, at her desk, worry etched on her face. Good! Jess watched her work the emerald between thumb and index. Worry, Ames! You should worry. Protective of her boss, was she? What had Jess stumbled onto? Whatever it was, she was beyond excited to find a killer!
Within minutes of leaving the lot, she pulled onto a side street and immediately called Walter. She explained about Ian and Amy, all that had transpired during her interview. Kinda had turned into an interrogation, she admitted.
“What the hell are you doing?” he asked. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Following up on this story I'm doing. About Allan's life -”
“It sounds like you're playing cop to me.”
“Investigative reporter. Listen.... Ian murdered Allan, I am sure of it. Maybe Melissa knows, suspects, or maybe not, but this guy is hiding something and so is Melissa. This Amy, she knows stuff. You should have seen Ian, Walter... he is so smug. Like you can't catch him. Something is definitively up! When I threatened to go to his wife he was so angry.”
“Angry! I'd be angry too. You accused him of murder, of cheating on his wife -”
“It wasn't like that, Walter. He brought it up. I was just there to talk to someone who knew Allan.”
“Bullshit!”
Ignoring his anger, she said, “He's cheating on his wife, but Amy is involved. He ends up with Melissa Tanner, there's money. Amy was not happy to see me show up today. You should have seen the look she gave me.”
“A look?”
“I know how it sounds. Something is up. I know it. Let's take them in, get them all talking. I think Amy will crack before he will. Then, I get the story.”
A pause. A long pause. She wasn't gonna mention about telling Ian that she'd threatened to sick Walter on him. Best keep that to herself.
“You want a story, huh?” Walter asked. “K. Perfect. Here it is.” He cleared his throat. “'Jess Lyons, Canton Gazette's investigative reporter, makes up fiction, while Canton PD catches real killer.' How's that sound, Jess? We got Allan's killer. An hour ago. And there is no mistake.”
Her stomach felt as though a giant fist had slammed into it as she sat in Walt's tiny office. Her story was dead. She had imagined something big. There must be a mistake, she kept thinking. Ian and Amy had conspired to murder Allan... Maybe. Or Ian had. Melissa knew, or suspected her lover had murdered her husband. But Amy knew something. Maybe Melissa had wanted her husband gone to start a new life with Ian.... a messy divorce might see Allan walking away with part of her father's business.
So many scenarios kept rolling through her mind. Each person was hiding something. But murder? She couldn't have wanted a story so bad that she was reaching, could she have? Yes. Even she knew that with her thirtieth birthday fast approaching, she had wanted a story. A great story. Had her imagination run wild? Apparently Walt believed so.
Positioned on the corner of his paper messy desk now, he passed her a brown file folder as he glared down at her. He wasn't impressed with her. She twisted in the chair, feeling like a kid before the angry principal. Not a good feeling, no.
“Go ahead, look,” he said.
She flipped open the cover. A head, shoulders shot met her gaze. Clean shaven man, brush cut, and from the shoulder star, he appeared to be in full military uniform. At the top of the photo, a name.
“Calvin Harris. Who is he?”
“Oh, you know him, Jess. Take a closer look. Imagine a beard.”
She started to shake her head and then -
“Oh my God. Cola Cal!”
“That's right,” he said, snatching the folder back.
Most small towns had people like Cola Cal, she knew. Major cities had them in droves, but Canton had few and Cal was certainly known by all. He wasn't all there in the mind department. Collected old bottles, returned them to the store, and bought booze with what he made. Spent all day wandering the streets, sleeping down by the river, mumbling incoherent fragments to himself, sometimes laughing at any time a hilarious thought popped in his head. The soiled winter jacket he wore through all the seasons hung off his scrawny frame.
She slumped back in her chair, picturing Cal easily enough. Not this Cal in the picture, no. But a heavily bearded, grungy Cal with a face weathered dark by all the seasonal elements.
“He confessed?”
Walt shrugged. “His mind's not right, Jess. Maybe we should all be more surprised he didn't hurt someone before this.
“This morning,” Walt continued, “he walks into the liquor store with a fifty,” Walter said. “You know him, he always has his knapsack or a cart with him, filled with empties. The clerk there, he gives him his cash, Cal buys. Way it is, way it has always been. Not today. Cash. He walks in, kid behind the counter, he called me right away.”
“He's never harmed a fly.”
“Well, that isn't the case, Jess.” He grabbed his glasses, flipped a couple pages. He seemed to peer over the rims. “Ex military. Saw a little combat. He struck his commanding officer, refused to follow orders. Discharged.”
“But, Walt, come on...-”
“Stop. We opened his knapsack, Jess. Guess what we found? A bloody knife in there and a laptop computer. It's in evidence, but we do know it belongs to Allan. Probably would have hit the pawnshop sometime today, my guess...he broke into the car, stole it.”
“He must have said something.”
“Always does. He doesn't understand. He did mention Allan but what does that mean? He is mentally not there, Jess.”
“But he must have seen Allan a million times before. Why now?”
“Just snapped. We got our guy. And for the record, he was well equipped in arm to arm combat. Guns, knives.”
“Can I talk to him?”
Both his large hands slapped together, sounding like a rifle shot with the acoustics in the small room. He stood now, hiked up his pants and said, “Absolutely not! What do you think he's gonna say? Suddenly get sane. He will go away. Mental institution, I'd imagine. Be a might sight better than the life he has now.” He shook his head. “Now, go write your story. I'm here if you need anything. Go. Now.”
She left the office, feeling wholly defeated. Why didn't she think Cal had done it when all the evidence pointed to the contrary? Easy answer: Melissa, Ian and Amy. What?
Back at the paper, her mind reeled with this morning's capture. She typed the article feeling drained and had to call Walt regarding dates Cal was in the military. She took notes, got facts, hung up.
At Katrina's Diner, the entire noon crowd was abuzz about it, gossip flowing as she nibbled on a grilled cheese, ripping pieces off the toasted sandwich, dabbing each in a huge wad of ketchup. Her laptop was open. She was giving her article a quick edit. She went into pictures. Needed a good one of the crime scene for tomorrow's Saturday edition.
When Myles didn't show up to bug her, she found she was kind of disappointed. Today, she would have welcomed a friend. Or a hug? Why wasn't he working? Stop Jess. God! Myles wasn't for her. She refused to stay tied to this town – despite this morning's set back - and he loved it here. But where would she go? Maybe she would just leave. Try her luck. She seemed to be good at making up stories. Fiction? What was she thinking? She was a journalist, right? Always had been.
She reflected on Ian at the dealership, that taunting look on his face. He had been hiding something. Melissa too. Had they framed Cal? Maybe. Sigh.
Back to pic - What? She clicked on one and enlarged it. She snatched up her phone and dialled Walter. After waiting 15 minutes, listening to some really twangy country music – jeesh! -he came on the line.
“He was there, Walter. At the crime scene. Cal was hanging around. Was there blood on his jacket?”
A deep sigh.
“I took pictures,” she said. “Not one person said Cal had blood on him.”
“His coat is soiled from years of use,” he said. “It was raining, too. I doubt anyone would notice blood or no blood. Might want those pictures of yours by the way. Killers often return to the scene of the crime.”
“Do you still have his jacket?”
“We're not Quantico. He has been cleaned up now, the jacket incinerated.”
Damn.
“What if Ian framed him?” she asked.
“Framed? What are you talking about?”
“What if he framed Cal to throw us off the track of what he did? I know something is going on, Walt! You have to trust me.”
“You writing fiction now, are you?” Stern, no nonsense. “Do you know how insane that sounds, Jess? You might need to take a break for a while from the newspaper biz. You are so wound up with a big story, you're reaching to crazy places. Please listen to yourself.”
When she hung up, she felt defeated. He was right. Walt was right. All she had was her gut instinct and not much else; no evidence, nothing... But she did have Allan's story and there were always follow up questions, right?
Melissa was in her housecoat when she showed up. She looked worse than the day before if that was possible. Jess had lied and said she needed to ask some follow up questions. She had to be delicate. As Melissa entered the walk in closet in the master bedroom for something to wear for the funeral service tomorrow, Jess took a seat on the edge of the king size bed.
“I don't think Cal killed, Allan,” she finally said.
Startled, she spun around “Walter said -”
“I know what he thinks. I think Ian Cullen did it.”
Her eyes widened. Yes, Jess had hit a nerve indeed! She was right. There was something.
“What? Why would you think that?”
“I interviewed him for the piece I am doing and he knows more than he admits.”
Melissa looked visibly shaken.
“Are you okay?”
“Fine, yes.”
Only she wasn't, Jess knew. The actress was realizing her affair had cost her husband his life.
“He wanted to move in on you is my guess, or maybe he already has.”
Melissa, visibly pale, shook her head.
“He gets Allan out of the way, moves in on you. He is quite the ladies man. The police will be questioning him for sure.” A lie, but if it helped Jess get the story... “Look, Melissa, if you know anything...”
Melissa shook her head. “This is not happening. Why Ian? No, he'd never...”
“I think his secretary knows something. Maybe she's in on it.”
“Amy, no, never...”
“I have to call Amy!”
Amy? She started to walk from the room, but Jess was up, blocking her exit from the room.
“Something was going on Melissa,” Jess said. “I have seen Ian. He's hiding something...”
Tears came to her eyes and she paused. She was shaking her head, hands to her mouth as she took a couple steps back and - Jess stopped. One of the rings on Melissa's finger. A round green emerald. The one she had been twirling, playing with the day Jess had first interviewed her.
She had seen an emerald twice now.
“Amy had an amerald on a chain around her neck.”
Melissa's hand touched the ring on her finger. Not her wedding band. She nodded, tears rolling down her cheeks.
“Matching,” Jess whispered.
“Promise rings,” Melissa corrected. “Amy wears hers close to her heart, on a chain. She's never been married so she says her wedding ring is the only one she'll wear on her finger.”
She shook her head, clearly distraught. “Ian has nothing to hide. He's just protecting his baby sister from harm. And me, too.”
Ian had been so smug, Jess remembered clearly. So certain they couldn't find anything on him. Because, she saw now, they couldn't.
“He is protecting her from scandal. And me, too. If this comes out, I mean right now... People will think I killed Allan. Amy will be brought into the fold... please... you mustn't print this... not yet!”
Jess could see it now. How it would look, what people would think. No wonder Amy was so worried. Their secret, their affair...the pall of murder cast on them... Still it was part of the story... She was a journalist, but it really had nothing to do with Allan's murder. Then Cal... Cal really had killed Allan.
“I never thought I would fall in love,” Melissa said. “Oh, Jess, I did love Allan so much. More like a sister. But I tried with him. I would have kept going and he would never have known that I wasn't in love with him, not really...”
Melissa was a liar, was all Jess could see. She had manipulated Allan, making him believe she had loved him. Sad.
“Daddy is so old school... he would never have tolerated me with a woman...” Melissa said. “I can't lose him. He might disown me.”
“And so you picked a secure guy who wouldn't ask for much. He got the girl and you lived a lie.”
Melissa cast her eyes down now, clearly pained to hear Jess's words. Good!
“You have to tell your father now, I hope.”
“We are going to tell him..”
“He'd been staying at the dealership then. That's why the duffel bag. When did you tell him about leaving?”
“Three months ago, maybe.”
Much like Myles had said in the car that night of the murder. He felt Allan had spent quite a few nights at the dealership. All made sense...
“I never planned this, none of it,” Melissa stammered. “Dad was getting things started with the business in Napanee and I went with him a couple times. Allan too. Amy and I struck up a friendship.”
“You told him you were leaving him for Amy, right?” She hoped the vehemence in her voice wouldn't go unnoticed.
“Of course! I swear! He just left, threw himself into his work. He didn't say much. Stayed here some nights in his room, but more often I think he spent time at the office,”
She stood up. He'd felt emasculated, no doubt. The real reason he was staying away from home.
Enough! Allan's real killer was in custody and Jess was still trying to prove it wasn't him. Everything pointed to Cal. Everything had finally fallen into place and all to pieces at the same time for her. She left the bedroom without another word.
“You look tired,” she said as Myles came into Katrina's after seven that night. Jess had come here for supper but hadn't wanted to eat. Mostly she had stared out at the street and from where she sat she could almost see Tanner Motors on the next block. Her laptop had long ago gone to sleep. She hadn't finished her story about Cal, or about Allan's life. She had hoped Myles would show. And now he had.
“Had a date,” he said, sliding in across from her.
A date? She knew her eyebrows had rose. She tried to hide that she was somewhat shocked, but Myles clearly noticed. A look of indignation crossed his face and then was almost as quickly replaced by a sly smirk. He stood up then and slid in beside her, his hip resting against hers.
She felt his heat and didn't hate the fact that it felt good.
“You think I just have eyes for you, don’t you?” he whispered. She could smell the musky smell that was distinctly his.
“No -” Heat, such heat in her face. Even to her, her “no” sounded weak.
“Yes you do, you absolutely do, don’t you? Why so surprised, Jess? That I have a life outside of this place? Sure, I work here, but you know very little of my life outside work.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean -”
He nodded, his gaze never wavering, even though she tried to look away.
“You think this is all I do,” he said. “I am more than just a fry cook in a greasy spoon. Do you know I cooked for my family growing up, and that this is a stepping stone for me, that I actually took a night course in cooking...”
“I didn't -“
“No, you don't. I am more than this place, much more. We all have things that make us happy, or things we don’t. I try to improve my life, just like you. I started hiking outside of college, came to Canton, wanted to move on, but found I liked it here. At some point, I might like to open a diner of my own and yet, I do love this job, Jess. I love people. I love this small town. I intend to stay.”
“Look -“
“I play video games, Love them. I go running first thing every morning. I take photographs and play a little baseball...
“You think I am pining away for you, Jess?” he asked, his inflection obviously a little annoyed now. “You know I like you, you know that. I have made no big secret about it. But I date. You are not the only girl in my life... I will keep trying cause I like you. I like the way you think, the way you talk, and admire how you want to make a better life for yourself, too. I want that, too. I truly do. But I am not waiting for you.”
He held up his coffee. “This coffee tastes better when I do it? Know why?”
She shook her head.
“Cause I care.” He slid out of this seat. “Stay out of trouble, k?”
She watched him leave then.
What had just happened? Had he just snubbed her? Wonder if she should have tried to apologize. What a fool she’d been. She tried to think. She pursed her lips, wondering where Myles was going right now. Should she chase him?
No, not right now. Damn, she was such a fool. Of course he wasn’t waiting for her. Why did that bother her? Ugh. Just a cook, no. He was just like her, like most people... everyone had dreams. She started typing. File the story and run with it. Her fingers flew over the keyboard now. Don't think about Myles's words. She flipped through pages of notes she'd made.
Despite her writing, Myles kept crossing her mind, all he had said. He wasn’t waiting for her, he’d said. Of course, he wasn’t. Did she honestly think he was? He had a life outside of her. Everyone did. Good, cause she certainly wasn’t waiting for - She paused and reread her last sentence on the screen. Damn! She’d typed “‘I am more than just a fry cook in a greasy spoon...’” She pushed backspace to erase. Froze.
She felt as though someone had smacked her in the face.
Was she reaching? Again?
Maybe.
Allan. Allan was more than the sum of his parts. Damn!
An exemplary student. Excelled at everything, shy, geeky.
She saw it, but hadn’t seen it. She pawed through her notes, opened the old newspaper clipping of the school play. Allan's acting was wooden, she'd written. He loved movies, right? No questions. He'd been in drama.
Oh, oh, oh...
She ran her finger down the cast list of students, each character they played in 'Tangled Web', but in brackets she saw....
Melissa Tanner makeup.
Allan Sinclair...
Bingo!
Her mouth felt like it was wadded with cotton, her mind filled with so many pieces of a puzzle that had been set in motion in a drama class over a decade ago. From Melissa to Amy, it all came back to the real story about Ian Sinclair. Everyone pulled their weight in that small drama class. Like herself at the newspaper. Photographer. Writer. She started to see it. Was she crazy? It was out there as theories went, but this one thing made total sense. She hadn’t seen it because it was so right in front of her face. Her reporter’s instinct was fully charged now. Damn!!
Half an hour later, she rang the doorbell of Melissa's home and while Melissa was less than pleased, given the hour, she allowed Jess to return to Allan's man cave. She went to the bookshelf and within minutes she found the books she was looking for. Books on screenplays. One in particular, she pulled out... dog-eared, older than the rest...a thumb worn copy... She closed her eyes, holding the book to her chest. Breathe, breathe... Opening her eyes, she saw that Syd Fields was the author. She had heard of him. The inscription on the inside front cover was an added bonus! Bingo!
“What is it? Do you know what time it is?” Walt snarled at her across the phone line. She did know. It was after two in the morning.
“I am at the police station,” she said. “Outside. You have to bring in Dylan Watts. He killed Allan!”
A long pause on the other end of the phone. Heavy breathing. Annoyed.
“Walt, please hear me out.”
“We caught Allan's killer. Who the hell is Dylan Watts?”
She swallowed. “Allan's old drama teacher. Look, please listen -”
“God, Jess! ”
“Just listen. Dylan was the father figure for Allan,” she began. “Allan loses his dad in August before school starts, goes to school, shy, loves movies, always has, and joins the drama club. He would have looked up to his girlfriend's dad yes, but he wasn't the first father figure he latched onto.
“Allan admired Dylan. Dylan Watts was born here. He left for a while, went away to college, became a theatre major, eventually tried his hand in Hollywood. I looked it up on line. It's all there. He was involved in some plays during his life, but nothing amounted to anything... he returned here to teach. The school web site boasts him as a foremost authority on screenplay writer. You following?”
A snort. He was pissed.
“It gets better. Allan is more than just a car guy. He was an A plus student. Best class, English. He excelled. And when it came to drama and the twelfth grade play...it was written by Dylan but Allan was listed as writer, too. It's a small club, right? They all had to have different jobs, not just as actors. Allan has his name beside Dylan's on the playbill. This play went on to win 2nd place in a festival...”
“Jess!”
“Listen... Allan also has several books on the art and craft of screenplay writing on his bookshelf... but one in particular was given from a Mr. Dylan Watts to a teenage Allan Sinclair. A book by Syd Fields, one of the foremost authors in script writing technique. I looked it up. Dylan bought it for his pupil and guess how I know it to be fact? An inscription inside says, 'Keep writing... you have a real gift!' signed by Dylan himself.”
A long pause.
“You there?”
“Here! This is just a story, Jess. Get to the part where Watts murders his old student.”
“First, Allan married Melissa right out of high school. He goes to work for her old man. Maybe he still writes for fun, right? To get creative. Maybe not. He wrote the ad copy for Tanner motors, Walt. Hell, he came in to deliver it at the Gazette. He loves his movies, loves reading. His man cave is a testament to all of that. But life got in the way for him, as it does for us all sometimes. So he is just doing what he can, but now his wife is leaving him...”
Quickly she filled him in on Melissa and Amy.
Then, she continued, “Devastated by his marriage falling part, he starts writing again.... he writes a script, Walt! He shows it to Dylan, cause he admires him, cherishes his opinion... he's the father figure and Dylan is looking for approval. Whatever happens next... well Dylan wants that script. So, it must be good, right? It must be. He kills because of it. Dylan knows people in the industry and he sees a way out of Canton...”
“He killed Allan for a script? That is insane! You and I are gonna have a talk.”
“Pull him in for a chat,” she said. “I have real questions I can ask. He did it! “
“And the knife and the laptop in Cal's bag!?”
“Everyone knows Cal, and he wouldn't be that hard to find. It would be easy to plant evidence...”
“Frame the guy? We back to that again. Suppose, what you say is true. There is nothing concrete. I have a guy in lockup, mentally unstable...Figure it out.”
He slammed down the phone.
Angry, pissed, she clicked off too.
Evidence.
One D. Watts was in the phone book.
She pulled up to the curb, just a few houses down from his small bungalow. Not a busy street. A quick glance at her watch showed her it was well after 11:30. She'd wait here, wait til Dylan left for school in the morning, then go in. Could be a hell of a wait. School was tomorrow so she expected Dylan would leave first thing in the morning, but whenever he left, she was gonna get in there, get the evidence she needed, prove to Walt that this was Allan's true killer. Break and enter, is that really what she was gonna do? Damn right she was!
She sipped her coffee and waited. Had to stay awake. At three a.m., a droplet of rain pecked the windshield. Then another. The rain started. Hard. Blurring the world beyond her car. Was it a cliche? Jess wondered. Cold rain? Early morning? Trying to solve a murder? Her driver's door was ripped open. Even as she gasped, she found herself out of the car, on the ground. She felt heat, warmth, spread over the back of her head where it had struck the sidewallk. Her mind was fuzzy. What!?! What was happening?
She struggled to understand - Rain pounded her face, her eyes. She couldn't see. A large gloved hand gripped her throat, applied pressure and before she could scream, another gloved hand covered her mouth so she couldn't. Though dark, she stared up into rain and could see angry eyes through a mask - Dylan! No, not - These eyes she knew. Genre! Jess struggled to get air. Her eyes widened in horror. No..... Jess hadn't considered the genre of the script! Damn no! She reached up and grabbed the mask, yanked it off. A stupid mistake she'd made. Walter's eyes glared down at her. “You couldn't leave it alone!” he spat. So angry, teeth clenched. Veins bulged at his temples. Rain dripped off his nose.
Torrential rain fell as the last of her strength left her.
OMG! OMG! Her mind raced at darkness closing in. She was gonna die here on the street. No one knew she was even here, no one....No, please, God no...
She couldn't believe this!
“Let her go now!” Myles's voice? “Or I'll blow your head off!”
Walter let her go. Darkness settled in.
She sat in Katrina's across from Myles. Black cups of coffee in front of them. Her laptop was open and she was quickly typing what she could of the story she had to tell. Deadline was midnight today and she was well ahead of schedule. A story that had almost killed her, now that was a story. Her head ached, but the paramedics said it was just a nasty bump, not a concussion.
After her attack, she had woken on a stretcher, police lights flashing, paramedics attending to her.
She looked up from her screen. “I can't believe you were following me,” she said. Her throat was a little sore but nothing that wouldn't heal. “I was your date. No wonder you looked tired. You missed work for me?” Questions yes, questions that weren't really questions... she knew the answers.
“Late nights. You're a hard act to follow. I care, Jess.”
She felt her cheeks heat up. “I see that.”
“I knew you'd go after the story, Jess, and I wanted to keep you safe.”
“Thank God you did. You saved me.” Fresh tears started to well and she blinked them away. She still couldn't believe what had happened.
“Walter,” she said, shaking her head. She lifted her coffee. Her hands trembled a bit.
“He's not saying much, I gather?” he said.
She shuddered. No, he wasn't saying anything. That the Chief of Police, Walter, the man she had known for years, had tried to strangle her, was all still so hard for her to fathom.
The genre, she'd thought squirming under his large hands. That's what she had missed. What genre did Allan love the most? Detectives, mysteries, thrillers...that was her answer.
She'd seen the books of fiction. Allan's movies. Even the school play he'd helped write was a mystery. Tangled Web. Allan, the writer, had undoubtedly interviewed Walter on police procedures for the cop drama he'd penned.
Having obviously shown his script to his mentor, Dylan Watts, Allan had mentioned how Walter had helped authenticate the facts regarding police work. Walter's years as a Police Chief would make him an extremely knowledgeable source, a true asset to Allan's true crime story.
Though all speculation, Jess thought it logical that Dylan approached Walter then, discussed how the script could make millions, how Dylan knew people in the movie industry. Perhaps he still had contacts from his time away. They had hatched the plan together. It was a chance for Dylan to escape Canton, to make a name for himself.
Walter... it might have been a chance to leave small town Canton behind.
Both Allan and Dylan, after the murder was behind them, would suddenly be gone. Or so it all seemed, right now. No one was saying a word at the police station, yet. One thing, Jess did know... Allan must have confided in Dylan about his marriage, where he was staying.
All she knew for sure was that Dylan went insane when he went to stab Allan. Of course, Allan would have the script with him at all times. On his laptop, carried on a flash drive....Follow Allan, kill him, make it look like a mugging and steal laptop or anything else that might contain Allan's script! Only, had Allan said something that set Dylan off? Had Dylan been jealous of the fact his pupil, Allan, had, at least in Dylan's opinion, surpassed the teacher? She still recalled Walter's sickened pallor as he'd left Allan's body. No, by Walter's face, the brutality of Allan's murder wasn't obviously scripted to go down like that. The murder weapon had most likely been one in police lockup, Jess had thought. Walter gives it to Dylan, Dylan returns it and Walter plants money and weapons on Cal. Naturally, Cal finds money beside him in the morning or is handed the money, he's gonna spend it. Perhaps, Walter plants the weapon and laptop at the precinct when he opens Cal's knapsack. Never mind. There was opportunity.
Dylan, home at the time Walter had attacked Jess, was behind bars. Though neither Dylan nor Walter were saying much at this point, she had found out during her talk with police that a thumb drive recovered in Dylan's home contained a screenplay. Some pages bore the name of one Allan Sinclair.
n interviewed by the police separately. She hadn't heard a thing about Myles having a weapon. “You said you'd blow his head off?”
“The fake gun used in the diner robbery. Walter gave it to me as a memento back then.”
His lips parted, offering a sheepish smile as he lifted his coffee.
She offered him a smile in return.
“I put it at his temple,” he said. “I was parked down the block but I guess he parked a block over and came in on foot. When your car door opened, the interior light came on very quick. I thought you might be moving, but I didn't see you. I called the police as I ran.”
He reached over and took her hand. “Can I ask you something?”
“Let me go first, please,” she said.
He nodded.
“You want to grab some supper some night?” When he smiled, she felt her heart kick. “I mean, if you're not too busy.”
“Turning 30, right? Next Tuesday?”
She nodded. Deadline was midnight that day. Wonder what story she'd have to file before then? Probably something mundane. Sounded good actually.
“Yeah.”
“A date and a story,” he said and squeezed her hand tight. “Yep. Now that's a beginning.”
She used both of her hands to cover both of his, met his eyes and said, “It is indeed.”
THE END
Deadline(Douglas Richards)
Cold rain, early morning and murder. It was a cliche, Jess Lyons thought, stepping from the warmth of her battered Focus, eyes locked on police cruisers barricading Tanner Motors. Cold rain, early morning...murder. Maybe she'd start her story like that.
Twirling lights painted the scene in splashes of red and blue outside the dealership, reflecting off the large windows of the Tanner Motors' office. She hadn't thought Canton had this many patrol cars. One of the other writers on staff took care of community budget crap. To the right of the office, shiny automobiles faced the street from the show yard, black prices stencilled on windshields. To the left of the building, an alley. Orange sawhorses had been set up there. More cruisers back there. An ambulance. Employee parking, she bet. And the scene of death. Just out of her line of sight.
Cold rain, early morning, murder and... questions unanswered! Okay...Cliche or not, Jess thought. She had to move. God, but it made for a great start to a story, didn't it? She fought back the urge to smile. Nothing happy about murder, of course, but the story behind it...
Her heart raced. Calm now, easy... She needed to focus. Yes, focus! She stopped, lifted the Nikon around her shoulder and snapped off some establishing shots. Rain tapped her lens and she wiped it off with her baggy t-shirt and snapped a couple more pics. Needed a front page shot, for sure. This was definitely front page news for the Canton Gazette.
Or anywhere really.
Time had no meaning right now for her, she admitted. She had rocked her battered Focus across town the minute her editor had hollered through the phone. “Git yer ass down to Tanner Motors... Allan Sinclair's been found murdered...”
Even now, her mind reeled, barely concealed excitement urging her forward.
Finally, finally! A real story had come her way. All before her thirtieth birthday. And it was Tuesday. She had till midnight to file. She would make Wednesday's deadline for sure. Only twice a week editions of the Canton Gazette were published. She wanted real stories, printed in hours, not days. And she would get it. Soon.
She pursed her lips. Very satisfied right now. Just over one week til her thirtieth birthday, too. A real story that would be the crown of her portfolio. Those editors in the large metropolitan newspapers would really take notice of her writing skills with something this serious, something, well, less small town like!
Walking towards the cruisers blocking the dealership's show yard, Jess's heart soared. She might be a small town girl, yes, but the world beyond the twice weekly Canton Gazette beckoned. She was small town, yes. For now.
Spectators gawked, trying to see. She vaguely heard the chatter as she moved forward.
“Poor man!”
“He was so nice... who would do such a thing!?!”
“He gave me such a deal on my car!”
“Poor Mel!”
Get the story! Every bit of her being soared, adrenalin fuelled with purpose. Go, Jess, go....
She ran right into him. Or, rather the cop ran into her, blocking her from any other step. Okay... two steps back. The cop glowered at her, large arms across a chest that looked oddly out of proportion to his tiny head.
“Where do you think you're going? Move back please,” he said.
She smiled. Never a cavity. She had been too focused, she guessed.
She had been starting to slip between two cruisers she saw now. Play the game...get the story. Yep...
With one finger, she tucked a strand of her wet red hair behind her right ear and cocked her head. “Sorry, sorry. Canton Gazette.” She reached for the badge around her neck. Oh, God! She wasn't even wearing a bra. God!
He stared at her chest now. Great! 5:30 in the morning! The call had woken her. Ugh! Her press badge was still at home, too. She pulled her jacket tighter around her body and shivered. Cold, rain, and no bra... not a cliche maybe, but definitely the beginning of an erotic novel.
“I need to see the Chief, please.”
“No one gets past here. No one.”
No! She was getting through. For once, her story wouldn't be about strawberry socials, minor misdemeanours, high school football games, or town council meetings to showcase her talents. By thirty! That was the deadline. To be something or be stuck in Canton forever. News travelled fast in small towns. News like this though, was uncommon. A murder. Right on the main street. Had anyone seen anything? Anything at all?
Allan Sinclair was dead, is what she'd heard. She'd known Allan all through high school, knew he'd married into the Tanner family, quickly taking on the manager position at Tanner Motors' Canton branch. When was the last time she really saw Allan? Last week maybe. He'd stopped by the newspaper, armed with ad copy, the latest sales and deals.
“I need to see the Chief,” she said again. More authority in her voice. “Tell him Jess is here.”
“Please step back.”
She saw him. Chief Walter Sinclair walking beside one of his officers. Great pic. Head bowed, obviously listening to one of his uniforms, nodding his head as they strolled from the alley way – - to the front of the building. Fingers numb – damn it was cold and miserable - she drew the camera up again, twisted the lens out for a close up... Her finger hit the button. Walter's head rose then. Near ten years, she had known him. Council meetings, small crimes she needed to report on, typical court stuff he was involved in... yes, they certainly knew each other, had developed a rapport.... The face she saw now looked aged beyond Walt's fifty some years. His face looked bleached of all colour, and he was rubbing his double chin, his mouth. What the hell had happened to Allan?
She waved, “Walt!”
He nodded her way, dismissed her with a hand wave, and then started to walk towards another officer on the sidewalk, eyes glaring, seeking anyone to challenge him.. “Walt! I need a statement! Please...” He was clearly not interested in talking. When would she get a chance to get the story? Later today? Tomorrow morning? She had to think of something or risk being ignored. Right now she wanted to hear what was up.
Her birthday was getting closer.
“People are talking,” she hollered over the chatter of the crowd. “Walt, is there a killer in Canton? Should we, as a community, be worried?”
He turned around; his eyes flared. Oh boy! Her cheek heated up. Colour of her hair, she bet. She may have gone too far. But to hell with it! He was doing his job, well, so was she.
He wiggled his finger, scowling. “Let her through!” he growled to Large Chest. Seconds later, Walt grabbed her by the elbow, and guided her away from the crowd to the other side of a cruiser. His anger was palpable.
“What the hell are you doing, Jessica? Trying to stir up shit is what you're doing.” He towered over her. “I do not need this! Get me!?”
“I just want to know what is happening. How many times -?”
“Have you said you want a great story? Millions! You think this is one? It isn't. It is sad.”
“Are you okay?”
Ignoring her concern, he said, “I will give you what I have at this time. As soon as I know more...but stop with the theatrics!”
“Of course.” Her small recorder she slipped from her pocket. “Go.”
“Allan Sinclair stabbed,” he said, a veteran of brief statements. A just the facts, mam, cop. “Looks like it happened just after 11 last night. We are questioning people at this time. His father-in-law, Dominick Tanner, found him near his vehicle out back of the building when he came in at 5... he was always there before his staff. He called us. At this time, looks... looks like the victim was robbed. Wallet gone, watch missing, car window broken, rifled through. Looking for more valuables. That is all we have, Jess...”
Her reporter's instinct knew that there was in fact more. His face from earlier as he'd walked down the alley... that was not all!!
“Tell me.”
He eyed her and she knew that he was well aware that she wasn't naive. His shoulders visibly slumped, she noted. He was defeated. He moved and leaned against the hood of a cruiser.
“He wasn't just stabbed,” he said. All the power, the vehemence of moments ago was gone. “He was stabbed repeatedly. Face, neck, hands. Let's keep that out of the story for now.”
Bile rose in her throat as he rambled on. One week ago she had seen Allan at the office, had spoke to him over weak coffee.
Now he was dead.
Suddenly, the thought that she had been pleased to get a real story... a story where someone died....
Bile rose in her throat. She closed her eyes. Shame, she felt.
When she opened her eyes, Walt's eyes were focused over her shoulder, lost, gazing into the main building, dark at this hour minus the soft glow from a computer monitor somewhere in the back.
“A mugging, gone bad,” he said, still shaking his head. “Allan fought back.”
“Stabbing someone,” she whispered, “cutting him up the way you tell it, that sounds personal.”
His eyes again came alive, nailed her. “You are not a cop,” he said. “We are going to follow up, ask questions. Right now we have officers out looking for our guy. We'll catch the person who did this, for sure. Maybe we'll get some DNA off of Allan. Do not go looking for some nefarious reason.... the evidence speaks for itself. Understood?”
“Yes, but -”
“But, but... we will look at all avenues, Jessica. Now, I have to get back to...”
She saw an officer wearing gloves, putting a blood spattered duffel bag into the trunk of a nearby cruiser. Looked like it had been rifled through, bits of clothing viewed through the open zipper. Had the police done that? No. She didn't think so. And there was a tag on it, too. Obviously evidence. Why would it be here? Allan's duffel bag?
Close to Allan when he was murdered.
But someone had pawed through it.
Looking for something?
Money? Something else to steal?
But, Allan had had a duffel with him? Where was he going? Or why was he bringing it to work?
Questions. Jess bit her bottom lip. A story, yes. Something definitely here.
“What was he doing here so late? Tanner's closes at 9.”
He shook his head. “He was dedicated, you know. Father in law says he left late some nights, came in early sometimes.”
She nodded. Allan was a well loved member of the community for sure. A hard worker, chaired many committees, worked with organizing the Christmas food drive every year... Not one person, she thought, didn't like Allan. He was personable and worked well with people and customers alike.
Walt was right. Must be a mugging. But... The duffel. Was he leaving the business? Or coming in? Was he meeting someone? What was in the duffel? Clothes? Questions. So many questions.
The stabbing was so brutal, too. And the back of the building couldn't be seen from the street. Sounded like maybe somebody was waiting for him?
Maybe. Or maybe... Maybe she was fishing.
“Have you contacted, Mel?” Allan's wife, Melissa, would be devastated, she knew. They'd been high school sweethearts.
“Her dad is with her. My guy is there questioning them both.”
After leaving Walter, she stood around for a bit, asked some of the people who were there if they'd seen anything, got a few teary “who would do such a thing? He was such a nice man” comments, but mostly no one knew much.
Right on Canton's main drag.
Not one person had witnessed the brutal murder.
Back in the car, she sat there, staring at the crime scene. Squiggles of water ran down the windshield.
Tap, tap, tap!!
Startled, she looked up to see a green rain slickered Myles Elliott outside her passenger side window, all smiles. Ugh, just what she needed right now.
She leaned over, threw open the door. “Myles, I have no time...”
Without an invite, he slid in beside her and handed her a Styrofoam cup. The smell of coffee greeted her. He slammed his door, smiled her way.
Perfect smile, noted, Lock of wet brown hair plastered to his forehead made him look... well cute....
Eyes so blue.
Stop, Jess...
“Thank you,” she said, giving a quick lift of the coffee cup. “Could use the warmth.”
“No problem. Knew you’d definitely be here. Already had the coffee brewed...Heard it was Allan Sinclair.”
“Look, Myles, I have no time...”
“Neither do I,” he said. “Just gave myself five, then gotta head back to the diner. But, don't you wonder why he was here so late? Or early?”
All she had been thinking about really. Smart guy. He could do better than being a fry cook at Katrina's Diner.
None of her business.
Back to the duffel bag. Why did Allan have a duffel with him?
“I think he's been spending quite a few nights here,” he interrupted her thoughts. “He lets himself in after 11, sleeps, has to let himself out so none of the other employees knows he slept there. He is almost always my first customer of the morning, Jessie. Toast and coffee, a creature of habit.”
She offered a smile. Again lifted her coffee. “I was thinking that. Why was he here so late? Seems weird to me. Dedicated doesn't fly.”
“I know how you think. Great minds. Perfectly tuned minds. Like soul mates maybe.”
She returned his boyish smile. Was he for real? Sometimes she wondered. And he never gave up with the flirting.
Almost two years ago now, Katrina's diner, had been robbed at gunpoint during a slow Sunday. Myles had managed to wrestle the would be thief down, risking his own life to save the customers there at the time. She'd covered the story, interviewed Myles on his heroics. He'd lunged over the counter, tackling the thief, stopping a robbery.
Yes, the gun had been a fake, it was quickly realized. The assailant truly didn't want to hurt anybody, was just a guy down on his luck, but nonetheless, Myles hadn’t known about the gun. He'd done it as the right thing to do, he'd said. During the interview, he'd asked her out. She'd declined.
“Why?” he'd asked.
“Focusing on my career, don't need the complications. Thank you all the same.”
“Do you believe in fate? Some people are meant to save each other, you know.”
She grinned. “I don't need saving.”
“Maybe not... but from the time you stopped in here today, I didn't know a heart could beat so fast. I feel like you saved me from never feeling this way.”
A line. He was good. And he looked sincere. She had patted his hand.
“Not gonna happen,” she said. “You better get back to work.”
Since then, he never stopped trying to hint they were a perfect match.
“Gossip at the diner is his wife had been spending a lot of time in Napanee,” he said now.
She'd heard that, yes. Napanee had welcomed the latest Tanner Motors franchise only a few weeks back. The Grand Opening she'd covered with another staff member. That time at least, she had someone else taking the pictures.
Myles’s eyes locked on her. Felt as though he was seriously holding her soul in that gaze, examining it, and trying to fully understand it.
“Stop, looking at me like that.”
He smiled. Yes, he loved that he got to her. She broke their stare. Needed to focus. What had he been saying -? Oh yes, gossip. Melissa. Was there someone else in her life? Someone in Napanee?
“What do you know?” she said.
“Nothing, not a thing. But people say Melissa was seeing someone down there. The new manager, maybe. You know as well as I do, that in every scrap of gossip -”
“- there is a little truth.” She had long ago discovered this fact. “Thanks for the tip.”
She had met the manager in Napanee. First impression: arrogant, a true salesman, fake, a ladies man. The complete opposite of Allan's bookish, composed, nice guy status.
More Melissa's type, by Jess's judgement.
He shrugged. “It’s only talk... but you know, might be something there.” A quick shrug and then, “’Course, we could talk over dinner, see if I might remember hearing more..”
And there it was again. Never stopped trying. What would she do if he did stop?
“Thank you,” she said. “But no.”
“Okay.”
As she pulled away from the curb, her eyes watched her rear-view mirror for a second, at the ambulance motor down the alley to the main street.
Inside a body bag. She sighed.
By early afternoon, she found herself sitting on a loveseat across from Melissa and her father, thee Dominick Tanner, at Melissa's home. Upscale neighbourhood, too. Rosewood was a gated community where Allan and Melissa had lived for their entire marriage. Her father didn't think talking to the press wise, but Melissa said it was fine. Red, puffy eyes, a scrunched up Kleenex in her hand, and a far away look in her eyes gave credence to a woman wrought with grief.
Father and daughter sat perched on the couch across from her, as though both were ready to flee if Jess should ask questions not appropriate to their social standing. Instead of a recorder, which might seem intrusive, Jess had pen poised over notebook. She had to wonder about Melissa's grief. Yes, she appeared upset, but Jess had to wonder. Jess had seen the duffel bag at the crime scene and hearing what Myles had picked up through the diner gossip mill....
Questions, questions...
She had to play it cool if she wanted any info.
As cold as it might sound, Jess knew Melissa had been quite the actress in her day. That's how Allan and Melissa had met, she well knew. Through drama class. Jess had hurriedly scribbled Allan's obit already but the reason for her visit, she had told them, was to do a story on Allan's life and his sudden, tragic death. Murder.
Melissa wore her hair down. She twirled one of several colourful rings on her fingers but seemed to avoid her wedding band.
Was that a tell? Had her marriage been crumbling?
Even as she sat there, listening and jotting notes, she had to wonder if what Myles, the diner gossip, said was true? Had Melissa been seeing someone else? Was Allan staying at the car lot?
Melissa spoke of their life together. High school, the wedding after high school... always happy, it seemed. Jess sensed Melissa said what she thought was expected. Just a feeling though.
Melissa and Allan, high school sweethearts, People hadn't understood how the tall thin bookish Allan Sinclair had captured the most popular of girls, Melissa Tanner.
But then did anyone need to understand anything where love was concerned?
God, she was beginning to sound like Myles.
“I felt sorry for him, remember Daddy?” she said, as though in answer to Jess's thought. She leaned back on the sofa. “His dad had died that August and he looked so broken when school started in September, destroyed, like he was just going through the motions. His mother had to work all the time. Poor thing. We lost her last year.”
Then her eyes filled up with tears and she gazed at the floor sobbing. Her father offered a reassuring hand on his little girl's back as she ripped and ripped tiny pieces of Kleenex, watching them flutter to the thick carpeting below. He shook his head. “Mel brings home this scrawny kid. Well, he looked like nothing, but how could you not love him? Smart as a whip. A plus student. Wasn't a great salesman, but I taught him the sales game.”
Melissa rambled on about what a great guy he'd been, how much she'd adored him.
Never said love, Jess noted. She wrote love with a question mark, and circled it. Interesting. It was all good, but it wasn't what she wanted to know. There was a story here. A real story.
Melissa pursed her lips, then dabbed her eyes. “I can't believe it. He was so well liked.”
She watched Melissa. She was so popular in high school and drama was where she excelled. Was this an act? Jess wondered.
“Daddy became like a surrogate father to him. Please do put that in your story, will you?“
She listened and by the end she had everything that would make a nice human interest piece. But she wasn't satisfied... she needed to keep things going.
“I would love to have some pictures of Allan, of you two together maybe, if you have anything.”
Melissa nodded. “Please, yes. Daddy, I'm okay. Make me some tea would you?”
Together, Melissa escorted Jess upstairs to a closed door down the hallway.
“This was what he called, his man cave,” she said. She pursed her lips as though she hadn't approved, but what do you do, right? “I never go in.”
Wasn't a huge room, no. Jess took it all in. Flat screen bracketed on a wall. A futon against another. A blanket lay folded up on it. Had Allan slept here? Book shelf full of books. Another book shelf with tons of blue ray, DVD movies. The far wall had one tiny window that looked onto the spacious backyard.
“He loved his movies,” she said. “He loved to read. It was his sanctuary, he said.”
She played her fingers along the spines, eyeing up the book titles, Patterson, MacDonald, Grisham...
“Here,” Melissa said, pulling a large yellow book off the shelf.
The Canton Yearbook, Jess knew. Yep! Grade 12, the final year they'd all been in school together.
A piece of paper started to slide out between the waxy pages.
Jess caught it. She’d kept all of the school papers during her four years at Canton High. Every month, another article bearing her byline. Whether a slice of school life, a rally, a sporting event, a teacher’s retirement, Jess wrote anything she was assigned.
“What’s that?” Melissa asked.
“Canton Condor clipping,” Jess said.
Melissa nodded, looking over. “Our Grade 12 play,” she said. “We took that play to one of the festivals. We won 2nd place, but we almost took first! They raved about how I was amazing.”
Jess mentally gave an eye roll.
“I wrote this.”
“My first review,” Mel said. “You said Allan was wooden. He wasn't much of an actor. He knew that.”
Sigh. She remembered.
Allan had kept the article. Most likely for his beloved. SENIOR PLAY CASTS SUPERIOR TALENT IN MURDER MYSTERY 'TANGLED WEB'. Jess liked the headline. Remembered, smiled.
The clipping revealed a picture of all the students standing on a stage, all smiles. Melissa wore a lovely dress and beside her was reed thin Allan. The others she recognized, of course. Some she knew by name, others vaguely. Some had left Canton over a decade ago. A list of all the class names and the parts they played were listed below the pic.
“May I borrow this. Might use the picture.”
“Keep it,” she said. “Can’t imagine I will keep any of this stuff for long.”
Kind of a cold thing to say, but Jess actually chewed her lip to keep from saying a thing.
“I will go get you a couple pictures of Allan, our wedding picture.”
She had to think of something to say now.
“Melissa,” she said. “He had a duffel with him. At the crime scene. I am sorry, I just need to ask. Were you two not getting along?”
She gave an audible sigh. “Oh.” She looked shocked. “The police asked, too. I told the police that our marriage was not perfect, that we had had a fight about money, usual husband, wife stuff. He left. He felt I was spending too much, and he was...” She dabbed her eyes with another Kleenex. “He was right. Seems so silly now. I didn't know where he was staying though. I would prefer you leave that out of the story. The police didn't think it was relevant.”
Ten minutes later, she thanked Melissa and her father both for their time and found herself sitting in her car.
A fight? Over money? Hmmmmmm
Melissa had just lied. She was sure of it. The lie came easily, and appeared rehearsed. What was really going on?
Walter listened as she drove 401 to Napanee the next morning, her cell open on the passenger seat, speaker on. She hadn't slept much. She kept going over her talk with Melissa. The whole latter part of their convo bothered her. “Couples fight,” he said when she told him it was too easy an answer. “After this many years together,” she said, “just seems odd that he just now gets upset about her spending habits. It sounds too simple.”
“The simplest answer is often the one.”
Sometimes, yeah. Maybe. But Jess wasn't sure that was the case this time. She pictured Walter seated at his desk, a glass of water and Advil popped every few hours.
“I get the feeling something else was going on,” she continued. “This is not just a mugging. What was in the duffel bag? I know Allan had a duffel bag with him, Walt, so don't even -”
“It was a bag full of money,” he said, snarly. “Diamonds and fake IDs, tons of them, all with Allan's face -”
“Are you done?”
“Are you? Underwear, socks, shirts and a couple pairs of pants. Toiletries. Good enough! Pretty much follows through with Melissa's story, I think. Husband walks away for a couple days. Noting nefarious in that. Leave police work to the police, Jessica. Like I told you! She did overspend. You know she liked nice things. But who knows why a fight now? These things build up.”
“Sure, but -”
“Stop hounding me. I gotta go!”
By 10:30 she pulled into the Napanee's Tanner Motors and found herself greeted by a dark receptionist in the small sales room. Her name tag read Amy.
“Ian CAllan please, Amy.” She had checked her own story for the manager's name.
“Can I ask what it's in regard to?”
“Personal,” she said.
The woman's eyes seemed to study her more closely now as she lifted the phone. Lines furrowed her brow, crinkled around her eyes as Jess felt clearly scrutinized. Worried about something, Ames?
Yes. A story was here.
“Jessie Lyons. You covered our grand opening.”
Nice to be remembered. She nodded.
Amy punched a number on her phone. Somewhere down a narrow hallway behind the counter, Jessie heard a phone ring. Then stop.
“Jessie Lyons, the reporter, here to see you.”
She hung up. “He'll be a few minutes if you wanna have a seat.”
Amy's fingers played with the the round emerald on the end of her necklace, finger and thumb rubbing away.
Yep, definitely worried.
Onto something, Jess most definitely was.
She could hardly contain her mounting excitement. But she needed to be professional. Keep calm. Breathe.
In less than a minute, the tall good looking man she'd met two weeks ago strode down the hall. Ian. Suit, tie, hair neat and tidy. Exactly the kind of guy Melissa would attract. He offered his hand and then guided her to his office near the back..
The office was quite large and the furniture all new. He slid into his large leather chair and took his time eyeing her up and down.
Pig!
She noticed the pictures on the wall. Him and a woman, obviously his wife, in front of a blue background. He stood behind her, his arms lovingly holding her, her hands on his, leaning into him.
She drew a card out and slid it across the ink blotter.
He lifted it, and she could see his thumb run across it, feeling the embossed letters that spelled her name.
“I remember you, Jess. Hard to forget. The red hair, I mean. How can I help you, Jess?”
So familiar already. Like he really knew anything about her. Was he hitting on her? She inwardly cringed, pretended to not understand him.
Yep, a cheater!
“It's about Allan Sinclair.”
He leaned back in his chair, hand smoothing his grey tie. Yes, he was smooth this guy. But she'd seen him flinch when she mentioned Allan.
“Dominick called me this morning. Sad, very sad. He was a great guy.”
“He was. How well did you know him?”
“Sorry. What is this all about?”
“I'm just trying to talk to people who knew him, get a feel, see if anyone knows anything that might help the police.”
He leaned back in his chair, a smirk on his face. “Excuse me, Miss. Lyons. Dominick said it was a mugging. Are you working with the police? If you're not, I am not sure why you're here.”
He definitely wasn't gonna keep talking. Think Jessie, think...
“Well, nothing is official. Allan was a friend.” A lie, true. More of an acquaintance really but Ian didn't need to know that.
“Well, I know you spent a lot of time with Allan.”
“With Dominick mostly. Allan ran the Canton Branch. I was starting here as a manager. You think I had something to do with Allan's murder?”
“No, I never said -”
“What? That I maybe killed him? I am a salesman and I know other sales people... and you're feeding me lines... tell me the bottom line. What do you think, Jess?”
So smug! She put the recorder on the desk. Pushed record.
“You mind?”
“Nothing to hide.”
“You and Melissa...I think there was something between you, yes?”
“Of course there was.” He smirked. “I worked for her dad, that's all. Look, you have nothing on me.”
“Her father is quite wealthy and with his son in law gone-”
“I swoop in, take his daughter, take the franchise when he dies. Yes. Sounds great. I am married.”
“You're not the first man -”
“And you write fiction, I guess. That's quite a story.”
She felt her hand on her lap curl into a fist. He was smooth, a talker... she had been a fool to think she could win with a guy like this. But there was something going on. His eyes told her she was getting close to something despite his false bravado. Definitely something there that he wasn't saying. Her reporter's instinct was onto something. But was he a killer?
“And if your wife were to find out?”
His resolve faltered. “Look, I am a dedicated husband and father, okay? There is nothing between Melissa and I, okay? Never was.”
Hard to read him but Jess was sure he might be pleading a bit. But she refused to stop.
“Would you like to talk to the police?” she said. “I happen to know the Chief of the Canton PD. Quite well. I am sure -”
His lips curled downward and his eyes became hooded slits.
“We are done, Miss. Lyons.”
Jess shivered. No more Jess from this guy,
“Do what you have to do. But you'll never prove a damn thing between us.”
Lifting his phone in a tight grip, he jabbed a button on the base.
“Ensure our guest leaves the premises immediately, Amy. She is on her way out now.”
She grabbed her recorder. Were they, Melissa and Ian, so close that both would protect the other at all costs? But you'll never prove a damn thing between us. Both could probably lie quite convincingly.
One a proven actress, one a skilled salesman...
She started through the showroom seconds later. Amy stood there, at her desk, worry etched on her face. Good! Jess watched her work the emerald between thumb and index. Worry, Ames! You should worry. Protective of her boss, was she? What had Jess stumbled onto? Whatever it was, she was beyond excited to find a killer!
Within minutes of leaving the lot, she pulled onto a side street and immediately called Walter. She explained about Ian and Amy, all that had transpired during her interview. Kinda had turned into an interrogation, she admitted.
“What the hell are you doing?” he asked. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Following up on this story I'm doing. About Allan's life -”
“It sounds like you're playing cop to me.”
“Investigative reporter. Listen.... Ian murdered Allan, I am sure of it. Maybe Melissa knows, suspects, or maybe not, but this guy is hiding something and so is Melissa. This Amy, she knows stuff. You should have seen Ian, Walter... he is so smug. Like you can't catch him. Something is definitively up! When I threatened to go to his wife he was so angry.”
“Angry! I'd be angry too. You accused him of murder, of cheating on his wife -”
“It wasn't like that, Walter. He brought it up. I was just there to talk to someone who knew Allan.”
“Bullshit!”
Ignoring his anger, she said, “He's cheating on his wife, but Amy is involved. He ends up with Melissa Tanner, there's money. Amy was not happy to see me show up today. You should have seen the look she gave me.”
“A look?”
“I know how it sounds. Something is up. I know it. Let's take them in, get them all talking. I think Amy will crack before he will. Then, I get the story.”
A pause. A long pause. She wasn't gonna mention about telling Ian that she'd threatened to sick Walter on him. Best keep that to herself.
“You want a story, huh?” Walter asked. “K. Perfect. Here it is.” He cleared his throat. “'Jess Lyons, Canton Gazette's investigative reporter, makes up fiction, while Canton PD catches real killer.' How's that sound, Jess? We got Allan's killer. An hour ago. And there is no mistake.”
Her stomach felt as though a giant fist had slammed into it as she sat in Walt's tiny office. Her story was dead. She had imagined something big. There must be a mistake, she kept thinking. Ian and Amy had conspired to murder Allan... Maybe. Or Ian had. Melissa knew, or suspected her lover had murdered her husband. But Amy knew something. Maybe Melissa had wanted her husband gone to start a new life with Ian.... a messy divorce might see Allan walking away with part of her father's business.
So many scenarios kept rolling through her mind. Each person was hiding something. But murder? She couldn't have wanted a story so bad that she was reaching, could she have? Yes. Even she knew that with her thirtieth birthday fast approaching, she had wanted a story. A great story. Had her imagination run wild? Apparently Walt believed so.
Positioned on the corner of his paper messy desk now, he passed her a brown file folder as he glared down at her. He wasn't impressed with her. She twisted in the chair, feeling like a kid before the angry principal. Not a good feeling, no.
“Go ahead, look,” he said.
She flipped open the cover. A head, shoulders shot met her gaze. Clean shaven man, brush cut, and from the shoulder star, he appeared to be in full military uniform. At the top of the photo, a name.
“Calvin Harris. Who is he?”
“Oh, you know him, Jess. Take a closer look. Imagine a beard.”
She started to shake her head and then -
“Oh my God. Cola Cal!”
“That's right,” he said, snatching the folder back.
Most small towns had people like Cola Cal, she knew. Major cities had them in droves, but Canton had few and Cal was certainly known by all. He wasn't all there in the mind department. Collected old bottles, returned them to the store, and bought booze with what he made. Spent all day wandering the streets, sleeping down by the river, mumbling incoherent fragments to himself, sometimes laughing at any time a hilarious thought popped in his head. The soiled winter jacket he wore through all the seasons hung off his scrawny frame.
She slumped back in her chair, picturing Cal easily enough. Not this Cal in the picture, no. But a heavily bearded, grungy Cal with a face weathered dark by all the seasonal elements.
“He confessed?”
Walt shrugged. “His mind's not right, Jess. Maybe we should all be more surprised he didn't hurt someone before this.
“This morning,” Walt continued, “he walks into the liquor store with a fifty,” Walter said. “You know him, he always has his knapsack or a cart with him, filled with empties. The clerk there, he gives him his cash, Cal buys. Way it is, way it has always been. Not today. Cash. He walks in, kid behind the counter, he called me right away.”
“He's never harmed a fly.”
“Well, that isn't the case, Jess.” He grabbed his glasses, flipped a couple pages. He seemed to peer over the rims. “Ex military. Saw a little combat. He struck his commanding officer, refused to follow orders. Discharged.”
“But, Walt, come on...-”
“Stop. We opened his knapsack, Jess. Guess what we found? A bloody knife in there and a laptop computer. It's in evidence, but we do know it belongs to Allan. Probably would have hit the pawnshop sometime today, my guess...he broke into the car, stole it.”
“He must have said something.”
“Always does. He doesn't understand. He did mention Allan but what does that mean? He is mentally not there, Jess.”
“But he must have seen Allan a million times before. Why now?”
“Just snapped. We got our guy. And for the record, he was well equipped in arm to arm combat. Guns, knives.”
“Can I talk to him?”
Both his large hands slapped together, sounding like a rifle shot with the acoustics in the small room. He stood now, hiked up his pants and said, “Absolutely not! What do you think he's gonna say? Suddenly get sane. He will go away. Mental institution, I'd imagine. Be a might sight better than the life he has now.” He shook his head. “Now, go write your story. I'm here if you need anything. Go. Now.”
She left the office, feeling wholly defeated. Why didn't she think Cal had done it when all the evidence pointed to the contrary? Easy answer: Melissa, Ian and Amy. What?
Back at the paper, her mind reeled with this morning's capture. She typed the article feeling drained and had to call Walt regarding dates Cal was in the military. She took notes, got facts, hung up.
At Katrina's Diner, the entire noon crowd was abuzz about it, gossip flowing as she nibbled on a grilled cheese, ripping pieces off the toasted sandwich, dabbing each in a huge wad of ketchup. Her laptop was open. She was giving her article a quick edit. She went into pictures. Needed a good one of the crime scene for tomorrow's Saturday edition.
When Myles didn't show up to bug her, she found she was kind of disappointed. Today, she would have welcomed a friend. Or a hug? Why wasn't he working? Stop Jess. God! Myles wasn't for her. She refused to stay tied to this town – despite this morning's set back - and he loved it here. But where would she go? Maybe she would just leave. Try her luck. She seemed to be good at making up stories. Fiction? What was she thinking? She was a journalist, right? Always had been.
She reflected on Ian at the dealership, that taunting look on his face. He had been hiding something. Melissa too. Had they framed Cal? Maybe. Sigh.
Back to pic - What? She clicked on one and enlarged it. She snatched up her phone and dialled Walter. After waiting 15 minutes, listening to some really twangy country music – jeesh! -he came on the line.
“He was there, Walter. At the crime scene. Cal was hanging around. Was there blood on his jacket?”
A deep sigh.
“I took pictures,” she said. “Not one person said Cal had blood on him.”
“His coat is soiled from years of use,” he said. “It was raining, too. I doubt anyone would notice blood or no blood. Might want those pictures of yours by the way. Killers often return to the scene of the crime.”
“Do you still have his jacket?”
“We're not Quantico. He has been cleaned up now, the jacket incinerated.”
Damn.
“What if Ian framed him?” she asked.
“Framed? What are you talking about?”
“What if he framed Cal to throw us off the track of what he did? I know something is going on, Walt! You have to trust me.”
“You writing fiction now, are you?” Stern, no nonsense. “Do you know how insane that sounds, Jess? You might need to take a break for a while from the newspaper biz. You are so wound up with a big story, you're reaching to crazy places. Please listen to yourself.”
When she hung up, she felt defeated. He was right. Walt was right. All she had was her gut instinct and not much else; no evidence, nothing... But she did have Allan's story and there were always follow up questions, right?
Melissa was in her housecoat when she showed up. She looked worse than the day before if that was possible. Jess had lied and said she needed to ask some follow up questions. She had to be delicate. As Melissa entered the walk in closet in the master bedroom for something to wear for the funeral service tomorrow, Jess took a seat on the edge of the king size bed.
“I don't think Cal killed, Allan,” she finally said.
Startled, she spun around “Walter said -”
“I know what he thinks. I think Ian Cullen did it.”
Her eyes widened. Yes, Jess had hit a nerve indeed! She was right. There was something.
“What? Why would you think that?”
“I interviewed him for the piece I am doing and he knows more than he admits.”
Melissa looked visibly shaken.
“Are you okay?”
“Fine, yes.”
Only she wasn't, Jess knew. The actress was realizing her affair had cost her husband his life.
“He wanted to move in on you is my guess, or maybe he already has.”
Melissa, visibly pale, shook her head.
“He gets Allan out of the way, moves in on you. He is quite the ladies man. The police will be questioning him for sure.” A lie, but if it helped Jess get the story... “Look, Melissa, if you know anything...”
Melissa shook her head. “This is not happening. Why Ian? No, he'd never...”
“I think his secretary knows something. Maybe she's in on it.”
“Amy, no, never...”
“I have to call Amy!”
Amy? She started to walk from the room, but Jess was up, blocking her exit from the room.
“Something was going on Melissa,” Jess said. “I have seen Ian. He's hiding something...”
Tears came to her eyes and she paused. She was shaking her head, hands to her mouth as she took a couple steps back and - Jess stopped. One of the rings on Melissa's finger. A round green emerald. The one she had been twirling, playing with the day Jess had first interviewed her.
She had seen an emerald twice now.
“Amy had an amerald on a chain around her neck.”
Melissa's hand touched the ring on her finger. Not her wedding band. She nodded, tears rolling down her cheeks.
“Matching,” Jess whispered.
“Promise rings,” Melissa corrected. “Amy wears hers close to her heart, on a chain. She's never been married so she says her wedding ring is the only one she'll wear on her finger.”
She shook her head, clearly distraught. “Ian has nothing to hide. He's just protecting his baby sister from harm. And me, too.”
Ian had been so smug, Jess remembered clearly. So certain they couldn't find anything on him. Because, she saw now, they couldn't.
“He is protecting her from scandal. And me, too. If this comes out, I mean right now... People will think I killed Allan. Amy will be brought into the fold... please... you mustn't print this... not yet!”
Jess could see it now. How it would look, what people would think. No wonder Amy was so worried. Their secret, their affair...the pall of murder cast on them... Still it was part of the story... She was a journalist, but it really had nothing to do with Allan's murder. Then Cal... Cal really had killed Allan.
“I never thought I would fall in love,” Melissa said. “Oh, Jess, I did love Allan so much. More like a sister. But I tried with him. I would have kept going and he would never have known that I wasn't in love with him, not really...”
Melissa was a liar, was all Jess could see. She had manipulated Allan, making him believe she had loved him. Sad.
“Daddy is so old school... he would never have tolerated me with a woman...” Melissa said. “I can't lose him. He might disown me.”
“And so you picked a secure guy who wouldn't ask for much. He got the girl and you lived a lie.”
Melissa cast her eyes down now, clearly pained to hear Jess's words. Good!
“You have to tell your father now, I hope.”
“We are going to tell him..”
“He'd been staying at the dealership then. That's why the duffel bag. When did you tell him about leaving?”
“Three months ago, maybe.”
Much like Myles had said in the car that night of the murder. He felt Allan had spent quite a few nights at the dealership. All made sense...
“I never planned this, none of it,” Melissa stammered. “Dad was getting things started with the business in Napanee and I went with him a couple times. Allan too. Amy and I struck up a friendship.”
“You told him you were leaving him for Amy, right?” She hoped the vehemence in her voice wouldn't go unnoticed.
“Of course! I swear! He just left, threw himself into his work. He didn't say much. Stayed here some nights in his room, but more often I think he spent time at the office,”
She stood up. He'd felt emasculated, no doubt. The real reason he was staying away from home.
Enough! Allan's real killer was in custody and Jess was still trying to prove it wasn't him. Everything pointed to Cal. Everything had finally fallen into place and all to pieces at the same time for her. She left the bedroom without another word.
“You look tired,” she said as Myles came into Katrina's after seven that night. Jess had come here for supper but hadn't wanted to eat. Mostly she had stared out at the street and from where she sat she could almost see Tanner Motors on the next block. Her laptop had long ago gone to sleep. She hadn't finished her story about Cal, or about Allan's life. She had hoped Myles would show. And now he had.
“Had a date,” he said, sliding in across from her.
A date? She knew her eyebrows had rose. She tried to hide that she was somewhat shocked, but Myles clearly noticed. A look of indignation crossed his face and then was almost as quickly replaced by a sly smirk. He stood up then and slid in beside her, his hip resting against hers.
She felt his heat and didn't hate the fact that it felt good.
“You think I just have eyes for you, don’t you?” he whispered. She could smell the musky smell that was distinctly his.
“No -” Heat, such heat in her face. Even to her, her “no” sounded weak.
“Yes you do, you absolutely do, don’t you? Why so surprised, Jess? That I have a life outside of this place? Sure, I work here, but you know very little of my life outside work.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean -”
He nodded, his gaze never wavering, even though she tried to look away.
“You think this is all I do,” he said. “I am more than just a fry cook in a greasy spoon. Do you know I cooked for my family growing up, and that this is a stepping stone for me, that I actually took a night course in cooking...”
“I didn't -“
“No, you don't. I am more than this place, much more. We all have things that make us happy, or things we don’t. I try to improve my life, just like you. I started hiking outside of college, came to Canton, wanted to move on, but found I liked it here. At some point, I might like to open a diner of my own and yet, I do love this job, Jess. I love people. I love this small town. I intend to stay.”
“Look -“
“I play video games, Love them. I go running first thing every morning. I take photographs and play a little baseball...
“You think I am pining away for you, Jess?” he asked, his inflection obviously a little annoyed now. “You know I like you, you know that. I have made no big secret about it. But I date. You are not the only girl in my life... I will keep trying cause I like you. I like the way you think, the way you talk, and admire how you want to make a better life for yourself, too. I want that, too. I truly do. But I am not waiting for you.”
He held up his coffee. “This coffee tastes better when I do it? Know why?”
She shook her head.
“Cause I care.” He slid out of this seat. “Stay out of trouble, k?”
She watched him leave then.
What had just happened? Had he just snubbed her? Wonder if she should have tried to apologize. What a fool she’d been. She tried to think. She pursed her lips, wondering where Myles was going right now. Should she chase him?
No, not right now. Damn, she was such a fool. Of course he wasn’t waiting for her. Why did that bother her? Ugh. Just a cook, no. He was just like her, like most people... everyone had dreams. She started typing. File the story and run with it. Her fingers flew over the keyboard now. Don't think about Myles's words. She flipped through pages of notes she'd made.
Despite her writing, Myles kept crossing her mind, all he had said. He wasn’t waiting for her, he’d said. Of course, he wasn’t. Did she honestly think he was? He had a life outside of her. Everyone did. Good, cause she certainly wasn’t waiting for - She paused and reread her last sentence on the screen. Damn! She’d typed “‘I am more than just a fry cook in a greasy spoon...’” She pushed backspace to erase. Froze.
She felt as though someone had smacked her in the face.
Was she reaching? Again?
Maybe.
Allan. Allan was more than the sum of his parts. Damn!
An exemplary student. Excelled at everything, shy, geeky.
She saw it, but hadn’t seen it. She pawed through her notes, opened the old newspaper clipping of the school play. Allan's acting was wooden, she'd written. He loved movies, right? No questions. He'd been in drama.
Oh, oh, oh...
She ran her finger down the cast list of students, each character they played in 'Tangled Web', but in brackets she saw....
Melissa Tanner makeup.
Allan Sinclair...
Bingo!
Her mouth felt like it was wadded with cotton, her mind filled with so many pieces of a puzzle that had been set in motion in a drama class over a decade ago. From Melissa to Amy, it all came back to the real story about Ian Sinclair. Everyone pulled their weight in that small drama class. Like herself at the newspaper. Photographer. Writer. She started to see it. Was she crazy? It was out there as theories went, but this one thing made total sense. She hadn’t seen it because it was so right in front of her face. Her reporter’s instinct was fully charged now. Damn!!
Half an hour later, she rang the doorbell of Melissa's home and while Melissa was less than pleased, given the hour, she allowed Jess to return to Allan's man cave. She went to the bookshelf and within minutes she found the books she was looking for. Books on screenplays. One in particular, she pulled out... dog-eared, older than the rest...a thumb worn copy... She closed her eyes, holding the book to her chest. Breathe, breathe... Opening her eyes, she saw that Syd Fields was the author. She had heard of him. The inscription on the inside front cover was an added bonus! Bingo!
“What is it? Do you know what time it is?” Walt snarled at her across the phone line. She did know. It was after two in the morning.
“I am at the police station,” she said. “Outside. You have to bring in Dylan Watts. He killed Allan!”
A long pause on the other end of the phone. Heavy breathing. Annoyed.
“Walt, please hear me out.”
“We caught Allan's killer. Who the hell is Dylan Watts?”
She swallowed. “Allan's old drama teacher. Look, please listen -”
“God, Jess! ”
“Just listen. Dylan was the father figure for Allan,” she began. “Allan loses his dad in August before school starts, goes to school, shy, loves movies, always has, and joins the drama club. He would have looked up to his girlfriend's dad yes, but he wasn't the first father figure he latched onto.
“Allan admired Dylan. Dylan Watts was born here. He left for a while, went away to college, became a theatre major, eventually tried his hand in Hollywood. I looked it up on line. It's all there. He was involved in some plays during his life, but nothing amounted to anything... he returned here to teach. The school web site boasts him as a foremost authority on screenplay writer. You following?”
A snort. He was pissed.
“It gets better. Allan is more than just a car guy. He was an A plus student. Best class, English. He excelled. And when it came to drama and the twelfth grade play...it was written by Dylan but Allan was listed as writer, too. It's a small club, right? They all had to have different jobs, not just as actors. Allan has his name beside Dylan's on the playbill. This play went on to win 2nd place in a festival...”
“Jess!”
“Listen... Allan also has several books on the art and craft of screenplay writing on his bookshelf... but one in particular was given from a Mr. Dylan Watts to a teenage Allan Sinclair. A book by Syd Fields, one of the foremost authors in script writing technique. I looked it up. Dylan bought it for his pupil and guess how I know it to be fact? An inscription inside says, 'Keep writing... you have a real gift!' signed by Dylan himself.”
A long pause.
“You there?”
“Here! This is just a story, Jess. Get to the part where Watts murders his old student.”
“First, Allan married Melissa right out of high school. He goes to work for her old man. Maybe he still writes for fun, right? To get creative. Maybe not. He wrote the ad copy for Tanner motors, Walt. Hell, he came in to deliver it at the Gazette. He loves his movies, loves reading. His man cave is a testament to all of that. But life got in the way for him, as it does for us all sometimes. So he is just doing what he can, but now his wife is leaving him...”
Quickly she filled him in on Melissa and Amy.
Then, she continued, “Devastated by his marriage falling part, he starts writing again.... he writes a script, Walt! He shows it to Dylan, cause he admires him, cherishes his opinion... he's the father figure and Dylan is looking for approval. Whatever happens next... well Dylan wants that script. So, it must be good, right? It must be. He kills because of it. Dylan knows people in the industry and he sees a way out of Canton...”
“He killed Allan for a script? That is insane! You and I are gonna have a talk.”
“Pull him in for a chat,” she said. “I have real questions I can ask. He did it! “
“And the knife and the laptop in Cal's bag!?”
“Everyone knows Cal, and he wouldn't be that hard to find. It would be easy to plant evidence...”
“Frame the guy? We back to that again. Suppose, what you say is true. There is nothing concrete. I have a guy in lockup, mentally unstable...Figure it out.”
He slammed down the phone.
Angry, pissed, she clicked off too.
Evidence.
One D. Watts was in the phone book.
She pulled up to the curb, just a few houses down from his small bungalow. Not a busy street. A quick glance at her watch showed her it was well after 11:30. She'd wait here, wait til Dylan left for school in the morning, then go in. Could be a hell of a wait. School was tomorrow so she expected Dylan would leave first thing in the morning, but whenever he left, she was gonna get in there, get the evidence she needed, prove to Walt that this was Allan's true killer. Break and enter, is that really what she was gonna do? Damn right she was!
She sipped her coffee and waited. Had to stay awake. At three a.m., a droplet of rain pecked the windshield. Then another. The rain started. Hard. Blurring the world beyond her car. Was it a cliche? Jess wondered. Cold rain? Early morning? Trying to solve a murder? Her driver's door was ripped open. Even as she gasped, she found herself out of the car, on the ground. She felt heat, warmth, spread over the back of her head where it had struck the sidewallk. Her mind was fuzzy. What!?! What was happening?
She struggled to understand - Rain pounded her face, her eyes. She couldn't see. A large gloved hand gripped her throat, applied pressure and before she could scream, another gloved hand covered her mouth so she couldn't. Though dark, she stared up into rain and could see angry eyes through a mask - Dylan! No, not - These eyes she knew. Genre! Jess struggled to get air. Her eyes widened in horror. No..... Jess hadn't considered the genre of the script! Damn no! She reached up and grabbed the mask, yanked it off. A stupid mistake she'd made. Walter's eyes glared down at her. “You couldn't leave it alone!” he spat. So angry, teeth clenched. Veins bulged at his temples. Rain dripped off his nose.
Torrential rain fell as the last of her strength left her.
OMG! OMG! Her mind raced at darkness closing in. She was gonna die here on the street. No one knew she was even here, no one....No, please, God no...
She couldn't believe this!
“Let her go now!” Myles's voice? “Or I'll blow your head off!”
Walter let her go. Darkness settled in.
She sat in Katrina's across from Myles. Black cups of coffee in front of them. Her laptop was open and she was quickly typing what she could of the story she had to tell. Deadline was midnight today and she was well ahead of schedule. A story that had almost killed her, now that was a story. Her head ached, but the paramedics said it was just a nasty bump, not a concussion.
After her attack, she had woken on a stretcher, police lights flashing, paramedics attending to her.
She looked up from her screen. “I can't believe you were following me,” she said. Her throat was a little sore but nothing that wouldn't heal. “I was your date. No wonder you looked tired. You missed work for me?” Questions yes, questions that weren't really questions... she knew the answers.
“Late nights. You're a hard act to follow. I care, Jess.”
She felt her cheeks heat up. “I see that.”
“I knew you'd go after the story, Jess, and I wanted to keep you safe.”
“Thank God you did. You saved me.” Fresh tears started to well and she blinked them away. She still couldn't believe what had happened.
“Walter,” she said, shaking her head. She lifted her coffee. Her hands trembled a bit.
“He's not saying much, I gather?” he said.
She shuddered. No, he wasn't saying anything. That the Chief of Police, Walter, the man she had known for years, had tried to strangle her, was all still so hard for her to fathom.
The genre, she'd thought squirming under his large hands. That's what she had missed. What genre did Allan love the most? Detectives, mysteries, thrillers...that was her answer.
She'd seen the books of fiction. Allan's movies. Even the school play he'd helped write was a mystery. Tangled Web. Allan, the writer, had undoubtedly interviewed Walter on police procedures for the cop drama he'd penned.
Having obviously shown his script to his mentor, Dylan Watts, Allan had mentioned how Walter had helped authenticate the facts regarding police work. Walter's years as a Police Chief would make him an extremely knowledgeable source, a true asset to Allan's true crime story.
Though all speculation, Jess thought it logical that Dylan approached Walter then, discussed how the script could make millions, how Dylan knew people in the movie industry. Perhaps he still had contacts from his time away. They had hatched the plan together. It was a chance for Dylan to escape Canton, to make a name for himself.
Walter... it might have been a chance to leave small town Canton behind.
Both Allan and Dylan, after the murder was behind them, would suddenly be gone. Or so it all seemed, right now. No one was saying a word at the police station, yet. One thing, Jess did know... Allan must have confided in Dylan about his marriage, where he was staying.
All she knew for sure was that Dylan went insane when he went to stab Allan. Of course, Allan would have the script with him at all times. On his laptop, carried on a flash drive....Follow Allan, kill him, make it look like a mugging and steal laptop or anything else that might contain Allan's script! Only, had Allan said something that set Dylan off? Had Dylan been jealous of the fact his pupil, Allan, had, at least in Dylan's opinion, surpassed the teacher? She still recalled Walter's sickened pallor as he'd left Allan's body. No, by Walter's face, the brutality of Allan's murder wasn't obviously scripted to go down like that. The murder weapon had most likely been one in police lockup, Jess had thought. Walter gives it to Dylan, Dylan returns it and Walter plants money and weapons on Cal. Naturally, Cal finds money beside him in the morning or is handed the money, he's gonna spend it. Perhaps, Walter plants the weapon and laptop at the precinct when he opens Cal's knapsack. Never mind. There was opportunity.
Dylan, home at the time Walter had attacked Jess, was behind bars. Though neither Dylan nor Walter were saying much at this point, she had found out during her talk with police that a thumb drive recovered in Dylan's home contained a screenplay. Some pages bore the name of one Allan Sinclair.
n interviewed by the police separately. She hadn't heard a thing about Myles having a weapon. “You said you'd blow his head off?”
“The fake gun used in the diner robbery. Walter gave it to me as a memento back then.”
His lips parted, offering a sheepish smile as he lifted his coffee.
She offered him a smile in return.
“I put it at his temple,” he said. “I was parked down the block but I guess he parked a block over and came in on foot. When your car door opened, the interior light came on very quick. I thought you might be moving, but I didn't see you. I called the police as I ran.”
He reached over and took her hand. “Can I ask you something?”
“Let me go first, please,” she said.
He nodded.
“You want to grab some supper some night?” When he smiled, she felt her heart kick. “I mean, if you're not too busy.”
“Turning 30, right? Next Tuesday?”
She nodded. Deadline was midnight that day. Wonder what story she'd have to file before then? Probably something mundane. Sounded good actually.
“Yeah.”
“A date and a story,” he said and squeezed her hand tight. “Yep. Now that's a beginning.”
She used both of her hands to cover both of his, met his eyes and said, “It is indeed.”
THE END
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Andre Michael Pietroschek
05/02/2022A good story. Though, it being more detailed than expected: I must read it again, when not impaired by lack of sleep. Format is good, and same on grammar. Also: The character depiction worked well for me. Thanks for sharing.
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