by: Chris Jones
I lean against my desk and sip my coffee slowly. Around me others are opening their briefcases and turning on their computers. I take notice that my friend Joyce Barry is at her desk, it's not very often she gets to the office before me. Since the beginning of our partnership here at Violent Crimes she's been chronically late.
She looks kind of different today, I can't quit put my finger on it . . .
"Davis!"
I look up and see Director August standing in front of my desk, "Davis, I just got the word from Philadelphia, you're back on active duty, be in my office in ten minutes."
I nod my head, "Yes, sir." As he walks away, I lean back in my chair, this is the first time I've had active duty since the Heartbreak Homicide Scandal four months ago. I meet Joyce's eyes as she walks over to my desk, she's got silky brown hair, chocolate colored eyes, and she must have been an athlete in college, because she's lean and fit. In fact, it's hard not to notice a woman like Joyce.
"Hey, Davis, was that all about?"
I snap out of scrutiny phase and stand up, "Boss wants me for a case, it's about time." She looks at me with a raised eyebrow.
"I thought you liked this cushy assignment."
I pull on my blazer and take off my reading glasses, "I'm not a desk guy." I walk by her and open the door to August's office.
August turns around to face me and offers me a seat. I take it gratefully and settle into it. I don't know exactly what this is about, but anything to get out of this stuffy place.
August takes his seat and flops a file folder onto the desk so I can see it. "Davis, our branch in Philadelphia called us this morning. It seems that there's a series of connected homicides being committed in the suburbs around that area. They seem to think it's a serial killer."
"What makes them think that?"
"All the victims have worked for Fitzcarin Catholic High School, in the Bradington area."
"My old school."
"That's right, not only are you our top man in this field, but you have a good knowledge of the area already. So, you're our prime choice." He opens the folder and hands me the report. "Now, you'll need the clearance and the cooperation from the local P.D.'s so I've put Agent Barry on this too. Give her a chance to get more experience in the field before she transfers up north."
"Up north, sir?"
"I forgot to mention it. Agent Barry submitted her reassignment forms last week, she wants to be close to her fiancee."
"Fiancee?"
"Davis, do you ever listen when she talks to you? She's getting married to some rich land developer in Allentown."
"Oh, that's right, I have a tendency to forget minor details like that."
He rolls his eyes then looks at his watch, "Go home and get packed, you need to be up there by tomorrow morning. I've already informed the Principal of your arrival. You have an appointment at nine-thirty sharp."
"On my way, sir."
I walk out to my car, a silver Aston Martin DB5, and climb in. I turn on the radio and finally my thoughts settle on going back home, a scary thought.
My apartment is a small place on Lance Avenue. It's filled with swords and trophies proclaiming my days as a Fencer and Saber man. I find a suitcase and begin to fill it with clothes and the essentials.
I'll try to get some sleep before I leave tonight . . .
As I pull into my parent's driveway, I'm not surprised to see my mother walk onto the porch dressed in her green nightgown, minus curlers. I caught her on a good day.
I don't have to look to know that my partner is laughing at me.
I walk slowly to the porch and my mother and I hug and she starts to cry. I roll my eyes and tell her I'm happy to see her too. I can feel Joyce's eyes on my back.
Mom leads me inside and I glance back at Joyce as she follows me with a smirk on her face. I take off my trenchcoat and fling it on the coat rack. I flop on the couch and my mother glares at me sternly.
Joyce takes her Italian leather coat, one of those thousand-dollar kinds that reach the knees, and she hangs it gently on the coat-peg furthest from mine. She's engaged to this wealthy gentleman, Scott Anderson, so I guess she's doing well in the designer clothes department..
I realize Mom has begun to talk about something, and to avoid harassment from my partner I nod and smile. She raises an eyebrow at my response at her comment and I cough uncomfortably.
I look over to see Joyce's smirking face and begin to mutter. "Stop that, it's not polite."
"Yes, Mom." I'm never going to hear the end of this. Joyce looks upstairs and her eyes grow wide. Is Dad wearing his golf outfit?
She runs up the stairs and Mom and I exchange a confused glance. What is wrong with that girl? Wait a minute, "My room!"
I pound up the stairs and find Joyce standing in the middle of my room. Mom hasn't changed it since I was a kid. The model cars, the KISS sheets!
I cringe expecting her laugh, but she's enthralled in something. I look over her shoulder. She's holding my prize winning saber. I was captain of the fencing team back in college, that's probably the last time I used the blade. I must have forgot to pack it when I moved to Washington.
She swings it in the air. "Can I help you?" Bad move. She swings around and the tip of the blade stops about two inches in front of my nose.
"Oh. Davis, I didn't hear you coming." I give her a glare and take the sword from her hand and inspect it. Mental note: Go back to the gym for some fencing, it's been way too long.
I place it back in its velvet sheath and slide it back under the bed. "Can we go now? We have work to do."
School is just how I remember it: boring. As I walk down the halls, I sympathize with the kids. Their crushed looks say enough about the school system these days. I shudder at the sight and stop at the warden's- I mean Principal's office.
I smile at the woman at the desk, "I'm Agent Davis, this is Agent Barry, we're with the FBI. We have an appointment to see the principal." The secretary redirects us to another room and we are seated.
I sigh again, the meeting with Mr. Fitzcarin (Gee, I wonder how he got this job) turned up with no leads. I push the cup of french fries away. They're a heart attack waiting to happen, just one of the dangers in this cafeteria.
Alright, time for a plan. I'll look into the background of the faculty to see which one would most likely know something. I really don't feel like interviewing every member. Better yet, I'll have Joyce do it.
"Hey, Joyce, I'm going to talk to the president (I know you what you're thinking, "What President? Well in this strange school system there are both a principal and a president.) and you can do some background checks on the staff for any leads."
She swallows whatever God awful food she's bought here and clears her throat, "Only if we can knock off early, I promised Scott I'd meet him for dinner while I'm up here."
"Done."
I roll out of bed. Literally. Getting off the floor, I make my way downstairs where I smell breakfast. Mom insisted I stay at home while Joyce is over at what's-his-name's place.
Mom has made eggs and bacon and suddenly I can't remember the last time I had a hot, home made breakfast. Dad walks into the kitchen with the morning paper in his hands. He sits down next to me.
"Denny, give your son some room."
"He's got plenty of room."
"I said, give your son some room!"
"I said he's got plenty."
"Don't argue with me."
"Don't yell at me."
Now I remember why I moved away so early.
I look at my partner, and she doesn't look happy. I slide into the driver's seat and turn on the car. She slams the door, and I know I'm in for quite a ride
I really don't have to ask before she starts. "I can't believe it. I really can't. He forgot. He really did. It's our sixth month anniversary of when we got engaged and he forgot."
"Well, it's only been six months, and he's a busy man-"
"Just don't start, Jack. I can't believe you're taking his side. You're such a guy! He knows I've been planning a dinner for our sixth month anniversary and he forgot!"
I really don't think I'll ever understand women, but I know what he's going through. She had said something sentimental and he didn't hear her, but rather than have her start on him he smiled and agreed. Now she's holding him to something he really didn't know about in the first place. Poor guy.
"Well, I did the file work for the faculty," her tone suggests there's something she's not telling me. Something out of the ordinary.
"Go on."
"Well, all the lay teachers and staff have the normal run, with no connection to anything remotely like serial murder. The interesting thing is the files on the religious staff."
"Well, out with it."
"They're clean, spotless, everything, not even a traffic violation out of all of them."
I turn that over in my mind. That's the style of the Witness Protection Program. "Well, that certainly sheds some light on this case."
"Think one of the nuns has fallen back on her old habits?"
"Joyce, that was horrible."
"Well, I'm tired."
"Next time, just think the joke, we'll all sleep a little better."
I let Joyce out and park the car. I head toward the main doors when a woman I've never met before steps out in front of me.
Her black hair is tied back in a bun, leaving a few strands in front of her face giving her an exotic look. She's very tall, about as tall as I am. She's wearing sunglasses so I can't determine her eye color.
"Agent Davis?"
"May I help you?"
"I'm agent Lynn, Internal Affairs, I've been assigned to monitor yours and Agent Barry's progress on this case."
She's direct and her tone is no-nonsense. "Alright, may I ask why?"
She steps closer to me and lowers her voice, "It's about the past of some of the 'holier' members of the staff." I get it, the agency is making sure they won't have to spend more money on relocation.
Agent Lynn is an Inquirer, our pet name for a tag agent. She'll look over our shoulder and make sure we don't blow the cover, all the while asking questions.
Well now, it's time to get into the thick of things. We've got many suspects and a whole lot of work cut out for us.
As I pull the car into the school's driveway I'm reminded about just how much time has passed since the last time I walked the halls.
Thinking about it, the years have been kind. I stand about six feet, two inches and have a sturdy build. My black hair matches my dull brown eyes, so I'm one of those people you see, but don't notice.
Joyce says something about her betrothed and she looks at me expectantly. Note to self: Pay attention. Alright, I have to say something, "Uh-huh."
"So you will?"
Ut-oh. "Um sure. . . "
"Well you'll have to meet us at around eight-thirty."
Oh boy, "Where do you want to meet?"
"On second thought why don't we pick you up?"
"Um-ok," that was a close one. She leans back and starts planning, I pale slightly. What have I just gotten myself into? As I close the car door I feel that impending sense of doom again.
"By the way, I pulled up the records on a priest that was stationed at Fitz yesterday. The surprising thing is, he's not in the W.P.P. You might want to check it out." She shows me is photo and I make a mental note.
The meeting with the president turned up no good. With Agent Lynn around I can't ask him questions about his past. The woman has really been tough. If she doesn't loosen up she's going to end up taking a rifle into a tower.
I smile as she walks by but she ignores me, as is the usual. I shuffle down the halls and sigh heavily. This case is going no where, we've got no leads, no evidence, no nothing. Agent Lynn's presence has all but brought this case to a halt.
I stop as I hear a scream. Pulling my magnum I jog down the hall and swing around the corner and into the cafeteria. The kids all stop and turn to look at me, a few of them raise their hands in surrender. I see the source of the scream, a make-up saturated girl has spilled a drink on her skirt and is hyper-ventilating.
I holster my weapon and turn back to the hall. As I look down the other way I spot the new priest, the one with out a record. I jog down a bit and decide to say hello.
"Morning, Father."
He turns and nods, "Good morning." He's about six feet, eight inches, the man is a monster. I look up at him and take in just how tall he is. His long black hair is pulled back in a pony-tail and he has some weird looking mustache-beard combo.
"Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?"
He looks at his watch then shakes his head, "Later, I've got a class in five minutes."
Before I can answer he jogs off down the hall as the tones ring out and the hallway is filled with slightly startled children.
I find a small gym in Hatboro that is perfect for my needs. I give the woman behind the desk the forms for a temporary membership and she stamps them. I slide them into my gym bag and then walk through the doors.
I'm alone in the room so I feel a bit more confident. I slide off my loafers and take my saber from the its velvet sheath. Twirling it a few times to test balance, I lapse back into my stretches. After I feel my muscles are ready for a work-out I begin to do simple thrusts and swipes.
"Mind if I practice here?"
I spin around and find Agent Lynn. She's wearing a leather coat, cowboy boots and has a leather case slung over her shoulder. I shrug and can't help but notice the change. Saying nothing she slides her own blade out. A gold handled Spanish court rapier. I'm impressed, it was probably very expensive.
I go back to my work-out and I am surprised when Agent Lynn walks over to where I'm standing. "Would you like to spar, Agent Davis?"
I nod and am about to put on my armor coat. I notice she isn't wearing one so I toss it back over my gym bag. We both salute and begin to circle. I decide to go with a moderate defensive style, I have no idea what she's capable of.
She decides to make the first move, I'm startled that she almost got through my guard with a quick thrust. Changing my stance I back off.
She charges forward, feigns a swipe, and then follows through with a high thrust. I'm taken back, but react quickly. I follow her blade with my own causing her to lurch forward, then I stick my heel out and cause her to trip over it.
She falls into a roll and then springs up and faces me. "Your better then I expected."
"I have to say, you're good with a sword too."
On the whole I'd say we're about evenly matched, but the game isn't over yet. She slides into my guard while I'm thinking and then flips me over her shoulder and holds her sword tip over my heart. "Do you yield?"
Adrenaline and testosterone mix in a recipe for disaster and I foot-sweep her and roll away. She springs up again and twirls her blade like she's going to swipe. Nice try, but I've seen Highlander too. I step forward and de-blade her while she tries to get her saber under control.
She waves her arm in yield and picks up her sword. She manages a smile, but I know she's fuming. We both rest and take a drink. I smile and she actually returns the gesture. Things are looking up, and besides who knows how long they'll keep us up here.
"Well, I'm going to come back Wednesday to practice, would you like to spar again?"
She nods and I know she can't wait to see me fall under her blade. We both mutter goodbye and I head home.
I'm half-asleep when Mom slaps me in the head, "I've been trying to get you up for the last ten minutes! Your friends are waiting outside."
I roll off the couch, wrinkling my clean clothes, and then stumble over to the door in a drowsy stupor. Joyce is standing there with her fiancee.
"Um, can I help you?"
"Davis, the reservations have us at nine o'clock, let's go already."
"Reservations?"
"Remember in the car this morning, you promised to go to dinner with us?"
I slap my forehead, this can't be happening. "You want me to go?"
"Duh, it's my birthday, you are my partner."
I blink stupidly, birthday?! Think fast, Davis.
I nod and promise to be right back. I slip on my trenchcoat and dig around in the closet. I find an old pink parasol, my niece must have left it over here ages ago. I walk outside and hand the parasol to Joyce, "Happy Birthday." I look at her nervously as she pops it open.
"My Little Pony, Davis leave it up to you to give me a gag gift. I love it."
I sigh and start to relax, someone up there is looking out for me. Note to self: Take my niece out to dinner.
The rest of the night passes uneventfully, Joyce and Scott talk about china and drapes and I try to enjoy myself.
After the cake I excuse myself and step outside. My head is a little bit cloudy. I was stuck next to some old chain-smoker lady, and I have a bit of a headache.
The night is kind of dark and the moon isn't out. I hear two sets of footsteps and look to my right. One of the lay teachers I interviewed steps out into the street. I can't put my finger on his name but there's something about his face that tugs at my memory.
I see another man step out behind him, he draws a pistol. I draw my magnum and take aim. "F.B.I. stop right there." They never do.
He turns and fires at me, I dodge and fling myself into some bushes. I peek out and fire some shots of my own. I hear his fleeting footsteps and run over to the teacher. He hasn't been shot, only a few scrapes from jumping away. I reach down and shake his shoulder, to my surprise he does some kind of kung-fu move and I find myself flat on my back.
"You're welcome," I manage to mutter.
I fall into bed and ruminate on today's events. Tomorrow I'll get a description of the gunman from Mr. Karate at the restaurant and then check it out, I'll contact Agent Lynn about his past and then go from there.
Things are coming together and I'm very pleased. I try to keep my eyes open but eventually sleep claims me.
Weddings are boring, but getting a suit tailored is twice as bad. My patience is wearing thin, if this old man sticks one more pin in my neck I will not be held responsible for my actions.
I hear my cell phone ringing and attempt to move, I'm answered by thirty or forty needles sticking me at once. I sigh in protest and the ancient hunched little man tightens the cummerbund. My temper is reaching danger level and now my beeper goes off.
My mind is going wild when the old man takes the pins out and presents me with a bill. My eyes bulge as I look at it. Did I mention that weddings are expensive too?
I step outside and dial the number on my beeper and wait.
"Hello?"
"Joyce?"
"Couldn't you get someone else?"
"Believe me I've tried, but you're the only one left, please?"
"Fine." Great, did I mention I get these impending senses of doom? As I pull away from the shop, a black Mercury nearly hits me, sometimes I don't understand how some people get their licenses.
He's really quiet. So quiet I start to think I'm thinking loudly. I smile awkwardly and try to relax. That's odd that black Mercury has been following me for a while. I make a sharp left and it follows, confirming my suspicion. Alright, time to lose them.
As soon as I speed up, I hear a loud pop and my windshield shatters. I hear another gunshot, too close for comfort. I swerve into an alley way and draw my magnum.
I hand it to Scott, "Do you know how to use one of these?"
To my surprise he flips the safety, locks, and loads. He rolls down the window and leans out. I hear my gun fire shot after shot and check the mirror. He's not a bad shot, not bad at all.
I swerve into another street and this time the car doesn't follow. I look over to Scott and decide on the perfect wedding gift.
"Good shooting, Anderson."
"Good driving, Davis."
It doesn't seem like much, but for two guys that was a major breakthrough.
The police officer takes the report down and I lean against my car. The tow truck guy promises he'll take care of it, and I turn away as he speeds off.
I sigh heavily and sit down on the curb. Anderson has called his secretary and a car pulls up. We both climb in and try to relax, of course when Joyce gets me alone, I'm in for an ear-full.
I pull my parent's car into the school parking lot and make my way to where the Marching Band is trudging along.
This October has been fairly chilly so I pull my trenchcoat a little tighter. The man from the other night is barking orders from the top of some kind of podium. I walk up behind him and take out my I.D., "Excuse me, sir, I need to ask you a few questions." No response, I know I said it loud enough.
"Excuse me, sir, can I speak with you?"
He turns to look at me as if I'm insane, "Excuse me?!" I'm a little less confident, he looks like he's a couple of cans short of a six-pack.
I show him my I.D. and I see a lock of a hair fly out of his slicked back mane. He yells at a girl on another podium and then walks down the stairs.
I sit across from the Band Director and take out my notebook, "So he was very tall? Taller than me?"
"Yes."
"How about eye color, hair color, distinguishing features?"
"It all happened so fast I really couldn't tell." He knows something, but he's not telling. Well if he doesn't want to tell me, he doesn't have to. I'll get the local P.D. to stake him out.
Now to find the connection to the others, it's time to talk to Lynn. I stand up and slide my notebook into my trenchcoat pocket and shake his hand, "Thanks for your time."
He gives me a nervous look and then hurries back down to the field. This guy gives me the chills. I hop back into my parent's car and pull out onto York Road.
When I knock on Lynn's door, I get no response. Joyce knocks again impatiently, she's got a lunch date with Scott, who despite my original opinion wasn't such a bad guy. Hey, he can fire a gun, right?
Still, there is no answer. Joyce growls in frustration, takes the keys to the car and briskly walks out of the main doors. Stranded, I stare at the door. I knock again.
I hear a commotion from inside and someone looks through the peephole. As Lynn opens the door, loud Broadway style music bombards my ears, no wonder she didn't answer the door, the woman must be half-deaf by now.
She gestures for me to step inside then she turns the stereo off. Her apartment is not at all what I expected. It's not the black and white asylum I imagined but looks kind of like my apartment, without the piles of dirty clothes.
Her kitchen is fully decked out, with pots hanging from the ceiling and oven mitts in all shapes and sizes. The refrigerator is plastered with Broadway show promotion posters. Most of them autographed.
Her living room has much of the same, though with some of the autographed posters framed. Her couch is black and looks very soft, the blanket draped over the back has the letters B-R-O-A-D--W-A-Y and has an arrow pointing down at the seat.
A pile of play-books reaches the height of her desk, which is nestled in the corner. Her work space is fairly neat and she has a full multimedia computer with a Guys and Dolls mouse pad. I'm starting to get worried that the girl's just a tad obsessed with the theater.
She blushes at my scrutiny and I am surprised at the show of emotion. "Can I help you, Agent Davis?"
"Please call me Jack."
"Ok, then call me Maggie."
There is an awkward silence and then she offers me a seat. I carefully sit, not to disturb her blanket, and then I take out my notebook. "I need some information on these people," she nods turning back into business mode.
She flips through the pages and then I take another look around. I notice a pile of sheet music on the coffee table and I take a look. "You compose your own stuff?"
She snatches it away as if I had just smacked the Pope on the back. "Y-Yes, I'm writing a show."
"Wow, what's it about?"
"I can give you the case information to you tomorrow, if you don't mind I have some practicing to do." She clears her throat and then adds nervously, "After all, I don't want to be stuck here all my life."
Interesting woman, well I don't want to totally alienate myself, "So I'll see you tomorrow at the gym?"
She nods and nearly pushes me out the door. As I stand in the hallway, my mind races back over to the case. Well the murderer has to know the school pretty well, all four murders were committed on school grounds.
Also all four teachers were fresh from the Witness Protection Program, could it be something major went down and that all four victims, maybe more, were involved and then went for help?
Interesting theory, time for some evidence though. I decide to go back to Fitzcarin and case the joint.
I get to the school at about quarter of seven and the janitor lets me in. The place is kind of scary when there's no one around. I walk around and examine the halls, nothing, not even a spot of dirt. The rooms are in pristine order and even the lockers look freshly shined.
I stop as I come to the first room on the third floor, south side. Muffled voices seem to be arguing over something. The fight gets louder and I hear something crash. I check the handle. The door is locked.
I pull my magnum and kick the door by the lock, where it's weakest. Kicking a door open is fairly easy, but it sure does looks impressive.
The priest from the other day and a woman dressed in black with a hat are standing there looking at each other. The woman must have gotten angry because I see a broken vase on the floor, flowers are tossed about, and Father's shirt is wet. I put my gun away and scowl parentally.
The woman pushes past me and stamps down the hall. I can see red hair falling out of her hat. I look back for the priest but he's gone. Looks like I'll need to do some interviewing again.
I get an official invitation in the mail the next morning for Joyce's wedding. It's hard to believe I won't be working with her anymore. After this case, she's officially assigned up here so she can be close to her husband.
There is a side note for me, telling the date and time for the rehearsal and I note sadly that it's only two weeks away. I stick the envelope in my trenchcoat pocket and then pull it on.
I'm going to go pick up Lynn and then we'll spar over at the gym and hopefully she'll have the info I need. As I pull out of the driveway, my thoughts are brought back to the case. I'm getting somewhere, but where I don't know.
I am not a morning person. The alarm clock rings loudly and I start swatting at my night table to shut the stupid thing off. I catch it and it goes spiraling into my closet.
Satisfied I begin to drift back into sleep. No such luck. My mom thinks it's funny to pull the covers off of me if I don't get up with the clock. It's really cold in this house.
I mumble about unfair and then groggily stamp into the hall to start my morning routine.
Breakfast is enough to give me a heart attack in ten years, so I skip seconds and pull on my trenchcoat. I sit on the porch and wait for Joyce to pick me up. Not having a car is really tough.
Joyce's car pulls around the corner and I notice Scott is driving. I raise my eyebrow but say nothing and walk toward the car.
As I open the rear door, my Mom exits the house in her nightgown and curlers and waves a five-dollar bill in the air, "You forgot your lunch money."
I turn red from embarrassment as she gives me the money and a kiss on the cheek. "You must be Scott, Joyce's little boyfriend."
"Mom!"
"Don't talk to me in that tone young man."
"Mom, just go back in the house, I have to go to work."
"Would you like me to ground you?"
"Mom!"
"One . . . "
"Stop counting. I'm not five anymore!"
"Two . . . "
"Please?!"
She gives me a glare and I quiet, my face is flaming red, and my ears are hot. I know I'm never going to live this down. Silently I get in the back of the car and take it like a man.
Scott says nothing, Joyce on the other hand throws every tease, joke, and rip she knows at me and by the time I get to the school I'm a very humble man.
I'm all decked out in my tuxedo and ready for the wedding. I remind myself not to forget the gift, A woman's watch with the inscription, "Find the Time for Friends" and for Scott a silver Derringer, not loaded of course. They both ran up a high price, but what is a friend for?
When I arrive at the church, I take a seat on the bride's side and wait. Agent Lynn arrives and takes a seat fairly close. She's still beaming after her win yesterday. Her swordsmanship has improved immensely.
The wedding is perfect and the couple at the altar, Joyce and Scott, says their own vows and by the time the kiss is over there isn't a dry eye in the house.
The reception is fairly enjoyable. I spend my time talking to Joyce's brother, Alan, about cars and our mutual interest in James Bond.
When the evening is over, I say a heart felt goodbye to my partner, and my friend.
"See you around, Davis, and try to keep your nose clean."
It's four months later and I'm fairly settled in. I haven't been assigned a new partner and for a while I'll be doing paper work.
In my free time I've decided to teach Swordsmanship and Chivalry Theory at the local High School. Things are going good for me and I still hear from the newly weds once and a while.
Agent Lynn has since left the Agency and starred on Broadway in "The Phantom of the Opera." I hear she's starting her own theater company and I decide to go catch a show next month.
Director August looms over my desk and I look up. "Davis, in my office, I just got word from Philadelphia, some important people are getting bumped off, you're going back home again."