Alfonse doesn’t get angry often, but when he does it’s always with good reason. I open the paper and see the headline.
Local Man Shows Inept Police Way Forward
Below the headline is Ms Rosenberg’s name and a stock photograph.
Local hero, Jake Boulder, has stepped in to show Casperton’s
inept police force how to conduct a proper investigation. Not even a private detective himself, he has nevertheless proved to be a far more competent investigator than any of Chief Watson’s so-called detectives.
Regular readers of my column will be fully aware of the disdain in which I hold the town’s detectives. Never has the curse of nepotism imperilled the good townspeople so blatantly.
It is a poor enough state of affairs – Mayor Farrage is the current incumbent due to nothing more than a family name and a lack of credible opposition. That his college-dropout son is the town’s lead detective is risible to say the least.
Surely once this heinous killer is apprehended, Chief Watson’s new broom will sweep clean the ranks of his detective squad. Anything less than five competent trained detectives and he will be failing in his basic duty. Leaving Lieutenant Farrage in his current position neither serves nor protects us.
My sources have been adamant every breakthrough in the pursuit of the killer has come from Jake Boulder. I can reveal to you that I have personally seen him attending the locations where three of the victims have been found.
From my personal observations, it would not be amiss to suggest our new chief of police has more faith in a man with no investigative qualifications or training than he has in his highly paid detective squad.
I say the chief is right and we should all be thankful Jake Boulder, and not Lieutenant Farrage, is the man he turns to.
Should Jake Boulder ask you questions, I implore you to answer them honestly and without agenda. Lives may very well depend upon it.
I slap the newspaper onto a desk when I’ve finished reading it. ‘It doesn’t read well for Lieutenant Farrage. Or the chief come to think of it.’
Alfonse scowls at me. ‘Never mind them. What about you?’
‘It’s nice for the ego but other than that it doesn’t mean anything.’ A thought strikes me and it’s not a nice one. ‘You’re not jealous, are you?’
‘Jealous? No, you fool, I’m not jealous. I’m afraid for you. If you were the killer and you read that article what would you think?’
I wave a dismissive hand at him. ‘I’d ignore it as a piece of journalistic embellishment.’
‘Really? You’ve lived here as long as I have. Tell me, how often are her columns and pieces embellished? She may go over the top with her rhetoric but the logic and facts are spot on. She’s well known for preferring accuracy to sensationalism.’
‘So?’ I try to brazen it out but he’s got a point and it appears he wants to impale me with it.
‘Do you need words of one syllable?’ Getting no answer from me he continues. ‘If the killer is a local and he reads this piece what do you think he’ll make of it?’
I think about shrugging but decide against it. Instead I keep my mouth shut, lest I give him another reason to rail at me.
‘I’ll tell you what he’ll make of it if you won’t answer me. He’ll think you’re a threat. If he’s as deranged or psychotic as Dr Edwards has suggested to you, he may just think he’ll stand a better chance of not getting caught if you’re out of the picture.’
‘I don’t fit his selection pattern.’
‘No you don’t. But you’re an annoying fly buzzing around his head. Sooner or later he’s going to swat you and speaking for myself, I’d rather that didn’t happen.’
‘Thanks for caring but don’t worry. I can take care of myself.’
‘That attitude is why I’m worried.’
I’ve had enough of this. ‘Back off, Alfonse. I’m getting enough grief off Mother without you joining the chorus.’
He’s out of his seat in a flash, hands planted on the desk as he leans towards me. ‘So the great Jake Boulder is pissed because the two people who know him best are afraid he’s going to do something stupid and get himself killed. C’mon man, you’re too smart not to see that article has made you a target.’
He sits back down and makes a point of studying the screen in front of him.
Instead of pursuing an argument I can’t win, I pull out my still silenced cell, dreading what I’ll find if Mother has read the article.
Judging by the number of missed calls and messages, she’s read it and would like a profound discussion on its literary merits.
I read a few of the messages and send a short one back. There are no emoticons or snarky comments in my reply. Instead I try to placate and reassure her. It may or may not work but I don’t have time for anything else.
59
A commotion in the reception area has both Alfonse and I turning our heads. A sharp New York accent can be heard above all others and it sounds like its owner is trying to pick a fight.
Alfonse turns back to his computer as I walk across to the door. The voice I can hear is unmistakable and I pity anyone caught in the sights of Ms Rosenberg.
I peek round the edge of the door to take in the atmosphere. It’s not good. Ms Rosenberg is haranguing both Chief Watson and the mayor.
The chief is standing his ground in the face of her questions, but the mayor is a quivering lump of jello. Every utterance from his mouth is a pile of stammered bull dressed up to resemble a decent soundbite.
Surrounding the trio, reporters from other news outlets are mingling with family members. Everyone is talking at once, and while the collective volume is increasing nobody is getting heard.
However compelling everyone’s thirst for knowledge may be, there are more important things for both those men to be doing.
Reaching for the light switch with one hand and a chair with the other, I plunge the room into darkness for the count of three. When I flick the lights back on, I’m standing on the chair.
I yell for quiet. As they start to obey, I hear my name being whispered by a host of different voices.
Every micro and Dictaphone in the room is pointed my way. I’m not big on making speeches, so I keep it short.
‘Ladies and gentlemen. For those who have questions about family members, I know this is a trying time for you. You’re worried about your loved ones. I would be too in your position. However, to best serve and protect those you love, Chief Watson must be allowed to do his job. If he’s talking to you he’s not catching the killer, is he?’
The room falls silent as they digest my logic.
After a moment a voice from the back rings out. ‘How do we find out about our families then?’
‘Good question.’ I point at Mayor Farrage. ‘I’m sure the mayor will be only too happy to provide a number of his staff to help out with keeping you all informed. In fact, it wouldn’t surprise me to learn he has a contingency plan for just such a necessity.’
The mayor gives frantic nods. He’s obviously delighted to have been removed from the firing line into a position where he can be seen as a source of help for his constituents.
I point to the journalists who have pushed their way to the edge of my chair. ‘I’m sure that while all of your readers would like a statement from either the chief or the mayor, I think it’s fair to say they have more important things to be doing than writing press releases.’
There’s a few calls of ‘hear, hear’ and ‘well said’ from the back of the crowd.
‘However, I’m sure they also understand it’s vital the public are informed of what’s going on, so I would urge you to ask people to stay calm and use the information centre set up by the mayor, while leaving Chief Watson to catch a killer.’
I stop talking to take a look at my watch.