Life Struggles (Life Stories Book 1) (13 page)

Mike Jagger was the most shocked of all. He had sat second chair at Jerry's trial and was sure they had the right guy. His expression went through shock, shame, sorrow, and seven other emotions I couldn't figure out, then back to shock.

“
Get out
,” Mike and the defense lawyer said in unison. I got out.

As soon as I was clear of the building I called Herb Lockhart. “The real murderer at the liquor store is right now confessing to the D.A. I suggest that if you haven't heard from the D.A. by tomorrow you make a phone call.”

Herb was ecstatic. He said thank you in more ways than I knew how. Jerry will be happy and yadayadayad and he can apply for parole in another ten years and so forth and so on. Big deal. I had a fucking story to write.

Chapter Fourteen

Things settled down for a couple of days. Just for shits and grins I asked Danny to bring over the victims' profiles for the missing boys in case what I had learned might let me see something new. Nope, absolutely nothing. I went over the profiles again and again and again. Nothing.

I had finished my third beer and had to take a leak. I was working from home for another few weeks and that had worked out well. Lucy came out every day for at least two hours, and we got the column back to once a week. When she saw Alex in his jockeys she laughed.

“My brother is an underwear model. I'll let him know he's safe from competition.” Alex was mortified.

When I came back from taking a leak Alex was looking at the profiles. Fuck, I shouldn't have left them out.

“Ah, Alex, I'm sorry but I shouldn't have left those out. They aren't for public consumption. My fault.” It really was my fault, and I was glad Alex was well enough to display his normal curiosity.

“Where's the other interview?” Alex looked at me quizzically.

“What other interview?” I had no idea what he was talking about.

“The other parent. Each guy's parents were interviewed. But none of them had two parents. Most had one, and one guy had none. What are the odds?” I had started for another beer but grabbed two.

“Have one on me. And thank you.” I immediately called Danny with the new information.

Everybody had missed it. The police, the feds, me, and everybody but Alex. I guess being an orphan had sensitized him to the issue. Wow.

Danny was there in an hour along with another detective. They questioned Alex at length, but he had nothing else to add. They asked me questions but that was pointless. I still knew nothing more.

NOPD called the feds. The next day the feds put out a bulletin with the victim and crime profile and asked if any other cities had experienced something similar. Oakland, St. Louis, Birmingham and three others popped up on the radar. So far, 56 missing young men matched the profile, all in the last thirteen months. Six other small to mid-sized cities said they'd get back to the feds.

Danny was asked to join a federal task force since he was the one who spotted the pattern. Sure, it was Alex, but let's face facts. He would have been useless on the task force anyway.

They were going to run it out of St Louis and asked me and Alex to come up. I told Luke, who said he had a friend who used to live in St Louis. Well, gosh golly, I used to live in Smyrna, Tennessee. So what?

Danny was already there when we arrived. In fact, he picked us up at the airport and took us to a luxury hotel. He had just been moved there to a small suite. Alex and I got a two-bedroom suite.

I asked Danny why Alex and I were there.

“I told the head guy about your escapades in New Orleans that brought down an internet fraud scheme and the city's biggest crime family, all in forty-eight hours. They want to be able to pick your brain. Also, they don't understand what's going on and already have a fiction crime writer on the task force to offer up scenarios. They figure a fact-based writer won't hurt.

“Alex is here because I told them the truth. I didn't find the pattern in the kidnappings, he did, from a single reading of the cases. They're hoping he'll strike gold again.”

He had talked to the manager of the hotel. “The suites are courtesy of the hotel as a favor to the Chief of Police. She's reduced crime by leaps and bounds and we'd give her the entire fucking hotel for a month if she asked. A couple of suites doesn't even make a round-off for us. Enjoy yourselves. And you've each got a $200 a day room service tab.”

I told Alex about that and he picked up the phone to order a case of beer. At least he was ordering it until I took the phone from him. “Ignore this call, it's a prank. No case of beer.” My step-son glowered at me. Tough shit.

I tried calling the Chief of Police's office but got nowhere. I asked Will if he could help. Still nothing. The whole thing was a mystery. Then I remembered Luke's off-hand remark about having a friend who used to live in St. Louis.

“Luke, does your friend who used to live in St. Louis know the Chief of Police?” Turned out they were good friends. “Tell him thank you a million times over.”

I gave in and ordered a case of beer from room service. I told Alex we had to share, and that he needed to ration how many he drank at one time.

“Thanks, Ethan.” He had called me Ethan again. I quit while I was ahead.

Alex spent a morning with the task force and didn't strike gold. He did strike a pretty young secretary who was making eyes at him. The head guy noticed that and told Alex to go back to the hotel. He spent every moment in the room glued to porn on the television and drinking beer. What could I say? At eighteen I'd have had hookers in, too. At least if they were covered by our room service budget.

After three days on the task force they thanked me for my time and trouble. A slightly inebriated Alex and I made our way to the airport and flew home. A detective picked us up at the airport. And I had a story to get started on. Eventually. I had signed a non-disclosure agreement with words such as “fine” and “imprisonment” in it. Fuck.

Cheryl moved back to her place, but we still managed to have sex four times a week. Actually, that's four days a week. Having sex was more like ten or eleven times a week. I was starting to experience fatigue, but Cheryl said I was still more than fifty orgasms in the hole on my quota and she expected to be paid. Fatigue be damned, this is one debt I fully intended to pay off.

Lucy and I worked on the book as we had time, but I knew we weren't really up to the job. We were going to have legal issues with what could be revealed. Blowing up Jerry Gamblin's cover as a source was not only a violation of ethics, it was also a bad idea. And, probably, bad for our health as well. Then there were Evangelina and Shorty. And all the others. The paper let us use their lawyers in exchange for a one-day lead on exclusive publication rights to excerpts. I called my agent (actually, my Dad in Tennessee) who told me to get a real agent.

The real agent (last name Golden; how convenient) went over the contract and told me I was a fucking idiot. Well, I'd been told that already. My Dad had had the sense to reserve stage and screen rights, both movie and television, but missed a few things. Like lucrative consulting contracts on a movie. There was other stuff that the real agent didn't like. I told him to play the hand he was dealt. He never did stop grumbling, but not having to deal directly with the publisher took one issue off my plate.

One night Cheryl asked me over dinner about a strange call she had gotten from a former nurse who was a new medical examiner. There was a hush-hush request from the feds for nine specific autopsy reports, and they seemed to be linked to the same case I had worked. Did I know anything about it?

I asked the expert. Alex said that all of the parents' deaths had been in the last fifteen months, and that was all he knew. Had all of the parents been autopsied? Fuck if he knew. He went back into his bedroom with Monica. I did my best to not hear the sounds of very enthusiastic and athletic sex coming from that direction. For two hours nonstop. Oh, to be eighteen again.

So, Cheryl and I retired for the night. Sure, we kept it up for two hours also, just not continuously. The days of non-stop ejaculation were a few years behind me. Cheryl displayed remarkable talent with every part of her body to get three out of me most nights, and occasionally four. After a four-orgasm night I drank protein shakes and prayed.

I called Danny. “Were all of the parents autopsied?” He got very unfriendly very quickly.

“Why are you asking that, McQuade?” What happened to Ethan? “Who is your source?” I thought he was smart enough to remember the journalist part for a week or two.

“Well,
Flint
, I can't tell you who the source is. So, from your reaction I take it the answer is yes.” Two can play this game.

Danny begged me not to go public with my speculation. It wasn't yet fully confirmed and they were afraid of destruction of evidence. I had enough columns to last until at least my seventy-ninth birthday, so this one just got filed away.

I started going into the office once a week, but Barbara told me to stay home otherwise. They knew where to reach me and unless I committed multiple felonies per hour for a week, my job was secure. My day in the office was usually used keeping in contact with my friends and colleagues, which helped.

Kendra had, as requested, given the list of seven companies to Detective Danny. By then he was overwhelmed mopping up the Capelleti goons, so he passed the list off to colleagues. Kendra and Will co-wrote a series of articles on the companies and how analysis of raw data and nothing more had led to their discovery. (Yeah, newspapers aren't supposed to lie, but this was more like a fib.) A magazine asked them for an article on how to spot an illicit company. Kendra sent me flowers. Will sent me a case of beer. Alex drank the fucking beer, leaving me to smell the flowers. Shit.

I went out at least one day a week to keep contact with my sources. Evangelina threatened to quit, so I gave her a hundred dollar bonus. She allowed as how she just might still be available. But don't ever call her on her work phone again. I promised, but kept my fingers crossed. If I had to call her at her work phone to find my son, I'd do so.

Luke was over one day while I was working from home. He and Alex were bullshitting about kinds of work Alex could do. Alex said his goal was to be a porn star. Luke asked me to take off my shirt and pants.

“You see that scar on Ethan's shoulder? Well, that's from him barely touching the porn industry. You see that nasty zipper on his abdomen? Same thing. Ethan, please smile.” I did, showing off the missing front teeth. “More from the porn industry. We won't even address the minor injuries. Now, Alex, what did you want to do?”

Before Alex could answer Lucy stopped in for a visit. I was starting to pull on my pants.

“Don't bother, Ethan. I told you my brother is an underwear model. I can scratch one more competitor from the list. Anyway, those boxer briefs look comfortable. Not to mention kind of sexy.” Lucy winked at me.

And so it came to pass that when Alex and I were at home the house became a pants-free zone. Cheryl approved (of course she approved), and Luke said that now Marcus would no longer need to get dressed when he came over. I was struggling to remember the last time I had seen Marcus in anything but his boxers, but such is life.

Monica usually spent the night with Alex. Her parents called me telling me they were not happy about the situation. Well, neither was I.

“Does either of you believe that they will stop having sex as often as possible if she doesn't spend the night here?” Nope.

“So, after safe inside a house with an assured supply of condoms, where would you rather they have that sex?” Neither had a clue.

“Look, I don't like this any more than you do. In fact, I might like it less. It's under my roof. Alex has been a handful since his mother's death, and this is one more thing. I can throw him out, but you know what he's been through. Shit, Monica's been through a rough time herself. I'm open to suggestions.” Nobody had a single one.

One evening Monica came out of Alex's bedroom nude. I didn't have to say a thing.

“Go put on a fucking robe, Monica, I'm serious.” That was actually Alex. You could have knocked me over with a dust rag.

“What are you grinning about, douchebag?” That was also Alex. I just nodded my head and continued grinning. Cheryl, on the other hand, laughed out loud. Alex looked at her menacingly and she laughed again. You know, there are days where I'm glad I'm not eighteen any more.

Chapter Fifteen

A day or so later Alex and I were both cleared medically to get on with our lives. We had a celebration. Barbara brought by champagne and appetizers. Luke and Marcus showed up. Then Danny came by. He looked around and asked if he had to take off his clothes to come in. Cheryl laughed and told him that she would most certainly enjoy that, but he was welcome to stay dressed. He looked relieved.

Danny wanted to know if I had a source inside the medical examiner's office. Well, I didn't, but that wasn't relevant.

“Danny, much as I'd like to help you as a private citizen, even if I had a source in the ME's office I couldn't tell you. It is not the function of journalists to help the police solve crimes. If we can do so through helping to inform the public, we're usually eager to do it. Can you tell me what you want?” Danny glared at me. “Not for publication, OK?” I nodded, and that seemed to satisfy him.

“Everybody but me and Ethan needs to leave. This is official police business and you have no need to know the information.” Four people got up and left, but Cheryl stayed in her seat.

“Detective, autopsies are medical procedures. I've assisted in several over the years. If you have something that might involve medical knowledge, I might be able to help. In any event, Ethan has hired me as a consultant and you're a journalist's source. I'm bound by the source shield law.” With that she got a dollar out of my wallet and put it in her purse.

“Now I'm hired.” Cheryl smiled.

“We're up against it. We can't figure out how the autopsies play into it. We've been over all of the reports and had the tests that could be repeated re-done. Nothing is jumping out.” Danny looked beaten. This was tough on him. The missing boys were his case and, even if it had now gone national, he still had nine missing boys that were his responsibility. I felt for him, but couldn't figure out what to do to help him.