Page 11 of Fish in a Barrel
“Has it been acting up?” Jackson asked as they clattered down the stairs, and Henry’s snort of laughter told him there was a story coming.
“Okay, so Galen likes to ride in the back,” Henry said as they neared the vehicle. “You know, so he can spread out and work. And he’s got his briefcase balanced on the island in the middle, between the two back seats, right? You can have either three seats or the island or console or whatever, and he’s set up like that. And we are at a complete stop—like, stuck for the next five minutes at the interminable light—and suddenly, and I swear, I didn’t touch anything, not even the stereo, the console folds itself up and slides right into place flush with the floor, leaving all his stuff on top. He was gasping for air, trying to explain what the hell happened, and suddenly traffic is moving and there is nowhere—nowhere—to pull off and fix it. It’s like the fuckin’ carknewwhen to mess with him, and it chose the absolutely worst time to do it.”
Jackson chuckled, feeling bad for Galen but relieved to have someone else who would believe the damned thing was haunted.
“What did he say when you guys finally got here?” he asked.
Henry guffawed. “He straightened his suit jacket, cleaned up his briefcase and papers, and then he actuallyspoketo the damned car. He was like ‘Look, Drusilla, if that is indeed your name, I concede these are not the best of circumstances in which to coexist, but I promise upon my honor that if you do not act like a lady,Ishall buy Mr. Rivers’s next vehicle, and you shall be replaced. So think about that and decide if this sort of attitude is the kind you wish to carry with you into the scrap yard.’ And then we were here. I went to help him out, and she started to close the door on him when he was only halfway out, so I think she’s pissed and holding a grudge.”
Jackson groaned. “Oh my God. That wastoday? She’s going to make our lifehell!”
Ellery thought they exaggerated the minivan’s cantankerosity (Jackson’s word), but Jackson had never met a car more thoroughly haunted by a pissed-off spirit before.
“I think it was the name thing,” Henry said thoughtfully as they drew near the vehicle. “I think if we name her something besides Drusilla, she might not hate us so bad.”
A part of Jackson wanted to kick the thing’s tires, put sugar in her gas tank and walk away as he had her towed. But that would only cost Ellerymoremoney, and somewhere in there, he was pretty sure he’d have to confess to an insurance agent about how he came to be driving the car in the first place.
Nope, making peace was the only way.
Jackson held out a hand as they neared the automobile, and Henry smacked the keys in his palm.
“Okay, girl,” he said, walking up to the driver’s side. “Remember us? Weloveyou. You helped us catch that one perpetrator, remember? Good times. You’re a good car. We can give you a better name if you like. Drusilla doesn’t suit you, I swear. Maybe something rich-girl, like Stacy? Polly? Courtney/Whitney/Jessica?”
In response, the car’s headlights flashed on, and Jackson eyed Henry over the hood.
“Jennifer?” Henry hazarded. “’Cause that’s pretty. You’ve got good taste if you like Jennifer!”
The lights flashed once, and Jackson let out a breath. “Okay, Jennifer. That’s good. We’re going to go out on a little adventure tonight, so maybe, you know, work with us instead of against us. We sure would appreciate it.”
In response, the car’s horn beeped briefly and the doors unlocked.
“You’re not even touching the key fob,” Henry said bitterly.
“Nope,” Jackson told him, trying not to shudder. “That’s all Jennifer.”
“Well, good for her.” Henry was obviously trying not to put too much false brightness in his voice. “She’s agoodfriend.”
Very carefully—she’d been known to slam doors on hands or slide seats suddenly forward—the two of them got into the car. While she was warming up, Henry asked the obvious question.
“So where in the fuck are we going? You’re like, ‘Let’s go get the perpetrator!’ and I’m like, ‘Yeah!’ but, uhm, seriously—how do we know who he is?”
“I’ve done some of the groundwork already,” Jackson said, thanking God, Goddess, and Jennifer for that. He’d been needed in the courtroom today because Effie and Arturo had asked him to be; they’d responded to him during pretrial, and they’d both needed the moral support. But even though the trial date had been pushed up and crammed through, all the better to fit the agenda, he’d taken the list of police interviews provided by the prosecution and tracked down the ones who hadn’t been called in. He’d been prepared—and so had Ellery, although Ellery was always reluctant to let their jobs intrude on their off hours—to run down the real perpetrator after the dog and pony show was over.
He pulled out his phone. “Here, Junior, I’ve got the list of names, numbers, and addresses right here. See Effie’s number in my phone? Call the number after hers. It’s Annette Frazier, the victim, who purportedly wasn’t asked to come in today because of her wounds.”
“Thatisa lot of stitches,” Henry agreed.
“Yeah, but our supposed perpetrator was there in a wheelchair with his jaw wired shut,” Jackson said in disgust. “There’s got to be something else. Do you remember your script?”
Jackson and Jade had been working with him on interviewing techniques, starting off with identifying himself and his reason for wanting to speak.
“All up here,” Henry said, tapping his temple.
“Excellent. Be sure to mention your colleague—”
“You.”
“Exactly, and if they seem to think we’re serial killers, remind them that all investigations are done within legal boundaries. Sometimes it makes people think we won’t hurt them, which is hysterical if you’re the one pushing Zeke Halliday’s wheelchair to the restroom, but they don’t have to know that.” If any one of the four choirboy cops sitting on the prosecution’s side had been in sight when Jackson had been helping Zeke that afternoon, he would have hurt someone all right. He would have put them in the hospital and slept like a baby.