Dues of Mortality (8 page)

Glenda’s
forehead wrinkled at Jones’s fading back. “'Squeeze it
out of him’?” she asked Roberts.

“
He
hasn’t said a word since we brought him in,” he answered.
“We’re still not sure what he was doing there.”

“
It
seems pretty obvious to me; he wanted to take what any woman with
half a brain would never give him willingly. I told you what he
said.”

“
Yes,
I was getting to that before. You see, we found something, a...uh
semen
sample on the front of his
pants.” Roberts was never very good at mincing words.

Glenda
squirmed. “Ew, ugh.”

“
We
also found a fresh sample on the floor of your closet where he
apparently hid. Now what makes it curious is that it's just not
likely that a man who was about to commit a rape would...take care of
business single-handedly and
then
commit the crime. It would be
rather self-defeating, to say the least.”

“
Maybe
it was the drugs. He couldn't...uck...control himself.”

“
H-ball
has been known to heighten sexual stimuli, but he showed no signs of
being under the influence when we brought him in and I don't think
toxicology will find any recent dosing.”

The
detective leaned forward, placing his elbows on the desk and laced
his fingers. “Ms. Jameson, are you sure he didn’t say
anything else about what he was going to do to you or why he was
there?”

“
Just
the quick and painless thing,” she said.

Roberts
looked away from Glenda, fingering the back of his neck.

She
found the cluster of body language almost offensive. “Excuse
me,” she said, sharpened. “Is there something else I
should know? You look as if there’s something else I should
know.”

“
Oh,
no, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to....” Roberts leaned
back obviously searching for words. “I guess I’m just
having a hard time with this. I mean it doesn’t really make
sense. Guys like this almost
always
make sense.”

“
What
are you saying?” Glenda asked, baring teeth. She
did
not
like the
way he said that.

“
Well,
I think...”

“
You
think I’m lying?” She shouted, drawing unwanted
attention. “You think I made this all up?”

Roberts
gawked at her then passed a “help me” glance toward the
closest of his colleagues.

“
What
kind of cop are you?” she bullied him. “A man breaks into
my apartment, attacks me, and for all I know was going to kill me,
and you’re busy trying to make
me
the
criminal?”

“
No,
no,” Roberts said. The entire squad room was now transfixed.
“That’s not...”

“
Damn police! Damn men!
Blame the victim! Blame the woman!”

“
Please
listen!” Roberts shouted back.

Glenda
had a flash of her father trying to shut her up whenever she went all
“political” on him. He respected his daughter like no
other man could, but that fourth-wave-feminist blather made his ears
bleed.

“
I’m
not saying anything of the kind,” Roberts explained.

“
Well,
then, what are you saying?”

The
detective steadied himself. “Ms. Jameson, I checked this man
Block's record and you just heard detective Jones confirm it. For all
intents and purposes, he's little more than a working stiff. He’s
a hoodlum, not a sicko...well, not that type of sicko. If you’d
had some kind of prior relationship with him, I’d be more
inclined to believe it was an attempted rape. But you say you two
have never even met.”

“
I
don’t say! It’s the truth!”

Roberts
crossed his arms atop his desk, refueling his diplomacy. “You
see, all things considered, it's hard for me to see him following you
home and attacking you all on a whim. With guys like this, there’s
usually a more...
material
reason involved. Do you understand what I mean?”

She
didn't.

Roberts
leaned closer, peering at Glenda like a doctor with bad news. “Do
you have any reason to think someone might have a grudge against you,
or might want to frighten or harm you?”

Glenda
took a breath and held it. So much for not alarming her. “Well,
of course not,” she said. “I...” She couldn’t
finish.

“
Ms.
Jameson?”

Roberts
drew his gun and instructed Glenda to wait in the hall. The locking
matrix on the front door lock had been ripped off and there was
nothing left of it but exposed wires. After thoroughly surveying the
apartment, Roberts called in a report and let Glenda inside. The
webscreen along with a few other choice items was missing.

“
You
said this man tutored you in college?” Roberts asked.

“
Yes,”
Glenda answered. “He tutored me in chemistry at Case Western.
He was always really nice to me. I really can’t imagine him
doing anything so...” She gave up trying to find a word for it.

“
And
you say you have no idea what this message could’ve been
about?”

“
Yes,
and could you do me a favor? Stop beginning every inquiry with ‘And
you say’. It's a little disconcerting.”

“
I’m
sorry, Ms. Jameson.” Roberts apologized like a loving boyfriend
who had run over his sweetheart’s cat. “It’s a
matter of getting it straight in my head, not accusing you.”

Glenda
gave some manner of facial twitch that said “No, I'm the one
who should be sorry” and let it go.

“
Downside
of using web or ANI for primary communication,” Roberts noted.
“All they have to do is get the hub.”

“
It’s
all I can afford right now. My other compieces got turned off since
I’ve been out of work.”

Roberts
pulled a PDA from his coat. “You said he sounded nervous;
talked kind of crazy, like he thought somebody was after him. That he
said, quote, your name came up and that he wanted to meet with you
when it was safe and...don't trust the police?”

“
Yes.
Those were the words that stuck in my head. He said that they ‘had’
the police.”

“
They?”

“
Don't
look at me; I don't know what it means.”

Roberts
tried, again, to block from his mind the corruption scandal that had
been plaguing the force the last few months. He'd obsessed over it
enough and he couldn't begin to fathom a connection with a
Millenitech lab coat with no criminal history.

Glenda
pushed on her forehead. “Uh, I don’t even know why I
mentioned it. He stutters; he always sounds nervous and anyone
that
repressed...The more I think of it, the more it seems like he just
finally snapped. But even so, I can't imagine him doing something
like this.”

“
Well,
most likely the robbery was just thieves poaching a crime scene
because they saw an easy target. Happens all the time.” Roberts
paused, doing a gut-check. “But coincidences being what they
are, it might be a good idea to talk to this Richard Kelmer, see what
he has to say.”

“
What
do I do in the meantime?”

“
There’s
not a whole lot you can do. If you feel uncomfortable about staying
here, then you might want to camp out at a hotel or at a friend’s
place for a while.”

“
Oh,
great. Now this walking growth hormone gets to scare me out of my own
home, all the way from a jail cell no less.”

Roberts
shrugged. “
Do you own a
gun?”

Glenda
looked surprised. “Oh, for God’s sake. What is it with
you
men
and your
guns
? You know,
contrary to popular opinion, women are not as paranoid or prone to
hysteria as you think, even if the other half is. No, I don’t
own a gun. I hate them. I have no intention of getting one.”

“
Okay,”
he said, absorbing the tirade. “I just wanted to know because
guns have a tendency to turn up on the street with more frequency
than most stolen property. I thought it might help to have a serial
number.”

Glenda
looked like she was almost about to apologize, but then wondered why,
figuring Roberts had to be used to it by now.

Roberts
looked her over. “It’s all right to be scared, Ms.
Jameson,” he said, “in case you were wondering.”

****

Malcolm Block angrily circled the
floor of the 10’ x 10’ room like a hungry lion awaiting
his pail of meat. His skin
crawled
against the fabric of his apple-green jumpsuit. He was appalled at
having to walk around in such crap. Whenever he passed the head-high
barred window, his nostrils flared so wide it was a wonder his
eyeballs didn’t drop onto the floor. Not even the raw
second-degree burns to his salved and bandaged face hurt more than
being confined in this pitiless enclosure.

Opposite
the window that silhouetted him was a single security door with a red
coronet strobe light fixed to the wall above. The prisoner menaced
the door with every ounce of his pointless fervor. This is where his
imagination ran away with him. If he could just make the door burst
into flames with his mind or something.

Almost
as in retort, the light above the door flared brightly, letting out a
petulant squawk. Malcolm Block watched as the door opened and a
short, sharply dressed man entered the room. The man had one of those
politician haircuts, crisp and glossy, and was coated in that
familiar stench unique to lawyers with no nose for decent cologne. He
clutched a thin, metal briefcase to his right side like a shield.
Behind him stood a muscular guard with a hairy hand on the outside
lock.

“
It’s
about damn time,” Block hawked. “Where the hell ya’
been for shit sakes?”

“
Take
it easy, Mr. Block,” the lawyer responded, addressing the air,
as if Block was some disembodied voice. “This was a last-minute
case for me. It took time to rearrange my schedule.”

The
lawyer nodded to the guard with a quick “thank you” and
the door was closed. He walked forward, adjusting his tie, and sat
himself down. He placed the briefcase on the table.

Block
pulled at his bandages. “You’re not the lawyer I talked
to before,” he said inquisitively.

The
lawyer tittered. “You didn’t actually expect
him
to show up, did you? My name is Ian Shaw. I'm here as a
favor.”

“
Oh,
that makes me feel so much better.” Block was brewing with
sarcasm. “When am I getting out of here?”

“
We’re
working on it.”

“
You’re
working on it? What the hell does that mean? I don’t want to
hear ‘working on it!’ I want to hear security doors
opening and pissed off guards cussing under their breath as I walk
past them onto the street!”

“
Have
a seat, Mr. Block.” Shaw waved lazily. “There are a few
things we have to discuss.”

“
If
this conversation doesn’t end with me puttin’ on some
decent clothes and walking outta here, I don’t want to hear
it.”

“
Mr.
Block...” Shaw made a series of robotic arm gestures, directing
Block to sit.

The
big man footsied the chair like it was too slimy to touch and then
forced his backside into it.

“
Thank
you,” Shaw grinned. “Now, I’m sure you’re
familiar with the routine; all we have to do is to make sure that you
refrain from saying or doing anything stupid until we can secure your
release.”

“
Wonderful,”
Block said, swaying his head. “Get me the fuck outta here and I
won’t have to say nothin’.”

Shaw
cocked an eyebrow. “I’ll do the best I can to secure your
bail, but I wouldn’t get my hopes up. Your priors will make it
difficult.”

“
What
kind of bullshit...? You're not in the door two seconds and you're
already making excuses?”

“
Your
original attorney could’ve probably pulled some easily
accessible strings to, at least, get you bail. I suspect he chose not
to because such maneuverings would’ve established a
relationship between him and your case, which I assume he’d
rather not have happen. He’s no doubt less than flabbergasted
that a 120-pound woman gave you so much trouble.”

Block
bit into his cheek. It was all he could do to keep from wringing
Shaw's snotty little neck like a wet towel.

“
Look,
there’s always—what do you call it?—
unexpected
variables
in
work like this,” he said. “I’m not a fortune
teller. She got lucky. Besides, what makes you think it was so damned
easy? You see what that bitch did to me?” He turned his head to
the side, using his bandaged hand to point at his bandaged head. The
burns on his face spoke for themselves.

“
I
see your point,” Shaw said deadpanned. He was in the mind to
further chastise Block about the semen stains the police found on his
half-zipped pants, but quashed the notion in the interest of time.
“The problem is, your arrest history dictates an
overzealous
nature with regards to women. And
if that weren't enough, there are the drugs they found on you. That's
practically a guarantee of denied bail since the county has been
cracking down on H-ball related crimes.”