John Locke - Box

“I am for a fact. And you know why I’m comfortable saying all this?”

“No.”

“Because you don’t have the guts to shoot me.”

“You honestly believe that?”

“Sort of,” I say. “I mean, I know you’re a cold-blooded murderer, and I’m certain you’d shoot me without batting an eye. But not here. Not now. There’s no way you could explain it to the police. And it would open the door to closer scrutiny of your other crimes.”

“So where does that put us?”

“I believe it allows me to walk out of here unscathed. Which is exactly what I plan to do.”

I stand.

She raises the gun, aims it at my chest, and says, “Tell me again why I can’t shoot you?”

“Because if you wound me, I’ll give eye-witness testimony against you. And if you kill me, my corpse will put you away for the rest of your life. Face it, Renee, you’re screwed.”

She pulls the trigger.

Trudy Lake.

An hour passes before my cell phone rings. It’s Detective Tan, from the Paducah police department.

“Is he all right?” I ask.

“Are you still in Starbucks? At the hospital?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I need to talk with you, but I’d rather not do it on the phone.”

“I’m still a patient, and I don’t own a car.”

“It’s too late to do this now. Maybe I can come up there first thing in the morning.”

“Sure, of course. Can you just tell me if Dr. Box is okay?”

“We’re not sure.”

“What’s that mean?”

“He’s missing. And so’s his car.”

“What about Renee?”

“I’m not at liberty to say. Not at this time.”

“What about Dr. Box’s cell phone?”

“That’s a helluva good question, Miss. Hang on.”

The line goes quiet for several minutes. Then he says, “That’s missing too.”

“Oh my God!” I shout. “Thank God!”

“Ma’am? Why is the missing cell phone such good news?”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Detective. And thanks for your help.”

I terminate the call and answer the call that got me so excited.

“Gideon! Is that you?”

“It’s me,” he says.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes.”

“Thank God.”

“Trudy?”

“Yes?”

“Are you still open to the road trip?”

“If you would’ve asked me ninety minutes ago I’d have said yes in a heartbeat.”

“But now?”

“Can I ask you four questions?”

“Yes. If I can ask you one.”

“You’ll have to answer honestly.”

“You too.”

“I’ll start,” I say. “First, did you fuck my sister today?”

“Yes.”

I close my eyes, shake my head. “Why?”

“Is that your second question?”

“Yes. I had another one in case the answer was no.”

“Okay. So the question is why did I have sex with your sister? The short answer is I didn’t know Renee was your sister. The complete answer is she was one of three women I’d been writing to, on the internet for several weeks.”

“Faith Hemphill, Renee Williams, and Zander Evans.”

“How did you know?”

“Small towns, Gideon. People talk.”

“Still.”

“Question three. Where are you?”

“Less than a mile from you. In a motel.”

“Why?”

“Is that question four?”

“No.”

“I’ll answer it anyway. I’m staying here tonight so I can see you tomorrow. And if you decide you want to come to New York with me, I’ll keep staying here till you’re ready to travel.”

“Question four. What happened tonight? After you were cleared of the robbery.”

“You know about the robbery?”

“Small towns, Gideon.”

“Right. So anyway, I go back to my hotel room after being framed for robbing the bowling alley-”

“With Zander Evans-”

“Yes, and there’s a knock at the door. I open it and-”

“It’s my sister, Renee-”

“Right, and I can give you the long version tomorrow, but the short version is she wanted us to be a couple, and I found out she was your sister and I didn’t want to see her anymore. She took it hard and pulled a gun on me. We got into an argument, and she tried to shoot me.”

“Then what happened?”

“You’ve asked four questions.”

“You never finished the fourth one.”

“I told you she tried to shoot me.”

“My question was ‘what happened tonight?’ You haven’t told me the rest.”

“She aimed the gun at me, pulled the trigger, nothing happened. She pulled the trigger again, and it clicked.”

“Did she forget to load it?”

“No. It was a revolver. I could see the bullets. But they didn’t fire.”

“Renee knows how to shoot a gun.”

“Believe me, she was more stunned than I was!”

“So what did you do?”

“I packed up my shit, grabbed my cell phone, and left her there.”

“She didn’t put up a fight to make you stay?”

“No.”

“Weird.”

“You think you can forgive me for having sex with your sister?”

“Is that your question?”

“No. Forget that one.”

“Okay,” I say, relieved. “What’s your question?”

“Renee said you’ve got a history of handcuffing men to the fence behind the restaurant and blowing them. What I want to know is-”

“I’ll have to call you back!” I say, and hang up.

That fucking Renee!

I take a deep breath, call him back and say, “Sorry about that. I can’t really talk right now because Clem keeps poking his head in the door. I think we both have some explaining to do, and we can do it tomorrow, after the detective finishes talking to me.”

“What detective?”

“The one from Paducah. He’s driving here to meet me first thing in the morning.”

“Why?”

“He wants to tell me something.”

“About me?”

“I guess. Or Renee. Or both of you.”

“Will you call me when he leaves?”

“Yes.”

Dr. Gideon Box.

The display on my cell phone says Trudy’s calling. I answer with, “Has the detective gone?”

“No. He wants to see you.”

“Why?”

“He wants you to make a statement.”

“With you there?”

“I don’t know. Probably not. But I told him you were alive, and here in town.”

“I can be there in five minutes,” I say.

I get there, say hi to Trudy, and she introduces me to Detective Tan, who immediately takes me to the hospital chapel and records my statement. When that’s done, he fills me in on what happened after I left the hotel.

Renee flew into a drunken rage and trashed the room. When the other hotel guests complained, the front desk called the room and got no answer. They sent a security guy to check things out. After knocking and getting no response, he opened the door with his pass key. Found Renee passed out on the bed with a gun beside her. Moments later a policeman showed up, thanks to Trudy’s concern for my safety. When they try to rouse Renee, she babbles an amazing story about killing her husband and her best friend, strangling Aunt Lori, and lynching her step mother.

“I believe all those things are true,” I say.

Detective Tan says, “So do I. But there’s no proof, and drunk babbling does not a confession make.”

“Why not?”

“The defense team will hire ten psychiatrists who’ll swear that drunk people often confess to crimes they’ve never committed. And they’re right. By way of example, my wife had too much to drink one night, and-I shit you not-confessed to killing Elvis.”

“Maybe she did.”

“She was eight months old when Elvis died.”

“I’m assuming you didn’t haul her ass to jail.”