Stevan Mena - Transience

Jack rubbed his nose and cleared his throat, which was getting dry. “I got a call at the station. Their car had veered into oncoming traffic.”

Laura covered her mouth with her fingertips. “Oh God,” she whispered.

“When I arrived at the hospital, Sarah was in surgery.” Jack’s face hardened, recounting this caused him physical pain. “Standing next to me in the lobby were two sisters discussing their father. He’d been shot during a holdup at his jewelry store. The bullet miraculously missed his heart. They praised God for watching over him. At that same moment, the surgeon came out and told me they had done all they could…but my wife was gone.”

Jack looked at Laura. “All I can remember thinking was…does that mean God wasn’t watching over Sarah? Didn’t God love my wife too?”

The emotion hung thick in the air. Jack’s head bobbed a little, the memory coursing sorrow through his veins. “My brother and I never spoke again. I wouldn’t even let him attend her funeral.”

“You haven’t spoken in 12 years?”

“Actually, I’m going to be an uncle.”

“Then now’s your chance.”

“For what?”

“To make things right.”

Jack shook his head. “Never thought I’d be afraid.”

“Of what?”

“Dying.”

Laura got up and moved to the chair beside him. She held his hand again. Her touch eased Jack’s blood pressure, his tight shoulders relaxed. “Don’t carry that anger with you,” she said with the softest of voices. It was like silk to Jack’s ears; angelic, like the voice from his dream. “Get rid of it, while there’s still time.”

Jack gazed into Laura’s eyes. No one had listened to him in a long while. Laura was thinking the same thing. There was a feeling of mutual respect and empathy, they had connected on a deep level. Jack contemplated kissing her; he felt his body leaning forward.

Just then his phone rang, shattering the moment. He answered it.

“Ridge.”

“ Jack, where are you? ” Harrington said.

“What is it?” Jack asked. Laura sensed the urgency in his voice and stood up to give him some space.

“Teresa Mason is dead.”

Jack nodded solemnly. “I’m on my way.”

Jack pushed out his chair and stood up wincing, his legs had fallen asleep. “I have to go.”

“Are you gonna be okay?”

Jack nodded. “Laura, if you need anything…” This time he touched her arm.

“I was going to say the same to you.”

He grimaced and exited the kitchen. As he passed through the living room, he spotted Rebecca curled up asleep on the couch. He slipped past her quietly.

He took Carmen’s gold necklace out from his coat pocket and placed it on the table beside her. As he closed the front door, Rebecca opened her eyes.

Jennifer greeted Jack at the front entrance of the precinct to walk him in. He sensed an urgency at her presence.

“About time,” Jennifer said, “after Harrington confronted him with news of Teresa’s death, he started babbling about how lucky we were.”

“Lucky?”

“Said he was ready to confess. Harrington’s in with him right now.”

“To killing Teresa Mason?”

“All of them. Where’ve you been?” They turned a corner and headed for the interrogation room, Jennifer had to keep slowing down to not leave Jack in the dust. Her last comment sucked the spring out of his step.

They entered the holding area, Jack peered in at Bishop through the two-way mirror. Harrington was inside, standing over him menacingly, shouting.

Jennifer stood beside Jack and spoke softly, “He knew that Ketamine was the drug used to incapacitate several of the victims — I checked the prior toxicology reports. Traces were found in his van.”

Jack nodded. “It’s a common rape drug.”

“He also knew where the bodies were found, post-mortem specifics.”

“Those details have been published in every newspaper.”

“We checked into his work history at Baxter Mills, one of their contracts is with Monroe College for the Arts. Bishop was employed there during the time Carmen Muniz was a student. It links him with proximity.”

Jack’s expression clouded, “What about Angelina?” Jennifer reluctantly switched on the speaker so they could listen in on Harrington’s interrogation.

“I want to hear it again,” Harrington said, his voice on the speaker sounding condensed and small, as if transmitting from a CB radio miles away. Bishop, exhausted, mumbled something incoherent. Jack leaned his ear towards the speaker.

“Speak up!” Harrington shouted, kicking a leg of Bishop’s chair, jolting him upright.

“The sedation began to wear off,” Bishop began, “I knew she would scream… I choked her until she went unconscious again. But she wouldn’t stay out, so I grabbed a rock…hit her in the head. She started bleeding from everywhere, wouldn’t stop screaming, so I kept hitting her.”

Jack listened, his eyes tightened to narrow slits, still skeptical. He folded his arms and stood with legs shoulder width apart, his head tilted to one side.

Harrington put his hands on the table and leaned into Bishop’s face. “You used a rock to crush her skull.”

“No choice,” Bishop said, avoiding eye contact. Harrington sat down.

“Where is she now?”

Bishop mumbled again, “You won’t have to dig to find her.”

Harrington slammed his fist on the table. “Speak up!”

“The reservoir.”

“State for the record, Mr. Edward Bishop has just confessed to the abduction and murder of Angelina Rosa,” Harrington enunciated for clarity.

Jack winced, the small candle of hope that fueled his purpose flickered and was extinguished. Jennifer could almost smell the smoke. She backed away and gave the man space, a man she respected, who never had an ill word for anyone. The man that inspired others to work harder, stay up longer, honor the badge.

“I’m sorry Jack,” was all she could offer. Jack shook his head, not accepting it.

“No, but she, she looked right at him.” Jack mumbled.

“What?”

“I need to speak to him.”

Jack burst into the interrogation room, startling both Harrington and Bishop. Harrington spotted the purpose in Jack’s step and quickly vacated the chair. Jack sat down and placed a picture of Carmen Muniz on the table under Bishop’s nose.

“Tell me about her,” Jack said, like a cynic about to ruin a magician’s trick. Harrington watched with intrigue.

Bishop’s eyes crisscrossed the photo. “I already told them everything.”

“I want you to tell me.”

Bishop looked down at the picture again, picking at his teeth with a dirty fingernail.

“Did you know her?” Jack asked. A tiny jagged smile crept across Bishop’s face. Jack fought back the urge to take out his .38 and cut him down right there. He composed himself. “Did you rape her?”

Bishop grinned an ugly grin. He picked up the picture, leaned back as if reminiscing with it, expanding his chest, proud of his accomplishment. He turned the picture so Jack could see. “Look at that mouth.”

Bishop flipped the picture back onto the table. Harrington flexed, anticipating Jack’s reaction to be violent. Surprisingly, Jack remained calm and dignified; he merely clenched his jaw and proceeded.

“How did you kill her?” Jack asked. Bishop gazed up at the ceiling as if he were a clerk and Jack had asked him in what aisle could he find the tool section.

“Strangled her?” Bishop said playfully. Jack wasn’t amused. Harrington stepped forward, ready to pounce some discipline into the back of Bishop’s skull, but Jack shook his head no to ward off the attack.