Rene Gutteridge - Listen

“We’re trying to work through things,” Jill said, frustration lacing her tone. “We’ve been going to counseling. I thought there was a chance we could save the marriage. But he’s been acting very weird, very erratic. Sometimes he’s… I just don’t know what he’s capable of.”

Kay made an obvious glance at her watch. “I’m very sorry to hear that, but I don’t see how I can help.”

Jill, slouched in her chair and looking utterly pathetic, didn’t respond at first. Her bottom lip quivered. Through the front windows on either side of the door, the normal traffic sounds of the neighborhood filled in the silence. “I don’t guess anyone can,” she said, patting her face with the tissue. “It’s my problem, isn’t it?” Suddenly her tone took on an edge of defensiveness.

Kay tried a soft smile. She was probably coming off rude. She wasn’t trying to. Then again, she wasn’t really trying to help either. But what could she do? “Have you talked to your marriage counselor?”

“It’s three hundred dollars an hour. I’d sit there and spill my guts, and she’d just nod and tell me my feelings are normal. But honestly, this doesn’t seem normal. None of this seems normal. My whole life is falling apart. And Natalie…” Her words trailed off.

“Does she know?”

“She knows we’re having trouble. She’s very distant. Won’t talk to us much. I’m sure you can’t relate. Jenna is such a nice girl. I’m glad the girls are friends.”

Kay held back what seemed to be a natural response, that she could indeed relate to a daughter who had grown distant. But that might imply that she and Damien were having problems, and that was the last rumor she wanted to start.

“Kids are resilient” was all she could offer. “I’m sure she’ll be fine.” Another glance at her watch. Now Starbucks was out of the question. She loathed herself for even thinking it.

For the first time since she’d walked into the house, Jill seemed to be trying to compose herself. She avoided Kay’s gaze, stood, and feigned a smile as she stuffed the tissue back into her coat pocket. She turned and opened the front door, then walked out.

It caught Kay off guard. She stood at the doorway, watching the woman go, unsure why she suddenly left.

No, that wasn’t true. She knew.

She pulled her coat closed and rushed out the door. “Jill! Wait!”

Jill was unlocking her car door. She looked up.

“Please. Wait.” The cold air filled her lungs, and her breath froze in front of her. “I’m sorry. I… I sometimes don’t know what to say. You can ask my daughter.” She punctuated that statement with a sad smile. “How about some tea? I can fix us some tea.”

“Don’t you have some place to be?”

“I can make a quick phone call. Put it off for thirty minutes or so.”

For a moment, Jill looked indecisive, but then she walked toward the house. “I would appreciate it. Very much.”

The problem was that Damien didn’t have very many facts. The Web site provided no information about who was doing this. Besides what happened between the Caldwells and the Shaws, there was really nothing else there.

Edgar had twisted a paper clip-and his expression-out of form. “Underwood, you know what you do when you don’t have enough facts in a story? You go and get quotes from people who have strong opinions.”

Which was why Damien was now entering the police station at a little after ten in the morning. He checked in at the front desk and waited to see if the captain would come to the front.

Ten minutes passed, but finally Captain Grayson came through the door, looking irritated. He noticed Damien in the waiting room. “I thought that’s what the note said. Damien Underwood. Good to see you.” He held out a hand for Damien to shake, then gestured for him to follow. “I’m glad you’re here. Frank is out of control. Completely out of control. Can you talk some sense into him? Yeah, we all understood why the guy might’ve been crushed. High school’s hard enough and then you grow up and your wife leaves you for the principal… What I’m trying to say is that we, and by we, I mean the department, have been extremely tolerant.”

“Well, the good news is he hasn’t done anything crazy like this in, what, three years?”

“I’ve had it up to here. Here.” He held a hand over his head as they rounded the corner into his bleak, white-walled office. “I’m assuming you heard he filed a missing person report on Angela?”

“Yes.”

“Sometimes he disappears, Damien. Right in the middle of a shift. He’s probably a closet smoker. I don’t know. I’ve talked to him about it and sometimes it gets better, sometimes not.”

“What about lately? Has he been disappearing lately?”

“Lately he’s been making a rookie’s life miserable just for the fun of it. So you see what I’m dealing with here.” The captain plunged into his chair. “What can you do for me?” His expression filled with dread. “Or has Frank done something else? No, please. Please. Don’t tell me he’s done something else.”

Damien took a seat that wasn’t offered. The chair looked twenty years old, the vinyl ripped and repaired with duct tape. “I’m not here to talk about Frank.”

“You’re not?”

“No.”

“Sorry.” Grayson gave a vague smile. “It’s just that last time you were in my office, what, four years ago or so, Frank was freaking out and you’d come to talk through some things with me. Get him grounded again.”

“Please tell me Frank doesn’t know about that.”

“I never mentioned a word to him.”

“Yes, well, I probably overreacted. You and I have known each other for a long time. Our sons played T-ball together. That first year after Frank’s divorce, when he showed up on her doorstep on their anniversary, it startled me. Luckily he hasn’t made that a yearly tradition.” Damien grinned.

“So it hasn’t struck you that he’s acting strangely? I’m sensing some anger issues lately.”

Damien tried not to pause. “When is Frank not strange?”

Captain Grayson snorted. “You got that right. Love the man, but could kill him too, you know?” He leaned forward, his elbows against a few folders spread across his desk. “So what’s on your mind?”

“I wanted to talk to you about this Web site Listen to Yourself.” Damien pulled out a pen and a notepad from his briefcase and set them on the desk, then froze as he noticed the captain’s demeanor had shifted in less than a second. “What’s wrong?”

“What’s that for?”

“Oh, I can’t figure out how to use the recorder on my phone.”

“Put that away. Now.”

Damien quickly slipped them back into his briefcase. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“I’m not offended, but I don’t talk to the press.” Grayson studied him. “You’re not the press, are you? I mean, I know you work at the paper, but you’re not an actual reporter, right?”

“Believe it or not, I do fall under that category. Usually I do the editorial and opinion pieces.”

“Usually?”

“I’m trying my hand at investigative reporting.”

“Oh, brother,” Grayson said, falling back in his chair, looking like the words put him into permanent exhaustion. “I would’ve never let you through had I known that.”

“I only want to get a few quotes-”

“That’s the problem. You reporters just want a few quotes, and then you take what I say totally out of context and use it against me, the department.”

“Please give me the benefit of the doubt.”

“My lieutenants handle these sorts of things. I can get you in touch with whoever is on call to talk to the media.”

Damien tried an easy smile. “I just have a few simple questions. This Web site, I think it has the potential to cause a lot of trouble, and I’m wondering what the department is doing to investigate it.”