Rene Gutteridge - Listen

“What?” The question rushed out with too much air, making it sound like he’d whispered it. Damien felt small sitting in the chair, Grayson towering over him, Edgar’s eyes narrow and critical. “What are you saying?”

“Are you the one behind the Web site?” Grayson said.

Damien’s fingers curled toward his palms, his fingernails embedded in his flesh. “What are you talking about?”

“Answer the question,” Edgar said.

“First you accuse Frank, the most honest man we know, who can’t defend himself because he’s dead, and when you can’t prove that, you turn to me?” Damien jumped out of his seat, causing Grayson’s hand to snap to his holster and Edgar to flinch. “You have got to be kidding me!”

“Sit down,” Grayson ordered. “Now.”

He’d known Lou for years, and never once had he talked to him this way. His tone didn’t have a hint of familiarity. Damien glared at Edgar, whose gaze dropped to his desk.

Damien lowered himself into his chair slowly, his stare boring into Grayson. “What makes you think it was me?”

From the folder he’d set on Edgar’s desk, Grayson pulled out a clipping from a newspaper. He turned it around and showed it to Damien, who took it and looked it over. It was a crossword puzzle. His crossword puzzle. Filled in.

“You published this puzzle this week. Yesterday, in fact. Is that correct?” Grayson asked.

Damien nodded. A chill crept down his spine. He was starting to understand where this was going.

“We found the answers particularly interesting. They seem to send a clear message.” Grayson took out another copy of the clipping. “If you read from left to right, we have words and phrases like important work, must continue, and this one in particular caused some alarm bells to go off: let their words kill them. Not so cleverly disguised to be read backward.”

Edgar looked terrified, as if he were sitting across from Hannibal Lecter.

Damien released his fingers and crossed his legs. He knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that this was not good, but there was no need for him to act guilty and afraid. He smiled. “Yeah, I can see where this looks bad.”

“No kidding.” Grayson grabbed a nearby chair sitting against the wall of Edgar’s office, plopped himself into it, and was now eye level with Damien. It felt rehearsed, like somewhere in a textbook he’d read that if you sit across from a suspect and lean forward four inches, he’ll confess everything. “Talk to me. Why did you decide to start the Web site?”

Damien rolled his eyes. “Give me a break. I did not start the Web site. I was trying to send a message to the person behind it. I wanted him to start up again, to prove that Frank was not responsible.”

“Interesting,” Grayson said, sounding not the least bit convinced. “Any reason you chose a crossword puzzle?”

“Why not write an editorial?” Edgar asked, a softness in his eyes indicating he really did want to know the reason.

Damien glanced at Edgar, then at Grayson, then down at his hands. He couldn’t keep it a secret any longer. “The person behind the Web site contacted me.”

Grayson’s skepticism hung in the room like heavy, intrusive cologne. “Really.”

“Really. He sent me a crossword puzzle. Here, at the office. When I solved it, it spoke of the Web site and for this person’s need to continue.”

“Except he hasn’t continued, has he?” Grayson asked.

Edgar looked furious. “Damien, why didn’t you report this? You should’ve told me!”

“I know. I know,” Damien said. “I should have. I just thought since the person sent it directly to me, I could reach him, try to convince him to stop.”

Grayson held up the crossword puzzle. “This doesn’t sound like you want him to stop.”

Damien shook his head. “I know how it looks. After Frank died, I wanted to clear his name. I wanted to prove he wasn’t the one doing this. I thought if the person would start up again, that was a surefire way to clear Frank.”

Grayson had a pretentious expression that begged to be slapped right off him.

Damien stood and went to the door. “I’ve got the original crossword the person sent to me.”

Grayson and Edgar followed him out, Edgar hurrying to catch up with him. “You’re in a boatload of trouble. You should’ve reported that to me.”

“And to us,” Grayson said. “We could charge you with hindering an investigation.”

Damien remained quiet. What else could he say?

They arrived at his desk. Damien sat in his chair to better reach his briefcase, where he’d last put the crossword. It was buried between all kinds of useless things he kept in there. Behind a bulging green folder, he fished around for the thin, red one but felt nothing except vinyl.

Pushing his chair back, he knelt beside the the briefcase. With both hands, he removed three bulky folders in the way, tossing them hastily onto his desk. He stared at a wide-open space. No red folder.

“It’s gone,” Damien breathed. “It was here; I swear it. It was here.” He looked at Edgar. “Did you take it?”

Edgar’s eyes widened. “No.”

“Maybe I should’ve asked, ‘Did you write the original?’”

“That’s ridiculous!” Edgar cast a disapproving look at Grayson.

“Really? Is it? Because as I see it, the only thing prospering from this stupid Web site is the newspaper.”

“Prospering? The only thing this Web site has done-” Edgar’s gaze lifted like he was trying to ward off anger-“is make me understand how very few friends I have at this place.” He turned and walked off.

Damien stared at the carpet. So that was why Edgar was acting so weird? He’d been hurt by it too? When was this going to end?

Grayson crossed his arms. “You’ve just become a person of interest.”

Kay studied the Monopoly board, fingering her money.

“Mom, hurry up,” Hunter complained. “You’re taking forever.”

“It’s a game of strategy,” Jenna said, but she didn’t seem really present in the conversation.

Kay noticed Jenna staring at the mantel, at the eight-by-ten photo of Frank with the kids three Christmases ago. It had snowed ten inches that year, the first white Christmas either kid had experienced. They were outside for three hours and built four different snowmen.

Hunter sighed, toying with his silver car. “I thought Dad was coming home for dinner tonight.”

Kay tried to smile, but she was worried. He had said he would be home early. When he didn’t arrive, she’d called his cell phone. He answered and didn’t give her time to speak. “I can’t talk. I’ll be home later.” Click. She tried texting him an hour ago, but no reply came. She drew a card but barely paid attention to it.

“He’ll be here when he can. Your move, Hunter.” She caught Jenna’s eyes, trying to look deeply into them, wondering what was going on behind that pretty face.

Jenna only smiled faintly, blinked peacefully, and reassured her with a pat on her wrist. She pointed to Kay’s money. “You’re really bad at this.”

Kay laughed. “Yes, well, that’s why your father handles all the money.”

Hunter punched his hands into the air as he passed Go safely. “Sweet!”

The back door opened and Damien appeared, looking as haggard as if he’d walked all the way home from work.

Kay stood and greeted him. She took his briefcase and coat. “What’s wrong?” she asked, trying not to sound urgent in front of the kids.

Damien stared at Kay, then at each of his children. He observed the table for a moment and looked at Kay. “You’re not winning.”

“I never do.”

As though every move he made was an effort, Damien pulled out the chair at the head of the table and sat down. He folded his fingers together and stared at them as if they might do the talking.