7
Jerry sat at his desk, slowly massaging the bridge of his nose. What he’d seen back in Mary’s house would not let him be. Yes, outwardly he was the personification of the word ‘cool’, but inside, well, that was another ball game. Inside he roiled and toiled; asked questions that led to more questions.
Flash of images; blood, blood, and more blood.
Why do I do this stuff? Jerry asked himself for the umpteenth time. He closed his eyes. He looked out the window blind from his cubicle, and saw some of his lesser colleagues staring at him. Seeing his eyes, they quickly went back to boring themselves over whatever case they were studying at the moment.
Ice man.
That was what they called him sometimes behind his back. Of course he heard them, but it wasn’t just worth it trying to stop the name-calling; total waste of time. Yeah, he was Jerry ‘Ice Man’ Onuorah. The most unpredictable guy on the block. And the best investigator too.
The body, looking like black and red Swiss Cheese.
So many punctures, so many.
Who’d done that?
What had done that?
The face.
The eyes; gone. Nothing but jelly.
This is too much, he told himself, even for the Ice Man.
Why do I do this? He didn’t know. Some of the other Detectives thought he enjoyed it. Some even said he enjoyed seeing the blood of dead people. Jerry snorted at that thought. Yeah. Jerry the Cool guy. The Ice Man.
Bunch of no-good, two-faced, back-biting scared creeps. I’ve seen enough death to last me two lifetimes! That internal war again. It was that time of year again. I don’t want this, but I have to do it. You want my place? Here, take it. Take everything; my nightmares, my troubles, my loneliness, here, it’s yours. Take everything. EVERYTHING!!!
Outwardly, Jerry sat as still as a statue. Then he stood up and looked out of the window of his second-floor office in a weak attempt to clear his head. The FCID had been going through some sort of ‘Rebranding’ or something, and they had built new offices and the like for them.
I should just quit. Maybe get another job.
But…deep down, Jerry knew he couldn’t leave this job. Not the way he was now. Where would he work? How would he fit in? Nowhere, that was where he would fit in. Nowhere. Jerry stared out through the window, unseeing. Below, life moved on usual.
You know you can’t leave J. Not just yet.
Yes the salary was not much (which Government work ever paid well apart from the dishonest kind?) but truthfully he didn’t need the money. He owned four sizable boutiques and three super-markets that did pretty well. They’d been left behind by his father, an astute businessman in his time. Actually, his dad had left one boutique and two supermarkets. His dad’s sister had been managing the businesses, and had expanded them over time. Probably the business acumen stopped with him; he’d lost all appetite for business after what had happened that day…
Now he was here to exorcise his demons. He’d spent a little over ten years trying to exorcise those demons, with no tangible success. If anything it had cost him, robbing him of the one thing that had somehow made everything bearable.
Gunshots.
Screams.
Screech of tires.
Gunshots.
Blood.
More gunshots.
Her face.
Holes.
Who?
What?
Images swirled in his mind, and he was helpless to stop them. How could he-
A knock on his open door gratefully brought him back. He turned and saw Sergeant James. He was the only guy here who really understood Jerry’s inner turmoil, though he had no idea as to the cause. But he was a reliable guy to have in a pinch. James with his sleeves rolled up, was holding a pink folder. He walked to Jerry’s desk and placed the folder on it as he sat down. Jerry took his seat opposite James and picked up the folder. Weighed it.
“That’s it?”
“Yes it is,” James answered. “I have to warn you though, it is creepy. If you had been in the mortuary, you probably would have added your breakfast to her blood.”
Jerry chuckled lightly, then opened the folder. The first picture made him suck in breath sharply, then his face went blank as he looked at the photos of Mary-he couldn’t bear to think of her as a corpse. It drove him when he thought of the victims by their birth-names. He read the accompanying preliminary report.
“You read this?” Jerry asked James.
“Yes.”
Jerry read through it again, still asking himself questions. Then he closed the file. “I need to go back there now.”
James nodded. “I’m coming with you.”
“No James, I need to go alone,”
“Jerry, if you like go, in a taxi, I’ll still follow you. You have been procrastinating this thing for too long. I want to learn from you. You promised me this. I believe it’s long overdue.”
Jerry looked at him. What the heck.
“Okay. You can come but-” Jerry said, cutting off James’ pumping fist, “first, you have to do exactly as I say.” James nodded. “Then, you have to watch my back.”
“Ha. You be TV?” James asked. They both laughed.
“Meet me downstairs,” Jerry said, checking that his Beretta was loaded, before putting on his jacket as James left the office.
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