Trust No One (34 page)

Jerry thinks about it. Both him and Henry. Then they carry on. “In a book the next step would be for the writer to go and see the orderly he confessed to. The same orderly who has access to injections, and who had injected the writer in the past.” Jerry remembers something else then. “The same orderly who wants to be a writer.”

“Write what you know,” Hans says. “How about we reverse that? How about we do what you write and go and pay this guy a visit.”

“His name is Eric,” Jerry says, “and he might be innocent.”

“That’s what we’ll figure out.”

Before they can start to figure it out, a car pulls into the driveway on the other side of the garage door. A moment later two doors are opened and closed. There are footsteps, and then knocking on the door.
If this were a book,
Jerry thinks,
then this would be the police arriving ahead of schedule.

Before the gun does its dirty work, there is one more thing to report. This isn’t being written down because you think things are going to work out okay, or that Captain A has found a different white whale to chase and doesn’t need this vessel anymore, but because when your family looks back at everything, they can understand what it was like. Maybe it can help others. Hard to call it a silver lining, but maybe researchers in the near future might learn something here that can help them map the streets of Batshit County.

You are trying to keep the suicide notes short. One is written and the other is still pending. The written one is full of
I’m sorry
and
I love you.
The person you need to apologize to the most is Belinda Murray.

Sandra came down to the office earlier. She actually knocked before coming in, which is something she always used to do before opening the door, which always made your job feel so
formal
for lack of a better word. She knocked and she came in and sat on the couch. You sat in the office chair with the suicide note hidden beneath the pad you’re about to write the second one on. She glanced at the pad then at you.

Have you killed other people?
she asked, and she sounded so resigned to the fact there would be more bad news.

No.

But how can you be so sure?

It was a question you’ve been asking yourself, and you gave her the answer you’d come up with.
Because I’d know.

So you knew you killed Belinda?

It was a flaw, one you had seen, one you couldn’t get around.
No.

Then how can you sit there and say you’ve never hurt anybody?

You had no answer, and didn’t offer one. Instead you asked a question of your own.
Have you called the police?

No,
she said.

Why?

I’m trying to make a decision. Tell me what you remember.

So you told her. You remembered the speech at the wedding, you remembered coming home and watching it online over and over. Her face tightened into a scowl when you told her you were drinking. You told her about sneaking out the window.

To go and see Belinda,
she said.

You shook your head.
Just to go for a walk. To stretch my legs. To find a bar somewhere.

She looked like she didn’t believe that.
And then?

And then I was back in my office.

Tell me about the shirt,
she said.

What?

Your shirt. I checked the laundry and it’s not there. I can’t find it anywhere.
She looked at the floor.
Is it under there?

You thought about lying, but what was the point?
Yes.

You hid it,
she said.

Yes.

Then why not hide the knife?

Because—

She held her hand up.
I get it. Because you didn’t know you’d done it. You found the shirt, but not the knife. That’s why I’m not calling the police,
she said,
because I know you weren’t in control.

It was time to ask her the question.
What are you going to do?

I think the question is what are you going to do?

She stared at you then, and finally you got it. She wasn’t deciding whether or not to call the police, she never had been. Sandra was giving you another option, an option that, under the circumstances, shows just how much she still loves you. It was an option you were already in the process of taking, and perhaps she sensed that. You had humiliated her and ruined Eva’s wedding, you murdered a young woman, but Sandra was only thinking of you. She was going to allow you to decide what was coming next. Future Jerry, just know that in that moment you have never loved your wife more.

I just need a little time to figure it out,
you said, the words slow and even, their unspoken meaning clear, and you never looked away from her and she never looked away from you.
How about you take a walk to clear your head?

She said nothing for a few seconds. You’re sure she already knew what she was going to say, but the silence was appropriate. It gave the moment the final bit of gravitas it needed. Then she said,
I can do that. How long do you need?

You needed twenty minutes to write the second note. Most of everything else was in order, it was just going to come down to the semantics. You had to choose what you were going to wear, and what kind of mess you were going to make. You pictured how long it would take to line some plastic trash bags around the floor of the office so you wouldn’t ruin the resale value of the house. It will be messy, but your office is where you want to do it. You pictured cutting the bags open, laying them flat, and hanging a couple of them on the wall. You pictured drinking one more gin and tonic, then perhaps a second, sitting in the office chair, the doubts, the belief this was going to happen, more doubts, the stereo off, no sound at all, then one giant sound. You’re not sure if you’ll be thinking of the girl you killed when you pull the trigger, or your family. You’ll know soon. You did some quick addition: twenty minutes to place the trash bags and twenty minutes to sit in your chair drinking your drink and coming to the end.

An hour,
you said.
I need an hour.

She stood up. She wasn’t crying, but she was close. Her mouth was shaking a little. You walked over to her, and you felt strong. She put her arms out and you stepped into them and wrapped your own around her and she sobbed into your neck and held you tight, and she felt like she’s always felt, warm and comfortable, and before Captain A ruined your life you would hug Sandra like that all the time.

I love you,
you told her.

She couldn’t bring herself to say the words back. She couldn’t say anything. Then she was running out of the office and out of the house, leaving you alone.

Completely. And utterly. Alone.

You will never see another person, Future Jerry. Never talk to another person.

Since then you’ve been busy. You told Sandra an hour, but that didn’t allow for the Madness Journal entry, but thankfully other things haven’t taken so long. The suicide note was ten minutes. It took fifteen to tape a couple of trash bags to the wall, and there was a tarpaulin in the garage that you’ve ended up laying across the floor. The mess should be pretty well contained. You also have a pillowcase to put over your head to contain the splatter. Since then you’ve been writing and ignoring the phone that keeps ringing, because what could you possibly say to anybody calling? Everything is ready to go now, and these words on this page are now nothing but a stalling tactic. It’s time, Future Jerry, to put down the pen and conclude this messy affair. What will the bloggers say? The ending was predictable, maybe. From Jerry Grey’s first book it was obvious he would blow his brains out in his office.

Still stalling. Sandra will be back in ten minutes. The gun is on the desk. It’s heavier than you remember. It’s going to make a hell of a sound, but with the office door closed, nobody is going to hear it.

Still stalling.

It’s time.

Jerry stays sitting in the car as Hans makes his way inside. The front door of the house is adjacent to the garage, so when Hans opens it Jerry can hear the conversation through the wall. His instinct that the police have arrived early is proven to be correct. They introduce themselves as Detectives Jacobson and Mayor. He’s sure they are the same two men who drove him into the police station. They tell Hans he must know where Jerry Grey is.

“What makes you think I know?” Hans asks.

“Because we ran the number he called from the SIM card he purchased, and that led us to you,” one of the men says, and that’s why they’re here so early. Neither Hans nor himself, nor Henry for that matter, made that connection. Jerry figures he’s lucky not to be in the back of a patrol car right now. Then he figures that may still happen depending on what Hans says.

“Yeah, he rang me,” Hans says, “and yes I picked him up from the mall. He was confused and lost. I rang his daughter and told her he was safe. I was going to take him back to the home, but then she gave us some news to make me realize we needed to head to the police station.”

Jerry’s heart sinks at the idea of Hans turning him in. Carefully he opens the door, making no sound. The idea he is innocent is taking hold, and he’s not going to let these people take that away from him.

“So he’s here at the moment then,” one of the detectives says.

Hans laughs. “Sorry, guys, but you’ve jumped the gun on that one. When I told him I was going to take him to you, he hit me when we were stuck at the next set of lights and jumped out of the car. He ran across the road and by the time I was able to turn the car around I couldn’t find him.”

Paused at the doorway between the garage and the hall, Jerry considers what he’s just heard, then slowly makes his way back into the garage.

“So you let him go? That makes you a bad friend,” one of the men says, but Jerry is thinking the opposite. The fact Hans isn’t betraying him makes him a good friend. The best friend he could have right now.

“No, it makes me a good friend for not hitting him back.”

“You knew he was wanted in connection with multiple homicides, and you didn’t feel any civic duty to call us and update us?”

“In other words why didn’t I do your job for you? Is that what you’re asking?”

“What my partner is asking is why are you bullshitting us? We know he’s here.”

Hans laughs again. “You guys have more of an imagination than Jerry, and if he was here, and you believed it, then it wouldn’t be you here, but an armed unit busting down my door.”

“So you won’t mind if we come in and take a look around?”

“Of course I mind. My parents always told me not to talk to strangers, and that’s what you guys are, right? Plus my lawyer would be against it. He would want you to have a warrant because that’s the way he thinks. I tell him he’s just being pessimistic, but you know, I’ve been to jail before because the police took advantage of me being such a trusting guy. I’d hate you to come inside and see something out of context and suddenly think the worst. I’m a by-the-book guy, as should you guys be. Do you have a warrant?”

“This isn’t a joking matter,” one of them says.

“I’m not joking. I’m telling you he isn’t here, and you’re standing on my property calling me a liar and asking if I mind having my rights violated. Now, I’ve told you what happened and I’ve been friendly about it, but now my patience is wearing thin. So, unless you have a warrant, we’re done here.”

“With your history, mate, you do know you’re playing with fire. Harboring a fugitive will see you back in jail.”

“He’s not a fugitive, he’s a confused man who doesn’t know what he’s done or what he’s doing, and right now he probably doesn’t even know where he is. Come back when you get a warrant.”

“It won’t just be us coming back,” one of them says, and then Jerry hears the door close.

There are retreating footsteps as the men head back to their car. He hears one of them say to the other, “I told you we should have just waited. This has gotten too personal for you.”

“The son of a bitch broke two of my fingers,” the other guy says. “Of course it’s personal.”

Jerry can’t hear the rest as they move out of range. Hans comes into the garage. He puts his finger over his lips to tell Jerry not to say anything. Then he walks to the garage door and listens, but by now the two cops have gotten into their car. They start it, back out of the driveway, and park on the road.

He heads back into the house, beckoning Jerry to follow him.

“If they’re parking outside, then they’re getting somebody else to take care of the warrant,” he says, keeping his voice low.

“I think people are already on their way,” Jerry says. “One of them had his hand in a cast, right?”

“That’s right.”

“I broke his fingers. I think they came here ahead of the others because they want the arrest.”