Little Bird (Anna Series Book 2) Page 5

  He’d been curious to know how such a nut job could’ve kept his shit together and give the cops the slip for a decade. After a while locked up here, though, the depressing truth came to him: this place had fried Ted’s brain like an egg on a hot plate. Your future…

  Not that he cared about the old freak. He thought child killers deserved everything they got. Sure, he’d done that pretty college kid, but she’d been eighteen, going on thirty–five. Besides, he hadn’t even needed to speak to her to work out that she was a whore.

  Her hair smelled of cheap perfume, he recalled. Once again, he tried to find that special zone in which he could reminisce.

  Drip. Flicker.

  “Fuck!” He roared. There must be a way I can get to her again! he thought, the sudden outburst unleashing his biggest mind fuck.

  Drip.

  His work could never be complete until he’d dealt with her. She’d make the ultimate trophy to add to his gallery of souls. You came so close—so very fucking close. He could almost taste her. No prizes for second place, old boy.

  “There must be a way!” He pressed himself for the thousandth time, but no answer came.

  Tony wondered if it was possible to gather the right materials to fashion a noose and hang himself from the light fitting. No more chances to tickle her fancy… time to die.

  The sound of booted footsteps thudding along the corridor broke his internal deliberations. The timing of the unannounced visit was unusual, because the regime of the prison demanded a strict routine. It was long past the mid–day feed.

  The trudging drew closer until, to Tony’s surprise, the overripe presence of Officer Plum–Dike stopped outside his cell. Just like his namesake, the sweating, fat man was the shape of a plum and gave off an odor akin to rotten fruit. There was no doubt his other colleagues had nominated him for this isolated position in order to spare their sense of smell. It also served to inflict one more torture on the institution’s special residents.

  “Afternoon, Officer,” Tony greeted the guard standing before him with hands on hips. Plum–Dike’s narrowed gaze weighed him with a look of undisguised contempt.

  Tony had learned early on that it was a mistake to show any kind of discomfort—or, God forbid, emotion—to the sadistic asshole. Plum–Dike did so enjoy his petty torments. At the beginning of his sentence, he’d made a naïve request for the dripping basin to be fixed. The response of Officer Dick Face had been to take his heavy mag light and whack the faulty tap. His helpful intervention had increased the rate of the leak.

  The guard rocked on his heels, prolonging the act of wafting his rancid body smell in Tony’s direction. After several moments of sharing, his gaze landed on the flickering strip light. “You wanna report the faulty light, boy?” He asked, black service shoes creaking as he continued to sway.

  “Didn’t notice no broken light, sir,” Tony replied, maintaining his respectful tone while wishing the bars separating them would disappear.

  Plum–Dike hooked his fingers into his belt, pondering the answer. With each thrust of the man’s crotch, Tony endured a fresh wave of his delightful body perfume. He restrained his urge to gag and considered how good it would feel to spend the rest of the afternoon chopping the fat prick into handy, washing machine–sized pieces.

  Plum–Dike appeared to become bored by his inability to provoke a reaction. Just as Tony thought he would leave, however, the guard removed an envelope from his brown service trousers before crushing it into a tight ball. He flung it through the bars. “Looks like you got fan mail, boy,” he said. “Fucking prisoner rights, my ass!” he added to no one in particular.

  Tony looked at the letter as if seeing a visitor from Venus.

  “Don’t wet yer knickers just yet—it’s already been checked,” Plum–Dike said. “And don’t you so much as breathe in the wrong direction, you hear me? You sick little puke. Drugs, porn, any of that filthy shit, and I guarantee you will be the sorriest mother chucker who set foot behind these walls.” Tony wondered what a mother chucker looked like. “I mean it, boy. We’ve learned every sneaky trick in the book. If you try it, we’ll find out. Got that? I guaran–fucking–tee a world of pain will follow. Do not fuck with me.”

  “Yes, sir,” Tony replied, wishing to rid himself of the guard and be alone with his unexpected prize.

  The truth was that he hadn’t spoken to anyone other than haters or fruit loops, since the trial. This could prove an interesting curiosity, indeed. He hoped the sender was a family member of one of his girls—a mother would be ideal. Maybe she wanted to know details of how her precious died. Oh yes, wouldn’t that be a treat! Of course, he’d be more than happy to oblige. He would drag it out—maybe for years. Sweet. Collect all three–hundred pieces and build your very own Spanish galleon!

  Plum–Dike gave a final disapproving sniff and marched back down the corridor. Elated, Tony reached out, but then he stayed his hand halfway to the paper.

  “Could be a trick,” he muttered. No way. Too elaborate for him, old boy.

  Unable to resist, he paced over to the crumpled envelope and lifted it. Still not trusting its contents, he lifted it to his face and inhaled. This time, he did gag. It smelled heady with Plum–Dike’s odor. The nausea soon passed, when he realized there was another, more subtle scent underneath: something female.

  He looked down at the envelope and unfolded the creases. The handwriting was plain enough, with his name and the address of the prison—nothing special.

  He traced his thumb across the seal, where he guessed a soft pink tongue had passed down its length. He spent some time imagining different pretty faces performing the intimate act, especially his special girls. For good measure, he added jury member number four into the mix: good old White Shoes. In his minds–eye, she had that same look of fear he recalled while she licked the envelope. She licked it with a longing to be punished. Afraid for sure, but still unable to resist the temptation not to flirt with her favorite killer.

  Examining the seal further, he noticed the existing thin tear down its length: the prison team had already examined its contents. Ignoring his irritation, he removed the single sheaf of paper inside. The first thing he noticed was more of the perfume. It was strong—too strong to have been a coincidence. Most women would avoid sending someone like him such a provocative signal. Hell, even that sour–faced bitch paid to defend you didn’t wear makeup during our rushed interviews together. Interesting.

  He spent several moments inhaling and savoring every detail. He then tried and failed to match a face he recognized to the scent. No, he needed more to unlock this puzzle.

  The paper was good quality and textured—definitely not the kind used for bureaucratic tediousness. This was personal. He unfolded it to reveal a handwritten page. Some of its contents had ugly black blocks running through it, where Arizona’s finest had removed personal details. He noticed with disappointment that this included the address of the sender. There still remained a wealth of delights for him to feast upon, though.

  Dear Mr. Eckerman,

  My name is Kate ——

  I felt the need to write and express my shock at the lack of justice you received at your recent trail. Your innocence was clear for all to see, and I could hardly believe how poorly you’ve been treated before the eyes of our Lord. It makes me wonder how those evil people can sleep at night, knowing their souls are in peril from such wicked lies. Tell me, kind sir, how have you coped during your long fight? Have you been born again, as I?

  You looked so calm during the sentencing. How? It reminded me of the story of Saint Ignatius, when faced by wild beasts and the ungodly cheers of the Romans, while they tore away his blessed flesh.

  These so–called women that your accusers have so shamefully defended were obviously ——. It is an abomination in the eyes of God, when such —— are defended by the earthly courts. Does the Holy Book not make it clear that Eve should not tempt Adam?

  God–fearing women need not worry about the passio
ns of men. The light of our savior envelopes us and removes impure thoughts from the eyes of the beholder. Such women of virtue are held high in the Lord’s esteem. Only on our wedding day do we give ourselves over to the miracle of creating new life. Is it not an abomination that a good man such as you has been brought low and chained, like a beast, because of the wanton lusts of Eve?

  I pray you take comfort from the fact that there are at least some clean women left in the world—those of us who repent the wickedness of Eve; those who vow not to profane the purity of Adam by exposing our flesh, or seek to raise ourselves above the divinely appointed status of our sex.

  Be assured, I would never seek the apple.

  Please, I must know. Have you also been saved?

  Yours, with grace,

  Kate

  “Praise the Lord,” Tony murmured.

  Chapter 8

  Anna stared down at the blank page of her laptop screen feeling like a fool. She’d felt fired up to write the exposé after receiving the cease and desist order, but now that it came to it, she didn’t know where to start. Not only that, but the stakes were so high that there was a real risk she would write a libellous disaster, damaging the very cause she’d vowed to aid. The Tonto National Forest was a beautiful, unspoiled landscape facing ruin all because of the scheming blackmail perpetrated by James Peterson. This article could be the only thing standing between him and a likely victory.

  Corey had already been in touch with the forestry commission to warn them. They’d been shocked by the allegation, but agreed that Moyer’s efforts fell way below their expectations. In fact, they’d already considered ditching him as their lawyer. With the court date fast approaching, though, Corey advised them to stick with the useless fool while his top journalist worked on springing the trap that would destroy the corporation’s chances for good. No pressure, then, kiddo! she thought, tapping the desk in frustration.

  She decided to go over the facts again, but her memories from before Julia’s passing had become dim. It was as if her damaged psyche tried to resist any recollection around the time of Big Bird’s murder. Get a grip. You can do this. She delved back, forcing herself to remember anything beyond hearsay.

  “The data stick!” she said after a moment. On her last day, she’d copied the entire case file onto a USB drive. Not so fast, smartass. Where is it now?

  Anna rose and paced the brightly–lit bedroom at Clear Water, racking her brain. She’d definitely thrown it into her old purse at the office the last time she’d seen it. With this in mind, she strode over to the Japanese–style walk–in closet and slid the doors aside. As she did so, the interior became bathed in natural light from the translucent tubes funnelling daylight directly from the roof. It was another one of Corey’s genius touches to their amazing home.

  A small house could fit inside the under–used interior of the store they’d come to refer to as Narnia. Corey had little time for fashion, keeping few clothes in a facility that many would give their left leg for. Of course, she’d done her best to remedy this embarrassing situation by filling her own corner. Although she’d added several dainty numbers to the collection since her arrival, however, it still looked like the room that fashion had forgotten. When she’d pointed out this sorry state of affairs to Corey, he’d agreed that it was a waste and proposed turning it into an office. She’d sulked mercilessly at this evil plan until finally making him get the hint. His next question had been to ask if she could fill it. Her reply had been, “Of course I can, dumbass!”

  Adding to their growing clothing collection had been one of the things keeping her mind off the murder. But today, she sought her belongings from that dark time—something she hadn’t been strong enough to do, yet. Anna forced herself to approach the pile of plastic bags marked “evidence” which’d been returned after the trial.

  She looked down at the piled collection of a past life, surprised by how little they amounted to. Some contained Julia’s things, and that was definitely not a place she wanted to go—the task before her required focus, not a blubbering wreck. She began to move aside the packages with her foot, as if booby–trapped.

  Anna reached down after building enough courage and began to sort by hand. It didn’t take long before she felt the distinctive shape of her old handbag amongst the clutter. Ripping open the plastic, she grasped the black clutch bag and removed it. In doing so, something else dropped onto the polished, hardwood floor, causing her to glance at the glint of metal. Her heart began to hammer, and the grinning face of Sesame Street’s Big Bird stared up at her from the scuffed broach. “Big Bird says you can do it, kiddo!” said the speech bubble emerging from his beak.

  ***

  Anna was seven years old, painted bright green, and sobbing. She’d fled her class’s second grade production of The Wind in the Willows to hide backstage amongst the props. Lumbered with the part of Toad, her teacher had painted her bright green before dressing her in a smelly, old tweed jacket. The large pillow stuffed over her thick jumper only added to her monstrous appearance. She felt convinced that the result made her look like a fat alien. Worse, she was sure the ugly outfit would provide her friends with many laughs at her expense.

  A sudden rustling amongst the costumes behind brought Anna’s crying to a halt. Relieved, she turned to find the freckled face of Julia. At nearly ten years old, her big sis towered above her. To Anna, her sister also looked much prettier than her.

  “I don’t want to be a stupid toad! I look so ugly and there are so many people!” she said without waiting for Julia to speak. “Please don’t tell them I’m here, Ju Ju!”

  Julia didn’t say a word. Instead, she’d put her arms out in a gesture that made Anna run straight over. They clung together while the youngest continued to weep. ”You can do this,” Julia said.

  “I can’t,” Anna insisted. “There are too many people, Julia!”

  “So? What’s the worst that can happen?”

  “They’ll laugh at me.” Her initial hysterics had reduced to an occasional snotty shudder.

  “They’re supposed to laugh at you. You’re Toad of Toad Hall, remember?”

  “I suppose so.”

  “Here, listen, if you play the stupid toad, I’ll give you this.” Julia reached in her pocket and brought out the cheap badge. Anna’s crying stopped instantly, and she wiped her nose on the sleeve of the stinky jacket. She then gazed down at the happy, smiling character.

  “Big Bird says you can do this, kiddo!” she read the words aloud, smiling. Julia buttoned the happy charm onto her sister’s coat. “Thank you, Big Bird,” she said to Julia, instead of the badge, as intended.

  “You’re welcome, Little Bird,” Julia smiled. “Now, I think we need to find some green paint, or it will look like Mr. Toad’s face got run over!”

  They laughed.

  ***

  The tears came hot and thick as Anna held the badge in trembling fingers. “You can do it, kiddo,” she murmured, before pinning the badge to her soft, white dressing gown.

  She found the data stick and took it to the bedroom where her laptop sat waiting. The flashing cursor blinked, daring her to type. Placing the stick in the USB port, she waited a moment while the file loaded. After opening it, she started to scan the contents. Three sub folders sat underneath the root: Billing, Case Content, and Correspondence. She opened the Billing folder first. It soon became obvious that Moyer’s lack of effort on his clients’ behalf hadn’t stopped him from billing them heavily. Talk about adding insult to injury, she thought as she read through the eye–watering figures.

  She clicked on the Case Content folder and found it far less populated. There were some half–hearted notes in a dozen documents, but nothing of substance. She browsed through them without seeing anything of particular interest, before going through the Correspondence. This seemed to be a better maintained set of records, including rows of scanned paper docs and some emails. She recalled that it was one of Blanche’s jobs to open the post and suppor
t Moyer’s non–existent computer skills.

  “Miserable old bag,” Anna muttered, voicing her dislike for her unpleasant former colleague.

  Some of the scanned documents had been labelled “Law for Schools.” Anna pursed her lips, trying to place the odd phrase. Why are they in this case folder? She thought. Curious, she opened one of the PDF documents bearing the strange title. A blue rotating ring appeared for a second, and then the scanned words appeared.

  “Bingo!” she said after skimming the content. “Thank you, Blanche, you dumb bitch!”

  The seal of Congressman James Peterson headed the brief letter. It thanked the offices of Howard and Moyer for making the Congressman aware of the voluntary work it did with the local school districts. It seemed that Bill Moyer had been teaching underprivileged kids the importance of the justice system. In fact, the Congressman had been so impressed with the law firm’s philanthropic efforts that he wanted to personally donate ten–thousand dollars toward the worthy cause. The whole idea of Moyer volunteering for anything was laughable. There was no doubt the greedy junkie had smoked his way through the concealed bribe.

  She went over more of the correspondence, but couldn’t find anything of interest. Peterson was slicker than a greased pig trying to outrun an amorous hillbilly. Moyer, though, was the weak point in the chain. His lack of diligence combined with the super anal filing habits of Blanche had already exposed them. Anna felt certain that a smoking gun must be sitting here, somewhere, but she needed one more nail in this coffin. This dumb blonde is gonna call your bluff, fuckers.

  There were maybe a dozen more letters between the pair, which didn’t take long to scan through. Most of them looked like made up progress reports, presumably to make the cover story appear more authentic. Even in this, Moyer had failed to do with competence. Often, they read as single line phrases to show all was well, and the lazy bastard had even repeated the same expressions on three separate occasions. Although interesting, it didn’t deliver the killer blow she sought.