Through the Eyes of Madness—Part Sixteen
By: David K. Montoya
Early morning as the Sun begin to rise upon the city, the rain ceased when the clouds receded and allowed the velvet skies to appear. It was such an oddity, that the pedestrians stopped momentarily to look up and inspected the unexpected azure.
Much like a cockroach that scattered at the first sign of light, the unwanted, the ruffians silently slithered back into the darkness, and patiently awaited for their next delinquency against the inhabitants of the city. As if an All Clear sign was brought out for all to see, the patrons slowly crept from the safety of their homes and filled the vacant streets for their way to only they knew.
It was barely sunrise, and the horns honked and the iridescent headlights filled the void of dawn. The police station was dark and almost empty, the day shift, fatigued, shuffled out and the forgotten souls that were the graveyard crew came into the open space and had settled in for the night. But not everyone returned to their home and families—Detective Tidwell placed a hot cup of instant coffee on his younger partner's desk.
"It tastes like blackened piss, Gray," Tidwell said with a slight chuckle.
Grayson Copeland looked up from the stack of papers that sat in front of him with an exhausted, yet grateful smile and said, "Thanks, Partner."
Tidwell did not respond verbally, but instead nodded at Grayson, while he studied him. He had been there since they lifted the finger print and sent it through the Automated Fingerprint Identification System, or AFIS for short, and that was two days ago. The older detective wondered was it dedication to find his dead lover's murderer or was he hiding from something. After a few more moments of pondering, Tidwell finally, he told his partner, "Gray, I think it's time to call it a day."
Grayson looked up perplexed and asked, "But… But, why? We still have all of this to go through and AFIS hasn't come back."
Tidwell shook his head and said, "The sun is about to come up, we've been here almost an entire day." "I know, but—"
Tidwell cut Grayson off and said, "I've been home and that was yesterday, so that would mean that your ass has been here for two days."
"But… I, uh…" Grayson mumbled, as he searched for words.
Tidwell understood what was happening, and sighed with a: "Bloody Hell, Gray, I'm old I wanna go home, dude."
"I just can't at the moment," Grayson said and looked back down at the stack of papers. He pulled a folder from the top of the pile and removed a picture of one of the victims. "Not until justice is served."
"Stop the horse shit. You and I both know that you need to go home and face your family, son," Tidwell said and pulled up a chair which faced Grayson. He placed his arms on the back of it and rested them as he continued, "I know that you feel guilty and ashamed. I've been there, trust me, I haven't always been an old fart, dude."
Grayson looked up from the picture with an amuse smiled.
"Look son, shit happens," Tidwell said in a serious tone.
"I can't face her," Grayson confessed. "And, Curt… I'm such a crappy father."
"Grayson." Tidwell snipped, which caught Grayson attention as something serious followed, as he never called him by his entire name. "Dude, he's what? Two? He's not gonna remember jack shit."
Grayson nodded in agreement, and said, "True."
"Look, I'm not going to tell you what to do—it's not my place, but you need to make a decision here and now," Tidwell said. "You cheated. Okay. That has ended."
"Only because she's dead," Grayson flatly said.
"It doesn't matter, son, it has ended," Tidwell returned. Grayson was taken off guard for a moment at how cold that comment was.
No wonder he's been married three or four times, Grayson thought to himself.
"Are you going to move on with the mother of your child," Tidwell said, his words were sharp as a knife. "Or are you going to tell her you put your dick into someone else, and have her leave your ass and live miserable ever after. Your call."
"Wow." Grayson said softly.
"I have a way with words, I know," Tidwell said with a smile.
Grayson stood from his desk and fetched his coat from off the back of his chair. He walked over to Tidwell and gave him a hug, which all the guys in the back said in unison, "Awww."
"All right. All right, peep show is over. Everyone back to work," Tidwell barked. He looked back at over at Grayson and said, "Tell Lisa I said hi."
"I will," Grayson said and turned to walk away. "Oh!"
Grayson turned back toward the older detective and said, "Hey, I had a thought about the case."
"What's up," Tidwell answered.
"Where was Catherine Eddowes' body found back in the day," Grayson asked. "Wasn't it in a street or something?"
"If memory serves me correctly, it was in the Mitre Square," Tidwell answered.
"Oh. Well, maybe run a search on if we have a Meter Square in—"
The older detective interrupted.
"Mitre. Like the Pope's hat…a mitre," Tidwell corrected.
Grayson shot him a confused expression.
"What?" Tidwell asked.
"Only you would know what the name of the Pope's hat is," Grayson said with a slight smile. "As I was saying, run a search with the closest Mitre Square—I think that is where we will find Eddowes' body."
"I think you are on to something. Okay, go to your family and I will call you if anything turns up," Tidwell said, he watched as the closest thing to a family member waled out of view and then turned to the crew behind him and shouted. "Who here knows how to use Google?
"I do," said a familiar voice that came from behind, Tidwell. The Detective turned and confirmed the person that the words came from. It was Captain Whick, and much like the weather, him not inside his office was an oddity as well.
"Captain, a surprise to see you," Tidwell said, "If you excuse me, sir, I have a possible lead to follow up on.
Tidwell attempted to walk to his desk, but his boss stopped him when he grabbed the detective by the arm, and said, "Dean, have you really been here all right, with Copeland?"
Tidwell did not fancy begin grabbed by the arm, even if it was the Captain of the precinct. He shot Whick a cautionary look and said, "Yes, we are very close to finding this wanna–be."
"Go home." Whick ordered.
"After I follow this lead, it will be my pleasure," Tidwell explained and pulled his arm from the Captain's grip.
"Dean are you and your partner trying to have State on my balls," the Captain said, and grabbed Tidwell's arm once again. "You've been here a damned night and Copeland has been here for forty–nine fucking hours, really?"
Tidwell realized that he was close to crossing a line with his behavior which could land him in hot water. He composed himself and evenly said, "I sent him home a moment ago, Cap, he looked exhausted."
"Go follow your own advice, Dean," Whick said, as he let go of Tidwell's arm and patted him on the back. "I don't want you dropping dead, before you retire."
With everything that had happened recently with the now two serial killers, Detective Tidwell had completely forgotten that his retirement date was approaching soon. A sinking feeling settled in his gut at the thought of not working, but there was something else—something else that could end everything he loved before the older man had a chance to retire.
"Retirement," Tidwell groaned. "All right, Cap, you win. But can you get someone to check if we have a Mitre Square near us?"
"Is that you're lead?" Captain Whick asked.
Tidwell nodded.
"I will have the nerds check into it," Whick said with a chuckle.
"It's the way of the future, Cap," Tidwell teased. "And Cap, please call me first if AFIS comes in?"
"Any particular reason, Dean?" Whick asked.
Tidwell thought about telling the Captain the truth, that his partner was emotionally connected to the case, because he had an affair with the now deceased Pathologist Assistant. But, knew better, Whick would had taken Copeland off the case, and as much as Tidwell did not like it—Grayson's skills were needed.
"I just want Grayson to catch a breather," Tidwell halfheartedly said. "If I let him, I'm fairly certain that he would take the files home to study while his little boy climbed on his head."
Both men laughed.
"He remind me of you at that age," Whick said. "All right, we will call you first. Now go home."
Betty set quietly as her abductor, known only as Jack drove down the freeway. She was handcuffed between the seat belt, which prevented her from jumping from the car. It had been awhile since Jack had stolen a car and hit the open road, it was apparent that the murderer was afraid.
The evil, blackened soul that committed the murders of three innocent women and who violated her multiple times was gone, the original weak, scared and afraid persona had returned. He mumbled under his breath, but Betty was unable to decipher his words.
Is it schizophrenia with multiple personalities, Betty wondered to herself. Or is it an alternate personality to cope with the heinous things that he has done.
"I can do this," he said to himself. Betty noticed that sweat had beaded on his forehead.
"Jack," Betty said softly.
"He went to go rest," he explained. "I'm PJ."
"I, uh, haven't seen you around lately," Betty cautiously asked.
"Yeah, that happens from time to time," PJ answered and then wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his forearm. "His work is draining, so I understand."
Intrigued with what he said, Betty asked, "You weren't the one who kidnapped me was it?"
PJ shook his head to answer and then followed with, "Oh Heavens no. That was Jack. Sometimes he has me do odd and end jobs, but the important ones he takes care of himself."
"That makes sense," Betty said softly, almost in a comforting tone. "So he wants to be famous, but what about you?"
PJ nervously chucked and then whispered, "That's the crazy thing isn't it? I mean, he's the one who wants to be famous, but at the end of the day I'm the one who will be remembered."
Confused, Betty asked in a suppuration of her own, "Why are we whispering?"
"So he doesn't hear me." PJ answered.
"You can't tell if Jack is awake or asleep," Betty continued to probe.
"Only when he's talking to me," PJ explained. "But, when he's quiet, I don't know if he's asleep or awake and ease dropping on me."
"Oh." Betty said.
"Jack is someone not to upset, no one is safe from his wrath—even me," PJ said and then took the off–ramp to Speakman Island, a known suburb to the city.
"He's… He's violent towards you," Betty asked, amazed at what all she heard from PJ.
"Ooh yes," PJ said with a nod and a frightened grin. "The last time we got into a disagreement and I went to sleep, but when I woke Jack cut the back of my… Well, my…"
"Huh?"
PJ pointed at his genitalia and said, "You know, down there."
"He cut your perineum?" Betty asked in disbelief. But, PJ looked at her with a puzzled expressions, and she realized perhaps she needed to dumb it down for him to understand. "The gooch."
"Oh… Yes," PJ replied. "He refused to come out until it healed, and man, it sure did hurt."
PJ turned into the Miller's Court Mobile Home Estates and said to Betty, "We are in space thirteen."
Grayson crept through the front door into his home and the smell of his hardwood floors greeted him. He walk over to his overstuffed couch, then dropped onto the fluffy cushions with a sigh of comfort. His eyes slowly closed as exhaustion finally caught up to him, just before Copeland slipped into unconsciousness, he heard, "Daddy!"
His eyes opened and saw his little boy, who stood in front of him holding his blanket and in his superhero pajamas. Curt was excited to see his father and crawled up onto Grayson and said, "Daddy home?"
"Yeah, daddy's home," Grayson said with a yawn. "I missed you, kiddo."
"I miss you, kiddo," Curt copied and hugged Grayson.
The tired detective smiled at his young son, but it was followed with another yawn.
"Daddy tired?" Curt asked.
"Yeah, I am, son," Grayson answered.
"Let's go ni–night, Daddy," Curt said, and got down from his dad.
"In a minute, kiddo," Grayson said and then, rubbed his hands over his face.
Curt reached up and grabbed Grayson's finger pulling on it, he said, "No. No. Daddy, no more bad guys, we go ni–night, now."
With a smile, Grayson got to his feet and his son lead him by his finger into the bedroom as he said, "All right, no more bad guys for today, let's go ni–night."
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