Another General Update...or I'm working on interesting stuff, but don't have anything ready...

• Started my last semester of paralegal classes this week. It's off to an odd start as one of the classes I may end up dropping if I get an internship. The program is offering 30 or so of them, and I applied for 16 of those, so...we'll see. Of course, there's always the prospect that I'll get one of the jobs I've inquired into, in which case I will keep the class I would drop and not do an internship. Of course, that's only if everything works out in a neat and timely fashion. If it doesn't and I've already accepted an internship, then I'll probably have to look at how to either drop my internship or finish it up quickly enough to start my job. But if it happens early enough I may be able to switch back into the class and call no harm no foul. We'll see. It's a lot of balls in the air.
• Only two classes (or one and the internship) left. So far I've gotten honors grades in the other six courses. So that's good. I only need to get honors in one class (or the internship) to graduate with honors and join the secret paralegal fraternity. (It's not a secret, but I cannot remember what the name of it is.) I really want this, so it feels nice to be getting close to this.
• It was nice to have reading to do today. I've found I really like having things to do and having some structure to my day. This being unemployed thing gets in the way of that. And having a week off (like last week) wasn't as relaxing and rejuvenating for me as it seemed for others in my program.
• I've been running a lot lately. About 14+ miles the last three weeks and I'll probably hit that again this week. Been feeling pretty good about it and I am losing a bit of weight (though my eating hasn't been as disciplined as I would've hoped), but I tell you I can't see it most of the time. I feel better, I guess. But when I look in the mirror, I go right to my belly and see all the trouble spots, so I'm trying to focus on the numbers. I'm trying to shed 15 pounds this summer and bring my stomach in about 3 inches. So far I'm down 1 pound and 1 inch. So. That's good. I'm gonna keep updating this here to keep track and to keep somewhat accountable. Or something.
• I've started studying for the LSAT, which I will be taking in September. I'm not yet completely afraid of the test, but I can see why I will be as it gets closer.
• I also requested a lot of information from law schools I'm interested in. Now, that frightens me. I don't look back on applying to colleges and wish I could do it again, but now I'm looking to get into even more discerning places (though Grinnell was pretty discerning) feeling a lot less confident about my ability to get in (not to mention paying for it). But signing up for the test and getting information is good. It makes me feel like I'm doing something to move my life forward.
• That's the worst thing about being unemployed for me. I feel like my time is slushing by me and I'm not doing anything of note or importance. I'm not working toward anything. And because there's so much in the air (what lawschool will I end up at, will I get in where I want to go, will I do well on the LSAT, will I land a good job, will I get a good internship, will I get a good internship then a good job, and on and on), I'm just a little anxious about everything.
• Gumshoe should come out early next week. Or later next week. But most likely next week.
• Sorry this entry is a bit of a downer. I'm mostly doing okay. I've just never been someone who deals with change or transition without getting nervous. And there's a lot of transitioning and a lot of change. I think I'm getting better at it. But you know, strikes and gutters man.

Gumshoe 7

It's extra long today. It probably won't be this long in the future, but I hope you enjoy.

“Well, what do you know about this?” Clarence said once Chance and Edna had left the room. The color had left his face and I could see this shook him up. Clarence stood by me during the havoc my life became after Mindy James died and everything was turned upside down. But. Even after you’ve been proven innocent beyond any doubt, being suspected of something like that still rests in everyone’s mind. They associate you with murder, even long after it’s been settled. He could have done it. If it weren’t for someone else actually having done it, it could have been him. It’s not logical, but when you’re dealing with the ending of a human life, very few things are logical.
“Search me.” I said. Jane Hernandez had been my last girlfriend. The one whose leaving depressed me enough to listen to Phil Collins for a couple days. And during one of those days ‘Simon Flettering’ came into my life.
“Are you still…were you still dating?”
“We’d broken up less than a week ago. It had been very amicable. She wanted to go, I’d wanted her to stay, but she left anyway. There wasn’t anything more to it than that. I didn’t harbor any ill will. I was hurt and I missed her, but not in an angry way.” My voice was shaky and I found it hard to look into Clarence’s eyes. It’s never easy for me to open up to someone about my feelings. Even though I’ve known Clarence for pretty much all my life, we’ve never talked too much about how we feel about things. The closest we got was when he told me he was thinking about marrying Brenda. I remember him clearly saying she was “a treasure”, before clamming up, probably afraid I was gonna give him some shit about it. I stayed quiet though. Mostly because I was embarrassed that he’d been so busy with his life but still managed to find his perfect woman and I’d been knocking around being stupid and refusing to grow up.
“Okay.” He said, his composure seeming to come back to him with every breath he took. “Okay. So.” We went over everything quickly. The last time I saw her. Everything we said during the break-up. My version of events. Where I had been and who I had been with for the last week. Everything. And when we were ready, he went to the door and knocked.
After a minute or two, Edna opened the door and she and Chance walked through and sat at the table. Edna was carrying a pad of paper. They let the room settle for a second and Clarence spoke first.
“My client broke up with Ms. Hernandez less than a week ago. It was an amicable break-up. She initiated the break-up, and [gumshoe] tried to talk her out of it, but she insisted. She walked away without any incident. He’s had no contact with her since then. If you narrow down the time of…well, we are willing to provide you with his whereabouts since the break-up.”
For the quickest second, I thought I saw a grin cross Chance’s face. I suppose seeing the tone of one of the biggest attorneys in the state turn so quickly will do that to someone who was so recently on the bad end of it.
“That’d be great,” Edna said as she pulled a pen from inside her coat pocket and clicked it quickly. Clarence and I rolled through everything with her. Apparently, Jane had been murdered three nights ago, two days after our break-up. Which was good for me, because I had an alibi. But it was bad for me, because Clarence was my alibi. Which meant, I’m out of a lawyer, because he’s now a witness in this investigation. And just as I was thinking that, I got another sinking feeling.
“I’ll just let you know now,” Clarence said, his bluster back up, “just in case it comes up. Anything we said in here, is still covered by attorney-client privilege and I can find dozens of cases that say that as long as we both believe we’re protected by the privilege we are.”
“Unless you’re aiding and abetting a crime.” Chance looked at me for the first time since the interrogation started. “But, how about we let the attorney’s sort that out.”
Clarence had his phone out and was dialing. “Exactly.”
It took twenty minutes for three lawyers from Clarence’s firm to arrive. Twenty minutes of Clarence telling me not to say anything and Chance asking questions anyway. Edna, for her part, sat quietly watching everyone, the look of a curious cat fixed to her face.
Attorneys come running when one of their own is in trouble. And they bring out the big artillery. They’re like cops that way. When Chance and Edna heard the attorneys were here, they left Clarence and I in the interview room where we sat quietly listening to the argument grow and fall outside.
It took Clarence’s friends about an hour of yelling at Chance and Edna. Having them call their higher-ups, who called their attorneys, who got together and debated, called the higher-ups back who then called Chance and Edna. Finally, the attorneys came into us. Leading the way was a young attorney wearing a smart blue suit. Her eyes sat behind thick black glasses and her hair was pulled away from her face. She carried a dark leather messenger bag, its strap hanging underneath. Altogether, if I had to pick someone out of a crowd to be my attorney, I’d pick her. The two who followed could’ve been clones. Black suits, black sculpted hair and the boyish good looks of kids just out of law school. Still, though, they had the confident look of people who know they’re going to walk into a shitty situation and come away with a win. I was suddenly feeling a lot better about this situation.
They were followed in by Chance and Edna—both of whom looked like they’d just been smacked around for a couple weeks.
“Fortune,” Clarence said in a greeting that was more an order.
“Mr. Knox. The police have been kind enough to release you and Mr. [Gumshoe]. You’re free to go.” She turned to me, “[Gumshoe], you’re not allowed to leave the state.”
She paused, so I said, “sure.”
“Great. Any further contact they want with you is to come through my office.” She extended her hand to me. “I’m your new lawyer. Stella Fortune. It’s nice to meet you.”
We exchanged a good firm hand shake. “Good to meet you.”
“Thank you Ms. Fortune.” Clarence said. “[Gumshoe], we still on for drinks this week?”
“Far as I know,” I said with a shrug.
“Okay. I’ll leave you alone with your attorney.” He said as he moved toward the door, the two clones falling in line behind him. As he was about to touch the door, he looked directly at Chance. “You’ll want to leave him alone with his attorney as well?”
Chance leveled his face at the Big Man, a look of sheer anger on his face. Whatever had started between these two tonight was something big. The whole room was silent as the two men stood looking at each other, waiting for the other to back away.
Chance’s upper lip curled as the door to the room opened. A young uniformed cop stuck his head in with a chipper edge that said he’d probably just come on duty and had no idea how tense this situation was. “Mr. Greer? Jim from San Francisco called the front desk looking for you. He said to tell you he’ll meet you at the Holiday Inn hotel bar at 11 tonight.” He started to close the door, but stuck it back in quickly. “Downtown,” he said before he turned and left.
Chance blinked and took a second. “Thanks.”
Clarence and clones walked quickly through the door following the uniform. Chance gave them a ten second head start before heading out. And Edna stayed long enough to give me a stern look of disapproval before I was alone with Ms. Fortune.
The door had barely shut behind Edna when my attorney asked, “So, did you do it?”
I smiled at her, “Not even a little bit.” Clarence had once told me he never asked his clients if they did it. He said it made him a better attorney to believe they didn’t, even when the facts overwhelmingly pointed out that they did do it. But, from my point of view—you know as someone who’s being investigated for murder—there’s something nice about telling your attorney you aren’t guilty. It helps that it’s true, but still.
“Good. Why don’t we go somewhere that’ll be a bit more comfortable and we can go over everything I’m assuming you told Mr. Knox.” It felt good to get out of the interview room. Just the space of the room outside felt so liberating and I stretched my arms above my head.
When I was outside, I was surprised to see the streetlights had retreated into the grayness of another cloudy day. Another day starting out leaving a police station. Great. This was a habit that needed breaking.
We ended up heading to a diner not far away. It was a cute little dinner. Stools and a counter sat in front of the grill and booths laying by the windows. The waitress was about 55, maybe less—I have a hard time taking off the aging the chronic smoking had done to her. She had wrinkles around everything and her gray hair had been died a beautiful shade of orange. She took our orders, calling me ‘honey’ and Ms. Fortune ‘dearie’ and coughing into her notepad every four seconds. I ordered coffee and a donut. Stella eggs with a side of hash browns and toast. An old jukebox sat in the far corner next to the unisex bathroom and a door that had a sign taped to it which read, “Employee’s Onley”. All in all, this was the perfect place to be right now.
After we went over everything I’d told Clarence and she asked pretty much the same questions, she flipped her notepad to the first clear page and asked me, “So, what the hell is going on here?” I rubbed my suddenly droopy eyes. “I haven’t the foggiest. But it seems like I’m right in the middle of all this.”
“Someone’s framing you.”
“Maybe.” The jukebox in the corner kicked on. A little Blue Oyster Cult. I was liking this place even more.
“You don’t think you’re being framed?” She said as she started to doodle on her notepad.
“I did. But now I’m wondering. If you wanted to frame me, you’d have to get something better on me than being near the first place and having my fingerprints of the second. It doesn’t look good, but I can explain both. You’d need hard evidence.”
“Jane was the first victim, so your fingerprints were at the first. And that’s pretty hard evidence.”
“Yeah,” I sighed. “I guess it is. But, there’s still a lot that doesn’t make sense.”
“Like why is this killer killing people the same way as Aaron Masters did back in the day?” I looked at her pad of paper and saw she was drawing a picture of a stick figure chained up.
“I hate to sound narcissistic, but that’s gotta be to get at me.”
“Well, hold on. Maybe this killer is related to him. A son or something, you know, carrying on the family business.” She looked up from her drawing.
“Yeah, but then everything else is a coincidence?” I said.
“No. Maybe. Well, they could be after you because you put their father—or maybe it’s just someone they look up to and you put them away.”
“But, I didn’t. I was gone by then.”
Her face dropped and I wasn’t sure if the disappointment was from not being right or because I had to remind her that I ran away before Aaron Masters was caught. Someday, I’m hoping I’ll have to remind people of my mistakes less. “That’s true.”
A still moment settled over the diner as Blue Oyster Cult left and the jukebox was still for a second. “Hey,” she looked up at me again, “what is up with writing lyrics on the walls of the crime scenes?”
“After they caught him, Masters said he liked to whistle while he worked, and he wanted everyone to know what song he was killing the person to.” I said.
“Gorgeous.” She said as she went back to her doodling.
“Yeah. We spent hours trying to think about how the lyrics would help us find him or assess his state of mind or figure out where he was meeting these people, but we came up with nothing. Even after talking to him, state doctors think it was completely random. I mean on lyric was Van Morrison, another was something the Andrews Sisters sang. The last one was Meatloaf. It just never came together to mean anything.”
She let that hang in the air for a second before saying, “So, you’ve been following this case, well, Masters really, but you’ve been following it for a long time.”
I glared at the jukebox as I heard the opening of “I Would Do Anything for Love” come on. Just my damned luck.
“I’m sorry,” she said after I’d stared at the jukebox for an uncomfortable amount of time. “I was just—“
“No. It’s not you,” I said hoarsely. Something in my head moved. “The last victim had a Meatloaf lyric. These two victims have Meatloaf lyrics. Why?”
“That’s a good question.” She said and looked at me.
“I was out on the prowl down by the edge of the track --And like a son of a jackal I’m a leader of the pack.” I spoke the lyrics quietly as she looked at me quizzically. “It’s from All Revved up with No Place to Go by Meatloaf. It’s what they found on the wall there.”
After her eyes shifted, I said, “It’s off Bat Out of Hell.”
“Okay.” She thought for a moment. “There’s something about that last kill then. Something that this guy is fixated on.”
“Yeah.” I said. The tired was starting to crash on me. We sat there for a while quietly finishing up our breakfasts. Well, I’d finished my donut and had started begging off the coffee, hoping I’d get some sleep in later, but she was still working on her hash browns. It took an hour or so, but Meatloaf stopped and some Electric Light Orchestra came on making me smile. A good, honest smile. I hadn’t smiled in a long while.
After she’d scooped up the last of her food, she said, “Flettering. That’s such an odd name. You think that’s dutch?” She started scribbling his name with a big S and F.
SF. I was feeling that thing in my head move again.
San Francisco.
“Why does a man who’s never been out of the state have a friend from San Francisco staying at the downtown Holiday Inn?” I said as something started to click together in my head.
“What?” She said.
“Chance told me he’s never been out of the state, but he’s got a buddy in from San Francisco? Seems a bit odd. And it might be just a coincidence that San Francisco and Simon Flettering have the same initials.”
“It’s probably a coincidence. It’s probably a friend who has been out of the state.” I knew she was being very logical, but it had already rooted in my mind.
“But, it was so odd. Jim from San Francisco. If it’s his friend, then why not just say ‘Jim called’?” It was all starting to click in my mind. “And he’s from Indianola.”
“Indianola?”
I put down some money on the table and stood up. “Sorry, I’ve got a hunch I’ve gotta play.”
“Where are you headed?”
“First I’m going home to get a nap. Then, I’m gonna stake out the Holiday Inn.”
“As your attorney, I would have to advise you to keep away from anything having to do with this case.”
“As your client,” I said smirking at her as I backed toward the door, “I would have to advise you to be ready for a call in the next couple of days. Cause I’ve either figured this out or I’m getting into a lot of trouble.”
I started toward the door, but turned back to her quickly. “Oh, can I get a ride back to my car?”

Gumshoe 6

I'm sort of getting on a roll, so hopefully this will be coming out pretty regularly for the next couple of weeks anyway.

The Big Man.
As I sat there looking at the walls of the same interview room I’d been in only the night before, he was all I could think about. He’s called that not because of his height or weight, but because he was a heavyweight in the local legal community. Normally, I wouldn’t be able to afford someone of his caliber, but I’d known him since he was just Clarence Knox of Studebaker Elementary. Nothing big about him—just another kid trying to make it through the day with his lunch money and dignity. And in one of the few lucky decisions of my life, I had made a friend of him and stopped some of the other kids from picking on him.
And we were virtually inseparable since then. We were on the same little league teams. We went to middle school and high school together, played on the same varsity teams (though I got a lot more playing time). We took the same classes (though he did a lot better in them). We drank Icehouse or Hawkeye Vodka or Tortilla Tequila together as we went to the same parties. He went to college while I started at the academy, but we still stayed in touch. I visited him a couple times. He graduated his college class as valedictorian and went on to law school, as I was pounding my beat. And even as he’s become one of the more respected legal minds in the state and earned the nickname “Big Man” with high-profile wins and a boat load of the state’s biggest names as clients, we still have a weekly drink (unless either of us have a huge case that’s won’t allow it, but we haven’t missed many weeks). He’s drinking good whiskey, and I’m drinking good beer, but other than that, things are pretty much the same as they were when we were sitting at the ugly orange tables in the cafeteria of Studebaker.
And now he represents me when I run into the occassional scrape. Won’t charge me either. That thought had me smiling widely even before I heard him walk into the police station boom at either Edna or Chance, or both.
“He has the right to an attorney whether he’s charged or not, and you both know it. If either of you want to continue working in this department doing more than handing out jaywalking tickets, you’ll point me in the right direction and give me five minutes with him.” It’s hard to believe anyone ever tried to pick on Clarence. Sometimes I think part of the reason he’s such a passionate advocate is because he remembers having his face pushed in the grass and knowing there wasn’t anything he could do about it.
After a moment of silence, the door to the interview room swung open and Clarence walked through. His hand grabbed the edge of the door and he slammed the door behind him as Chance stood there looking in at the back of the Big Man’s head.
“I swear, if it weren’t for thug cops I wouldn’t even want to be a lawyer.” He said as the redness drained from his face and a smile snuck up the left side of his face.
“You always make an impression Ck.” I’ve always called him Ck. I guess I could call him Big Man, but it doesn’t really seem to encapsulate the man like the dumb nickname he’s had since he was 8.
“That I do.” He took a deep breath and let it out as he sat at the table across from me. “So. What’s this all about?”
I ran down the whole story for him, from the mysterious client to the check at the first crime scene and the arrival at the second crime scene. He took some quick notes and when I was fiinished he looked at me. “So,” he said quizzically, “they have nothing concrete on you, but they’ve dragged you down here twice to talk about it?”
“Basically.”
“Well. You should’ve called me last time, because then there wouldn’t be a this time.”
“Gotta be friendly with some cops in my business CK.”
“If you say so. Well, when they come back in, I want you to say nothing. If you say anything we’ll be here for another half hour. You stay quiet, we’re out of here in five minutes.”
“Got it.” We sat quietly for a second while we waited. “So how’s Brenda?”
“She’s good. You know, keeping busy.” Brenda was his wife. They’d met in college when they were working in the library together. First time I met her, she hated me. Couldn’t really blame her, because the first impression she got of me was when I called Clarence to bail me out after my incident with Mindy James. But, I’d managed to win her over after years of trying. “She isn’t happy unless she’s working.”
The door swung open and Edna stepped through. “You two ready to chat?”
Chance walked in behind her slowly and closed the door quietly behind him. Clarence moved around to the seat beside me and sat smiling up at her. “As much as we’d like to cooperate with your investigation, we don’t think we can be of anymore help. So, we’ll be going.”
She smiled back at him. “I think you’re both gonna want to stick around.”
Chance sat down, quietly, intently staring at the Big Man. I’m guessing Chance hadn’t been talked to like that in a long while.
“Any particular reason for that?”
“We found his fingerprints at the site of the most recent murder.” The breath jumped out of my mouth as if I’d been punched in the chest, but Clarence didn’t bat an eyelash.
“That could mean just about anything.” It probably did mean I was staying around a little longer, I thought to myself.
“Well. Finding his fingerprints at one murder. Finding him at the other. Yeah, that could mean something.” She said as she pulled her chair out slowly and sat down. “What it means now is that your client is sticking around for a while.”
She set a file down on the table and my eyes went to it. Plain brown paper file. No writing on it. I could tell there was something in it, but I couldn’t tell what. Which is just what she wanted. For all I know she’s got her grocery list and a phone bill in there.
“So, why would we find your fingerprints at the scene of a murder [gumshoe]?” Her face hadn’t stopped smiling since she walked in. Chance, on the other hand, hadn’t stopped looking at Clarence.
A good lawyer doesn’t let you answer a question unless he knows the answer or he knows you won’t hurt yourself. Clarence gave me a nod, knowing I wouldn’t be dumb enough to incriminate myself on this question.
“If I knew where we were talking about, I might be able to help you guys out.” I remained polite, as if what this was turning out to be wasn’t a worry to me.
“We’ll get to that.” Chance spoke so quietly I wasn’t sure he’d spoken for a minute.
“Yes,” Edna continued. “Let’s start with telling you some facts.” This was a game Edna liked to play with suspects. She’d lay out some of the facts, keep tight control over the information, and lay it out in a way that made the suspect look completely guilty. “First we’ve got evidence of you being at both crime scenes. Then we’ve got the similarities of this case to the one you were a suspect in not all that long ago. Then we’ve got your lame alibi, which doesn’t stand up and no jury would believe. That’s almost enough to get you convicted right there.”
She paused. Clarence and I sat there quietly.
“Of course, then you visit the first crime scene. That doesn’t help you look innocent.”
“I’m sure I could make the case that it doesn’t make your partner look all that suspicious either.” Clarence spoke. “And nothing else is anything more than circumstantial evidence that doesn’t add up to anything. Please, get somewhere or we’re leaving.”
“So, you don’t recognize the apartment complex?” Chance spoke, but still didn’t take his eyes off of Clarence.
Clarence shook his head and I stopped before I even realized I was about to answer. “Don’t answer that.”
“It’s always the innocent guys who hide behind their lawyer.” It was the first moment that Clarence actually took notice of Chance’s continued glare. For a second I thought they were gonna start punching each other, but then Clarence shrugged it off and turned back to Edna.
“Detective Muldoon, we’ve run into each other more than once and I’ve never jerked you around. And I’ve liked that you’ve never jerked me around. So please, let’s dispense with all this. You’re not going to get a confession from my [gumshoe]. So, if you want to ask some questions, just give me a reason to stay.”
She sized him up. “We just found the body of Jane Hernandez.”
His voice trembled only a little bit, but it was enough for me to know the Big Man was worried. “I’m gonna need a moment alone with my client before we can answer your questions.”

Yet herein I will imitate the sun..By breaking through the foul and ugly mists/ Of vapours that did seem to strangle him.

So, a couple weeks ago I'm going over my first draft of my final for Legal Writing with my professor. He's an adjunct professor, so most of the time he's an attorney in the Chicago area. I had him for Legal Research as well, and I have to admit, he's my favorite. Just a nice man with the patience of a saint. But. We're going over my final and I'm watching him* and he's not making so many marks, which is a good sign. And he looks at me and smiles and says, "yup." And that's pretty much it. He gave me a couple tips and then we were heading into the classroom (because he takes us out to the hall for privacy) when he says, "You know, you should think about law school. You have the mind for it."
The truth is, I've been thinking about law school for a while. I'm really enjoying reading cases. And looking up statutes and cases. I enjoy the types of writing I have to do. And, let's face it, I'm kind of a smart guy. I can be an attorney if I want. So.
I want.
It all seems so logical, I know. But, it's odd. I never really considered law school before. It seemed to me the thing everyone would think I would do. And something about that just made me not want to even try it. So, I didn't. And if I had straight out of college, I have no doubt I wouldn't have liked it. Or been very good at it. See, I think I needed to kick around and get kicked around after college. I don't know why, really. I needed to fail, I guess. I needed to feel like a failure. I don't know if it's some sort of self-punishment, or just figuring things out. I cannot really explain it, but I know myself so much better now than I did then. And maybe that was the point of it.
But, I can say it's been a long trip for me. I've gone through a lot of crazy crap with work and I'm sure the decision to go to law school isn't going to stop all of it, but I finally feel that I'm heading the right way. So. Yeah. That's good.
Of course, I talked to my Mom a couple days after and I mentioned the law school to her. She replied, "I'm surprised." She really wouldn't say why she was surprised, she only really added, "If that's what you really want, then that's what you should do. I only wish I could get your sister to do something." And then we talked about my sister. Which was fine. My mom's interactions with lawyers lately haven't been fun (in fact most people only see a lawyer when they're in some trouble or need, so...yeah, I get it). But, I was hoping for more, I guess. Eh.
When I called her again last weekend she asked where I was thinking about going. She mentioned Drake and I got the feeling she'd like me to move home. I haven't narrowed down things so much, but you know the Chicago area and possibly places in Wisconsin and Minneapolis. All of these are places we've thought about living in (or are currently living in) and I think places we'd be happy for three years (probably more). We'll see. There's a lot of balls in the air with jobs and LSAT and getting accepted, so it's probably a little soon to know anything about that part of it.
But. That's all beside the point. I feel good about where I'm going. Actually, I think I just like knowing where I'm going, because since college, I haven't really had that. I've watched my friends figure out where they want to be and at least start down the path and I've been really envious of them. But, it just took me this long to figure it out I think. Well, to figure it out and decide that I could actually do it. I'm an odd guy. I have a pretty decent sized ego, but I couldn't always believe I was capable of going to law school and doing well.
Sometimes I think Grinnell punched my confidence in the nuts and it's just taken a while for me to get my legs back under me. But the truth is I've always been a little afraid of how my success has been read by my family. I've always felt a little bit guilty when I did well, or went to a good college, or even missed having the heart and thyroid conditions that plague my family. Some of that's just a fluke, but a lot of it is stuff I worked for and (frankly) deserved. But, I remember when I was asked to go to the magnet school in downtown Des Moines. I'd go half-days and take accelerated classes and AP classes and I was really proud and excited.** But, I remember we were sitting down to dinner and the whole family was talking about it and my sister wondered why she didn't get asked. (She's older, so they would've asked her a couple years before this.) And my mom said, "They just missed you from 1st grade on. You're just as smart as anybody."
And I'm not here to tell everyone I'm smarter than my sister. She's a smart person and she's got a lot going for her. But. I was kind of having my little moment there and it got sidetracked. And like so many things in my family, it got sidetracked by someone feeling awkward and inadequate (and hey, myself included in that. Big time).
So, yeah. There's a bit of a parallel to the talk I had with mom about law school. But the difference is now, I expected it. I sighed. Didn't like it. Still don't like it, really, but that's how it is. And when I tell my sister she'll probably feel a little odd about it and maybe wonder if she could do it, but not say anything. Which is too bad. Because she could do it. Maybe she even should.
I digress.
UPDATE: With one week to go, he made no marks on my final. No marks. He said, "just slap on a conclusion and you're done." Nice.
****
The talking with my father is going. It's slow and stilted and I have no idea how to fill him in on the 2 or so years of my life he missed out on, but, it's something. He's talking about wanting to visit us or having us visit him. Which. I'm cautious about. I have this feeling that he thinks that we'll see each other and everything will go back to the way it was. And he's probably sort of right about that. I talk a good game, but I have a tough game, but I would have a tough time being rude to my father right to him.
Ugh. And meeting his wife(?).*** I don't relish this. She said some seriously shitty things to me after I said that I wanted to meet her later--after I'd figured out how to deal with my father. But now. Well, now I think my father expects that if I'm meeting him, I'm meeting her. And if he's traveling all the way to Chicago (cause I'm probably not heading to central Iowa till the holidays--Sorry Mom****), he's probably bringing her with him. And it's a little weird to say, hey, "you're seeing me solo, pal", and he's not gonna think about it unless I say it. (Or, alternatively, he's not gonna want to think about it unless I make him.)
And there's part of me that thinks it's better just to meet her. So, there's that. It'll get figured out.
*Note. I hate watching people read what I write. I avoid it whenever possible, because I am not good at watching someone do something as passive as read what I put time and effort into putting together. I know no one's reading the things I write and cheering to themselves or crapping their pants in ecstasy, but I'm shallow, and I like to think that maybe they are. Especially when I'm writing about age discrimination in housing complexes of greater than eight units in Lake County, IL. Seriously, that's a poop-worthy topic.
**Note. And truthfully this was the best thing that could've happened to me. I met some great people and made good friends there. This saved me, not only from the hell of regular high school (sorry Lincoln, but...you know...it wasn't a great match you and I), but it also challenged me and gave me the confidence to try new things.
***Note. They're not married. But, they're everything but married. If that makes sense. Either way, I don't know how to refer to her...well, I have some names I've bandied about, but none of them are acceptable for the internet. (Yeah, they're that unsavory.) So, we'll just stick with calling her the wife(?).
****Note. Oof. I haven't even mentioned to my mother that I'm talking to him. She'll be a little weirded out by this. Blah.

Gumshoe #5

Unemployed, but writing.
We drove by the address Bruce had given us and I was more than a little surprised to find it was a mid-rise apartment building. For this city, though, it was probably as high as they go. Not a fancy building, a little rough around the edges, but not too far from the new coffee shops and the bohemian fair of downtown. I’m betting this place housed mostly kids fresh out of college or young professionals who called the area “edgy”, even though the biggest crime around here was from the residents of the new lofts not picking up after their dogs. To say it was a nice juxtaposition to the places this case had taken me thus far, though, would be an understatement. Of course, what to do with this wasn’t obvious. We couldn’t just run in and ask everyone in the building random questions about murders and Meatloaf. So, we’d probably have to get a list of tenants and run down their rap sheets.
I looked at the building and something crawled in the back of my head. This building looked familiar, but not quite. Maybe from a different angle.
“So, what’re we gonna do?” Chance broke what I suddenly realized was an awkward silence.
“That I haven’t figured out.”
When was the last time I was in this area?
“So,” I said before things got too quiet again, “you gonna spill about this case?”
“About this case?”
“Yup.”
“To you? A, ahem, person of interest?”
“I’m really a person of interest? C’mon?”
“Just yanking your chain. It’s turning out to be a little more fun than I thought it would be.”
“Hey, that’s great for you, really.” He smirked.
“So, what’d you find out about the apartment?”
“It was rented out to a man three months ago. Paid for six months in cash.”
“Cash, huh? The landlord give you any description?”
“Nothing great. Medium height, medium build. Was wearing a black hat and sun glasses and they only met the once. Could be our guy or, you know just about anybody.”
I looked in the mirror, saw the Cardinal hat sitting on my head, the prescirption glasses sitting on my nose and my somewhat more than medium build and said, “Well, just about.”
“Yeah. I was thinking it didn’t sound like you.”
“Edna still wants me followed, though?”
“Yeah. I think she figures that if she believes your story, then this is about you. And if she doesn’t it is you.”
“Yeah. It’s the right call. That woman hates my guts, but she’s always dead-on.”
“She is the best,” he said with a sigh. Not the loving kind, mind you. It was the kind of sigh that revealed a grudging respect. The kind that you give to someone who is the best at something and won’t let you forget it. It was the same kind of respect I’d given her back when I was still on the force.
“Hates you, huh?”
“No offense, but they should have someone a little lower on the totem watching you. Even if you did it. I should be doing real detective work instead of baby sitting some suspect who was smart enough to know he’d be followed.”
“Yup. Let me guess. You’ve been working with her for six months.”
“Just two.”
“Well, well. My friend, she adores you. I was still getting her coffee at 2 months and she hadn’t been in the department much longer than I had.”
“I find that less comforting than you probably intended.”
“I get that all the time.” An amicable pause hung in the air before I broke it. “So, you from around here?”
“Indianola,” he said quietly. “I’ve never even left the state.”
“Ah, you’re not missing much.” I said.
“So, what wasn’t in the file folders?” He said, his voice louder for some reason. “From the old case. What is it that’s really wrenching Edna?”
“Probably a lot of things.” I said, my mind drifting. “The first cases weren’t ours. They happened in Warren County, so we didn’t handle them. Didn’t know about them until after the next two. The first one we got was Mindy James. She was a high school sweetheart of mine, except we stayed together after high school and it quickly became less than sweet. She’d stabbed me once and I’d smacked her during a fight. They didn’t find out about that until after victim four, and I was quickly booted off the case. But not before I’d already looked over the crime scenes. Victims I hadn’t known or been in contact with, but I’d been acting weird. Everyone noticed. I’d done more to make myself a suspect, broken the evidence chain of custody, smacked around a witness who didn’t want to be witnesses, mouthed off to superiors, veered the investigation away from where it should be going.”
“How did the police not know about your history with her?” His voice was not that of the guy I’d been palling around with all day. This was definitely his cop voice, hard and full of danger.
“I pulled the report of the domestic disturbance. Hid it. I didn’t want anyone to find it. I wanted to be the guy who brought this case in. Didn’t help when Edna found it in my car.” I’m not sure why I’d decided to answer him so honestly, but the silence that settled in let me know I might’ve made a serious mistake. It’s one thing to tell someone you’re a fuck-up in general terms, but to give them the specifics (and I had been pretty specific now that I thought about it) is to give them every excuse to call you a scumbag. And when you tell a cop that you were a bad cop for a bad reason, they tend to not like that.
That’s when he got the call.
“Where’s here?” I heard him say. He paused. “I’m not far from there now.” He shut his phone and looked at me. “What’re the fucking odds?” He said it with the kind of incredulity that made me wonder if he was more than reconsidering his opinion of me.
There was a good chance that saying pretty much anything was going to make me sound guilty. I wasn’t sure what I was up against, and if I said the wrong thing it’d be bad. Or course if I said the right thing then maybe I had though ahead enough to have a something to say, or I was a good enough actor to sound stymied. Of course, I realized in the deafening awkwardness that settled over the car, saying nothing didn’t really proclaim me as innocent in all this.
“Guess where we found our next victim?” He studied me with the look of disgust. “Edna’s parked in the back of the building.” He was waiting for me to say something. “Something’s definitely wrong here.”
“It can’t be a mistake, Chance. But, I’d have to be a complete idiot to hand you an address that I knew a dead body to be at?”
“Guess you would.” He turned back toward the building, but he kept me in his peripheral. The quick transformation he’d made from buddy to cop was enough to tell me he’d been much more prepared and informed on my history than he let on.
I took a deep breath and let it out. It sucks when your biggest mistakes are brought back up for you to live again.
“Stay in the car.” He said as he got out of the car and headed to the crime scene. I knew what this meant. Translated from cop it meant, “We don’t have enough to arrest you, which would make us remind you of your rights (ahh Miranda), so we’re hoping you will not realize you have the right to leave. Then, we’re hoping your will incriminate yourself by saying something stupid. Then we’ll arrest you and let you know you have the right to be quiet and get a lawyer.”
I watched him walk up to the building and went over the choice in my head. First, I could run. I could get out of the car and run. Track down every lead I could and see if I could get whoever was killing these people and making me look like an asshole before the cops drug me in and gave me the grilling. It wouldn’t be illegal. It wouldn’t make me friends on the force, either. And when they did drag me in, they would make sure I knew I should’ve stayed when they were polite enough to command it.
The problem was, I didn’t have any leads really. I could maybe pull something off this place, but it would take me more time. Costly time.
Which brought me to my second choice. I could stay in the car and wait. I’m assuming I’ll get questioned and they may let me know what I’m looking at. If I’m really lucky maybe that person was alive and could identify someone else. Or at least not me. Or maybe the person could have become a body while I was with Chance, giving me at least a good alibi. Worst case scenario, I get thrown in jail. And after the last grilling I got, I’m not relishing the opportunity to climb back in the ring and get yelled at.
My quick rule of thumb, when confronted with two choices, neither of which I really like, is to take a third choice. I pulled out my cell phone.
"Ck, I've gotten into a bit of trouble. You wanna meet me at the police station on Locust?" I listened for a second. "Well, I'm not sure yet. But you'll definitely be on the news."