The Crossover (13 page)

My mother always told me never to use the word hate. But I hated Joanne. My anger triggered a conversation I had many years ago about coping with people that get under your skin.

“Clay, every time my boss gets on my nerves I go in the bathroom and I write his name on a few sheets of toilet paper.”

“Cynthia, how does that make you feel better?” I asked.

“Because, I drop the paper in the toilet and pee all over his name. When I flush the toilet I watch it swirl away with all my anger. It’s therapeutic, you should try it.”

“Cynthia, thanks for that visual but I think I’m good.”

If only it were that easy.

It had been a week since I hypnotized Ms. Deveraux and once again I had had no confirmation. This time confirmation would come from Monet but in a roundabout way.

“Clay, I went to the bank this morning and my account was short $300. Ms. Deveraux put a stop payment on the check.”

“Damn. I was so confident that she was done. We spent two hours in trance. I wonder what happened.”

“I guess she relapsed. She should’ve called before she cancelled the check. Maybe you should speak to her.”

“Just leave it baby. I gave it my best, that’s all I can do.”

“Clay, are you sitting down?” Monet said on
Skype.

“Uh, oh.”

“Ms. Devearux sent me a thank you letter for recommending you.”

“Wow, I guess she quit after all. So why did she cancel the check?”

“Clay, she canceled the check because she sent a much bigger one. I have it in my hand!” Monet said excitedly.

“That’s great. How much is it?”

“Clay, it’s for five grand. She said the next time you’re in town she wants to meet you.”

“What? Did you say five thousand dollars?”

I was ecstatic. Monet and I decided to use the money for a trip to England, a very nice trip with no expenses spared.

W
hile watching the BBC News with Missy on the sofa, I heard a knock at the door. I turned the volume down on the TV and answered the door. It was Carl standing in the pouring rain. He was drenched so I asked him to come inside.

He looked concerned.

“Carl, take a seat I was just watching the News. Can I offer you a cup of tea, a cigarette?” I asked sarcastically.

“Tea sounds just lovely, but I don’t smoke anymore. Cheers for that.”

As soon as Carl sat on the sofa Missy hightailed it upstairs. I brought two cups of tea for us.

“Clay, I might need your help on a very sensitive case,” Carl said as he sipped his tea.

“Does it have anything to do with
Operation Searchlight?”

Carl sat up straight and looked surprised.

“Then I needn’t tell you that this is strictly on a need-to-know basis. How many people at INTERPOL are read in on the case?”

“Not many, all the files are marked LIMDIS. So how’s the case progressing?”

“There’s been no movement on the case, but no recent activity either. Maybe he’s gone underground. We have seven families to answer to. What kind of bloke does that to a woman?”

“Seven? Are the deaths still confined to Central London?” I asked.

“So far. I think this lull in activity is the calm before the storm. He’ll strike again if we don’t catch him soon.”

“So how can I help?”

Carl put his cup down and paused.

“We might have a break in the case. We think he was interrupted by a jogger during the last attack. We found an eighteen-year-old girl unresponsive in her car near a vacant field. She nearly died. Toxicology results indicate she was drugged and raped like all the others.”

“Well, is she talking?”

“That’s just it. The drug is an amnesiac and she doesn’t remember shit. She’s a right mess emotionally. We need her to remember. Can you help?”

I salivated at the opportunity.

“I’ve been successful in retrieving events during an alcohol induced blackout. I’d love to give it a shot. I’ll need to do some research on the effects of the drug.”

“We have one hurdle to clear before I can go any further.”

“What’s that?”

“Her dad is dead set against it. He doesn’t want anyone near her that could possibly upset her. Her name is Anna.”

Carl and I talked for about thirty minutes more. I had to restrain myself because this was my dream case and I didn’t want to appear too eager. The session had to be cleared at the highest levels as this was a break in protocol. I wasn’t going to get paid and I would have to sign a letter of nondisclosure. I would have to agree to conduct the session with complete anonymity, but this wasn’t about the money or recognition. If my session somehow resulted in an arrest it would be enough to know I had a small part in putting a killer away.

All week long Monet kept telling me she had a surprise. Today was the day and I wondered what she had up her sleeve. I couldn’t wait to call her.

“Okay, what’s this surprise you’ve been telling me about all week?”

“Clay, what are you doing next Thursday?”

“Uhmm, why does next Thursday ring a bell?”

“I’m coming to see you next Thursday. I just found out Michelle is staying with her dad next week during spring break. Isn’t that great news?”

Before I got too excited I opened my monthly planner. I had to cancel.

“Monet, as much as I love you, I have to say no to that week.”

There was a silence on the other end. I didn’t mean to upset Monet but I know I did.

“Excuse me, I don’t know who you are but can you please put Clay on the phone.”

“Sweetheart, I’m just looking at my planner and I have a colonoscopy next Friday. I will be doing my prep the day before.”

“So what? I’ll be right by your side.”

“Oh, hell no. Sorry, but this conversation has just exceeded its shelf life.”

Monet lightened up when she realized it was over a medical issue.

“I will need some serious me time during the prep. In fact, I’m checking into a hotel Thursday night for my prep. My bowling partner Chris just had his colonoscopy two weeks ago. He said it was like someone put a supercharged engine in his ass and hit the nitrous switch.”

“Honey, it can’t be all that bad. People do it all the time.”

I had more to add.

“Monet, Chris checked into the
Premier Inn
to do his prep and the bill came to over three hundred US dollars.”

“For one night? Must have been a 5-Star hotel,” Monet added.

“It was only a 3-Star,” I replied.

“Why so expensive?”

“It wasn’t the daily rate it was the extras that jacked up the bill.”

“Extras, like what?” Monet asked.

“They charged him for a complete new set of bedding and carpet cleaning.”

“Gross. Honey, how about in a couple of weeks then, would that be all right?”

I
was having so much fun watching my cat react to cat videos on
YouTube
I could hardly hear the knocking on my front door. I opened the door and observed two strange white men in their late forties whispering to each other. One was bald and the other was obese.

“Excuse me. Can I help you?” I asked.

“We are looking for Mr. Clay Thompson. It’s urgent.”

At first I thought they were salesmen but I quickly dismissed that notion because of their stern looks. I closed the door behind me and engaged them outside.

“I’m Clay Thompson. What’s this about?”

Both men identified themselves. They were plain clothes detectives and wanted me to accompany them to the precinct. They declined to discuss any details and I soon found myself in the back of an unmarked black BMW with tinted windows.

I did a conscience check and I couldn’t figure what I had done wrong to warrant a visit from VICE. It was a short ride and I followed the men to an interrogation room with a one-way mirror. I was instructed to sit at the table.

A light clicked on inside my head and gave me a sigh of relief. I relaxed back in my chair. This could only mean one thing.

I was left alone for one hour and I was losing patience by the time the two men returned. They sat across from me and placed a notepad on the table. The bald guy gave a signal to someone on the other side of the one-way mirror.

“Do you know why you are here Mr. Thompson?”

“Yes, it’s because of the recent murders in Central London. I just want to say, you have the right guy. I’ve been doing this for about 20 years now.”

Both men looked at the one-way mirror with puzzled looks on their faces.

“Twenty years?” the fat detective asked.

“It’s all about gaining their trust. As soon as they close their eyes, that’s confirmation they’re gone. I’ve refined my technique over the years and now they go pretty quick without resisting.”

The fat guy had to keep baldy from attacking me. I stood and backed up confused as hell.

“You sick son of a bitch!”

A big burly police officer immediately entered the room and placed himself between me and the two detectives. All three left after a brief scuffle.

I found myself pacing the interrogation room looking at my watch. It was ten o’clock and I had to work in the moring. I had no signal reception either. I felt imprisoned.

An hour later, a well-dressed, slender man in his thirites entered the room. He was smooth and it put me at ease. His name was Andy. Andy had a slimline laptop in a briefcase. He removed it and placed it on the table. He powered it up and turned it facing me.

“Mr. Thompson, do you recognize what’s on the screen?”

“Yes, that’s my desktop on my PC at home. Those are my files. Why are you showing me my desktop?”

He continued.

“And is this your browsing history?”

“Yes it is.”

The next sequence of events disturbed me.

I was on camera browsing the internet being secretly recorded. Somehow they were able to activate my webcam and shadow my online activity. I felt violated and it made me angry.