Untold Damage (21 page)

Thirty-Six

Mallen pulled out his
phone as he left the Russ house. Called Oberon.

“Inspector Kane,” came the usual answer.

“It's me. Mallen. I might be onto something.”

A pause. “Regarding my open murders?”

“I think so, yeah. Can we meet?”

Another pause. “Where and when?”

There was a place on Clement Street he remembered. The Bitter End. Served food. Not seedy. Was out of the way­—well, far away from the Loin anyhow. He gave the name to Oberon. “I'll be there within the hour,” Oberon replied, then hung up.

It wasn't a long walk, so he just took off east on Clement. Would help to kill the time, and he just needed the air and freedom.

He got to the Bitter End just at the beginning of happy hour. Ordered a scotch and sat at the bar to wait. He didn't wait long. Oberon made good time, given it was the city.

The cop strolled over to him. Slid onto the vacant stool. Ordered a drink from the bartender, then turned to Mallen.

“So? What's going on?”

Mallen took a sip of his drink. “Like I said, it's about those murders you're working on, the guys that knew Eric in jail. There
is
a connection.”

“What is it?” Oberon said, trying to keep the excitement out of his voice—it didn't work.

“First you tell me about that last murder you caught. You said it might have something to do with the other ones.”

“Well,” Oberon began, “there's one Bobby Jenks. He's now a self-help guru, using his time in prison as his pitch. He seems like he really believes it. No,” he considered, “He
does
believe it. Like I told you, his girlfriend was killed in an attack that was meant for him.”

“And he knew Eric, Scarsdale, and Kaslowski?”

A nod as the bartender came over and deposited Oberon's drink. The cop took a long swig. “So? What's this connection you've found, Mark?”

He told Oberon about what Julian had told him. Told him everything he knew about Eric's time inside. “I know you don't want me involved,” Mallen said, finishing up, “but I gotta talk to this Bobby Jenks guy.”

“His girlfriend was killed very recently, Mark. Be aware of that.”

“I will be, trust me. But he was inside at the same time and place that Eric and the murder victims were. Come on. If you had those facts, you'd be dying for an interview, yeah? He's got to be the key!”

Oberon smiled. Said, “I don't like his story about the intruder. No, I do not. It stinks. He's branding himself into some self-help god, and he's really into it like I said, but … I don't know. I'm not saying for sure he's involved in it somehow, but—you know the feeling.”

He nodded. “Startin' to, again. You know, I'm starting to believe that Eric had my address because he was coming to try and save me.”

“Save you?”

“Sure. He'd done the junkie thing, and then prison. I think he was going to do exactly what Jenks says
he's
doing. I think Eric had my address in his pocket because he was going to come and try to get me off the needle. Get me back to life. I think those vials on him were planted.”

“Yes, I can see that.” Oberon thought about that a moment. “Strange that, even by dying, he did do that, Mark.”

“Beyond strange, I'm thinkin'
.
” He smiled. Finished his drink. “Well, best not let the guy down then, right?”

Oberon nodded his agreement. As both men slid off their stools and made for the door, the cop told him, “Let me know what you think of Jenks. I want to know what your read is of the man.”

“You got it.”

“And Mark?”

“Yeah?”

A smile from Oberon as he held the door open for him. “Try not to drag my name into it, okay?”

Thirty-Seven

Mallen didn't move until
Oberon's car was out of sight. Then he walked the half block to the nice, two-story row job. Yeah, money had lived here, he thought as he hit the buzzer and waited.

“Hello?” said a man's voice, tired and solemn.

“Robert Jenks?”

“Yeah. Who is this?”

“My name is Mark Mallen. I'm a friend of Eric Russ's.”

There was a pause. He wondered if the guy'd hung up. “I really can't talk. My girlfriend was recently … recently killed.”

“Oh,” he said, “I'm … I'm very sorry to hear that. I hate to press, but Eric was killed, too. Less than two weeks ago. I'm just trying to make sense of it all.”

“I really don't think I can see anyone right now.”

He couldn't just fold and step away, not with so many chips on the table. “I understand that,” he said, “but, it's just that … well, it's also about Eric's time in jail. About what happened to him in there.”

Another pause. “Okay, if it's short,” Jenks said, and the lobby buzzer sounded.

Jenks was waiting for him at the door to his flat. The man definitely had the air of someone who'd been in and out of incarceration a few times. It's a look in the eyes, a way of standing. Like a soldier that's seen a lot of war. Mallen extended his right hand and Jenks shook it, wincing a little. He looked down to see that Jenks's knuckles were raw. “Must've been some fight,” Mallen said with a smile.

“No fight. Therapy. Sometimes when I work out at the gym I beat on the heavy bag, without gloves.”

“Ouch.”

“I feel it builds character. Come in,” he said as he stepped aside and let Mallen pass. The first thing he noticed was the dining room turned into an office, complete with white board. The room was in disarray but showed signs of being put back in order. The living room, however, was still an untouched disaster.

“You some sort of life coach?” he asked as he read some of the slogans scrawled on the large board. Just like Oberon had told him. All the slogans were very motivational in tone, all very “You TOO can do it!” in nature. There was a steaming cup of coffee on the table, next to a stack of papers that looked recently worked on. “Nothing like work to keep us afloat during tragedy, yeah?”

Jenks went and picked up the cup. Took a sip. “How did you know Eric?”

“We went through the academy together. Were rookies together. He stayed in a squad car, I went undercover.”

Jenks sipped at his coffee again. Sat down at the table. Looked Mallen up and down. “Still working undercover?”

“No,” he replied with a slight laugh. “I left the force a bit over four years ago now.”

“Why'd you leave? The pressure?”

“Let's just say I lost my way.”

Jenks nodded, like he understood exactly how Mallen had lost his way, and could relate. Looked down at the work in front of him. “Forgive me, I don't mean to be rude, but what is it exactly you want to know? I'm dealing with a lot here.”

“You seem to have a career here talking about dealing with a lot,” he replied. “Seems like worthwhile work.”

“If I can stop one kid from going to jail,” Jenks said as he gazed down into his cup, “or help one guy turn his life around, then my time inside wasn't wasted. So? About Eric?”

Mallen sat down in a spare chair at the table. “I found out that Eric had been repeatedly raped while he was there.”

Jenks shook his head sadly. “I hated that part of it. I saw that happen to some guys. More than once.”

“You know Julian Wood?” he asked suddenly.

Jenks blinked. Shook his head. “Don't remember the name,” he said flatly.

“An Anthony Scarsdale? Leon Dockery? Carl Kaslowski?”

“Why? What do those guys have to do with Eric?”

“I'm not sure, but they're all dead.”

“And what the hell is that to you? Sorry for being so blunt, but you're not a cop. Not anyone who has any … authority. What's it to you?”

“No,” Mallen replied, “I'm a nobody. Just an ex-junkie cop with a dead friend, who was probably trying to do some good in
his
life. I just wanted answers, is all. Thought you might have some.”

Jenks shrugged. “Sorry, I really didn't know them that well. Not really at all. Now, if you'll excuse me?”

It was the way he'd said it. If the man had acknowledged even the thinnest of acquaintances, it might've gone totally different. Folsom was big, but it wasn't China. “Really? Not really at all?”

Jenks looked at him coldly. “Like I said: no. You better go now, Mr. Mallen. If you have a problem, you should go to the police. I have lots of work to do settling my girlfriend's affairs, so if you don't mind?”

Mallen nodded as he got up. “Sorry to bother you. Best of luck with your new career,” he said as he made his way to the door.

Mallen exited Jenks's building and stood there for a moment, not sure what was next. He thought he felt someone watching him and glanced back quickly at the building. There might have been the flicking of a curtain on Jenks's floor, from a window that would've been their living room window. Maybe not. He took off down the street, hands deep in pockets against the cold, late afternoon air.

Jenks.

Oberon had been right. There was something wrong there. The image of Jenks's knuckles kept appearing in his mind. Whatever he'd hit, he'd hit it a lot. Wouldn't it be crazy if …

The pieces suddenly started to arrange themselves in a brand-new way. In the only way that made any sense. He needed to verify it, and like right away. It would be crazy. A disaster. The world exploding. Decided it was a good time to take up jogging again, and took off at the fastest trot he could manage, given his present out-of-shape state.

He got to the Russ house completely out of breath and hot. Wiped at his forehead as he rang the bell. Phoebe came to the door, dressed in jeans and a baggy sweater. Looked wan and tired.

“Good to see you up and about,” he said as she let him in. Gave her a hug.

“Well, life needs living, as they say.”

He cursed himself then, coming over without checking first. He'd been expecting Jenna. “You send Jenna home?”

Phoebe nodded in response. “She was exhausted. I felt she needed to be home. She's dealing with a lot, too. I told her to spend at least a full day before coming back. She argued with me a little about it, but in the end, went back to her place. It's for the best.”

He looked down the hall toward the den. Said, “Hal in?”

“He's resting upstairs. Come on in, I was just about to have a drink.”

“I was wondering,” he said, working on the fly, “if I can borrow Hal's car?” Off her look, he added quickly, “Only for a day, or so. Look, I know it's a crazy request, but …”—he glanced at the ground, embarrassed—“I don't know anyone else
with
a car.”

“His car?” she replied, surprised. Uneasy. “You can't. It's not running. He's been using mine.”

“Oh. His isn't running? Nothing major, I hope.”

Got a shrug in return. “I don't think so, but I'm not sure. He didn't say. Why?”

“Oh, no reason. Look, I'll just go rent one. I'll come by tomorrow, see how you both are doing.” Before she could say another word, he was out the door and down the stairs. Stood near the garage. Checked to make sure Phoebe wasn't at the window, maybe watching him go off down the street in what would've been a weird sort of d
é
j
à
vu.

He didn't want to do this, but he had to know …

Went and broke in through the side door leading to the garage. Got it open quietly, just like if he'd been doing a B&E while looking for things to pawn. Eric had used to break into the garage too, back when he was just a kid. He said he did it for the kicks, picking the lock with handmade tools. The goal had always been the same: Hal's collection of old
Playboy
magazines
. Eric had told Mallen that once, one time when they'd been drunk out at the windmill. How he used to break in and paw over the
Playboy
collection Hal had stuffed away in boxes, way up high where he thought they'd be safe …

Mallen flipped on the overhead. The bare bulb streamed on. Hal's car was under a heavy, dark green tarp. Phoebe's was parked behind it, right at the garage door. A knot tightened in his stomach.

Went to Hal's car. Grabbed up a couple handfuls of the tarp. Yanked it off and to the ground. Underneath was Hal's dark sedan.

The silence seemed endless as he stood there, staring at the nice, neat bullet hole in the rear window. Right where he'd shot it the night Dockery had been killed. Tried the driver's side door. It opened. He leaned in. Followed the bullet path and found the slug still lodged in the dash. Another inch or so higher, and it probably would've gone through the front windshield. Dug the slug out with a screwdriver he found on the nearby tool bench. Clicked the light off. Quietly closed the door behind him as he left.

He went back up the stair to the front door. Knocked again. This time Hal answered. He turned away, going back down to the den. Mallen followed, shutting the door behind him. Phoebe was nowhere to be seen. That made him wonder how much she actually knew. It was all becoming much more difficult, and quickly.

Hal clicked on the desk lamp as Mallen entered. It cast a yellow, brownish light on the floor. Kept Hal's face in shadow as he fixed a drink, then went and sat in his chair. “Car needs a good wash and wax, doesn't it?”

“Yeah,” he answered. Hal then brought the gun up from his lap. Then, after another moment that felt like a year, Hal only smiled as he put the gun on the side table. Like the whole thing was a bad joke that had to be humored. “Drink?”

“Sure. Thanks,” he replied. Went over to the bar, poured some scotch into a glass. Held it up in toast. “Here's to absent friends and loved ones,” he said, then downed half of it. Burned, but in a good way.

“That's a good thing to drink to,” Hal replied.

“You wanted to avenge Eric, right?”

A nod. “Those animals ruined my son. He was going okay, making it by. But he was never the same after what happened. Never. They ruined him.”

“Those animals? You know, one of them had turned
his
life around. Just like Eric had.”

“No!” Hal roared. “No, not like my boy! Don't you fucking try to say it's the same because you know it's not. That guy? The one with the kid? He held my son down, crushing his face into the concrete floor of Eric's cell. Beat my boy like a fucking dog. Fuck him and his turned-around life.”

Hal got up then, stalked around the room. Charged up, drinking as he went. “The other ones were just as bad. They all took their turns with him. Dockery was the only one who didn't beat him, but that was the only difference between the four of them.”

And that was the piece he'd thought would be there. “Ah,” he said. “Jenks.”

Hal wiped at his eyes. Went back and sat in his chair. Buried his face in his hands for a moment. Finally looked up at him. “Phoebe found out. Saw the car. We need to protect her, Mallen. We
have
to. She doesn't see it the way I see it. ”

“The way you see it? And how
do
you see it?”

“Revenge. Pure and simple. Putting down animals. Like you would any sick dog. Jenks is the last one.”

“What happened with him?”

“I went after him, but he tricked me. I was tailing him, but he must've realized it. One second he's there, then he's not, then he's right behind me. Beat the living crap outta me. I know he woulda killed me but too many people saw him. And you know what he told me, as he was beating the crap outta me?”

“What?”

“That he'd worked too fucking hard to have some old bastard tear it all down again. His fucking
reputation
was what he was concerned about.” Hal shook his head sadly. “I think it was that bastard who killed my boy.”

Mallen thought back to what Jenna had told him, what seemed ages ago. About how Eric had come back one day from the store, a changed man. “He ran into Jenks?”

Hal nodded. “Yeah. The fucker even had the balls to talk to him. Put his arm around my son's shoulder, saying how he'd give him a job if he'd keep his mouth closed. How this one time, he wanted my son to keep his mouth
closed.
Who would buy that self-help, life-turn-around bullshit if it came from a rapist? Threatened Eric that if he said anything, he'd shut him up good. Shove his cock down his throat. Just like ‘the old days.' Rip him apart from the inside out. Jenks told my boy that if he told anyone about what had happened in jail, he'd make sure Eric's life was one long nightmare.”

“Eric told you this?”

A nod.

It still didn't explain Jenks's girlfriend. Had she found out? It might be possible. But who the hell would kill their girlfriend to keep such a secret? The answer that came back was actually very dark: a lot of guys. “How much of it does Phoebe know?” he asked softly.

Hal wiped tears from his eyes. “Too much.”

Mallen sat there, looking down at his drink. Took a long swallow, feeling Hal's gaze on him. Watching him, waiting to see what he'd do.

“Well, what now?” Hal finally said as he suddenly heaved himself out of his chair and went to fix another drink. The man had to work hard to keep his hands from shaking.