There Were Four

The office felt different. There were still the old, dusty, metal file cabinets and the half-empty water cooler and the rusting air vents with the loud, clanging air conditioner. But everything came off in a brighter hue. Detective Jameson straightened his tie. It was new, if anyone cared to ask, though they wouldn’t. Ties weren’t important, but Jameson knew it was the small details that made him look the part.

He couldn’t help but smile. A young girl was dead. Nothing to smile about on the whole, but still, it being his first case as a bonafide detective and all. He’d been gunning for detective for fifteen years. His partner would grumble, certainly, about the questioning. Jameson hadn’t questioned anyone yet, but he knew how to do it. He’d watched detectives question hundreds of times.

Pressing the button on the elevators, Jameson flipped open his notepad. He had it all worked out. He had his questions and little subscripts reminding him how to sit in the chair. That was important. Not many people talked about it, but how you positioned yourself in the chair could determine everything. It was about trust. The witness (he grinned, drinking black coffee that he hated out of a cheap paper cup because detectives didn’t have time for things like mugs) was only sixteen. He’d want to know that the man questioning him was chill, cool, vibe, if you will. Witnessing someone die was traumatizing to a young man and he’d need someone he trusted to help him remember every tiny detail.

Stepping out onto the third floor, Jameson dropped his empty coffee cup into a trashcan nearby and brazenly walked into a break room where his partner already sat, flipping through files. Butterflies erupted in Jameson’s chest. He was near to giggling now. He’d been in these rooms before, but only as a cop and only when invited by detectives. Now, however, he was really part of the team - actually ready to close a case. He’d call the beat cops for inquiries later he supposed. He’d be the one to get to do that, probably. His partner would make him do all the brunt work since he was new and all.

Jameson nodded casually to his partner, who didn’t even flinch at his entrance. Walking to the kitchenette, Jameson poured another cup of coffee he really didn’t want in the least. He placed his little notebook on the round table and sat in the foldable, metal chair beside his partner.

Detective Sato was probably in his sixties, though Jameson never asked. He had a coarse, black mustache and tight, curly, gray hair. He chewed on pens often. That’s something Jameson noticed right away. There were half-chewed pens scattered all about his desk the first day they’d met. Jameson wrote it down in his notebook. Never borrow a pen from Sato.

“You ready for this?” Detective Sato suddenly asked, still never looking up from the files before him.

“I think so,” Jameson responded, trying to not sound too ecstatic. But he was more than ready. He’d been up, studying the case all night. He hardly slept at all, a feat he was beyond proud of. Detectives were always talking about how a case kept them up all night. Jameson had tried to stay up all night, but he accidentally slept three hours on the couch this morning.

“Miss Stacy Walker died - drowned in a lake up in the mountains. She fell through, the ice trapped her and she couldn’t get out. Witness saw her when he was driving up to a cabin where he was meeting his parents for the holidays. He took a hatchet—” Sato grunted, adjusting his legs beneath the table.

“And got her out but she was already dead when the police arrived. No car or vehicle has been found.”

Sato finally glanced up at Jameson from above his glasses. The end of his blue, ballpoint pen slowly made its way between his teeth.

Jameson knew Sato was annoyed; he could feel it coming off of him like heat waves. Despite that, Jameson couldn’t help himself. “Do you suspect foul play?” Jameson trembled under the hard gaze of his seasoned partner. “Not that I’m going into this assuming anything.”

“You can’t help it,” Sato said.

“I’m sorry?”

“You’ll always go into a case assuming something. That’s fine, just remember to let yourself see how you're wrong. Look at the facts and build the puzzle off those, not your opinions.”

“You’re right!” Jameson excitedly scribbled the advice in his notebook.

Sato stood up with a loud grumble. He adjusted his pants and stretched his arms over his head. “Okay, this should really be an open and shut case. The witness and the victim don’t have any connection. The boy’s alibi is verified. He’s just a kid. If the car turns up, we can go from there, but, as far as I’m concerned, we question the kid and set it to rest.”

“B-but the coroner. They said they found deep gashes on her shoulders. Somebody—”

“The boy accidentally hit her with the hatchet trying to get her out. It’s all in the police report, Rookie.”

Jameson stood up. “The car though. It doesn’t make sense. What was she doing out there? Her friends say they’d been to dinner and she was on her phone all night then she left to go to bed early. Not like her at all.”

Sato grumbled and glared at Jameson. “Her phone records were checked. Nothing.”

“Information is missing though.”

“Look, I know how you feel, and you’re right. You can’t just go around filling the blank spaces with your own guesses. Something will come up. It always does. Big part of the job is waiting. Can you do that?”

“Y-yes, Sir.”

“Good. C’mon. I’m sending you in, Rookie. I’ll be behind the mirror.”

Jameson’s heart renewed its favor. “Yes, Sir!” He grinned.

They walked down a small, gray carpeted hall. As Jameson took in the deep-seated dust having settled there decades ago, he felt his spirits lifting with each step. He gripped his notebook tightly. Surely the witness would have something that would spark a search or an idea and they’d unravel the biggest case of the year. Or, at least, answers for the victim’s family. Jameson found himself nodding solemnly as if he were already on one of the documentaries that would pick the story up one day.

Sato stopped, opening a small door and walking through. “Everything’s recording,” he said. “Just ask the textbook questions.” He eyed the notebook pressed into both of Jameson’s eager hands.

Jameson nodded, glancing into the dark room. The only light came from the interrogation room where a thin teen sat cross-legged in a metal chair.

He had on a long, oversized t-shirt with a loose neckline that hung off of him on one shoulder, under which he had on a matching black tanktop with thick straps. His nails were painted black, except for both of his pointer nails that were red.

Jameson jotted down, unconventional clothing. Rebellious.

The boy shifted in his seat, letting one leg hang down, swinging it back and forth casually. He had on green cargo pants that cinched at the ankles and black skater shoes.

He hardly looked athletic with how thin he was. Jameson noted, poser?

“Get going, Rookie. I want to be home for dinner.” Detective Sato closed the door in Jameson’s face.

Walking around the corner, Jameson nodded to the cop standing outside of the door. He took a deep breath then entered the room with a long frown on his lips. “Nicholas Taylor?”

“Yes.” Nicholas hardly turned to even greet Jameson.

The boy had to be nervous, being called back for further questioning and all. Jameson took a seat on the metal chair opposite Nicholas. “I’m sorry we had to call you back. Always trying to be thorough.”

The boy merely smiled, keeping strong eye contact.

Feeling his nerves start to tremble unexpectedly, Jameson cleared his throat. “These things take a while you know,” he said with an unexpected nervous chuckle.

“What things?” the boy asked, still swinging his leg slowly about as if he were sitting at home, relaxing on his couch and not sitting opposite a detective in a cold, featureless room.

Jameson remained silent, looking at the boy for a moment. “Dead girls in frozen lakes get us all worked up around here.” He chuckled again, faltering under the boy's curious smile.

“Does death frighten you?” Nicholas asked.

Jameson leaned in, holding tightly to his pen. He shuffled his legs uncomfortably. “Well, I suppose it does. Doesn’t it frighten you?”

The boy sat back in his chair as if contemplating. “I never think it does until I’m right up next to it, ya know?”

Jameson stopped, feeling his head cock curiously to the side without his control. “How often have you been close to death?”

The boy met Jameson’s gaze. “Here and there.”

Silence fell again. Jameson felt an urge to look over at the window, hoping Sato might come in and rescue him.

The boy watched comfortably from his seat.

Clearing his throat, Jameson decided to get back on track. “So, after you broke through the ice, was Miss Walker conscious at that point?”

Knitting his brow, the boy said, “It’s hard to say. Her face was distorted through the ice.”

“Did you notice her moving her arms at all or struggling in any way?”

“There were four.”

Jameson again paused. “I’m sorry?”

“Four different areas where I hit the ice. She was struggling under three of them.”

Biting his lip, Jameson pulled the file toward him, flipping through papers. He could sense Nicholas stretching his neck, watching him as he read.

“See it there?”

“Four large holes.” Jameson looked up. “You say you made all of them?”

“Yes.”

“Trying to save her?”

“I really wanted to get to her. The ice was so thick, ya know?”

The pen in Jameson’s hand tapped rapidly as he stared at this boy. “Nicholas. Why were you out at that lake?”

“It’s where she was.”

“You saw her fall in?”

“I stopped and I grabbed my hatchet. My parents have a cabin up there. I keep things like hatchets with me. You need that sort of thing in the mountains.”

“D-do you know why she was there?”

Nicholas frowned in contemplation. “I only saw her drop.” He shrugged.

Jameson was quiet for a long time.

“Is that all you need from me? I can go, right?” The boy started to stand.

The chair beneath Jameson scraped as he stood quickly. “No!” He found himself with his hand thrown out.

Nicholas sat back. “I can’t go?”

Jameson lowered his hand, fiddling his fingers on the top of the table. “No, I mean. I have a few more questions. If you have time.”

“What can I help you with?”

Jameson pulled his chair forward, sitting back down and reviewing his notes. “The timeline here. At 7:07 you arrived at the lake, on your way to the cabin where your parents were waiting for you. You saw Miss Walker on the ice. She seemed distressed and fell in. You took your hatchet from the back of your car. You ran to the lake, skid across, opened one hole, but she had moved, you opened another, she moved again, then a third and finally, the fourth. You accidentally grazed her shoulder—”

“More than once,” Nicholas added.

Jameson eyed him, feeling the pumping of his blood pound in his ears. “She was bleeding. You pulled her out. She wasn’t breathing. You called 911.”

Nicholas nodded silently, keeping eye contact and smiling.

“It almost seems as if you were… Nicholas, can I ask you to wait here? I’ll be right back.”

The boy merely smiled again.

Jameson stood, moving for the door as his heart hammered.

“Oh, detective,” Nicholas said.

Jameson turned, facing the back of the boy’s head.

“You never asked me why I didn’t have a coat with me.”

Jameson only waited.

“It wasn’t because I was rushing to save her. I didn’t have one on me at all, you see.”

“You had a hatchet but no coat?”

Nicholas laughed. “Isn’t that funny? I was rushing too, I suppose.”

Jameson closed the door, crossing back to the table. He stood above Nicholas. “Did you or did you not know Miss Walker before that night?”

Nicholas looked up. “I didn’t. I only saw an opportunity and I took it.” He tilted his head. “I only hope somebody else would do the same.”

Swallowing hard, Jameson exited the room without another word. Sprinting around the corner, he threw himself into the observation room. “Did you get all that?” Jameson asked Sato.

Sato slowly wiped his glasses with the end of his shirt. “Yeah I got it.”

“Well?”

“Well, what?”

Jameson brushed his hands through his hair in exasperation. “He killed her. O-or he was trying to kill her. I mean he chased her out there or was trying to cut her up with the hatchet. Something. She was running from him! Beneath the water! She was swimming away from him.”

Sato sighed. He leaned into the mic. “Mr. Taylor, you are free to go.”

Through the window Jameson watched as a cop opened the door and Nicholas walked out.

“Sato!”

“Jameson. What did I tell you about assumptions? You’re seeing what you want to see. Watch the tapes, Rookie. He didn’t say anything.”