Of Actions and Consequences

“What the hell?”I hear my coworker, Jimmy, whisper over my shoulder. “I thought we were supposed to be at the courthouse; isn’t that where the murder took place?”

I say nothing for now. Our car arrives outside of the public library. The engine turns off, and a sharp January wind makes my eyes water. I pull my scarf tighter around my nose. I like winter, but even I have my limits. But winter is murder season. People falling left and right. Poison here, a gunshot there. This is the fifth case within a month; all bodies left with a mark from the same killer, or organization. I was sent with my colleague to investigate the patterns and get this ordeal over with. I could’ve had this case solved weeks ago, but they wanted to let James try his first solo job. I’ve not been idle, but I did begin to miss the thrill of a chase like this. I’ve only been on the case for three days now. I have my suspicions, but I need to be sure. So, we’re at the library. I wish James wouldn’t keep breathing down my neck, telling me what we should or should not be doing. I’m the investigator. The one who does all the work. This new guy’s been here for less than a year and he’s already shooting to overtake me, despite-

“Hello? Anyone home?” He jabs once more. I sigh.

“I need to do some research,” I say, ascending a marble staircase. I see cracks beginning to form from the cold. What an interesting choice to use marble outside in such a place. Looks nice, though.

“Research? On what? Your dissertation was months ago, and I thought all we needed was at the actual crime scene.”

I wish he'd be quiet. Please, God, give me some space.

“I’m looking for some old records to check the likelihood of my current suspect,” I finally give in.

“Who’s your suspect? Because if you ask me, I think Julia’s been really suspicious and distant ever since the murders began compounding-”

“Hush, please.” I quickly migrate to the historical newspapers, and answer while I’m sifting through the dates, “Julia was very close with two of the victims, so it’s a natural response to appear aloof. She’s worried that she’ll be next if we don’t figure this out.”

“If aloofness is suspicious, I just might have to question you, haha!” Another jab. It wasn’t even funny this time. Did he even hear what I just said?

I pick up a stack of newspapers and public documents, and land them on an empty table; James following behind. An ominous shadow. Why couldn’t I just do this alone.

“Hey, those are the newspapers published by my old journal!” James cried out, “I haven’t seen one of these since I moved into investigating.”

“Do you miss it? Writing for them?” I ask, musing him, seeing as he won’t be quiet anyway.

“Oh, sure. But I’m very happy where I am now, though I may go back if I can’t get my mind around this detective stuff.” He laughed. I forced a smile, now pouring over the headlines, from December 7th, 17th, 26th, 31st…

Interesting.

“But you know I’m still in touch with those guys. I just couldn’t let such good friends go. We get drinks every Saturday, you know.” He droned on.

“Isn’t it odd that this journal is the only one publishing anything on the murders?” I ask, without being too obvious.

“Well, I wouldn’t say it’s odd. I mean, with popular stories, one journal is likely to want it all to themselves for more publicity. I bet they bought it out with a contract from the interviewed individuals.” James answered confidently. I thought for a moment.

“I suppose so…” I find a line connecting all the recent murders with a pattern by number. Clever journalist, but it’s obvious to anyone with a brain. I wonder what Jame’s got going on up in that skull of his to miss such simple details.

I try again, “when you guys were out drinking last Saturday, did they mention any-”

“Oh, I know where this is going. But I’m telling you, I don’t know anything you don’t. They drop things here and there, but it’s nothing to make a case out of. They seem to think there’s a pattern to the distance between murders, but these killers never have rhyme or reason. The second you think it’s one way, it shifts to another.”

“So you did go out with your friends last Saturday?” I look into his eyes now, studying their character. “I thought you had to stay in because you weren’t feeling well? Isn’t that also why you were out of the office on Friday?”

“Well, yes, I can see the confusion there. I really was sick on Friday. I have a record of my doctor's visit if it’s that serious. But my fever broke Friday night, and I always feel better if I can get out of the house after being sick, so I joined the guys after all.”

A sound recovery, I suppose.

Switching over to the public documents, James brings over two chairs. We sit, and, browsing, I am unable to find what I’m looking for. But, I have enough, paired with what I’ve gained throughout the day of interviews yesterday. Those I did without my shadow. No wonder it was such a good day.

I stand up, and we soundlessly return the chairs, and documents. Once back in the car, James ventures to speak again, “Did you find what you were looking for?”

“Some, but not all. But I’m nearing the heart of it now,” I begin, still studying those confident eyes, “I’m going back to the office for a bit. Do you wanna come, or have you had enough for today?” It was late. 8pm late. I had no doubt of what he’d want to-

“No, I’ll stay, I think.” This shocked me, “I wanna see it all unfold, though I wish you’d let me in on all your suspicions. I feel like you're even more reserved than usual today.”

Just my luck.

“Fair enough,” I force out, “but I’ll likely be working until long after the office closes.”

“That’s fine by me. I’ve got nothing to rush home for.”

I massage my temples as we make a very slow departure through the snowy night. I spin the evidence in my head as I look out into the navy city. Snowflakes swirl as my mind races. How can I do this? It has to be him. Such a historically bold and not-dull-minded man dragging his feet, throwing the blame on any passer-by? His connection with the newspaper publishing the cases? His absence the day before the most recent murder? But if all that is true, and if the number pattern is right, then…

The car arrives outside the law firm. I brace myself for the cold, and we stumble inside, my hands shaking as I unlock the door. The firm is dark except for the fire in the library. Somebody must’ve forgotten to put it out. Or, perhaps Julia anticipated another late night for me. She’s always been attentive to things like that.

“Damn clutzes! Couldn’t even put out the fire before they took off.” James began, stamping the snow from his shoes. I glance again at the fire, and above the mantle place, I see a letter addressed to C. Nightingale. My own name. Keeping my overcoat on, I sit by the fire, and open the envelope. It begins with the date; it was written today. The 4th…

“Whatcha got there?” James asks, suddenly standing directly in front of me. In the hallway behind him I see strange movements. Before I can answer, the letter is taken from my hand and tossed into the fire. I stand up to face him; his hot breath polluting my face.

“Why did you do that?” I ask, retaining my composure.

“Because I felt like it,” James answered coolly.

“Because you’re a murderer?”

“So what if I am?” James said, taking a step towards me. I eyed the gun in his pocket. His hands remained at his side, fingers twitching. “Those bastards deserved to die. They killed someone, so I only repaid the favor.”

“You would repay crime with more, and more severe crime?” I ask, buying time, “You told me what happened to your sister, but I did not think it would drive you to this.”

“My sister will never know peace because of those pigs! They dismissed the case to protect their own reputations!” James was shouting now. While I listened, I looked for an opening to remove the gun, “They killed the little sister I know. They created an anxiety-ridden creature. She won’t go to school. She won’t go to the store. She’s not my little sister anymore! That lawyer’s boy killed my sweet Jane, and they let him go free? Bullshit!”

I step back, looking at James’ silhouette blazing in front of the fire-swallowed letter. I wonder what it said.

“That’s why I did it. I had to make sure we don’t have pigs running our justice system. So, it started with him. The lawyer. I let his son live so that he could endure the misery he brought upon himself. Then, I had to be sure there was no one left to rob this city of justice. I admit, I may have gone a bit further than what was necessary. But when my foot goes down, it goes down hard. They don’t learn until they’re forced to, and by then it’s too late. I’m not sorry, and I’d do it again if it was for the greater good.” James took another step towards me. I reached for the gun, but he was quicker. Two shots fired, disoriented and cocky. One hit the ceiling, another the armchair between us.

“You clever devil,” he began, holding the gun steady at my chest, “I knew you’d find me out, so I made preparations. The chance at my own crime solving. The sickness, though you caught on, of course, as I knew you would. I only left my job at the newspaper so that I could get into all of the facilities, and be put on my own case to avoid your prying eye. I’m not telling you who helped me, but it won’t matter, no matter what I say. Because today, all of my evidence is eliminated here.”

“Oh?” I muse, as that figure in the hallway etches ever closer, concealed by darkness and James’ back, “Why did you come here tonight, to kill me? You think your crime will be erased with me? Did you think, even for a moment, that I did not plant evidence in locations outside of myself?”

“You’re talking about that safe behind your desk?” James let out a low chuckle. “I burned that shit. I thought you were better than tha-”

I tried to call out, but it was too late. As I was focused on my savior, James whipped around all too fast, and the gun now pointed on Julia. She froze, eyes wide as they darted from James to me. James. Me.

“But, seeing this, I guess you had another ‘safe’, didn’t you?” James continued, forcing Julia to his side with one swift yank.

“James,” I began, “Julia’s innocent.”

Wrong response.

James pressed the barrel to Julia’s forehead as she whimpered. Helpless. Her eyes looked at me. Burned into me. A silent cry. I forced my eyes to meet James’ as he spat, “A safe may be innocent, but if it’s got my evidence, I’ll burn it all the same.”

At that moment I lunged. I couldn’t bear him pulling the trigger on her. I threw myself towards the gun. Everything was a blur as I heard a frustrated shout from James, and a hollow rapture as a bullet was loosed from the gun. I didn’t see where it landed, but I heard something shatter as I slammed against him. We both fell to the ground, Jame’s gun skidded across the carpet, only a foot away. I fight to keep his arms away from it. I don’t have the freedom to look to see if Julia’s okay, but I can hear running footsteps leave the room. Slight relief fills my mind as I land a blow on James. It does nothing. He’s still awake. Damn.

I take a chance and rush to scoop up the gun, letting my sleeve protect my hand from potential fingerprints. I can’t wield the trigger like this, but as long as I can keep it away from him, hopefully Julia’s already called the police…

James is immediately on his feet, towering over me. That tall freak. I barely dodge a blow aimed at my head, but catch a second fist right to the stomach. I fall to my knees, wheezing. The gun still clutched in my sleeved hands. James begins shouting again as he tries wrenching the gun from me, but my ears have gone dim as the world grows smaller and smaller. It’s just me. Here in this room. I feel a kick to my rib cage, and I cough. My throat feels thick. Too thick. I hope Julia’s okay. I should check on her. But I can’t get away from James, at least not as I am now. Still fighting for breath, I contemplate the weapon in my hand. Do I dare wield it? I made a vow to not use excessive violence when I became a detective, but did I anticipate this?

The blows keep coming. If I don’t act, I’ll be knocked out, and James will reclaim the gun.

I make my choice.

I point the gun at the only part of him I can see. His foot. His screams follow the gunshot, filling the firm. He falls beside me, clutching his foot as I scoot away, unable to stand. He inches after me, and I swing the pistol against his head. He curses, and I swing once more. He’s not out yet, but his rage grows disorganized, and I gain distance now. He stopped moving towards me, still cursing at his ankle as tears wet his burning face. He remained there, cursing and crying as I clutched my side and looked at my blood splattered hand. What a mess.

***

Time seemed to move in slow motion. It could have been thirty seconds, or ten minutes before the police arrived. I heard the sirens outside the firm, and in an instant they were on the scene. It turns out Julia had called them before James apprehended her. The police said nothing as they placed James in handcuffs. James didn’t resist. He only said to me as he was being helped to the door:

“I’ll never forgive those bastards.”

“And the world will never forgive you.” I answered through choked breaths. “Does that satisfy you?”

He didn’t answer, and moments later the door shut behind him, leaving only the medic helping me, and Julia’s quiet sobs from across the room.