Midnight Rambler: A Novel of Suspense

“Did your station cover the trial?”

“Of course. It was big news.”

“Is there any available footage that I could see?”

Fountain offered to check and left us standing in her office. Saunders had a spark in his eyes and was nodding, a sign that he agreed Bash needed to be investigated. In criminal investigations there was no such thing as coincidence or happenstance. Saunders and I both knew that Bash was connected to Simon Skell. The trick would be proving it.

Fountain reappeared a few minutes later, wearing a smile.

“You gentlemen are in luck,” she said. “Follow me.”

The station was like a small factory, with shows about cooking, the weather, and raising children being recorded in different sound studios. Fountain led us to the back of the building to the station's video library and introduced us to a lanky young guy with curly dark hair named Kevin Ford. Fountain told Kevin what we were looking for, and Kevin searched his computer's database for footage of the history teacher's trial.

“This might take a while,” Kevin said.

Kevin's desk was loaded with work, and I offered to buy him lunch.

“You're on,” he said.

Fountain and Saunders also took me up on my offer, and I left the station and drove to a deli a few blocks from where Rose worked. I hadn't stopped thinking about her, and I was thrilled to see her picking up a lunch order when I walked in. Edging up behind her, I lowered my voice.

“Excuse me, miss. Aren't you Jennifer Lopez?”

“Get lost,” she said without turning around.

“You sound just like my wife.”

She stiffened, then turned around. I kissed her on the lips.

“Hey, Rose,” an aproned woman working the register said.

My wife would not take her eyes off me.

“Yes, Cynthia,” she said.

“That your husband?”

“Yes, it is.”

“About fricking time he showed up.”

I ordered four Cuban sandwiches to go. While my order was being prepared we took a table, and I told Rose everything that had happened since we'd parted. My wife believed that God talked to us through signs. If we chose to believe in Him, those signs would become apparent to us. To her, my seeing the defaced billboard with Neil Bash's picture was a sign, and she nodded approvingly when I was done.

“Everything happens for a reason,” she said.

“You really believe that, don't you?” I said.

“Yes, Jack, I do.”

My food came, and I paid up. I kissed her again at the front door. There was a coldness that hadn't been there before. I thought I understood. Rose wasn't going to invest any more emotion in me until I committed myself to her and to our marriage.

I told myself I could live with that.

The sandwiches were met with smiles at the station. Kevin had found a week's worth of footage from the history teacher's trial, and Fountain, Saunders, and I ate in Fountain's office while watching a plasma monitor mounted to the wall.

“Because the girl was a minor, the judge didn't allow TV cameras inside the courtroom,” Fountain explained as the first clip ran. “As a result, we used a courthouse artist to capture renditions of the different witnesses who testified during the trial.”

I ate my sandwich while trying to hide my disappointment. My reason for wanting to watch the trial was to see if Simon Skell had attended and sat in the spectator gallery. Without a camera inside the courtroom, there was no way for me to know.

Instead, I decided to focus on the film taken outside the court room each day after the trial, when both the prosecuting attorney and the defense attorney made statements to the media. If I was lucky, Skell's face might show up here.

On the fourth clip I got a hit. This was the day Bash came and the cameras caught him leaving the courthouse. Bash wore a flowing black garment that made him look downright evil. When a reporter asked him a question, he shoved his palm into the camera and said, “No comment, asshole!”

As Bash came down the steps I spotted a man walking beside him.

“Can I see this clip again?” I asked.

Fountain rewound the tape and started it over. I had her freeze the picture as Bash appeared at the top of the steps, then play it in slow motion. As Bash descended, another man also came down, walking to his right. We leaned in to stare.

“Any idea who that is?” Saunders asked.

“He looks familiar, but I'm not sure,” I said.

“Think it might be Skell?”

“It could be.”

We watched the clip again. The second man's face never became visible to the camera. I felt as if I were watching a Hitchcock film, and the master was taunting me.

“You had contact with Skell, didn't you?” Saunders asked.

“That's one way to put it,” I said.

“Judging by the guy's size, do you think that might be him?”

I hesitated. Body parts were hard to distinguish, and I couldn't really be certain. The guy looked about six foot and one-eighty, which matched Skell's proportions. He also had a bounce to his step, and Skell was athletic. But there was no way of knowing for sure. Fountain rewound the tape, and we watched it again.

“I just don't know,” I said.