14. Corpus Delicti

From Albany, it's less than an hour to Iron Lake if you take the 10. And if there is little traffic, which is almost always the case. And if you drive confidently.

I wasn't a reckless driver even in the olden days, now even more so. The Impala rumbled steadily, the landscape was gradually losing signs of excessive civilization. More and more trees around, less and less buildings along the sides of the road. There was still snow in many places in the forest clearings.

In Apetai Springs, I stopped to stretch my legs and fill up the car. Counting the coins, I scattered them. The owner of the gas station, whom I knew very distantly, and he did not recognize me at all, helped me. I bought coffee and a blueberry muffin, which happened to be a bit dry. The left rearview mirror was getting shaky at speed and after a couple of miles I had to stop again and fix it with a random piece of plastic from the trunk.

Life were beginning to feel regular and rustic, simple and orderly, beautifully routine, again.

Would you rather rewind, Big Brother?

Yep… No, not really. Harrison is back in my life now. And I did stop Kurt Caldwell, for what it's worth.

And Logan…

You know that I can never forgive myself for this.

Oh you can. And you will. You're the resourceful one.

The total score is in my favor, Deb.

Keep saying that. You're good at compartmentalization.

It's not just that. Tuna sandwiches are venting out of my system. And I'm determined to put my rediscovered paranoia to good use.

Is that what you call me now, brother? 'Paranoia'?

No, Deb. You're… you're my Light Passenger.

No way, I don't get to be blonde.

Rita was.

Dead.

Lumen was too.

Dyed. Doesn't count.

Hannah.

Still miss her?

I do.

Figures. More than me?

You are my family. I'm gonna hang on to you for dear life.

Deb went silent. I glanced at the passenger seat, but she wasn't there anymore.

"Chin up little sister," I said softly. "Time to stir up some dust, and I really need your help."

By now I was crossing the Kindertraut's farm billboard. I was so in the nostalgic thoughts, I almost missed the moment when a police car flashed me to pull over.

[***]

"Hi Teddy," I said, as the policeman has approached the car, "I mean, hello Officer Reed."

"Goodness," Ted responded, his jaw dropped. He quickly inspected my car through the window, then removed his hand from the holster. "That's what I wouldn't expect… License and registration, please."

"Sure thing."

He checked my papers, glancing at me all the time kind of nervously.

"I'm gonna need you to step out of the vehicle, sir."

"That'll take time."

Looks like my clumsy exit from the car made an impression. Teddy relaxed a little, hesitated a little, and waved his little hand, returning the documents to me.

"It's just a formality anyway… Jim. Are you back?"

"Not really," I said, leaning on a cane. "Visiting. Settling matters."

"Finishing the job…"

"Are you hiring?"

He chuckled:

"Too few willing, after what you've done."

I sneered sadly in response saying nothing.

"Logan," Teddy reminded. He was never the one who knew how to keep silent at the right time.

"Yep," I said cheerfully, within limits. "Logan. He almost killed me, remember? While you were out hunting Kurt."

"Hey, hey!" he protested. "I had no idea what's going on between you three at the time!"

Aced. Teddy believes in the official story. Poor Logan…

"Whatever it was back then, Logan was a great cop," I said being completely honest. Sad fact is monsters rarely remain honest for too long: "I still don't understand why things turned out the way they did. It was like… I don't know, Teddy, when he had his gun pulled on me, it was like temporary insanity. Like he's being hypnotized by someone. How's Angela, by the way?"

"Between interrogations by the FBI and Internal Affairs? Drinking, mostly."

"Ouch."

"Don't get me started, Jim."

"Who's in charge now?"

"They've appointed some Woody Woodpecker from Utica. A very… professional guy."

"That bad?"

"Remember when my wisdom teeth got pulled? Worse."

"I'm sorry, Ted, you know I am."

He shook his head dismissively:

"It'll pass. I'm too small a target for them. But Iron Lake will never be the same again, Jimmy."

"Nothing will, ever. What about Esther?.."

"She's untouchable."

"Dear Esther," I said, nodding knowingly, "She was such a support at my hearing."

"Oh she told us, a lot. To be frank, I'm not judging you, Jimbo. That Molly Park… I don't know if I could curb myself if a girl like that… Hey, it must be hard for you to stand here, with a cane, after all the situation. How about maybe this night at The Tavern…"

"No, Ted, no!" I protested, "I'd love to, but I'm only here for business. After what's happened… Not really comfortable socializing, you understand. First I need to visit the station, and then…"

"Great!" he perked up. "Drive directly to the station. I'll right behind yah, don't get lost!"

[***]

I knew for a fact there's nothing to do for me at the station. All my personal effects have already been taken to Albany by my lawyers – surprisingly, except for the wristwatch, which was never found after all the chaos. I did not perceive this loss as significant… being used to much more serious ones. Visiting the station, filling out the missing belongings request forms, and so on – all this was just a part of the ritual, and an occasion to see the battlefield past with my own eyes.

Okay, you got me: I wanted to say hi to Esther too. Like many evil people, I became sentimental with age.

All the necessary forms were filled out, and all the necessary 'hi's were said. Dear Esther even reached out to hug me, but did not dare to in front of the new boss. Woody from Utica looked at me sternly and really seemed like a very determined man. There was no need to demonstrate affections.

"It's okay," I mouthed to Esther winking. "Thank you!"

"Coffee, Jim?" she asked with a covert, but very obvious hope of chatting me up some more.

"The worst coffee in Iron Lake!" I saluted her with the receipt folder, and left the premises.

Iron Lake, despite the spring boiling all around, looked exactly as I remembered it from the last time. It was noticeably colder here than in Albany. The town at this time of day seemed to have died out, I did not meet any other acquaintances.

Fish & Game was my next destination.

"Hi Fred," I said, entering the shop, "Got a half-decent bulletproof vest for me, huh?"

Many of life's problems could be solved, or better avoided, with a well-placed joke. It doesn't even matter if the joke itself is any good – what matters is your willingness to laugh it all out. But my ex-boss Fred, being, well, Fred, couldn't carry on a cheerful conversation. Call 911, a troubled someone is here! was his unofficial motto.

I didn't try to calm him down. Instead, I chatted with him for a bit as a warm up courtesy – how's business? how's Brian? how's Garfield? uh-oh, sorry to hear that!.. – and then asked for a paycheck for the last week and a half. He paid immediately, hoping to finally get rid of me.

Sorry, Fred, not so easy. We monsters have reputation to uphold.

In a fit of inspiration, I sold him my RTV, the deer sled, and all the gardening tools and whatnots he could find on my property. I knew that after The Events, good citizens avoided approaching the remains of my cabin, so the deal should be good for Fred, actually. I'd sell him goats and other animals too, but those were seized by Dr. Patel, and in that direction, I definitely didn't want to go. Selling land is even less simple... but it'll wait.

With a pleasantly heavier pocket, I started the car, crossed the bridge and set off towards the true destination of my today's journey: Iron Lake High School.

[***]

Principal Strode was, well, habitually professional and unemotional, which could easily be mistaken for constant judgment. Even if she wanted to inquire about my version of The Events, she wisely preferred not to.

"I'm here to collect Harrison's stuff," I said after exchanging greetings. "Oh, and his papers, first and foremost! Those are much harder to recover, you understand."

"I see," the Principal said dryly. "So, you are moving?"

"Would you risk leaving your son in a place where the police shoots at you?" I answered rather directly.

"I see… Already decided on a new school?"

"It's not that simple. Given the circumstances."

She pushed a button on her desk intercom.

"Harrison is a smart young man. I strongly recommend enrolling him in a decent school, he needs a high level of college prep. Consider doing it as soon as possible."

"That's what I intend to do, Principal. Thanks for the tip."

A young woman, whom I hadn't met before, entered the office:

"Yes, Mrs. Strode?"

"Miss Hillary," the Principal said, "Meet mister Lindsay. Please help him collect some things, thank you."

[***]

Forty minutes later, I returned to the Principal's office with two small plastic bags. One of them contained Harrison the First's stuff from the school locker; his gym stuff was in the second one. Luck was on my side: none of belongings were thrown away. I couldn't check the things thoroughly right here at school, so I thanked Miss Hillary heartily, and postponed the inspection.

"Here's the mandatory forms," the Principal said, "And Harrison's grades tab, to be thorough. And the reference letter."

All in forty minutes. She must have really taken a liking to Harrison the First.

Well, one of the well-known hallmarks of psychopaths is our ability to charm people. If he is indeed my son…

"I would do it for any one of my students," she continued. "With the arrival of Harrison, many events have taken place in Iron Lake… many events that go far beyond the concept of 'tragic'. I do hope this is just a coincidence, Mr. Lindsay."

"It is. And I don't want Harrison to suffer any more because of the people who feel themselves too comfortable with such coincidences."

"For his and your own sake," she said, holding out her hand to me.

Smart woman.

Too bad she doesn't fit The Code, bro.

I smiled, shook hands with Mrs. Strode and left for the hall.

After driving a couple of blocks away and parking on a quiet bystreet, I looked around and took a larger bag. The contours of the wrestling helmet were noticeable even through the opaque plastic. I didn't have a knife, so I just picked up the fold with my finger.

O Lady Luck, please be kind to me once again.

And she was. Small dry-brown spots were clearly visible both on the right flange of the helmet, as well as on the crumpled shamrock singlet. Localization and patterns were consistent with the process of patching up someone's split brow. Yes, here's the smeared mark on the plastic temple… and these here are the drops of blood soaked into the fabric…

Blood.

Blood.

Stop it, you fuckwad.

Sorry, Deb. I disgust myself, too. But hey, let me exult a little: now I have blood samples from Jacob Broussard.

Hmm. That girl Iris, the first Kurt's victim – wasn't her surname Broussard too?

Speaking of coincidences.

Carefully, trying not to touch it more than necessary, I put the things back into the bag. Okay, time to head back to Albany.

Life is so uncomfortable without a wristwatch, I had to take my phone out to check the time. Several spam messages… no calls. Harrison must be still tinkering with the tests.

I hope I have enough time to practice my well-known psychopathic charm on certain Mr. Damian Church. I really hope to make friends with him: in these parts, this is the easiest way to access a laboratory that I need so badly.