Author's note: Just wanted to say thanks for all the nice reviews I've gotten on this story so far.
Chapter 4: Breakfast at Dinner
The drive to Clayton was long but peaceful. It was a beautiful day, the sun was high in the clear sky and the wide open windows let the wind ruffle Max's hair. He was pushing eighty, but there was no one else on the road except a couple of trucks.
The city faded from view after long acres of farmland and the familiar buildings of Clayton County came into view.
He slowed as he turned onto the main street and relaxed into the feel of his hometown. There was motel near he center of town where he went to check in. It felt a little strange; he had sold his house when he moved into town to his new job. Before he had bought it, he had lived with his parents. He felt like an outsider now that he needed to book a motel room.
At the counter, he saw Lisa. She had been one of his classmates and neighbours growing up.
"Lisa, good to see you," he said.
"Max?" She came out from behind the counter and hugged him, her curly hair tickling Max's neck. "You're back?"
"Not for too long," he said, "I'm here for a case. I need a room for the night."
"Of course," she paged through some documents, looking for something. "So what are you here for exactly? It's pretty quiet around here these days."
"I've got breakfast with Brooke in the morning. She might be able to help me find..." he lowered his voice, "...John."
Lisa looked up at him over her glasses.
"Him again?" she sighed. Max smirked.
"Do you have a beef with John too? I guess all the prettiest women in Clayton do..."
Lisa rolled her eyes.
"You need to find better pick up lines, Max. But no. Actually, I'd like to talk to him again."
Max almost groaned aloud. Why did the hot ones always go for the psycho? Why?!
"You remember my uncle's funeral?"
Max cringed. He hadn't been to it, but he knew that her uncle had been one the Clayton Killer's victim's. He couldn't imagine how brutal it must have been to be at that funeral.
"Yeah, I remember," he said.
"That was the first time I really spoke with him. Since then, a lot has happened. It's a bit of an open secret that he got rid of my uncle's murderer, you know?"
"Right," said Max, as if he hadn't only figured that out that morning. Lisa had a way of making him feel a bit thick.
"I never really got around to thanking him for that. If you find him, pass on the message, will you? He's a hard man to get ahold of these days."
"Sure thing, Lisa," said Max, as if police officers were supposed to go around thanking murderers.
She smiled at him before wandering over to the board behind her and unhooking a key. She placed it in his hand.
"Room 104," she said, "the fourth door to the left. You'll love the curtains."
The next morning, Max headed to the diner early. He greeted the familiar waitress who brought him coffee and tried to be patient.
Brooke came about ten minutes later, hair a bit disheveled, but otherwise put together. More than put together, in fact. As she took a seat across from him, he noticed the eyeliner on her lid and the delicate fabric of her blouse. In his unwashed jeans and the spare shirt that had wrinkled in his duffel bag, Max felt underdressed. Then again, this was Dinner.
Maybe Brooke was the one overdressed.
"Hi Max," she said, "Did you already order?"
"Not yet," he replied, "I was waiting for you. Did you want to look at the menu?"
She shook her head.
"No, I always get the same thing : Two eggs with bacon. Nothing beats simplicity, you know?"
Max laughed because he always got that too. She poked fun at him when he copied her order, but once the waitress had left them, she sobered.
"So you want to know about John."
Max nodded. She pursed her lips.
"What do you want to know?"
Max chose his words carefully.
"Brooke, do you know what John was doing while you were...together."
She tensed.
"Yes," she said simply.
"Can you elaborate on that?"
Brooke sighed.
"He did a lot things, Max. If you want me to answer questions about your case, ask me questions about your case. But let's face it, there's only one case that anyone would still be pursuing now."
Max gulped as Brooke looked him in the eye.
"The Fort Bruce Massacre."
Brooke looked sweet as pie one second, and the next her eyes had turned hard and haunted. Max nodded again.
"He's the top suspect, Brooke. I need to bring him in."
She squinted at him as if what he had said didn't make any sense at all.
"No... that's not true. He cleared that up years ago..."
Oh, that rotten liar. When he caught John, he would wring his neck for still lying to Brooke all this time.
"Brooke," he said slowly, "I'm a police officer. This is the case that I'm on. The files are clear; he's the most likely suspect. He- He lied to you."
Brooke still had a faraway look.
"No," she insisted, "Besides, he only killed, like, two of those people. I can vouch for him."
Now, murdering dozens of people might have been worst than murdering two, but murder was murder.
As if reading his mind, she crossed her arms and said, "It was self-defense."
Max wanted to call bullshit on that one, but didn't call her out on it.
"And I'm sure that all of that will come to light during his trial after we take him into custody."
She squinted at him again.
"You can't take him into custody."
"I'm a police officer. It's what I do."
She humphed at him.
"What I mean is that he has immunity. He brokered that deal years ago, when he settled the Fort Bruce situation. You can't arrest him. The case has already been closed by the FBI. Drop it, Max."
"Wait, wait," said Max in a rush, "How do you know the FBI was involved in this?"
She crossed her arms.
"I know because I was FBI, Max. And trust me, this is way above your pay grade. So stop waving your badge around to chase after John."
At that moment, the waitress arrived with their orders and refilled their coffee cups before leaving them be again.
"Don't you want to see him arrested?" he asked Brooke. "Don't you want to see him pay for what he did to you?
Brooke stabbed her bacon.
"I don't see how that's any of your business."
"But don't you want to right the wrongs he did you?"
She was all hard edges now and she glared at him smolderingly.
"I know there's been gossip around this town, but I had hoped you would know better than to listen to it. You've been listening to them, but you haven't been listening to me. If you don't start, I'm leaving this table. Do you understand?"
"I-" he took a deep breath. He was getting too riled up. He needed to calm down if he wanted to get anywhere. "Yeah, I understand," he said.
So he tried to at least see where she was coming from.
"John never hurt me. He did the best he could for me. He frightened me, yes, but he didn't kidnap me. I went with him willingly."
Max waited for her to continue.
"Max, your case doesn't exist. I saw John explain what happened. This was settled with the FBI already."
It was then that Max understood what was happening. He hadn't believed Brooke because the cold case had been set in his lap. But Brooke wasn't saying that the local precinct had resolved the case. She was saying the FBI had. And the FBI had refused to tell officers Lieutenant Crummy what had happened.
No wonder he was so peeved with them. The case was closed, the FBI just wasn't sharing.
"You're right," he told Brooke, "But I'm not here on behalf of the FBI, I'm here for the precinct. Truth is, Brooke, I'm really just here because the first guy to have found that crime scene wants to know what happened and the FBI won't tell him."
Brooke looked at him with sympathy. Her hard edges melted away and she took his hand in hers.
"Oh, Max," she said, "that's not my story to tell. But if you really want to lay his mind to rest, give John a call."
She rifled through her purse and slid a business card to Max.
"Take care of yourself, Max. I've got to go."
Before he could get any word in, she left the diner, heels clacking hard on the ceramic.
It was only when the waitress came a minute later that he realized Brooke had left him the bill.