The Crossover Read online

  “Clay, I went to the bank this morning and my account was short $300. Ms. Deveraux put a stop payment on the check.”

  “Damn. I was so confident that she was done. We spent two hours in trance. I wonder what happened.”

  “I guess she relapsed. She should’ve called before she cancelled the check. Maybe you should speak to her.”

  “Just leave it baby. I gave it my best, that’s all I can do.”

  “Clay, are you sitting down?” Monet said on Skype.

  “Uh, oh.”

  “Ms. Devearux sent me a thank you letter for recommending you.”

  “Wow, I guess she quit after all. So why did she cancel the check?”

  “Clay, she canceled the check because she sent a much bigger one. I have it in my hand!” Monet said excitedly.

  “That’s great. How much is it?”

  “Clay, it’s for five grand. She said the next time you’re in town she wants to meet you.”

  “What? Did you say five thousand dollars?”

  I was ecstatic. Monet and I decided to use the money for a trip to England, a very nice trip with no expenses spared.

  THIRTEEN

  * * *

  Seat of Power

  While watching the BBC News with Missy on the sofa, I heard a knock at the door. I turned the volume down on the TV and answered the door. It was Carl standing in the pouring rain. He was drenched so I asked him to come inside.

  He looked concerned.

  “Carl, take a seat I was just watching the News. Can I offer you a cup of tea, a cigarette?” I asked sarcastically.

  “Tea sounds just lovely, but I don’t smoke anymore. Cheers for that.”

  As soon as Carl sat on the sofa Missy hightailed it upstairs. I brought two cups of tea for us.

  “Clay, I might need your help on a very sensitive case,” Carl said as he sipped his tea.

  “Does it have anything to do with Operation Searchlight?”

  Carl sat up straight and looked surprised.

  “Then I needn’t tell you that this is strictly on a need-to-know basis. How many people at INTERPOL are read in on the case?”

  “Not many, all the files are marked LIMDIS. So how’s the case progressing?”

  “There’s been no movement on the case, but no recent activity either. Maybe he’s gone underground. We have seven families to answer to. What kind of bloke does that to a woman?”

  “Seven? Are the deaths still confined to Central London?” I asked.

  “So far. I think this lull in activity is the calm before the storm. He’ll strike again if we don’t catch him soon.”

  “So how can I help?”

  Carl put his cup down and paused.

  “We might have a break in the case. We think he was interrupted by a jogger during the last attack. We found an eighteen-year-old girl unresponsive in her car near a vacant field. She nearly died. Toxicology results indicate she was drugged and raped like all the others.”

  “Well, is she talking?”

  “That’s just it. The drug is an amnesiac and she doesn’t remember shit. She’s a right mess emotionally. We need her to remember. Can you help?”

  I salivated at the opportunity.

  “I’ve been successful in retrieving events during an alcohol induced blackout. I’d love to give it a shot. I’ll need to do some research on the effects of the drug.”

  “We have one hurdle to clear before I can go any further.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Her dad is dead set against it. He doesn’t want anyone near her that could possibly upset her. Her name is Anna.”

  Carl and I talked for about thirty minutes more. I had to restrain myself because this was my dream case and I didn’t want to appear too eager. The session had to be cleared at the highest levels as this was a break in protocol. I wasn’t going to get paid and I would have to sign a letter of nondisclosure. I would have to agree to conduct the session with complete anonymity, but this wasn’t about the money or recognition. If my session somehow resulted in an arrest it would be enough to know I had a small part in putting a killer away.

  All week long Monet kept telling me she had a surprise. Today was the day and I wondered what she had up her sleeve. I couldn’t wait to call her.

  “Okay, what’s this surprise you’ve been telling me about all week?”

  “Clay, what are you doing next Thursday?”

  “Uhmm, why does next Thursday ring a bell?”

  “I’m coming to see you next Thursday. I just found out Michelle is staying with her dad next week during spring break. Isn’t that great news?”

  Before I got too excited I opened my monthly planner. I had to cancel.

  “Monet, as much as I love you, I have to say no to that week.”

  There was a silence on the other end. I didn’t mean to upset Monet but I know I did.

  “Excuse me, I don’t know who you are but can you please put Clay on the phone.”

  “Sweetheart, I’m just looking at my planner and I have a colonoscopy next Friday. I will be doing my prep the day before.”

  “So what? I’ll be right by your side.”

  “Oh, hell no. Sorry, but this conversation has just exceeded its shelf life.”

  Monet lightened up when she realized it was over a medical issue.

  “I will need some serious me time during the prep. In fact, I’m checking into a hotel Thursday night for my prep. My bowling partner Chris just had his colonoscopy two weeks ago. He said it was like someone put a supercharged engine in his ass and hit the nitrous switch.”

  “Honey, it can’t be all that bad. People do it all the time.”

  I had more to add.

  “Monet, Chris checked into the Premier Inn to do his prep and the bill came to over three hundred US dollars.”

  “For one night? Must have been a 5-Star hotel,” Monet added.

  “It was only a 3-Star,” I replied.

  “Why so expensive?”

  “It wasn’t the daily rate it was the extras that jacked up the bill.”

  “Extras, like what?” Monet asked.

  “They charged him for a complete new set of bedding and carpet cleaning.”

  “Gross. Honey, how about in a couple of weeks then, would that be all right?”

  FOURTEEN

  * * *

  Person of Interest

  I was having so much fun watching my cat react to cat videos on YouTube I could hardly hear the knocking on my front door. I opened the door and observed two strange white men in their late forties whispering to each other. One was bald and the other was obese.

  “Excuse me. Can I help you?” I asked.

  “We are looking for Mr. Clay Thompson. It’s urgent.”

  At first I thought they were salesmen but I quickly dismissed that notion because of their stern looks. I closed the door behind me and engaged them outside.

  “I’m Clay Thompson. What’s this about?”

  Both men identified themselves. They were plain clothes detectives and wanted me to accompany them to the precinct. They declined to discuss any details and I soon found myself in the back of an unmarked black BMW with tinted windows.

  I did a conscience check and I couldn’t figure what I had done wrong to warrant a visit from VICE. It was a short ride and I followed the men to an interrogation room with a one-way mirror. I was instructed to sit at the table.

  A light clicked on inside my head and gave me a sigh of relief. I relaxed back in my chair. This could only mean one thing.

  I was left alone for one hour and I was losing patience by the time the two men returned. They sat across from me and placed a notepad on the table. The bald guy gave a signal to someone on the other side of the one-way mirror.

  “Do you know why you are here Mr. Thompson?”

  “Yes, it’s because of the recent murders in Central London. I just want to say, you have the right guy. I’ve been doing this for about 20 years now.”

  Both men lo
oked at the one-way mirror with puzzled looks on their faces.

  “Twenty years?” the fat detective asked.

  “It’s all about gaining their trust. As soon as they close their eyes, that’s confirmation they’re gone. I’ve refined my technique over the years and now they go pretty quick without resisting.”

  The fat guy had to keep baldy from attacking me. I stood and backed up confused as hell.

  “You sick son of a bitch!”

  A big burly police officer immediately entered the room and placed himself between me and the two detectives. All three left after a brief scuffle.

  I found myself pacing the interrogation room looking at my watch. It was ten o’clock and I had to work in the moring. I had no signal reception either. I felt imprisoned.

  An hour later, a well-dressed, slender man in his thirites entered the room. He was smooth and it put me at ease. His name was Andy. Andy had a slimline laptop in a briefcase. He removed it and placed it on the table. He powered it up and turned it facing me.

  “Mr. Thompson, do you recognize what’s on the screen?”

  “Yes, that’s my desktop on my PC at home. Those are my files. Why are you showing me my desktop?”

  He continued.

  “And is this your browsing history?”

  “Yes it is.”

  The next sequence of events disturbed me.

  I was on camera browsing the internet being secretly recorded. Somehow they were able to activate my webcam and shadow my online activity. I felt violated and it made me angry.

  “Mr. Thompson, now do you know why you are here?”

  “Well, I thought I was here to hypnotize the latest victim to help her recall the incident. I guess not.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. But when you use keywords in Google such as Ecstasy, date rape, drug effects, you can expect VICE to come knocking at your front door.”

  I calmed down. It was close to midnight and I was emotionally exhausted. My adrenaline was still high from being inches away from being punched in the nose.

  From the very beginning we started on separate pages. I was a person of interest and they believed I was confessing to those horrible crimes.

  After a number of calls were made I was cleared and Andy drove me home.

  Thursday Prep Day

  “Nurse Matthews, I’m Clay Thompson and I’m here to pick up my prescription for my prep. I have a colonoscopy in the morning. Is it as bad as they say it is?” I asked.

  I saw two male pharmacist technicians in the back bust out in laughter. I took that as a bad sign.

  “Mr. Thompson, unfortunately we are out of sanitizer and we will have to reschedule your appointment.”

  I’d fasted for 24 hours in preparation for the procedure. I was delighted I could go across the street and OD on some Popeyes Chicken. But I was also puzzled.

  “Sanitizer?”

  Somehow sanitizer didn’t seem strong enough to get the job done.

  With one hand on the steering wheel and the other frantically searching for a chicken wing, I drove home feeding my face. By the time I reached my house I had biscuit crumbs and spilled coleslaw all over my shirt and trousers.

  Upon entering my drive I saw an amubulance parked in front of Joanne’s house. Paramedics were performing CPR on her at the foot of the stairwell. It was manic.

  “We’re losing her, stand back. Clear!”

  I saw Joanne’s lifeless body, her blouse was ripped open. The defibrillator didn’t appear to have any effect. Her back arched violently every time they applied a shock.

  I was standing just outside her door and I was watching her slip away. All the nasty feelings I had for Joanne were erased in a fleeting second. She was dying in front of me and it was so distressing to watch. It broke my heart, I wanted her to make it. They quickly loaded Joanne on to a gurney and guided her into the waiting ambulance. Her face was not covered up so I assumed she was still alive. Aside from combat it was the most stressful thing I had ever witnessed. I felt helpless and disturbed.

  I got in my car and followed the ambulance to Hinchingbrooke Hospital about ten minutes away. I kept praying that Joanne would pull through.

  “Please Lord, save my friend.”

  I accompanied the paramedics as they huriedly removed Joanne from the ambulance.

  The lead paramedic took control.

  “Clear the passageway, we’re coming through!”

  I saw Joanne’s face,she was turning a greyish color.

  “Is she gonna make it?” I asked nervously, keeping step with the paramedics.

  “And who are you?” the lead paramedic asked.

  “I’m Clay Thompson,” I replied.

  “Okay, Mr. Thompson please take a seat in the waiting area. We may need you to sign some paperwork.”

  I did as I was instructed but I didn’t know why they would require a signature from me. I was a nobody.

  While sitting in the waiting area I killed time by watching the News on the overhead monitor. I wondered what happened to Joanne. My first thought was that maybe she had a heart attack.

  I waited, waited and waited.

  “Mr. Thompson, wake up,” a young nurse said as she placed her hand on my shoulder.

  “Yes?” I responded, wiping the sleep from eye.

  “Your wife has recovered. She collapsed. It’s a good thing we got there in time. She’s resting but you can see her now.”

  My first inclination was to advise the nurse she had made a mistake. Although we shared the same surname it was spelled differently. But I knew if I told her I was just a neighbor I would be asked to leave.

  “Right this way, she’s the first bed on the right in room 226.”

  I was nervous about being an imposter. I also thought about what if Joanne woke up and saw me there. She probably would have me thrown out. But I wanted to see that she was all right.

  There she was lying under the blanket soundly asleep with a mask over her nose. They had dressed her in light blue pajamas. I was surprised to discover she was bald. The EKG blipped at a steady pace. I was ever so quiet. I sat in the chair next to her. I said another prayer for her.

  My head bobbed and bobbed as I tried to fight sleep. Eventually, I succumed to emotional fatigue.

  I opened my eyes just slightly and saw Joanne staring at me wide awake.

  She spoke in a soft but weak voice.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Stalking you,” I responded.

  She smiled.

  “I must be the first chemo patient in the history of the world who has a stalker.”

  “I just wanted to check on you, maybe I should go,” I said as I slowly stood.

  “No, it’s okay. Stay.”

  Joanne and I engaged in mostly small talk at first. You would have never known we were enemies just the day before. It turned out to be that we were both nice people who just met under negative circumstances. As she began to fade into slumber she promised to make me dinner when she was released. She also had one request.

  “Clay, in my purse are my keys. Could you feed Nemo for me?”

  “Sure,” I replied with a smile.

  “Groovy,” she responded.

  I waved goodbye. She waved back.

  Nemo was her beloved goldfish.

  FIFTEEN

  * * *

  I See Smart People

  Joanne was hospitalized for a week. I visited her every day I and always brought her favorite snack, trail mix. We were complete opposites of each other but we connected on our own level.

  She was a highly educated introvert who never escaped the 1960s. She was extremely uncomfortable and anxious when she had to engage hospital staff. Joanne was like a nervous Chihuahua around everyone except me. She was incredibly attached to her fish Nemo and addressed it as if it were a person. Somehow she allowed me into her private inner circle and slammed the door shut behind me. I embraced her friendship.

  Joanne had an interesting past.
She had a PhD in Philosophy and was fluent in Russian. Joanne was one of the most highly-functioning people I’d ever met. She was extremely logical and analytical in her thinking. The last day of her hospital stay I brought along some magic tricks to entertain her. She was able to use logic to explain how I performed every trick, even the most deceptive ones. Over the course of our friendship I’d spend many days and evenings trying to deceive her without success. I wasn’t disappointed I was impressed.

  The evening before Joanne was released we had an interesting conversation.

  “So what’s on the TV?” I asked as I pulled up a chair at her bedside.

  “It’s a very odd film. Bruce Willis looks so young. Must be a dated movie,” Joanne replied.

  “Hmm, is it Die Hard?”

  “Don’t think so, but there is a very precocious little boy who clearly is carrying the film.”

  “You mean The Sixth Sense. I love that movie it’s a classic. It’s a ghost story. This movie has a great twist at the end. The story comes full circle,” I commented.

  “At what point in the story does the audience find out Bruce Willis is actually dead?”

  I rolled my eyes at Joanne.

  “And what makes you think he’s dead?” I replied.

  “Well, it is pretty obvious. Don’t you think?”

  “Please explain, Ms. Einstein?” I demanded in jest.

  “Well, the only dialogue he has is with the boy for starters. I don’t really care for these types of movie. The idea of spirits returning from the dead is completely inconceivable. Don’t you think so?”

  I scratched my head.

  “Yeah, you’re right.”

  Jo and I chatted fifteen minutes past normal visiting hours. After seeing the nurse peek into the room for a third time I knew it was time to go. I gave Jo a hug (for the first time) and when I broke my embrace I saw a beautiful smile. On my way out she made another observation. She called me out.