Imitation of Life

Chapter Eight

"How many days left?"

"Four days, six hours, twenty-five minutes, and fifty seconds."

Joshua glared at Tracy. She smiled sweetly back at him.

"I preferred when you were brooding and quiet," he said with a frown.

"No, you don't." Tracy said as-a-matter-of-fact.

"Makes no difference that the case is about to be closed and we have next to no leads."

"Yeah, that sucks."

"Exactly."

Tracy's office lacked its usual sunny appearance, mostly because it wasn't daytime anymore. The small bulbs embedded into the ceiling lit up the room in powerful fluorescent lights. A mess of papers and documents spread out all over her table, with some spilling over to the floor.

But they didn't mind. They didn't bother to pick them up.

They were simply . . . tired.

"Who's missing from that list of the interrogated?"

Tracy held up one of the numerous papers on her desk and peered into it.

"We've covered Mrs. Walters, all the Walters' siblings, Principal Derrick and some of his teachers, and Eleanor Rigby." She waved the sheet of paper away.

"The one person missing here is our very own Shawn Zachary."

"Hmm." Joshua rumbled a single sheet of paper close to his fingers, and tossed it expertly into a small metal trash can at the far end of the wall.

"Why don't we evaluate everything we've found out so far?" He suggested. "That way, we could pick out the loop holes we've missed."

Tracy had her head rested on her hand, balanced with her elbow on her table. She gave Joshua an exasperated look for a moment, then she sat back with a sigh.

"Mrs. Walters told us what her children did occupationally," she began.

"Michael informed us about John's ex wife, something that Mrs. Walters forgot to mention." Joshua chipped in.

"Principal Derrick did mention Shawn Zachary first, although he failed to let us know that Jon was actually his son-in-law."

"That one blew me off my hinges," Joshua chuckled.

"Completely surprising," agreed Tracy.

"How 'bout Jennifer and Martha?" Joshua asked. "Anything I missed from them?"

"They both emphasized on how much of an inspiration he was, and claimed they wouldn't know anyone psychotic enough to kill their brother. Other than that, nothing else."

Joshua's brows narrowed. "Don't you think it's awkward that no one mentioned his writing career? No one except Daniel."

Tracy stopped swinging her feet playfully and looked at Joshua. "What writing career?"

"That's just it." Joshua sat up on the cabinet he was lying on. "Johnathan had an illustrious career as a writer. From one bestseller after the other. He was so successful that he had publishers and sponsors all over the place trying to land him. Mega contracts worth millions signed here and there. He was that successful."

Tracy looked like she just saw a dinosaur wearing pyjamas and eating cereal in her kitchen.

"So, what the hell happened?" She asked with a surprised squeal. "Why the high fall from grace?"

"Beats me." Joshua shrugged. "But I bet it had something to do with his divorce."

Tracy still looked shell shocked. "And how come I've never heard of him or his works before now?"

Joshua smiled mischievously. "Let's face it, Tracy. While he was creating his masterpieces, you were probably getting fresh baked beans and burnt steak for lunch in the academy."

"That's a terrible combination," she grimaced, as if trying to picture the abominable mixture.

"Actually it is," laughed Joshua. Tracy shook her head in shame. She was just about to give Joshua a lecture concerning her healthy diet options back at the academy when her phone rang.

"Boyfriend?" Joshua asked slyly as she stared awkwardly at her screen.

Tracy playfully stuck her tongue out at him and answered at the third ring.

Meanwhile, Joshua's mind drifted to the laptop once more. The story had begun to unravel in an unexpected way that kept Joshua glued to the screen for hours at night. What he was beginning to realize was how different the story was compared to John's reality. Johnathan's family expressed nothing but pride and love towards their late brother and son. Richard's family, however, were resentful and unsupportive. And that was a major difference on its own.

"Joshua."

He looked at Tracy absentmindedly, then with full focus when he noticed the excitement on her face.

"That was Mr. Collins," she announced. "He says the forensic reports have come in. And we should come have a look."

★

The office was filled with gray smoke, which was spread all over the place by the air conditioning system. A large Persian rug covered the middle of the room, beginning from the entrance and stopping right before a black large desk. A shelf filled with copies of voluminous books suspended on the wall towards the right, from the entrance. And on the left, another shelf with a glass casing, displaying alcohol in elaborately designed bottles. In front of the desk were two plastic chairs, obviously meant for guests. Or, in this case, subordinates.

Joshua finally sat before the man who pulled the strings in the background, the one who called the shots.

Sheriff Collins Mahoney Bhig.

He was a round man, almost literally. His big, almost circular body was covered in cyan-coloured shirt tucked in slacks, which were held up by suspenders. A little, neat moustache crossed his upper lip, with a bit of grey in the black. Brown brooding eyes glared below bushy eyebrows, seeming to have the ability to pierce through titanium.

And those eyes honed in on the two detectives seated before him.

Joshua struggled to ignore the itch behind his neck, determined to stay as static as possible. He could've sworn that Tracy, seated besides him, wasn't even breathing. The tense atmosphere that emanated from the Sheriff rubbed off everyone else in the room. Perhaps it was a secret weapon that he used to subdue his enemies.

And probably people he didn't like, but had to deal with.

The big man, figuratively and literally, simply glared at his guests, and puffed on his bulky cigar.

For ten, painfully awkward minutes.

After what seemed like an eternity, his hand drew out a lilac sheet of paper from a brown envelope on the table. He stretched it towards both detectives, to no one in particular.

Not sure who it was being offered to, Joshua and Tracy shot quick glances at each other. Tracy finally stretched out her hand to receive, and Joshua couldn't help but picture a sovereign king handing over a package to one of his servants who, intimidated by his ruler's countenance, kept his face glued to the ground.

Joshua would have laughed, but he was too tense to make a sound.

As Tracy looked into the sheet, Sheriff Collins resumed his brooding stare, at Joshua this time.

Feeling precipitation run down his back, despite the cool air conditioning, Joshua turned to his partner.

"What does it say?" He whispered.

"Yes, do read it out loud," came the smooth baritone of the Sheriff.

Both detectives looked up, then Tracy slowly began to read:

"From the forensic department of the Chesterfield Springs Police Department, the following results are products of thorough investigation and analysis. Therefore, they are perceived as authentic and completely unquestionable."

Completely unquestionable? Who puts that in an official statement? Joshua raised an eyebrow at Tracy.

She, on the other hand, had stopped reading out and had her gaze narrowed on the sheet. Joshua observed her frown, then saw her brows knit with what he thought was a confused look.

"The blood found on the bedsheets and on the floor of the apartment . . . were not from Johnathan," she said, no longer reading from the sheet. "They're samples from a man called Gregor Slattery, one of John's colleagues at work."

Joshua couldn't believe his ears. "Gregor who?"

"We need to find this guy and bring him in, sir." Tracy wanted to waste no more time.

Collins dragged on his cigar until the end glowed bright orange, then he released trails of smoke from his nostrils. With his other hand on a fancy glass cup with golden liquid inside, he licked his lips rather hungrily.

"As a matter of fact, we did go after the bastard." He started, drawing circles on the rim of his glass with his thumb. "Only for us to find out that he's already dead. Car crash on the expressway leading out of the town, four days ago."

It was all too much information to process at once. Joshua stood up from his seat and walked towards the window adjacent to where he sat. Folding his arms, he looked through the window towards the quiet street outside, with so many thoughts assailing him.

Why would his colleague want him dead? Was it an agreement between both parties that went wrong? An offense on John's part? Jealousy, envy, or just pure hatred? Joshua was totally confused. Then he remembered.

"The fingerprints analysis. What does it say?"

"They all belonged to John." Tracy answered. "None of Gregor's was found anywhere."

Joshua hung his head down. It wasn't making any sense. None of it.

"We need to head back to that school," he concluded. "Derrick and the others have some explaining to do."

"Sorry, but that's not happening." Collins' commanding baritone didn't sound apologetic at all. His big brown leather chair creaked as he sat forward, with his elbows on the table.

"Your investigation so far has amounted to nothing. You've both been hitting dead ends and stopping before steep cliffs, with absolutely no way of moving forward."

Joshua looked at Tracy, who was also looking at him. They both feared the worst was about to happen.

"Look—" Collins ran his thick hand over his bald head. "— as far as I know, the bad guy's dead. Gregor Slattery was the closest thing to the culprit than we ever got. His blood as evidence on the crime scene speaks volumes of that. So, with no further leads and with this information, this case is thereby officially closed."

Tracy blinked repeatedly and uncontrollably. Joshua felt like he'd been punched in the guts. He knew Tracy's head spun like his did. This was simply unbelievable.

"What? No . . . Sir—" Tracy struggled to find the right words.

"Sir, with all due respect," Joshua began.

"It's funny how words of disrespect always come after such a statement." Collins remarked, cutting him off. He shook the end of his cigarette into the metal ashtray and took one last drag, and then settled it on the tray. Lacing his fingers together, he took a good look at Joshua, who stared right back this time.

"Let me just make this clear," he said with a definite tone. "I don't care if you came from the big city, or if you've worked with James Bond in Paris, or played around with Batman in Gotham. You're in my town now. And over here, y'all play by my rules. If I say the case is over, then by God's green Earth it is! Period."

Joshua's stare pierced through the air and met with Collins', a silent battle of wills ensued.

"The official statement; the perpetrator of the Johnathan Walters murder has been found, albeit in a cadaverous state. The blood found in the crime scene matches that of the culprit, and due to current circumstances, the said culprit cannot be present in court to stand trial. Which brings an immediate end to every investigative process thereby." Collins raised the glass towards his pouty lips. "End of story."

Joshua was rendered speechless. He couldn't even look at Tracy, who was probably as amazed as he was. He'd had cases dropped or ended by overbearing bosses before in the past, so it was something that he should have had at the back of his mind.

This case, however, was something different. He connected with Jonathan through his work like he'd never done with any other victim he'd encountered. And he was eager to find the person responsible too. Now it's all up in smoke.

Joshua shook his head and stormed out of the Sheriff's office, with Tracy yelling his name from behind.