NaNoWriMo: Murder in Wilson Park, Chapter 13

Deputy John himself came to Charlie 8’s cell to tell him. 

“You can go. Your alibi checked out. The director of the meal program and the volunteer at your table said you were there the same time Jacob Walensky was killed outside the senior center and that you stayed until noon to help wash the dishes. So, a good deed saved your bacon, my friend.”

Charlie 8 jumped to his feet, desperately eager to get out from behind bars. He’d been in jail a few times before, people accused him of things, thefts and such, though he’d never been accused of murdering someone or even being in a fight.

He steered clear of violent people. He could almost smell them, he was that sensitive. That’s why he was careful with those guys down by the lake. He didn’t know which one of them was giving off the smell, but it felt like bad things could happen there, somebody could snap, there was no telling. Oh, he acted like he was cool there, but he never stayed long. Just a night or two and then he’d roam around, stay in other parts of the west side, check in with Jerky.

Charlie 8 followed Deputy John to the jail’s intake and release center where another deputy pulled a heavy plastic box off the shelf and emptied it on the counter. Charlie 8’s backpack, wallet, cell phone, pocket change, and St. Christopher’s medal lay in a heap. “Sign here,” the officer said. Charlie 8 did as he was told and then heaved his backpack over his shoulder and crammed the other things into his front jeans pocket.

“I’m ready to get out of here. Where’s the door?” he said, looking around at which of the steel doors with reinforced windows was the way out.

“Follow me. You don’t mind if we walk and talk a bit, do you? Completely off the record?” Deputy John pointed to the exit. “Just a casual conversation about things, you know?”

Charlie 8 knew there was no such thing as a casual conversation with a cop even one as civil and polite as Deputy John. They were always on patrol – night and day, on duty or off – but he wasn’t in a position to decline. He shrugged and Deputy John started in on him.

“So, somebody killed Jacob Walensky with a shrimp knife and I’m betting you have a hunch who did it. I still think it’s your shrimp knife. No, there were no fingerprints on it but, give me a break, how many people in Omaha have shrimp knives?”

Charlie 8 walked down the long hall to the main door of the jail with his head down. He murmured something, a hum more than a word, so the deputy would know he was listening. But he had nothing to offer. He wasn’t going to feed all the deputy’s what-ifs, Deputy John would have to do that himself. Figure out stuff, talk to people. No way Charlie 8 was going to tell him that he got weird violence vibes from the guys at the lake camp. That wasn’t real. That was just his head, his own private head and what he smelled about different people. The deputy himself, well, he never smelled violent but that could change with the wind.

“Okay, well, come to me if you have any information or call, anytime.” With that, Deputy John handed Charlie 8 his business card. Okay, Charlie 8 thought, I’ll keep this with all my other business contacts and when the deputy turned to go back in the jail, Charlie 8 flipped the card into the trash can.

It was a mile hike back to Wilson Park. That was Charlie 8’s home base even if he didn’t always stay with the guys by the lake. He started down the hill, maybe a quarter mile short of the trail that led to the encampment to find a spot he’d used before a few months ago. There, he could settle down and think through all that had happened, get some sleep, and go back to the meal program in the morning and thank them. And eat. He didn’t want to eat now. It was too hard to figure out how.

The clearing was as he remembered it, very tiny and almost directly across the lake from Ace’s encampment. He could see the four guys and two more people who he couldn’t make out. Maybe they picked up some new friends since he’d been there. That will be interesting, figuring out who they are. And now that he thought of it, how they smelled.

The tap on his shoulder should have started him but it didn’t. He figured Jerky might emerge from wherever she kept herself most of the time. She had a thing for Charlie 8. They were simpatico which was weird because they never spoke. He learned within five minutes of meeting her last spring that she was deaf. Not a little bit, not hard of hearing. Jerky was stone deaf. But she liked Charlie 8 an awful lot and he knew that. And, in return, he liked her and was never frightened by her sudden appearances. He felt her presence as he would a wild rabbit in the forest, a creature that caused no harm but watched everything intently. Charlie 8 was never bothered by the watching, but some people were.