Blacklisted

By Lisa Walker

• Language: English
• Publisher: Atmosphere Press
• Release date: Sep 1, 2020
• ISBN: 9781649219497

Lisa Walker

Lisa Walker lives on the far north coast of NSW where she is completing a PhD in creative writing. Lisa has had a radio play produced for ABC RN and was the winner of the Byron Writers Festival short story award. She was a finalist in the ABC Short Story Award and won second placed in the Henry Savery and Port Stephens Literature Awards. Lisa is the author of Liar Bird (HarperCollins, 2012) and Sex, Lies and Bonsai (HarperCollins, 2013) and her debut YA novel is called Paris Syndrome (HarperCollins 2018).  

Book preview

1

I should just quit. Everyone would love it if I just stopped coming in.

The alarm blared at 7:40 a.m., and Phoenix reached over to kill the noise. He considered hitting the snooze bar, but he had done so once already. Because hearing the alarm was the most vile and disturbing thing in his life. But the day was young. His head pounded and the sight of daylight hurt his eyes. Especially after engaging in another night of drinking himself into a stupor. I don’t know why I do this to myself. I don’t know why I bother getting out of bed.

A little more than two years had passed, and he was still dealing with the fallout of his actions. He was still feeling it because everyone refused to let him forget. Every day he went into the police station and was met with the same reaction. The stares. The whispering behind his back. The why are you here? comments. It’s a paycheck, he would respond. But every day he went into work, hoping Captain Mueler would give him a case of his own. He hoped if he grinded out the daily humiliation, he would somehow prove he was worthy of another chance.

He thought about his disastrous faux pas every day of his life. He was informed he skated by because of his exemplary record. Which was why he was only suspended for two months and not fired. So, during his suspension, he took a bartending job to make ends meet. After his suspension had been lifted, he walked into the station, anxious to prove himself. Told Captain Mueler he’d work with any partner. He’d even work the streets. Be a beat cop. Give out traffic tickets. But the captain wouldn’t be swayed. He demoted Phoenix from detective to desk sergeant. Answering phones and typing reports. And keeping quiet when everyone snickered at the sight of him being confined to desk duty. In a town like Whitefish, Montana, nothing ever gets forgiven or forgotten.

But he would persevere. He hoped desk duty would be temporary. But as time progressed, his hopes dwindled, his depression deepened and his drinking increased. He knew it was time to get up. Especially now. Since his stomach acids made the decision for him. He ran to the bathroom and hung his head in the bowl while he purged the alcohol from the previous evening. He then showered. He studied his appearance in the mirror while he combed his hair. The reflection staring back was almost ghost-like. Pasty-white and gaunt. Since he had no friends in the department, no one noticed how thin he’d become. Twenty pounds lost. At least. Who’d care?

He went into work a little late that morning. Once again, it went by unnoticed. Like Phoenix showing up late would really ruin anyone’s day. He was just a part of the scenery and nothing more. He sat at his desk and grabbed the manila envelope on the top of the stack and opened it. He reached into the right-side drawer for the appropriate form for his ancient typewriter when his phone rang. He groaned. The one thing he hated more than typing was answering the stupid phone. Time to muster enthusiasm.

Flathead County, he said, in the most monotone voice. For him, it was important to let everyone how little he cared for their problems. Sergeant Lawyer speaking. How may I direct your call? It became such an automatic line for him, he began to rethink his position on WHEN he should get drunk. I should drink before I come in to work. I could do this job hammered. It would make my work day a lot more interesting. And maybe he’ll actually fire me.

My cat is stuck in the tree. I need someone to come and get him down, the elderly female voice said. He wanted to laugh. And for an instant, he actually considered her request. A picture came to mind. The one of an officer climbing a tree, falling and cracking his skull. Any officer. I would pay cash to see that show.

Call the fire department, he replied instead. It pained him to do so.

But they’re busy.

That’s not my problem, ma’am.

But you’re supposed to serve the people.

I can’t dispatch officers to get your cat from a tree. They’re not equipped to do so. Even if I wanted a good laugh, I can’t. This is a job for the fire department. Or call animal control. Thank you. Have a nice day. And as he hung up, he heard ‘but’ from the other end of the line before the disconnect. Sometimes it feels good to take my anger out on others. But his comments to the old woman amused the officers who happened to be in the room with him. They laughed. He didn’t look up. I’d like you better if you were standing, staring directly into the sun. Captain Mueler entered the room.

What’s so funny?

Oh, Lawyer over there was being rude to someone on the phone, sir, Officer Reynolds replied. Phoenix viewed Reynolds as the runt of the litter. As nothing more than a Barney Fife look-a-like.

Well, the show is over. If you’re supposed to be on patrol, get on it.

Yes, sir. Officer Reynolds replied.

So get your buddy and go, Captain Mueler ordered the young officers while his gaze remained on Phoenix.

Yes, sir, Reynolds repeated. The young men scurried out. The captain waited for them to leave before he approached Phoenix.

I need to talk to you, Phoenix. In my office. He turned to leave the room and Phoenix released a huge sigh. Convinced he finally screwed up enough to get himself fired. He slowly rose from his chair and followed the captain.

2

She walked into the smallest, darkest and dirtiest bar, the Ziggy Stardust, around eight-thirty in the evening. The worst shithole in all of Flathead County. Was the owner serious? Is he British or does he have an obsession with David Bowie? Paying tribute to a scrawny Brit who painted himself gold in the seventies. I guess that really brings in the customers. But as she walked to the barstool and took a seat, she could see the idea wasn’t working out for him. For a Friday night, it was pretty dead. There were probably five other people in the place and they were all watching a baseball game on television. Must be hard to see through the cloud of smoke. She didn’t mind the smoke. As long as no one sat next to her blowing it in her face.

She told the bartender she wanted a Crown and coke and took out four dollars to pay for it. She stirred her drink before taking her first sip. Once she did, she felt complete bliss. Until her mind wandered: To the day she walked out of the grocery store. To the event that brought it all back to her. Which triggered her first two murders. She was leaving the store. She had almost made it to her truck when she heard it. Nearby she heard the sound of her own laugh coming from a child. Her daughter. The daughter she gave up for adoption. A product of the man who violated her as a young girl. She felt disoriented. Darkness and distortion of voices soon followed. Along with rage. The kind of rage that swallows you whole.

She went out that night, in need to vent. She went into a bar she’d never been to before, and it was pretty crowded that night. She bought her drink and looked around the room. Her eyes locked onto HIM. Sandy hair and blue eyes. He was a blast from the past she wanted but didn’t need. She approached him and was amazed how easily she caught his attention. She learned over the years how easy it was to get a man where you wanted him. She wasn’t beautiful, but she was attractive. And if you have a decent body and a pair of tits, you could get any man’s attention on you. But mostly, it takes charm. Smile at him with I want you badly in your eyes, he’s putty in your hand. As long as they have hope, they’ll go anywhere with you. And after a while he left the bar with her. Anxious to get her out of her clothes. She agreed to follow him home in her truck. Once inside his bedroom, however, she quickly stripped him naked and pushed him onto his bed. She pulled off her blouse. She then told him she wanted to get a condom from her purse. He said he was fine with wearing one.

But she didn’t have any condoms with her. Instead she retrieved the knife that was in her purse and hid it behind her back. When she returned to him, he closed his eyes, thinking she was about to kiss him. But she gripped her knife and began to stab him in the chest. She didn’t bother to count the number of times she punctured his body with her blade. Ten, maybe. She went into his bathroom to clean up. Starting with the blood on her knife. Then she cleaned what blood there was on her body. She saw the blood on her jeans and was a little angry. Now I have to burn these. And they were my favorite pair. Damn. Note to self. Don’t ever do this wearing your good clothes. Then she put her blouse back on. And for reasons unknown to her, she didn’t want to leave him in his bed. She found garbage bags in his kitchen. The thirty-gallon bags. And a roll of duct tape. She put one bag over his head and pulled it down to his waist. Another bag went over his feet and legs. She bound the two bags together to form a makeshift body bag. The last thing she wanted was his blood in the cargo area of her truck. She found a flashlight.

She searched the rest of his property for something to move his body. She hoped basic science would help counter her smaller size. She spotted the tool shed in his back yard. She found what she was looking for. The wheelbarrow would serve her nicely. She wheeled it into the house and rolled his body onto it. Then she wheeled him to the back of her truck. She lowered the tailgate and began to roll the body into the cargo area. Once he was in, she set the wheelbarrow on him and closed the tailgate. She slid in behind the steering wheel and drove onto State Road 93. After she saw the sign for Flathead National Forest, she stopped. She rolled him back into the wheelbarrow and pushed him onto the grass. She dumped his body about fifteen feet from the road and removed the trash bags from him. She put the wheelbarrow back into the cargo area of her truck and went home.

She hoped he would be the only victim. But a month later, she was in another bar and saw someone who looked similar to him. And the urge came back. The only difference between the two murders was she left the second victim fully clothed with his wallet in his jeans. She didn’t feel like waiting for the clothes to come off. Besides, his clothing absorbed the blood spatter better. Less blood on her, and that was a good thing. Especially when you consider she sacrificed her favorite pair of jeans. She found it weird how, as she sipped on her Crown and coke, she was actually reflecting on her first two kills. But, unfortunately, the period of reflection was over when she finally looked around. More people had come into the bar while she was lost in her own thoughts. And she zeroed in on number three.

3

Am I fired? Phoenix asked Captain Mueler.

No, he replied.

What? Phoenix uttered, shocked. He was positive the captain had taken enough of his shit.

No. I wanted to speak to you alone.

Why?

A call just came in. A guy jogging down State Road 93 found a body.

What’s that got to do with me?

I need a detective over there.

I’m not a detective anymore. Remember?

Well, I need someone on the scene.

What about Willets and Samuels? Ron Willets and Jon Samuels. Both had been detectives for three years now, and they were the two assholes who tormented him the most since his suspension and demotion.

Samuels is working a case down in Kalispell. And Willets is in court.

So you want me to fill in until they’re free?

No. Neither of them have ever worked a case like this before and I need your expertise. This is your case. Listen, I’m sorry for what you’ve been through. But you must understand. The chief wanted me to fire you, and I refused. And I went to bat for you. I made a compromise by promising to keep you off the streets. But this is your chance to redeem yourself. Don’t screw it up. Captain