Still Waters Run Deep: An Abernathy Novel

By Kate Kelly

My name is Detective Ali Rivers and my last date, which was already the stuff of nightmares, turned worse than I thought possible. I was on a horrible blind date (set up by my mother - long story) and got interrupted by going to a dead body in an alley in my city of Abernathy, Tennessee

.Next thing I know, a detective from another city is tryi

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kate Kelly
• Release date: Jan 24, 2020
• ISBN: 9781087943725

Kate Kelly

Kate Kelly (1950-2012) was the coauthor of two bestselling books, You Mean I’m Not Lazy, Stupid, or Crazy?! and The ADDed Dimension. An advanced practice mental health nurse with over thirty years’ experience as a family, group, and individual therapist, she was a legendary pioneer in the world of Adult ADHD and founded the ADDed Dimension Coaching Group.

Book preview

1

Chapter 1

And that's why I love my job. I feel like I'm looking into people's souls - like the phrase says - and I feel like I'm doing my part to help someone's light shine through, Brad says with some bizarre mix of cockiness and sincerity.

I’m sitting in La Mer, a new French style restaurant that opened recently. It isn’t super pricey by most large cities’ standards, but it is pricey by the standards of Abernathy, Tennessee. There is soft music tinkling over our heads and soft tealight candles on the table. The décor is tastefully modern with warm tones, despite the nautical theme. It is tasteful nautical, though, not like you stepped into Pirate Joe’s Fish Shack. There are cloth tablecloths, with linen napkins folded in a shape that baffles both physics and any normal person. How they managed to fold a square or rectangle into a fish – and make it stay in place – is well beyond me. I always sucked at origami. Unfortunately for this guy, I don’t like seafood. I warned him, but he insisted on this place. He wanted to show me a good time. He looked shocked when I ordered a steak and not the catch of the day.

What an obnoxious guy. He's an optometrist, not the next Buddha (the dirty blonde hair and green eyes is also a good indicator that he isn’t Buddha). That's what I get for agreeing to a blind date set up by my mother. I know, I know, that should have been my first clue that this was a horrifically terrible idea. She told me yesterday that she had already confirmed the dinner date for me and this guy, Brad, and told me I had better show up. It's just rude if you don't show up after I already committed you. The irony of that statement was lost, and also made me wish I could commit my mom somewhere, too - a mental institution. Good Lord, did I wish I could gulp down a beer. Or three. Whatever. There isn’t any amount of steak this restaurant could offer that could pull this out of a nosedive.

While trying to school my face with an appropriate reaction to the smug nonsense Brad said, I hear my phone go off. Brad nearly chokes on his petite cut of yellowfin tuna when he hears the slightly muffled tones of Inner Circle’s Bad Boys. Thank God. I can only hope my face didn't show the amount of relief I felt on the inside. I garner a few side-eye glances at patrons who are near our table, and I politely look at them with apologetic eyes. I plaster a grimace on my face, and say, Let me get this, it might be important.

Sure, sure, he waves his hand while also dipping his eyes further south of my face, and not for the first time. Lovely. It’s not like my dress is completely flaunting the modest cleavage genetics blessed me with. It’s still quite respectable, my deep blue dress with the front of my dress cutting mid-sternum. Tasteful yet sexy, but not something that screams Yeah, I’m a sure thing. I even let my dark brown hair flow down my shoulders in gentle waves, so that’s also obscuring the peep show Brad’s hoping for. What a dick.

This is Alison.

Detective Rivers?

Oh, thank God. This is.

Uh, hi, this is Officer Reynolds...

I look back at Brad, who is looking at me, with what hopefully is an apologetic look on my face. It's work. Give me a minute. I'm sorry. Back to my phone, Yes, Officer?

Uh, yeah...the schedule shows you're on call tonight. You caught one. It's fresh.

As horrible as this might sound, never in my life have I been more grateful for a homicide call. Alright, Officer, thanks for the call. I'll be on my way shortly. Turning back to give my full attention to Brad, I'm sorry. I need to go. Work calls. I stand up to go, putting the napkin on the table beside my unfinished plate. I can leave some cash for my portion of the meal.

We didn't even discuss what you did for work, he says. No kidding. We spent all our time discussing the light in people's eyes. Are you sure it's not one of those fake-emergencies-when-you're-on-a-bad-date type deals? Funny he'd know about that. I'm pretty sure the irony of that statement was lost on him.

I narrow my dark brown eyes at him. Yeah, this definitely isn't one of those fake emergencies. This is a real one, and I've got to go.

What do you do? What could possibly be happening now to make you leave a fantastic meal with one of the city's best optometrists?

A dead body. I'm a homicide detective. His eyes widen as I step away from my chair, pick up my purse, and drop a twenty on the table. Thank you for the company. Have a nice night.

----

I pull up onto 10th Street as close to the crime scene as I can. With 5 squad cars, the medical examiner's van, as well as the crime scene tech guys, I am not able to score that good of a parking spot. This is going to be great, 3 city blocks in heels I don't even like. I dig around my glove box for my badge and hook it around a chain. There’s nowhere for me to clip it on me, unless I want my badge nestled nicely in the deep V of my dress. Not quite the look I’m going for, especially considering the lion's den I was about to walk into. I sigh, grab my notebook, and get out of the car. I make a pit stop at the trunk, and I use the time alone to hike my dress up my thighs a bit until I reach my gun. I secure it in the trunk in a gun safe I have for reasons just like this. I manage to find a spare hair band so I can pull my hair back. I also root around for my standard issue police department jacket, but luck is seriously not on my side. I shut the trunk and walk down the street to the scene sans jacket.

Wow, Detective.

Hey, Alison.

Wow, someone was somewhere nice.

I ignore the guys, and jovially roll my eyes. I walk up to Jerry, my partner. Hey, Jer.

Wow, look at you! Where on earth were you looking like that? He takes in an eyeful of my deep blue dress. I look good - once in a while I can be known to dress up and look damn good.

Shocking, right? I was at La Mer.

Oooh, fancy place. Surely you weren't eating all by yourself. Jerry winks.

No, I was on a date.

No way. A date? You?! Jerry says with wide eyes.

I snort. A date is a bit of a stretch. But hey! I can get asked out, you know. It's not like it's entirely unheard of.

Jerry starts laughing. It must have been an unmitigated disaster for you to get here so quickly.

I crack a smile. You have no idea. He was an optometrist who believed he was helping people - and I quote - let their light shine. I shake my head.

Where do you find these people? Seriously.

Two words, Jer. My. Mother, I respond, counting with my fingers.

His eyes widen, and he tries to stifle laughter while also trying to look sympathetic. So she's at it again, huh? Operation Set Up Ali continues.

Apparently, I say wryly. What've we got? I start pulling my hair back into a ponytail so I can view the scene without leaving hair everywhere.

We turn and start walking towards the corner of an alley. The typical police noise I’ve learned to shut out at will fills the air. I can hear some officers laughing or talking, I can hear the radios going off. I can hear the Medical Examiner’s technicians snapping the gurney together. I can hear the cameras going off from the crime scene techs, and somehow over all that din, my heels manage to be the loudest – and strangest - sound in the entire alley. Clickety-clack all over the cement. One dead male. Robert Jenson, age 35, according to the license in his wallet. At the moment, we don't know cause of death. Reynolds and the other officers are trying to track down next-of-kin, but they’re not having any luck.

No?

No, there's too much damage at the moment to know for sure how he died.

I look at what is left of Robert Jenson. He has a few defensive wounds on his arms and hands, but it’s his head that really grabs my attention. He was beaten to a point where he is almost unrecognizable. I feel bad for Robert Jenson. His body was found in an alley. He was tossed aside with cardboard boxes placed to slightly obscure the body. His limbs are splayed out at all angles, almost spread eagle like a gingerbread man. Yikes. Seems awfully personal to do that level of damage. Someone really didn't like him. Do we know anything about him offhand?

Looks like he's had a few run-ins here with us, as well as a few departments across the state. Doesn't appear to be anything terribly serious - you know, petty theft, drug possession. Nothing that screams I most definitely need to get the shit beat out of me, Jerry says.

I carefully avoid a few blood drops while trying to maneuver around the body. Damn these heels. And damn this wind. Jerry, do you have a jacket in your car? I can't find mine.

Sure, hold on. Reynolds! He motions for the officer to come closer. Can you get a jacket out of your car for Ali here? Reynolds nods and hurries off to retrieve it. He hands it off to me a few seconds later. Blissful warmth.

I start taking notes while taking in the scene and walking towards our Medical Examiner. The alley isn’t entirely disgusting. I mean, I’ve definitely seen my share of gross things in an alley. Dead bodies, vomit, rotting food. You name it. But this isn’t like that. The businesses surrounding the alley are respectable businesses where there would be daily foot traffic. There are a few cardboard boxes and a very small dumpster up against the exterior of one of the buildings on the right. The area surrounding the dumpster is littered with a few cigarette butts, a fast food wrapper, and miscellaneous office trash. I look up at the corners of the buildings.

Damn, Jer. No cameras on the alley. I continue on. Can you check the businesses in the morning and ask for their security footage? We might happen to get lucky. I know it’s a long shot, but..you never know. I shrug.

Sure thing, Ali.

Who the hell called this in? It’s not like you could really see him if you were casually driving by.

Jerry nods towards a man who is talking to officers. Adam Jenkins. He’s giving his statement now to the officers, but it sounds like he was just taking a walk tonight and was crossing the alley entrance when he just happened to look and see Jenson. He called 911, and Jenson was DOA.

I nod. Alright. I guess we can talk to him later. I’m going to go talk to Elmer. I chuckled at my inside joke. Doctor James Flannigan is our M.E. and is a brilliant individual. He’s excellent at translating things from medical language into plain English. He’s prompt, efficient, and thorough, and a few years older than my 33. When I met him, I immediately asked, What’s up, Doc? and thought it was hilarious. He didn’t, and still doesn’t. He doesn’t have the same affection for his nickname that I do, but I don’t care. I won’t lie; I enjoy ruffling his feathers.

Doc takes one look at me in my finery and doesn’t bother hiding his shock. What? I ask indignantly.

I’m just shocked, Detective. You don’t normally look so nice when you show up to look at a dead body.

Maybe I had plans earlier and this guy got in the way. Elmer looks at me dubiously. What, is it really so hard to believe I might have had a date?

You mean a date that you arranged by yourself? Yes.

Okay, really, Elmer. I can go on dates and get asked out by men. I try hard not to look like a petulant child.

Oh, where’d you meet him? And how’d he ask you out? He looks so smug with his raised eyebrows.

You know, there’s a dead guy here who might appreciate a little attention.. I huff.

It was her mom, supplies Jerry.

God, why do I even put up with this guy? He might be my partner – for five years, but dear God can the man get on my last nerve. I’ve often wondered how his wife puts up with him. I try to brush off Elmer’s laugh while Jerry is practically busting at the seams over my misfortune. Again.

Seriously! Dead guy, right here, I say, pointing at poor Robert Jenson. This guy is lying here dead wondering why no one is solving his murder while everyone’s laughing at my disaster! Can we just get a freaking move on? It’s hard to look like you mean business or look angry when you’re wearing a cute dress, heels, and an oversized police jacket, while starting to freeze in the cool night air.

Alright, alright, Detective, take it down a notch. Steam doesn’t become you when it’s coming out your ears. I don’t know his cause of death. I initially want to say blunt force trauma, given the extensive damage to his head, but I don’t want to speculate. I know he hasn’t been dead long – no more than the past 4 hours. I’ll take him back to my lab and I’ll do my work. I’ll let you have my report when I’m finished. He turns back to the men working with him and I turn away. Elmer, while never turning down an opportunity to gloat at some misfortune of mine, is always a professional.

I turn to go talk with our reporting party, Mr. Jenkins. I confirm we had a preliminary statement, but given the lateness of the hour, I tell him he can go home, and to report back at nine at the station. There isn’t much left to do – the techs were doing their thing, the businesses were closed, there were no witnesses – so the only thing we could do was go home and get some sleep.

2

Chapter 2

I was dreaming of a hammer beating down some wood. The continual thump of the hammer seemed awfully loud in my head. Why I would be dreaming of a hammer is beyond me, but the hammering kept going. I pry my eyes open. The hammering kept going. Oh, it’s not hammering; it’s my front door. Someone had better be bleeding or a house better be on fire for them to be pounding on my door.

I throw on some yoga pants and another shirt and walk to the door. I look out the peephole and suddenly wish I hadn’t.

Come on, dear, I saw the light change in your house. Open the door! We need to talk, and I want to find out about last night!

Dear God in Heaven. It wasn’t enough she set me up on the date, but now my mother thinks she’s entitled to a play-by-play? What sort of evil karma did I do to someone for the universe to inflict this on me? Upon further thought while leaning against the door while the banging continued, I realize I probably shouldn’t have asked that question regarding karma. Bad plan. I sigh and open the door.

My mother practically bumrushes through my front hallway headed straight for the kitchen talking a mile a minute. Not only am I not awake enough for this conversation, I also haven’t had any coffee. I stop her mid-rant and tell her I need coffee.

Sure thing, sweetie. I’ll make it for you! It’s no problem at all. She is way too cheery for this early in the morning.

I narrow my eyes at her, wondering if this is some sort of weird trick or some trap I’m about to walk into. She looks rather innocent, which, while a bit of a relief, is also slightly disconcerting. She doesn’t do innocent well. If we’re doing theater today, I need to get my game face on, which means coffee and a shower. I take a quick shower, put on a nice blouse and pants, and come back to the kitchen where my mom is making me her special eggs and pancakes.

Soooo, how’d it go? She looks way too excited for details.

I turned to the cupboard and pulled out a mug for both her and me. I pour the coffee for both of us and turn to her, handing her the mug. Mom, it was….well...there won’t be a second date.

She looks at me with pursed lips for a moment and then asks, How do you know he’s not good for you if you only had one date?

And then, because I’m a complete idiot and the coffee hadn’t quite kicked in, I say, Well it wasn’t even a complete first date, either. I left in the middle of our main course.

You’d think I had just said, I went skinny dipping in the middle of the fountain in front of City Hall at noon based on her face. Alison Rivers! Why on earth would you be so rude? You didn’t even give him a chance!

Mom, first off, I left because work called and I have a new case. Second, seriously, why would you think I’d be a good match for him?

He is a good-looking, single male who isn’t divorced or has kids, he’s not much older than you, and he’s a doctor! He’s nice and a real treat to be around.

He’s an optometrist, not a cardiologist. Lots of men are single without kids and without an ex-wife. I couldn’t care less about his age. And out of curiosity, where did you run into him? And how the heck did I come up as a topic of conversation?

Honestly, Ali, for a Detective, you’re not observant. I got new frames! She does some Vanna White move with her hands by her eyes. To be honest, her new frames don’t even look that different from her old ones. I decided to give his office a try. He was so kind and welcoming in his office and he was so patient! He was wonderful.

I’m sure he’s kind to every new patient. I doubt he bent over backwards for you. And you still haven’t mentioned how I was brought into the conversation... I tap my fingers on the counter with a mix of impatience and frustration.

Ah, well we were at the end of the appointment and he was so charming and he asked if there was anyone I could refer to his practice, along with a gift card to me for the referral. I said I had a lovely, smart daughter who I’m sure would need glasses considering how many reports you write and all that nighttime driving you do. Anyway, I gave him your number and email so he could contact you. Oh! I almost forgot to give you his business card so you can call and schedule an appointment, she says as she fishes his card out of her giant monstrosity of a purse. She sets it on the counter and I look at it as if it’s riddled with Ebola. There is absolutely no way I’m touching that card unless it’s as I toss it in the trash.

There are so many things wrong with what you just said. I don’t even have the time to explain to you how messed up all of that was. I don’t like the guy, Mom. He was horrible. You wouldn’t believe some of the convoluted, asinine things that came out of his mouth. Seeing his patients’ souls and helping their light shine - honestly, Mom! It was almost painful. Not once did he ask about my job, and the only reason he now knows what I do is because, like I said, I got called away onto a case. He didn’t seem thrilled about that, either, by the way, but it’s not like I can pick and choose and schedule someone’s murder. Please, please, please: stop setting me up with men you meet. Please. I’m begging you.

I feel like you’re trying to tell me something. She pauses and looks deep in thought, while I’m looking at her like Duh, I just did!. Oh my gosh! My darling girl, are you...are you stepping in the hallway, or whatever you kids call it nowadays?

I choke on my delicious pancakes. Say what? Mom...do you mean coming out of the closet?

Yes, that! Are you trying to tell me you’re into other girls? Have I missed the signs you’ve given me all these years?

She’s definitely missed some signals I’ve been giving her all this time, but not about this. Okay, whoa. Stop there. I wave my hands in front of me. No, I’m not a lesbian.

Oh, baby, it’s okay if you are. I wondered if letting you listen to Madonna when you were young was going to have some sort of lasting damage...I accept you, Alison Rivers, daughter mine.

There is not enough coffee in this world to make me not want to hit my head repeatedly against my granite countertop. Mom. I’m not a lesbian. I like men. I just don’t like this one man. He’s just awful for me, okay? It’s nothing personal. I know you want me to go off and get married and have kids. I know eventually that’ll happen, but it most assuredly won’t be with Brad the Optometrist. I love you, and I’m so glad you’re thinking of me and my future, but please, please don’t set me up anymore. I’m begging you. You’re making me the laughingstock of the department.

Oh now there’s an idea I hadn’t thought of. Why not ask Jerry to maybe find a nice man for you to date?

I groan. Mom, Jerry’s my partner. I wouldn’t do that to him. Plus, he’s married and he’s got kids in college. He doesn’t need to be thinking of who his partner’s hooking up with or going on a date with. I get up and put my plate in the sink. I’m done with this insanity this morning. I’m concerned my mother will next ask if I’m into BDSM because I have handcuffs on me while wearing a leather belt for my gun holster. And that most assuredly is not a conversation both of us will survive.

-

I sit in my car after arriving at the station, trying to center myself for the coming day. There are a few police officers outside, but they mostly ignore me this morning. Abernathy’s police department isn’t very big. It’s not small, though. We’ve got 30 patrol officers and 8 detectives – some focus on Robbery, some focus on Cyber Crimes, some focus on Assaults, and Jerry and I work homicide and suicide (which is pretty rare, thus why we’re the only ones). I enjoy my job. I’ve floated on calls for assaults and such, like when we had an altercation involving football fans at a bar. I’ve dabbled in Robbery, but it didn’t really pique my interest. We, as detectives of a small-ish department, are used to wearing many hats and floating among cases as needed. We don’t get a lot of murders around here, but I feel like we’re viewed as a dump site for drugs and stolen things, and the occasional body. We’re a good distance from Nashville but along a major highway, so the criminals feel we’re a sweet spot – far enough away from a big city that a bigger department may not notice, but close enough that your entire day won’t be taken up driving around to find a place to dump a body; criminals have shit they need to do. They don’t need to get bogged down in the minutia of dumping a body clear across the state.

I get out and walk in the station and the desk sergeant flags me down. He informs me that Adam Jenkins did indeed show up and was waiting in Interrogation Room 1. I stopped by my desk and grabbed my notebook where Jerry was waiting for me.

Morning, Jerry. Ready to go to Interro 1? Mr. Jenkins is sitting there waiting for us.

Sure thing, Ali. Let me refill my coffee and I’ll meet you there. Want one too?

Coffee sounded tempting, but after the morning I already experienced with my mom, a strong margarita sounded even better. Keeping my thoughts to myself, I just shook my head. Nah, but thanks anyway. I’ll go in and introduce myself.

Interrogation Room 1 – or, Interro Room, as we called it around here – was set off to the side of station, set apart from the cops’ offices. All the Interro Rooms were wired with audio and cameras, of course, but we took pride in ours. Our Interro Rooms may look old school and outdated, but that was fine. They have a weird neutral gray to the walls with some dents in the walls from rather robust discussions when people got a teensy bit upset with us. The glass isn’t even tinted. We have old plastic blinds that are thick and bent at weird angles. It is all an illusion. It is a carefully constructed facade designed to look like there is no way we have top-notch video and audio capabilities. Spoiler alert – we do. Our tech guys are brilliant. We always have someone watching the audio/visual feed while an interrogation room is being used.

Adam Jenkins is sitting, hands resting on top of the table. He is dressed in a nice button-down shirt and dress pants. Calm, check. Patient, check. I walk in. Good morning, Mr. Jenkins. I’m Detective Rivers. We met briefly last night. My partner is Detective Crews, who should be in in a minute. Can I get you anything – coffee, water, maybe a soda..?

No, ma’am, that’s not necessary. I had my morning coffee already. Alert, check. Affable, check. Conciliatory, check.

I go ahead and sit down across from him and smiled. Alright, then. We’ll wait for my partner and then we’ll get started. Hopefully, we won’t keep you from the rest of your day for too long. At that moment, Jerry comes in with coffee and his notebook.

Sorry it took a bit, I had to roshambo another officer for the last of the coffee in the pot, he says as he sits down. I’m Detective Crews. Thanks again for meeting with us so soon. I’m sure you haven’t had the easiest night.

No, it wasn’t a great night to be honest, he says.

We don’t want to make you relive the gory details. We just want to know what you saw in your own words, in as much detail as you can provide, in regards to the events of last night. Anything you can remember, regardless of how small or seemingly insignificant, may be a big help to us, says Jerry. Let’s begin, he says, clicking his pen and turning to a new page. This is Detective Crews interviewing Mr. Adam Jenkins, along with Detective Alison Rivers. We are collecting a witness statement for the case of Robert Jenson. It is 9:15 a.m. on Wednesday, April 12, Case Number 100948. So, Mr. Jenkins, just walk us through your night starting two hours prior to the event, ending with your phone call to the police.

At seven pm, I was heading to the bar for a few drinks with friends while watching a game. After a couple hours, the game was finished and so everyone went their separate ways. I decided to walk home, since I walked to the bar. On my way down 10th Street, I looked down the alley, because I thought about using it as a shortcut. That’s when I saw...him...lying in the alley. He starts looking a little pale at this point. I went over to him to ask if he needed help or something, and that’s when I saw how messed up he was. I freaked out and called 911.

Okay, Mr. Jenkins, we’re going to walk through this in more detail, okay?, says Jerry. I had already written a timeline based on what Mr. Jenkins had already given us, which was consistent with what he had told the officers last night on the scene.

Mr. Jenkins, you say you were at the bar for a few hours. Do you recall the number of drinks you had?

Oh, not a lot. Maybe 2 beers? he responds.

Ah yes, the infamous 2 beer response. Red Flag number 1. I interject and asked how many friends were with him and their names. I tell him we might have to talk to them to determine if they happened to go by the scene as well.

He responds, John Dalton, William Blake, and Jacob Peterson with their numbers, but his voice gets a little higher-pitched each time he listed a name of his friends. Red Flag number 2.

I ask him casually, after writing their names and numbers, So who won the game you guys were watching?

Mr. Jenkins looks a bit uncomfortable and responds with, Um, the team with the white uniforms. Red Flag number 3.

What sport was this game you were watching, again? I ask.

Um..football? He’s looking more and more uncomfortable and I’m getting more and more suspicious. Jerry and I exchange a look. Look, I just called and said there’s a dead body. I don’t know why I’m getting all these questions.

Jerry jumps to his defense. Look, man. No one cares how many beers you had or what game you watched. We just want to make sure that when we find the murderer, his lawyer can’t say our star witness was drunk. It’s a whole chain of evidence thing. It’s not a big deal.

I didn’t see anything. All I did was find the body. I didn’t see one thing. All I did was call the police! That’s what you do when you find a dead body. You call the cops! Jenkins looks nervous. And I get suspicious.

Mr. Jenkins, the white team won the sport? I ask him sarcastically.

I don’t know, okay? We were all sitting around and talking while the game was on. It was just background noise, he says.

Which bar were you guys hanging out in? Jerry asks.

Oh, you know...the one around the corner... Jenkins replies. Seriously, we’ve got so many red flags piling up, we might as well be waving a giant matador flag for a giant bull.

There’s no bar within walking distance from the scene of the crime, Mr. Jenkins, I reply dryly. There’s no point prolonging my torture. He obviously wasn’t at a bar last night. We know, he knows it, let’s just put it out there. Look, we know you weren’t at a bar last night. It’s glaringly obvious. You know you weren’t there; we know you weren’t there. Stop wasting our time. I fix him with my best I’m a cop and we know everything already glare. It’s one of my favorite facial expressions.

Jenkins sighs and looks down at his balled-up hands. What if...what if I wasn’t at a bar? I mean, am I going to get in trouble now? He looks up at me with worried eyes.

I don’t know, Mr. Jenkins, that kind of depends on you and how honest you are with us. If you’re completely, 100% honest with us, you may not have anything to worry about. So let’s start from scratch, okay? I suggest.

Jenkins takes in a deep breath and slowly lets it out. I’ve been leading a secret life for the last 15 years. I’ve kept it from my wife, my kids, my parents, coworkers...everyone except my 4 closest friends.

Jerry and I both perk up. Jerry puts down his coffee cup and raises his eyebrows as if to say, Go on. He definitely has our interest. I swear to God, this sounds like he’s about to come out of the closet, or as my mom says, stepping out in the hallway. Perhaps that is the universe’s theme for the day

Jenkins takes in another breath. I’ve been a Master Thief for the last 18 years.

Say what? Jerry looks surprised and says, Wow, a Master Thief? That’s impressive. What have you been involved in taking? Where’s your crew? Jerry’s pen is poised to write the novel about to come forth from Jenkin’s mouth. This ought to be good.

Jenkins seems to have found a kindred spirit in Jerry, for God knows what reason. His eyes light up and he says, Oh gosh, where to begin. I’ve been doing it so long, the stuff just blends in after a while. But that’s what we were doing last night – splitting up the loot from our last heist. I interject here and confirm the we is Jenkins and his friends he previously listed. I’m not sure what the heck is going on here, but somehow Jerry and I, in all our infinite wisdom and skill, have convinced a Master Thief to divulge all his secrets over the last few decades. Maybe seeing the dead body shook him up more than we assumed. Hell, maybe we could get more confessions by taking criminals to see other dead bodies.

He brushes me off, saying, Yeah, yeah, them, anyway...let’s see. We’ve robbed the Louvre in Paris, the Vatican in Rome, the Kremlin in Moscow, and even the British Museum of Natural History. That one was a nightmare, I tell you. They almost caught us, but we managed to barely get away. We got into the Smithsonian, Fort Knox, the diamond district in New York and Tel Aviv...I mean, we’ve been all over the world! It’s such a rush! He gets more and more animated as we continue. He’s sweating more and more, but it’s not from confession. He’s just plumb excited.

Jerry and I are looking at each other and at Jenkins. What an odd duck, our expressions seem to say. Jerry’s the first to speak. So, you never got caught…?

Well, yeah, in the beginning, we did all the time. But now that we’ve had so much experience, getting caught is a lot harder. I mean, you learn how to not get caught by getting caught. It’s silly to try and rob the Crown Jewels of England when you’ve only been at it 6 months. You’ve gotta start small and work your way up. That’s where other teams go wrong. They get too greedy, too fast, which screws up the whole dynamic of the group. He is way too excited, I decide.

I definitely did not have enough margaritas or coffee this morning. I’m regretting that now. I’m also wondering if he has taken his serious psychotropic meds this morning as directed by his doctor. I’m wondering if we should be getting a straitjacket and stopping this before a psych defense is clear as day. Oh well, too late for that.

Jerry, on the other hand, is eating this up. Where do you guys stash your loot?

Jenkins looks at him like he’s grown a third head. Irony, anyone? Obviously, in our secret headquarters, he responds.

Right, right, how silly of me. Where’s your secret headquarters then? Jerry asks.

If I tell you, it won’t be secret. Then you’ll raid our loot and we’ll have to start all over again.

Wait right there. Stop. Well, you’re right we’ll raid it, I say. We should give it to the rightful owners, right?

Yeah, no. That’s not what you’re supposed to do at all. Honestly, guys, do you not know how AO works? If you take my stuff, I have to send assassins after you, and trust me, no one wants that!

Jerry looks at him with side-eyes and asks, Did you just threaten to kill two police officers in a police station while talking about a dead body you found?

This is going nowhere, I say, fully embracing my bad cop mode. "You’re going to tell us what we want to know, and you’re going to tell us everything in detail. Let’s get serious. Otherwise, you’re simply wasting our time and I’ll bring