The Devil's Copper by Jamie Crothall (ebook audio reader .TXT) 📗

“Were you contacted by someone from this station?”

I wanted to come up with a clever dismissal but couldn’t think of anything.  “I, uh…I think I made a mistake.”

“Are you sure about that?  Are there any alternate spellings?”

“No, it’s nothing, I think I just…”

“Are you in any kind of trouble?” she asked, her tone a note more serious.

“No,” I replied, perhaps a little too quickly.  “I, uh…I think someone was just screwing around with me.  I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean to waste your time.”

“Okay,” she said, her skepticism not at all veiled.  “I want you to take this though, okay?” she said as she handed me her card.  “If this turns out to not be a mistake then you get back to me?  Understood?”

I nodded, eager to find my way back out.  I cursed myself as I left the building and made my way back to the car.  That was so stupid!  I was warned by a man with a gun to NOT do something and the first thing I do is that very thing.  Was I trying to get Jack killed?  I drove home and buried my face in my pillow. I didn’t have the mental or emotional awareness to do anything else at that moment.  I felt scared and alone.  I debated calling my friends, but I knew they’d be no help.  My parents were a write-off, so there was no point in that.  I didn’t know who else to contact, and though my better sense told me ‘no one,’ I knew  there was no way I could simply sit by and wait without knowing what was happening.  I had a thought.  I had an idea.  I hated it but at that moment I couldn’t think of any other course of action.

I called Walter.

Of course, he didn’t answer his phone.  He was probably sleeping, but I left a message anyway.

“Hi, Walter.  It’s Billie.  Look, I really need to talk to you.  It’s about Jack.  Please call me back as soon as you get this, okay?”

I hung up and busied myself by trying once again to lift the bedroom door, and at least place it back into position.  I managed to find a way to latch the front door shut using a wire coat hanger and some of the exposed doorknob workings.  It was able to be shut from either side, but it was by no means secure.  It wasn’t until about two hours later that I heard back from Walter.  When I answered the phone his groggy voice simply stated “buy me breakfast.”  I begrudgingly agreed and was already questioning my brilliance by pulling him into this when I left to meet him at the food court in the New Sudbury Centre.

Walter Blunt was hard to define by several means.  First of all was his ethnicity – I could never determine what his background was and his last name gave nothing away.  I had first assumed he was native, however he would sometimes make jokes that only a middle-eastern person could get away with.  Unless he was just that racist.  In addition to this was his age.  The fact that he and Jack were such good friends and went back ‘a long way’ made me assume they were roughly the same age.  Both in their late twenties.  However, I would not be surprised if Walter was considerably older.  It’s hard to explain, but he had one of those faces that looks young however are probably older than you’d think.

He was seated at a table in the food court when I arrived.  He was already working on a breakfast meal from one of the kiosks.  He was dressed in a tattered old drab trench coat, and wore blue jeans and a flannel shirt.  His shoulder-length, oily, black hair hung loosely about him as he ate.

I was immediately suspicious the moment I sat down, when he stated plainly “Jack’s in trouble.”

“Yes, he is.  How did you know?”

“You told me.”

“No I didn’t.”

He glanced up at me.  “Your expression.  Your voice.  I can tell.”

“Oh.  Okay.  Well, anyway, after he got home last night from dropping you off…”

“You went to bed and then what time did they come?”

“I think it was about two…”

“Two-fifteen?”

“I mean…maybe?”

“What did the fourth guy say before he left?”

“Wait, how do you…”

“You’re taking too long, was it the fourth guy with the moustache, or was it…”

“How the hell do you know all this?” I asked.  I’d have pushed my chair back if they weren’t fixed to the table.  Within seconds, he was already starting to make me wonder how much he already knew.

He finished his piece of toast then licked the butter off his fingers.  “We can argue the small details or we can get to the important stuff.  What else did they say?”

I shook my head.  “What do you know?”

He seemed genuinely confused.  “What do you mean?”  I then heard him quietly begin counting to himself.  “…one…two…”  He then seemed to snap himself out of it.  “Jack’s my friend and I want to help him out, but in order to do so I need to know what you know.”

“You already seem to know most of what I know.  You can see how that’s a little alarming.”

“What’s alarming is that you went to the police when they specifically told you not to.”

I immediately stood up.  I didn’t plan to, I just did.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“This was a mistake.  For some reason I thought I could trust you, but clearly I was wrong.”

“Why wouldn’t you trust me?”

“Oh I don’t know, maybe because you already know everything about what happened?  Why did they take him?  Why didn’t you do anything?  I thought you were supposed to be his friend!”

“Sit down,” he hissed.  I didn’t want to comply but I realized that people