Despite the concerns of his court-appointed attorney, Freddy C agreed to speak to me. He claimed I was a friend. I stiffened at the word, no longer trusting its cozy sound.
He shuffled in, bearded and scraggly. The small opening in the glass partition flattened and filtered our voices, but it couldn’t alter visual impressions. He didn’t look well, and the way his eyes avoided mine reminded me of my encounter with Tina in the park this morning: Hiding and waiting, ceaselessly baiting.
Ten minutes. That’s all we were allowed. No time for small talk.
“Freddy C.”
“Artemis,” he said.
“You don’t look so hot. Is it true you were on Brianne’s property?”
With no hesitation, he nodded his head up and down.
“Why? What were you doing with scissors?”
“Not what they think.” He smoothed his beard. “Not what they think at all.”
“If you don’t tell me, they can think whatever they want and put you away for a long time. Do you understand me … Frederick Chipps?”
His chin bobbed as he mumbled something, and I told him to repeat himself.
He said, “They told you, didn’t they? About Chicago.”
“You were acquitted. What’s there to tell?”
“Wasn’t me, no sir. But no one believed me. No believers. The news, the reporters—they made me into a criminal.”
“Are you?”
“What?”
“A criminal. Is that what the C stands for? Chipps the Criminal?”
Freddy bumped his forehead into the partition, disturbing his swept-back strands of hair. He bumped it again, and a voice crackled through an overhead speaker with instructions not to touch the glass.
“You are my friend,” he said. “My friend. I need your trust, need your help.”
“Friends tell the truth, Freddy.”
“No one believes, not even you. But I fight it. I do. Fight it my own way.”
“Fight what?”
“Crime,” he said. “I fight crime.”
“Freddy.”
“You must believe, Artemis. This is why I chose you to help. He is not much of a man, but he is very bad. He does bad things. I saw him. Saw him in the park and at the Alumni Lawn.”
I checked the clock.
“I followed him,” Freddy went on. “Hid and waited in the shadows where he could not see, but I saw. A true man would be strong and in control, isn’t that so?” His eyes met mine for the first time, waiting for verification.
“Sure. A true man.”
“He was weak. Used a Taser to bring ’em down.”
“What’re you saying? The rapist used a Taser? You watched this happen?”
Freddy’s eyes lit up. “Yes. I baited him. He kept his things in his car, in a padded case, always ready. But I took one of them.”
“One of what?”
“The hair. Her hair.”
“Jessica Tyner’s? You took the hair from his case and put it in my room?”
“You, Artemis. They will believe you.”
“You broke into my house.”
“No one home. The bathroom window was open.”
“That was wrong. You can’t do that sorta thing.”
He nodded. “But you wouldn’t believe. No one believes me. Not after Chicago. I gave it to you so they can catch this man who isn’t a man. Not really, is he?”
“And this hair was supposed to clue me in?”
“An anonymous note. I left it to explain.”
“I didn’t see any note. I saw a stinkin’ clump of hair. Even if this is all true, you had no right to take my mom’s handkerchief.”
He shook his head. “Silky and white? I saw it, but I didn’t touch. Freddy C does not steal from friends. Never from a friend. I left a note. This bad man was watching you too, Artemis. Following. And I was worried. We have to catch him. I wanted the police to see, so I took his scissors.”
“From the case in his car? A white Camry, am I right?”
“Yes, yes. They can match his scissors. We got ourselves a problem, gotta solve it quick. I’ve seen him outside her place.”
“Brianne’s?”
“From your shop, yes. He’s followed her home. Not a safe man.”
I lifted my hand and leaned close to the glass. “Listen. He’s dead, Freddy. We caught him in Brianne’s condo last night, and he must’ve gotten himself a new pair of scissors. He was shot. He’s gone for good.”
Our time had almost expired. Freddy was chewing on his upper lip, contemplating this recent turn of events.
“Gotta go,” I said. “I’ll try to help you get outta here, okay?”
“Artemis.” He looked up. “Thank you. You’re a friend, and friends trust.”
“Yes, we’re friends. Me and Freddy C.” I pressed my fist to the glass. “C for Chipps.”
“No.” His eyes swung up. “C for Crime-fighter.”
Detective Meade leaned against a stone pillar, his tongue working at his cheek from the inside. Although his face was its usual mask of apathy, the lines of exhaustion cutting at the corners of his eyes and lips attested to his pledge of making the world a better place for his family.
Every boy, in his desire to be the dragon-slaying hero, looks for a role model. A mentor. Athletes, actors, rock stars. The challenge is finding a man who can show you how to navigate the daily struggles—with less adventure and smaller paychecks.
As I approached the detective, I had a glimpse of such a man. I realized I hadn’t perceived my father in such a light for more than twenty years.
“You’re looking mighty pensive, Aramis.”
“Yeah. Just thinking.”
“You realize, don’t you, that anything you tell me about your visit in there is hearsay? Inadmissible in court, off the record, and not to be repeated.”
“Thanks for bringing me to see him.”
“How’s Freddy looking?”
“Like he could use a shower and some sleep. Pretty much like you and me.”
Meade raised one eyebrow to study me, before letting that comment slide.
“One question for you, Detective.”
“Let’s hear it.”
“I know that during an investigation it’s normal to withhold facts about a serial rapist or murderer. To weed out prank callers and false leads, right? So tell me. Did the Rasputin Rapist use a Taser at all? To subdue his victims? Was that part of his MO?”
Detective Meade’s head whipped toward me. Okay, it didn’t whip. It turned. By the Meade standard, though, it was worth noting.
He said, “That was three questions, Aramis, and the answer is yes. If anyone asks, I never specified which one.”
I made two quick calls, including one for dinner reservations at Layl’a Rul. The restaurant splashed onto the scene in 2005 and continues to be one of Nashville’s premier dining experiences, serving Moroccan food with whimsy and panache.
I broke the news as soon as I entered my shop.
“Dinner’s on me,” I told Johnny Ray and Brianne. “You two have saved my backside, and I owe you big time.”
Johnny folded his arms. “Lemme guess. Hardee’s?”
“Hey. I do like their burgers.”
“The Monster Thickburger is disgusting—”
“Disgustingly good.”
“You’re a lost cause, kid.”
Head down, Brianne was wiping the mahogany with meticulous care. “I don’t know. Anyplace sounds good after the day we’ve had.”
Her glance at my brother told me I wasn’t included in the sentiment.
“Can anyone spell Layl’a Rul?”
“The Moroccan place?”
“That’s the one. Have you ever been there, Brianne?”
“Only dreamed about it.”
“Like I said, it’s on me.”
Johnny tipped his hat. “The man’s got the shovel in hand.”
“And he’s starting to dig his way out,” Brianne said with a grin.
We tackled the closing procedures as a team so we’d be ready to leave minutes after locking the door. It was only as I went back to the freezer to stow the last items that Brianne warmed up to me. This time, she initiated the kiss.