Page 31 of Jealous of the Clouds
Murder was beginning to seem easier than I thought.
I set the phone down, threw off the covers, and rose to move to the windows. The sight cheered me. Everything outside looked newly washed, sun-dappled, and cheerful. The lake was a bright aqua, shimmering, its waves gentle.If I just concentrate on this view, all is well. Nothing can harm me.
I could almost make myself believe that outside was a summer day, but I knew the warmth I could see wouldn’t be warmth I could feel if I ventured out. The leafless trees and the brownish grass made a lie of the summery-look of the day.
“Glad you could get some rest.” Camille’s voice behind me made me jump. “Sorry,” she said as I turned. “Did you know it’s almost eleven o’clock?”
“Oh gosh, I need to call in to work.”
“I already did it for you, hon. I told them I was your sister and there’d been a death in the family. Your boss was really nice, said you could take the rest of the week if you needed it.”
“Thank you.” I pulled the robe closer around me. “We should go get my stuff. Do you have time now?”
“We will. First, you need to eat a little something and take a shower. There are blueberry scones in the kitchen. I didn’t make them, but they’re from the bakery over on Sheridan, so close enough to coming out my own oven.” She chuckled. “And I made a second French press. All yours. There’s even hazelnut creamer. I know you love that.”
I wasn’t hungry, but knew the fortification was important, so I headed toward the kitchen. “Don’t you have work?”
“I do. But did you forget? Since the pandemic, I’ve worked from home. Exclusively.” She stretched. “I already put in six hours—been up since the crack. Now, go on.” She pointed toward the kitchen. “I’m going to get cleaned up myself so we can head over and get Mrs. Davis and your stuff. She will probably be a little disgruntled with you.”
I waited for her to disappear into her bedroom and what I now assumed was her home office. And then I headed into the kitchen. Eating a scone and sipping a cup of coffee with lots of sugar and creamer, I could almost imagine things were good and normal—that this was a weekend morning and I hadn’t a care in the world.
That lasted for all of ten minutes.
Camille hurried into the kitchen, frowning, her face lined with worry. “Come here.” She crooked her finger. “You need to hear something.”
I trailed her into the living room. She motioned for me to sit, and I plopped down on the sheets and blankets covering her couch.
She leaned over and positioned a slim, round Bluetooth speaker toward me.
“Listen.” She sat on the edge of the overstuffed chair by the windows and lit a cigarette. She brought out her phone and her fingers slide over its screen.
Karl/Bailey’s voice emerged.
Podcast transcript, “Meat Locker: Cold Cases” Episode No. 47
True Crime Audio Presents: The Case of the Unsolved Hate Crime
(Opening Credits and intro music)
Bailey Anderson: We’ve learned a lot in these past few weeks about Joshua Kade. He’s once again become a person of interest with the Chicago Police Department. Although, from what my anonymous sources inside the detectives unit tell me, he’s still a low priority. Someone can look as guilty as sin and you and I may agree there’s no doubt they’re a predator, a culprit, a killer, but the system demands a lot of evidence, not hearsay and conjecture, to even arrest a person, let alone indict them.
But I’m bringing you this current bonus episode because, last night, I received a call from Josh Kade. A call that came, like all horrifying ones do, in the middle of the night—or the early morning, depending on how you look at things. I didn’t even hear it come in, along about 3:30 in the morning. Like most sensible folks, I have my DO NOT DISTURB in place on my devices until seven o’clock. No one can get through except Mom and God, and they’re the same person.
Anyway, I digress.
This was a chilling call and from what I heard, I suspect that the CPD will be interested in the words Mr. Kade uses, the threat he poses, and the overall insane tenor of the call.
Part of me wishes I’d never heard it. Part of me is glad and grateful I did. And the biggest part is glad you and everyone else will hear it.
Because of the size limitations of my voicemail box, Josh had to call several times, but he’s a persistent guy. I’ve pieced the recordings together as one, so you can hear.
So, here goes:
(There was a moment of silence, and then Josh’s voice came through, haltingly, but in no other way impaired. He hadn’t been drinking. I tensed up, unable to look up from Camille’s dusty hardwood floor.)
Bailey? Karl? Or whatever dumb-shit name you call yourself these days.
I don’t know how anyone trusts you. You’re the lowest of the low when it comes to media, when it comes to news. You make more shit up than Stephen King himself, but your listeners cling to your every word.
