Page 32 of Jealous of the Clouds
Or should I say every lie?
You have been disparaging me now for weeks on this lame podcast. First of all, I simply want to clear my name—and yes, I very much hope you’ll use this recorded call as part of your podcast. And I hope you’ll have the decency, if you do, to NOT edit my words.
The first thing I want to make clear is that I didn’t, and never would have, killed the great love of my life and your brother, Reggie. He, as the police determined—ten fucking years ago—was the victim of a hate crime. He was in a well-known gay part of town, late at night, in an alley. For a basher, killing my Reggie was like fishing in a barrel.
This loss has haunted me for a decade. I’m sure it’s haunted you, too. And it’s the only way I can cut you a little slack, Karl, because I know you’ve grieved too.
Reggie had his problems, we both know it, but at heart, he was kind and lovable. A good man who’d never harm a soul.
He was also a Mr. Hyde when he used drugs and when that happened, no one or no thing got between him and his drug of choice. He was single-minded that way. A promiscuous whore.
(Pause, heavy breathing)
So, if you have solid evidence that I had something to do with his death, c’mon then, let’s hear it. All I’ve heard so far is a pack of lies. Wishful thinking. Conjecture unsupported by facts. Fake news.
And I’m free. No cops are knocking on my door.
I get it. You want someone to blame. It’s not enough your brother was a random victim of homophobia. You want a person you can point to to take the blame, one who will rot in a prison cell for the rest of his life.
I get it. Sometimes, the thirst for closure can be all-consuming.
But I’m not that person, much as you wish I was.
Who is? God I’d give anything to know. Then maybe I could get out there and kill him or her myself.
When all this went down, ten years ago, I barely escaped with my life. The two men who came upon us and saved me, Kirk Nizer and Tommy DeSarro, can tell you the truth. They can tell you what they saw—
(The recording stops abruptly here.)
Bailey: And here I’m going to put a stop to Mr. Kade’s ramblings because, without even realizing it, he’s trapped himself. I’ll be back in a minute to tell you why.
(Music out. Ads.)
Bailey: Welcome back toMeat Locker. If you’ve been following the case, the final words from Joshua Kade I played should give you pause. They did me.
Listen:When all this went down, ten years ago, I barely escaped with my life. The two men who came upon us and saved me, Kirk Nizer and Tommy DeSarro, can tell you the truth. They can tell you what they saw in that alley and it was not me harming my Reggie in any way. They saw a man in shock, disoriented and confused, stabbed, barely aware of his surroundings due to shock and grief. They did not see the killer.
Kirk Nizer and Tommy DeSarro came upon the crime sceneafterit had occurred. Well after. Joshua Kade was long gone. All that remained in that alley was my brother’s body, bled out, and gone to wherever souls go when they shed their earthly suit of clothes.
I remembered that much without prompting. You probably recall that, with a little reminder. I talked about it on the first episode of this series. And the Chicago Police Department should certainly sit up and take notice, if they haven’t already.
Because how could Joshua Kade confuse such a simple point in this tragic timeline? A wise woman once told me, “No murderer leaves a crime scene without leaving a clue. None. There’s always something—a drop of DNA, a loose hair, a carpet fiber—that the careful eye will eventually spot.” I’d add to this that no murderer can keep all the details straight, not when he’s lying.
And there really is only one explanation—he’s lying. If he remembers being happened upon by two strangers that weren’t there until—I don’t know—at least an hour after Kade had departed the scene, something isn’t right.
And if there’s one thing I know about lying and liars is that once you catch them in one, there are more. Lies are like cockroaches or mice—there’s never only one.
This slip on his part is certainly enough to raise eyebrows, but it’s still not enough to convict. I know, I know. But I willcontinue to dig…and dig…and dig…under this rock until the real Joshua Kade scurries out and away from the light.
Despite his desire for me to play all his ramblings, unedited, I won’t. But I will leave you—and a special person out there—with this:
There’s someone in this crime-ridden excuse for a city, hiding from me, thinking that I killed someone I loved. They may believe it because of the podcast, but I’m here to say that you, honey, you can’t rely on everything you hear.
Is he telling this ‘special person’ something reassuring? That this podcast is nothing more than character assassination?
Or is he issuing a threat?
More next time onMeat Locker. I’m Bailey Anderson.
