Hold On

Jones interrupted him through tight lips, “At the present time, I’m not with the FBI. I’m freelance.”


Not missing a beat, Merry stated, “Then it shocks me I have to share this with you, seein’ as you’re a former law enforcement officer, but you do not, under any circumstances outside havin’ a warrant or probable cause, open the goddamned door to a dwelling. I don’t give a fuck it’s the storm door or the fuckin’ front door. You don’t do it and you know it. Unless you think doin’ it’ll intimidate the occupant of the dwelling into givin’ you what you came to get.”

“It’s clear Ms. Rivers had some barriers to speaking to—”

Merry’s head tipped sharply to the side. “So you admit it was clear Ms. Rivers didn’t want to speak to you?”

Jones’s mouth set.

Merry kept going.

“I’ll continue. As a former officer of the law, you are very aware that Ms. Rivers made it clear to you that she doesn’t wish to communicate with you, so right now you’re committing the crime of harassment.”

“As a former officer of the law, I know that calling Ms. Rivers on the phone and knocking on her door hardly comes close to criminal harassment,” Jones retorted.

“As your intent was to discuss an episode in her life where she and her son were victimized by a serial killer, and you could infer from her refusal to take your calls that you were causing her alarm or even mental torment, this absolutely could be construed as criminal harassment. And I’ll note that in these parts, it absolutely would be construed that way. Not to mention a credible threat to her safety, even if that safety is a threat to her mental health. So it does come close to criminal harassment. Ignoring her clear communication that she did not wish contact from you, then showing at her door and essentially helping yourself to her property by opening that door, that could conceivably add trespassing and even menacing.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Jones spat.

“I disagree,” Merry returned. “But you want a second opinion, be happy to call Lieutenant Colton and see how he feels about this shit you’re pullin’.”

Jones tried to check it but couldn’t quite hide the fact he’d reared back.

That meant either Colt had already told him to go fuck himself (which was probably not the case, Colt would have warned me) or Colt’s reputation had preceded him, considering the number of people before Jones he’d told to go fuck themselves.

Merry didn’t miss Jones’s reaction.

“I see. You think you’re targeting the weak,” he whispered disturbingly.

“As an officer of the law,” Jones fired back, “you are aware that the study of the criminal mind is essential to understanding it, so that future incidences can either be avoided or the perpetrator can be tracked and caught before he or she causes too much damage.”

“So,” Merry took his hands off his hips and folded his arms on his chest, “you’re writin’ a criminology textbook?”

“No,” Jones bit off. “I have a contract with a traditional publisher.”

“Which means you’re cashin’ in on your FBI trainin’ to make money off of misery,” Merry deduced.

At that, Jones thankfully decided he was done.

I knew this when he stepped away from Merry and muttered, “I see that I’ll need to find alternative avenues to understanding Lowe’s psyche.”

“How’s this? The man was jacked,” Merry told him.

At these words, Jones’s face screwed up in a weird way that didn’t seem right to me.

But Merry wasn’t done talking, and as he kept going, Jones’s face shifted back to annoyance before I could figure it out.