Joe Victim: A Thriller

Schroder doesn’t answer him. He hates thinking of his future these days.

“Tell me, Carl, what do you make of this referendum?” Jonas asks, changing the direction of the conversation.

“I think it’s a good thing,” Schroder answers, happy to move away from the bonus that puts him deeper into Jonas’s pocket.

“You agree with the death penalty?”

“That’s not what I mean,” he says, even though he will be voting for it. “I mean it’s a good thing that the people are going to be listened to.”

“I agree. You know what I heard?”

“What?”

“I heard the prosecution will be asking for it if Joe is found guilty.”

“I heard the same thing,” Schroder says. It’s not exactly a secret. “It makes it difficult to suggest to a man that fifty grand is useful when he’s going to be put down anyway.”

“But we don’t know that. Even if the public votes for it, it may be years before it comes into play, and even more years before Joe is executed. Could be ten years away. Longer. Surely the money can be useful to him for that amount of time.”

Schroder nods. He hates agreeing with Jonas, but he’s right.

“Do you think there’s an angle here?” Jonas asks.

“What kind of angle?”

“I don’t know, not yet. But if Joe is executed, maybe that’s good for the show. Do you think that, if the referendum is voted in and the death penalty is reinstated, and let’s say the government makes an example out of Joe and executes him within the next year or two, do you think we can use that? Somehow, for the show? I’m thinking that if there are other victims of Joe’s, other bodies, we could get him to talk. Somehow. And then—”

“And then after he’s dead you’ll be in touch with him and he’ll tell you where these people are?”

“Something like that, yes. I don’t know. Not exactly. I can see the pieces there, I can feel the potential, I’m just trying to piece it all together. I don’t know what we could offer Joe that he would accept. But if we can figure something out, well, there could be a much bigger bonus in it for you. What do you think?”

He decides not to tell Jones what he really thinks. Instead he goes with, “I’m sure you’ll work it out.”

“I’m sure I will,” Jones says, his mouth stretching into a smile. He goes back to scrubbing at his shoe. “Tell me, have you heard anything about this morning’s homicide?”

“Probably less than you.”

“I’ve heard the victim was shot twice in the chest,” Jonas says. “Could be a professional killing.”

“So I do know less than you.”

“At the moment, yes, but you have the ability to find out more. Maybe there’s something in this for us. How about you look into it? Give some of those detective friends of yours a call.”

The problem is the detective friends haven’t been great friends since Schroder started working for the TV station. “I’ll do my best. I’m due on set in an hour.”

“You want some lunch first?” Jonas asks, putting his shoes back on. “I’m starving.”

“I’ve already eaten,” Schroder says, and gets up and heads back to the elevator.





Chapter Eleven


Same view. Same voices. Every day like the last, only this week things are more exciting with all the visitors coming to see me. Once the trial is over I’ll be back home and never having to worry about jail again—or visitors, for that matter—unless I get sent to a psychiatric hospital for a year or two first. Then I just have to worry about being gnawed on by other inmates and getting used to pastel-colored rooms.

I wait in my cell alone, which is the best kind of company in a place like this and really sums up the jail experience I’ve had so far thanks to the fact that nobody has tried to rape/stab me. After a while I need to stretch my legs a bit so I head out into the communal area where, if you were to take a poll, you’d learn I’m one of thirty innocent men. I’m Slow Joe. I’m a victim to my needs. I’m Joe Victim. I kill time chatting with a prisoner who was arrested and convicted after setting fire to a pet store. There were cats and dogs and birds, and there were fish. Lots of fish. I keep thinking of a way I could kill him. Fucking fish killer. There’s nothing worse.

The pedophiles and other high-risk prisoners are chatting to each other, some playing cards, the damn weather a hot topic of conversation again. Others have retreated to their cells, and not all of them alone—laughing coming from some of them, grunts and whispers and the sounds of pillows being bitten coming from others.