Joe Victim: A Thriller

“Not all the time,” I answer. “And you know that. Let me show you. Maybe you’ll find something there that will help you track down Melissa—that’s what you want, right? More than anything? You get that, and your psychic sidekick gets what he wants.”


“More than anything I’d like to see you hang for what you’ve done to this city,” Schroder answers, and I think what he really means is he’d like to see me hang for what I did to him. I made him look like a fool. He starts to stand up. My lawyer reaches out and puts a hand on Schroder’s arm, and if my mother were here she’d be convinced by now that outside of these walls these two men would start doing the kind of thing my mother would highly disapprove of.

“Wait,” my lawyer says, and Schroder lowers himself back into the chair. My lawyer looks at me. “What exactly is it you want, Joe?” he asks. “What is it you’re trying to gain by showing where Calhoun is buried? Do you think that by showing instead of just telling that somehow you’ll manage to break free?”

“I don’t need to break free,” I tell them, and then I laugh just to prove how stupid their suggestion was. Even if it is accurate. “No jury in the world is going to convict a man who wasn’t in control of his actions. But I can’t tell you where the body is because I just can’t,” I tell them. “If I could, I would. Honestly, Carl, it’s impossible. What am I supposed to do? Tell you to turn left at the third rock down a dirt path? It was a year ago. Come on, even you must know that’s impossible. You’re going to have to believe me,” I tell them, “no matter what else you think, this is the truth,” I say, but it’s not the truth. Not even close. “The absolute truth.”

“You don’t deserve an hour out there, let alone a minute,” Schroder says.

“Doesn’t matter what you think,” I say. “What matters is whether you want me to show you where Detective Calhoun is.”

“What matters even more is you staying put,” Schroder responds.

“Why? You think I’m going to escape? I can see how you’d think that—after all, you’re the man who let the Christchurch Carver roam free for years. It’s only natural you don’t think you can stop me from escaping.”

“Nice try, Joe, but you’re not going to goad me into taking you out of here.”

“Well, it’s your choice, Carl. You take it or leave it. There’s a lot riding on it. Your new boss is going to make a hell of a name for himself. And I need the money, so I want to make this work. And let me ask you, Carl, how much are you making on this? Huh? You wouldn’t be doing this unless there was a little something in it for you,” I say, holding up my hand rubbing my fingertips against my thumb in the We’re talking about money gesture.

“Fuck you, Joe.”

“And you want Calhoun back, don’t you?”

“Gentlemen,” my lawyer says, putting his hands out. “Can we stay on point here?”

“I’m not a cop anymore, Joe,” Schroder says. “You know that. I can’t organize a deal like that.”

“You’ll find a way,” I say.

Schroder shakes his head. “You just don’t get it,” he says. “God,” he says, throwing his head back and looking up at the ceiling. “How the fuck could somebody so stupid have gotten away with it for so long?” He looks back at me. “I must have been stupider than I thought for not arresting you sooner than I did.”

“What are you going on about?” I ask.

“For me to make what you’re asking happen would involve the police. If the police are involved, then there is no deal, because they’re going to know you led us there. And if the police are involved, then that doesn’t help Jonas Jones, does it?”

It takes a few seconds for what he’s saying to sink in.

“He’s right,” my lawyer says, and fuck it, he is. They both are.

I shake my head. I could waive the deal, and just agree to show the cops. It just means no money. If I have to, then that’s what I’ll do. I have to do something to be outside tomorrow twilight. That’s all that matters.

“You two need to figure out a way to make it happen,” I tell them, “and it needs to happen before the trial starts.”

“Joe—” my lawyer starts.

“We’re done here,” I tell them.

“You’re so fucking stupid,” Schroder says.

I stand up. The one thing I hate is being called stupid.

The one thing I hate even more is looking stupid. My wrist is still cuffed to the chair and I’m almost pulled back into it. “Guard,” I shout out, and I bang on the table. “Guard!”

The guard opens the door. He gives me a really unimpressed look. I tell him I’m done here. He comes in and takes off the handcuff.

“Make it happen,” I tell Schroder when I reach the door, and I’m escorted back to my psychiatrist.





Chapter Twenty-Nine