Joe Victim: A Thriller

“Umm . . . well, the thing is, Carl, I’m kind of in a hurry. Can we maybe do this later?”


“It won’t take long,” Schroder says, and it reminds him of last night, of Raphael standing on the doorstep to the community hall and not inviting them in. It makes him suspicious. Of course all the years he was a cop means everything seems suspicious to him. He feels like adding the good ol’ classic unless you have something to hide. He’s used that line plenty of times over the years to people who do have something to hide. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t.

“Umm, sure, I guess.”

Raphael turns and heads down the hallway. Schroder follows him. He’s been in this house before. This is where they came to tell Raphael and his wife that their daughter had been murdered. It was over a year ago, but being back here now makes it feel like it was only last week. Back then Raphael and his wife knew within seconds of opening the door that the news wasn’t going to be good, not when Schroder and his partner back then, Detective Landry, held out their badges and asked if they could come inside. Police didn’t show up to tell you good news—they didn’t show up and say you’ve just won the lottery or a vacation. The wife broke down before they even made it into the lounge, and Raphael and Schroder had to help her onto a couch. Raphael sat next to her and held her hand and kept shaking his head as if he could dismiss the news, and he kept saying But we saw her this morning as if those words could ward off the evil that was entering their lives. Schroder and Landry spent an hour with them. It was a life-changing hour for Raphael and his wife, and it was just one of many hours for Schroder and Landry, who had knocked on other doors and given similar news. He’s thought about Landry a lot lately, about Landry’s own life-changing hour, about Landry’s funeral almost a month ago. This house was tidier back then. Now the woman’s touch has gone, along with the woman.

They get into the lounge. Raphael is looking around as if he’s lost something.

“You’ve got guests?” Schroder asks.

“What? No, no guests.”

“You normally have two glasses of water?”

Raphael shakes his head. “One’s from last night,” he says, glancing around the room. “I poured it and didn’t finish it and, well, you know, just ended up being too lazy to clean up. I’m embarrassed to admit it, but if you look around the house you’ll find plenty more. If you’re offering to tidy up for me, I would appreciate the help.”

Schroder sits down on the couch. He believes him. The place doesn’t look like it’s been cleaned in a while. There’s a stack of unopened bills on the coffee table. The TV Guide next to them is from last year. It’s been used as a coaster.

He reaches into his jacket pocket for the photograph that should have been in his car last night. He never did find where he lost it, but he did have another copy at home. There were a few things he’d copied twice. “Have you ever seen this woman before?” he asks, and he hands it over to Raphael, who is still standing, which Schroder is thankful for because if he sits it will be a view Schroder won’t want to see.

Raphael takes it and stares at it for a few seconds. Then a few seconds more. There’s no indication of recognition. No tilting of the head like last night when he was trying to remember if the names they gave him meant anything. There’s no changing the angle of the picture to get a better look. Then slowly he’s shaking his head. He hands it back.

“Should I?”

“Yes,” Schroder says. “At the very least you should recognize her from the news.”

“Why? Who is she?”

“Her real name is Natalie Flowers,” Schroder says.

“Oh, of course,” Raphael says. “Melissa. I didn’t recognize her. I don’t really watch a lot of news these days. It’s too depressing.”

“So you haven’t ever seen her at one of your meetings?” Schroder asks, and he hands back the picture.

“At a meeting?” Raphael laughs, then shakes his head. “Why the hell would she come to a meeting? He takes the photo and holds it closer to his face. Then he starts angling the photograph. He starts tilting the head. “This is Melissa?” he asks.

“Yes.”

“She doesn’t look . . .”

When he doesn’t finish, Schroder looks for the word. “Evil?”

Raphael doesn’t respond. He keeps staring at the photograph.

“You recognize her, don’t you,” Schroder says.

Raphael shakes his head. “I guess I do, you know, like you were saying, from the news. But other than that I’ve never seen her. Certainly not at one of my meetings.”

“Are you sure about this, Raphael?”

“Well, no, I can’t be positive. She must be using disguises, right? That’s why you’ve never found her. But as far as I know, no, she’s never been. I can’t imagine any reason why she would.”

“She might come along to enjoy the pain she’s caused,” Schroder says.