The Guilty - Jason Pinter [23]
to come home and see the same person she'd gone to sleep with.
It was a challenge, and some nights, all she wanted was
space that their one-bedroom could not provide, all she
wanted to do was scream, pull the notebooks from storage and
wander the streets taking stock of everyone she came across.
But then she'd look at Henry. Sitting at his desk, reading
a book or a newspaper. Writing on a notepad. She'd read his
bylines in the Gazette and feel her heart swell with pride. And
she would look at her man and smile, and he would smile
back, and then Henry would come over and kiss her on the
cheek and go right back to work.
Henry had been in a serious relationship. Mya. It was as
serious as most college relationships went. It wasn't hard,
Amanda figured, to move from one relationship to another.
The person changes, but the habits carry over. He'd shared a
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Jason Pinter
bed. Shared a hamper. Amanda supposed she could be
thankful he wasn't awkward. But part of her wished they
were both experiencing the doubts and fears for the first time,
together.
Amanda's sense of trust seemed to come organically.
Funny, since the very first thing Henry ever did was lie to her.
He lied about his name to save his life, posed as someone else.
But only on the surface. She could tell, from the moment they
met, what kind of person he was. Maybe it was years of
keeping journals, sizing up people in a quick glance. Because
one thing Amanda always had a keen eye for was kindness.
And in Henry she found that.
She knew the last year had eaten away at him. In between
recovery from his wounds, the subsequent media frenzy, and
then his attempt to settle back into a tenuous routine. Over
the last few days, the sanctity of that routine had been threatened. Two horrible murders, one a man who, just twelve
months ago, wanted nothing more than to kill him. She knew
the guilt he still felt over John Fredrickson's death. Stroked
his hair when he had nightmares. Even though Henry hadn't
pulled the trigger, a family had been torn apart. That wasn't
something you got over in a year.
When she saw that Athena Paradis's murderer had used a
line written by Henry, again she feared that his work would
endanger his life. Everything pointed to it being a terrible coincidence. Henry didn't want to dwell on it, and except for a
brief conversation that night it had been dropped. She couldn't
help but sit a little closer to him. Call him a few extra times
a day. Just to make sure he was safe.
And now this witch, Paulina Cole, threatening to reenter
his life. So she decided to do what any good girlfriend would
do. Only she'd get more enjoyment out of it than most.
The Guilty
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Amanda picked up a pay phone at the corner. She was
twelve blocks away from their apartment. It would do.
She dialed the operator. Asked to be transferred to the
main desk at One Police Plaza. When an operator picked up,
she asked to be transferred to the press secretary. It rang
twice, and was answered by a man with a high-pitched voice
and wonderful enunciation.
"I'm calling in regards to the recent murders of Athena
Paradis and Detective Joe Mauser," Amanda said. "I'm a
reporter, and I'd like to speak to Chief Louis Carruthers for
a story I'm writing. It's of the utmost importance, so I'd appreciate if you'd connect me right this instant."
"Ma'am, all official statements regarding the murders of
Ms. Paradis and Detective Mauser have been released, and are
available on our website. If you need further information, you
are invited to submit your queries and I will get the appropriate responses for you as soon as possible."
"Don't you ma'am me," Amanda said, affecting her best
and bitchiest tone. Damn, this was fun. "You tell whoever
your pansy-ass supervisors are, those pussy-eating faggots
and butt pirates, and that spic mayor of yours who panders to
all the kikes in city hall, you tell them that this is Paulina Cole
of the New York Dispatch and I'll be damned if I let some
queer tell me what I can and