Breaking-in, CH 12 (Patreon)

As with when I called the police on myself, the unmarked car is here faster than I expect. It only took two days from when I placed my call to the detectives driving onto Johnathan driveway. The man and woman who exit are dressed casually. They knock on the door, and seventeen second later, Johnathan answers. 

They speak.

The distance and positions of the bodies keep me from reading their lips, but the body language on all three is relaxed, casual. Johnathan motions them inside. The door closes and I have to wait. 

Helen is walking by the house, trying to be discreet when she looked at it. Amelia Springborn joins her. Adam Wexler is with them when they walk by the house again, and someone inside parts the blinds.

The man exits the house and gets their attention. This draws more people out of their houses and to Johnathan.

I wait until there are ten of them there before I join them. Three more are there before me.

Adam is who is speaking with the detective when I arrive.

“Good man,” the financial adviser says. “I mean, I mainly know about this work through talk; he has another firm handle his finances. I’ll see him at the neighborhood gatherings. He works with the homeless, on top of being a paramedic.”

“I heard he saved that woman who was on the billboard by the 202 exchange,” Simkrit mentions, and others nod. As vague as it is, the reference is known to them.

“He’s also responsible for getting some of the homeless off the street,” Craig Anderson comments, but he elicits more curiosity from the others than support.

“What is this about?” Anthonio Alcabu asks. The nods show I am not the only one waiting for someone to ask the question.

The detective looks the crowd over. Every adult in on the street, except Alex, is here, as are three of the older children. He consults his phone before speaking. “This is only procedure. We’re investigating allegations against Mister Wagler.”

I join in the gasp of surprise, but not in the volley of question that follows. My expression is one of eager curiosity, like the others, but I’m behind three others, so there’s no point in speaking. The detective is already raising his hand to silence them.

“I can’t give you details.”

“They think he committed a crime,” Helen states, her tone filled with reproach. That she doesn’t say what crime he is accused of committing tells me she couldn’t pry it out of the detective.

Outrage fills the crowd and I match my expression and comments to theirs, but I don’t voice them as loud. Even Wanda Cooke, next to me, doesn’t notice I’m not participating as loudly.

The detective motions to us to silence again. “All I will tell you is that the allegations were serious enough for us to investigate. Do any of you know where Mister Wagler was during the evening two days ago?”

“At work,” Elizabeth Bauwen states.

“No,” Beth Wexler counters, “he finishes working at four. Was he back, Helen?”

Unexpectedly, Helen hesitates, fidgets. She’s uncomfortable at all the—no, at the detective’s attention. She enjoys being the source of information for the neighborhood, but she knows she isn’t as reliable as she acts. Now, the information she has, or claims to have, could lead a man she knows and trusts to be in trouble.

That she thinks she knows.

“I think he was working at the shelter that night,” she says. He doesn’t, and she knows it. But she feels responsible, so is attempting to cover for him while not making it a statement of fact.

“We checked. He wasn’t there. He’s not usually working the shelters then.” There is no accusation in his tone or his expression. He is stating the result of their investigation, not claiming she should know better. “He also left work early. Do any of you know why that might be?”

We look at each other, seeking someone who can assuage our fear.

“It must have been helping someone,” Simkrit Kamon offers confidently, and others nod.

“Yeah, he doesn’t always help at the shelters,” Paolo Dominguez adds. “He’ll sometime do the rounds of where the homeless gather.”

While I know that isn’t where Johnathan was that evening, I don’t know if that is something he will do. It does make for a convenient alibi. How likely are the police to take the word of a homeless person, no matter what they claim? Few of them gather in areas with surveillance since that with get them removed.

“I mean,” Jennifer Alcabu says, “I don’t even understand why you believe whoever’s saying that. Johnathan would never break a law. He’s the nicest person I know.”

Nods of agreement.

“I have no doubt, but we still have to investigate.” The statement is given with the flatness of a much repeated phrase. Something that has become reflex. The detective might not be aware he said it.

“Don’t you have better things to do?” Harriette Anderson demands.

The detective looks up from his phone, annoyance on his face, and searches the crowd. He missed who spoke, and can’t identify the voices.

Harriette doesn’t press, and the detective returns to making notes.

The door to the house opens and Johnathan escorts the detective out. They are relaxed. He says something, and she laughs.

“Are you okay?” Helen asked Johnathan.

“It’s fine, just a misunderstanding.”

The man looks at the woman, and she blushes lightly.

“Definitely not what the caller said was in there.”

I don’t react.

Did Johnathan somehow mislead her to one containing something else? There was only one cabinet in the weight room, and I ensured the details I gave could only lead to it. No explanation of the collection Johnathan gave can lead to her embarrassed reaction.

“Look everyone,” Johnathan says, addressing us. “Someone called in with a description matching me, so the police had to look into it. I gave the detective my alibi, gave her a tour of the house when she asked, and it’s all going to be fine.”

He’s at ease; it isn’t an act.

Whatever he showed her, told her, embarrassed her, but also put her at ease. Johnathan fooled her completely.

I’m impressed.

Johnathan raises a hand and silences the questions. “How about we have a barbecue this weekend and you can ask all the questions you want? I’d like to get back to my dishes so I can move on to a relaxing evening.”

They agree, and we all go back to our houses. I leave in the middle of the group.

Is this incompetence on the part of the police, or is Johnathan this skilled at fooling them? He can be at ease with people, convince them it’s genuine. Does that translate into an ability to manipulate them? On some level, it must. He has to calm hysteric patients. That isn’t something any person can do.

“How’d it go?” Alex asks as I enter the house. He and Emil are watching television. A documentary by the droning tone of the narrator.

“He convinced the police he isn’t involved.”

I’m nearly at the stair when the volume is turned down.

“What are you going to do?” Emil asks.

I return to the living room archway. He looks away from Alex to me.

“What do you mean?” Emil has a different view of the world caused by what he went through, how he was broken, and how he put himself back together. I’m curious if it impacts what took place here.

“Don’t you want him to get caught?” there is no alarm in his voice. He’s trying to understand me, as much as the situation.

“I don’t want anything when it comes to Johnathan.”

He turns to face me. “Then why the investigation? Why did you call the police?”

“I noticed discrepancies in his actions that aren’t supported by anything Asyr could find.” Alex snorts. “The actions I witnessed resolve that.”

“So you just wanted to understand him?”

“I can’t shape my actions correctly to people if I don’t know who they are.”

“Okay, then, why the police?”

I shrug. “I am playing at being a civilized man.” I motion around us. “The man I want them to believe I am would have called the police if he noticed a murder.”

“Then wouldn’t he want the murderer to be caught?”

I pause and consider the question.

Would he?

“What he would want doesn’t matter. Once he reported the crime and gave as much information as he had, it becomes a matter for the police to resolve. That they are bundling it might not sit well with him, but only an idiot would then continue to push the issue. The only result that comes from a man like the one I pretend to be taking on a murderer is the death of that man.”

“But you aren’t that man,” Emil points out. “You’re just pretending.”

“Your father’s not an action hero,” Alex states.

“And you’re okay with a murdered living across the street?”

Alex shrugged. “Unless he comes bothering us, he’s welcome to do what he wants. We have our own problems to deal with.”

Emil’s box sends a reaction through others. “Do you have a problem with Johnathan living near us?”

“I’m just trying to understand. He’s a killer.”

“So am I and Alex.”

“But you kill bad guys. That’s not the same.”

“The man Johnathan killed was mugging him.”

“Didn’t he go looking for him?”

“That’s no different from me hacking into cloud drives looking for records of rich assholes abusing kids,” Alex says. 

“I hadn’t thought about that.”

“Are you all right with him living near us?” I ask again, since Emil hasn’t answered my question.

“I guess I am. Like Alex says. So long as he doesn’t bother us, there’s no reason for us bothering him.”

“All right. Then I’ll be in my workroom unless either of you need something from me.”

Emil looks at Alex.

“I’m getting what I need out of him later.”

I smile, his box causing a pleasant chain reaction. “Only if you earn it.”