IN A ONE ROOM CABIN OUTSIDE OF BOZEMAN, MONTANA, ANTHONY "TONE" JENNER CAREFULLY CUT OUT THE SEATTLE SOUND NEWSPAPER'S ARTICLE ABOUT GAIL STEVENSON'S MUTILATED BODY BEING FOUND IN GOLDEN GARDENS.

He fastened it to the wall of the cabin, just like he had done all the other articles he received from Kyle. Especially if they were connected to Professor Dungston in any way.

Tone spent countless hours reading, and re-reading, the many stories about Professor Dungston he had plastered on every inch of the cabin's walls. This simple act always made him feel much closer to the Professor.

Repeatedly, Tone would fill a fifty-five gallon drum one quarter full of hot water, as hot as he could tolerate. He would strip down, step into the water in the drum, and, vigorously scrub his skin raw in front of the newspaper clippings of Professor Dungston. Even if he drew blood, he kept scrubbing away. Arms, chest, back, hips, legs, and feet. Robotically, always in that order.

His chore accomplished one night, Tone caught the Seattle news he frequently kept his television tuned to. Always on Channel 2 News. He listened intently to the interview with Timmy and Tyler detailing discovering Gail Stevenson's body. It was then he first heard the comment about fricasseeing her. The boy's remark thrilled him. The thought had never occurred to Tone. But, he found the comment delightful.

Seemed like everybody in the Seattle area had picked up on that comment. Even Howlin' Harry McSwartz, on KDNN Radio, one of Seattle's top Shock Jocks, ran a poll of listeners asking them what they thought about fricasseeing Gail Stevenson in Golden Gardens.

Overwhelmingly, they phoned in to the station responding they found the boy's remark to be hilarious. Three volunteered to do the fricasseeing. And, the other one said the boy should be rewarded for his ingenuity.

Howlin' Harry promised to find the two boys and bring them on his show. His ratings for the day skyrocketed.

Tone decided if Harry had them on his show he would make a special trip back to Seattle to see the boys live, and in Techno-color, for himself. Everybody loves a Cause Celebrity.

Tone had long ago abandoned the dead-end, low paying, fast food scene he had been caught up in the last few years. He figured a dapper young man, such as himself, could make a much easier living than that rat race.

All he had to do was walk into a joint, point a pistol, and run back out to his waiting car. So far the jobs had been small. Convenience Stores, and restaurants. But, Tone Jenner was learning quickly he could have everything money could buy. All he had to do was go get what he wanted.

His overwhelming obsession with Professor Dungston had not waned since leaving Seattle on the run. In Tone's twisted mind, the good Professor was everything Anthony Jenner wanted to be...was not...and never would amount to.

But, that did not stop Tone's big schemes. Tone needed a major score. And, he knew the good Professor would willingly pay through the nose for the safe return of his most prized possession.

Tone decided a cool million would take him as far away as he wanted to go. Perhaps even Honolulu. Or, some other exotic island somewhere. Any place the action was hot, and the eye candy abounded. He would bide his time. Then strike.

It had been five or six years since Tone developed his fixation on Professor Dungston. Or, maybe it was the green-eyed monster known as jealousy that gripped him tightly in its clutches.

All he knew was Jonathan Dungston never wanted for any little trinket. Tone's parents could never afford that luxury for him. Besides them, they had the hungry mouths of three growing sons to feed. Tone had always wanted his fair share of the Dungston pie. And, by hook, or by crook, one way or the other he would have all he craved of it.

Tone had double-checked the shed behind his rented cabin. The foot-thick reinforced walls, he believed, could not be penetrated. Straw bedding covered the cracked cement floor. And, four chains were solidly attached to metal hooks secured into the floor.

They were more than strong enough to imprison his prey until Professor Dungston came through with the cash. The ransom money would be Tone's way to Easy Street.

Tone drank a fifth of courage. He snorted two fresh lines of powder his new razor blade had prepared. He grabbed his guitar and started blasting Hard Rock songs through his amps. Music always soothed his anguish.

Soon, Hard Rock gave way to Psychedelic Rock, then to Acid Rock. Living alone, Tone could raise all the electronified pulses he could muster. Being out in the middle of nowhere did have its advantages.

If Tone could only hold what was left of his sanity together, for a little while longer, life would be dramatically so much better. On and on he jammed.

Back in Seattle, Professor Dungston sat with his attorney Jason Davenport in the Police Station. He had been brought in for questioning in the murder of Gail Stevenson. All the notoriety was beginning to affect his status at Puget Sound State College, and he was sure a leave of absence would soon be required.

Jason Davenport was a huge man. He stood about six feet-six inches tall. He weighed a solid 250 pounds. And, he was fierce as a wounded mountain lion when it came to defending clients. He should be. They paid him well. Professor Dungston's fees were no less. If this case went to trial he would probably have to mortgage his home to pay the costs of defending himself.

In his mid-fifties, Jason Davenport resembled a man ten years younger. The touch of salt and pepper in his dark black hair made him look distinguished. His Armani suit fit him well. Today, he was not in a joyous humor.

"Charge my client or release him!" Davenport demanded in strong even tones, "You have nothing to hold him on."

The two Detectives, sitting at the opposite end of the table from Professor Dungston and his attorney, simply smiled at each other. They were wily veterans who knew the ropes. And, how far they could push a situation without crossing over the line of no return.

"Professor Dungston is free to leave whenever he chposes to do so," Jasper Carswell, the older of the two Detectives replied to the attorney's demand, "we're not impeding his leaving," he said, then remarked, "We're only trying to sort this puzzle out in order to get a real clear picture in our minds of why the good Professor murdered Gail Stevenson."

Jason Davenport wanted to reach across the table and smack the snot out of the Detective's nose, but refrained from doing what he longed to do. He knew the game all too well, Experience had taught him Detectives always played good cop-bad cop in order to get a suspect's reaction.

"Say nothing, Robert," Davenport reminded the Professor. He turned his gaze back to the Detectives and said, "The receipt Professor Dungston surrendered to you verifies his whereabouts at the time of Gail Stevenson's murder, Detective. I suggest you learn how to A: read, and B: tell time!"

Detective Carswell glanced back at the attorney, "Get him out of here, Davenport," he told his adversary.

"But, don't leave Seattle, Professor," Detective Shania Hoolihan chimed in. She had partaken of the exercise but allowed her more seasoned partner to lead throughout the proceedings.

Professor Dungston, and Jason Davenport rose out of their seats to leave. They had had enough of the runaround the Detectives had put the Professor through all afternoon.

"I will be subpoenaing a DNA sample, Professor Dungston," Detective Carswell solemnly vowed, "then we'll see what proof lies in the pudding. Won't we?" he sneered.

"Get all the subpoenas your little old heart desires, Detective," Davenport replied in kind, "you're not going to pin this murder rap on my client."

"You are right, Davenport, I am not," Detective Carswell responded, promising, "the Professor's DNA will nail him to the wall."

Professor Dungston and Jason Davenport exited the interrogation room without another word being spoken to either one of the Detectives.

In the silence of the outer hallway, Davenport told the Professor, "Now's the time to come clean, Robert. Anything at all you need to tell me about this case, you have not already said, I need to know."

"Yes, there is," Professor Dungston worriedly stated, "I'm going home."

Jason Davenport placed his hand firmly on Professor Dungston's shoulder and implored him, "Robert, you must come clean. Hold nothing back."

Professor Dungston looked his attorner squarely in the eye and remarked, "They're going to find what they are looking for." Then he paused, took a heavy, deep breath, and said, "But, I didn't kill her. I swear Jason. I did not murder Gail Stevenson."

Silently, the attorney patted the Professor's shoulder three times. He simply told him, "Go home, Robert. I'll be in touch."

Professor Dungston turned. He slowly walked away from his attorney.

Jason Davenport watched him leave.

His left hand clenched tightly, and held up to his mouth.

He could feel himself exhaling air into his fist.

Stoically, he stood there in deep contemplation.



@Copyrighted November 3, 2015 by Brett Matthew West
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