The Poet (Samantha Jazz) - Page 114
I nod and turn away, certain now that The Poet’s obsession with me is really an obsession with me and my grandfather.
Chapter 105
The first thing I do when I get back to my car is to return my gun and badge to my person where they belong. The drive to my family home is a short one, down a country road. The house is sprawling and white, a real mansion in its day—that I should have questioned. My father was a detective. Detectives don’t buy mansions unless they’re doing something other than being a detective.
I hurry into the house and lock up behind me, the scent of cinnamon clinging to the air today. There’s always some delicious scent in this house with my grandmother living here. I hurry through the cozy living room of overstuffed brown furnishings and shelves of books and trinkets, to the hallway where I pull down the attic stairs. Hurrying up them, it’s a bit like the scene from Christmas Vacation where Chevy Chase is under a slanted ceiling, enjoying boxes of memories. I find the record player, plug it in, and play a Louis Armstrong album.
After some searching, I find the boxes my grandmother referenced, filled with my grandfather’s books on poetry and jazz. I start reading, smiling often, and I go through a journal that’s in his own writing, but this isn’t what I need, not right now. I dig through the boxes and find my poetry club materials. Underneath them, I find my grandfather’s tutoring files. I do vaguely remember random students coming to the house. There are years of tutoring and mentoring notes. The students even had what he called, oh God, “master patches.”
My heart is about to explode in my chest right now. There are notes about my grandfather’s most impressive students. I flip the page and start reading a bit about each. I’ve read the notes on the first four, vaguely remembering them, when I flip to number five and go cold. The name is Nolan Brooks.
Cotton thickens my throat and I grab my phone, dialing Lang. “It’s Nolan. Pick him up now.”
“You’re sure?”
“Positive. Lang, I went to school with him. I knew him. My grandfather knew him.”
“Holy shit. I’m going after him now.”
“I’m getting protection here for my family and then coming in.” I hang up and dial Captain Moore.
“Agent Jazz, what can I—”
“I know who The Poet is. This is personal. It’s about me and my family. I need them protected now. Call the Georgetown PD and get me help here now. Actually, I need them to meet me at the Sun City Retirement Center. Ethan Langford knows the rest of the story. I have to get to them.”
“I’m calling now. I’ll call you back once they’re on the way.”
“Thank you.” I hang up and rush down the stairs, dialing my mother as I do. She doesn’t pick up. I redial, running for my car. Again, my mother doesn’t answer.
I climb inside my vehicle and start the engine. My mother calls me back.
“Listen to me, Mom. The Poet, the killer I’m hunting, is Nolan Brooks, someone Grandpa tutored. He’s dangerous. He’s obsessed with me and Grandpa.”
“I remember Nolan. He was a nice young man.”
“He’s not a nice anything. I’m coming to you with police support. Where are you now?”
“Oh my. Oh my.”
“Mom—”
“We’re still with your grandpa.”
“Stay where you are.”
“Yes, I— Yes, we will. I’ll get security.”
We disconnect, and I can’t drive fast enough. My heart won’t calm. My cell rings and I answer without checking caller ID to hear the captain’s voice. “Georgetown PD has two cars on the way now.”
“Thank you, Captain.”
“Langford told me what’s going on. Be careful.”
“Yes.” That’s all I say. I hang up. If Nolan knew I was onto him, what would he do? Who would he hurt? I bring the retirement center into view and whip into the parking lot. Relief washes over me as the police cruisers pull in behind me.
A few minutes later, I’ve hugged my family one by one and left them with two competent officers. Now, it’s time to go get Nolan and end this.
Chapter 106
I’m halfway back to Austin when Lang calls. “He’s not home. He’s not at work. We have an APB out on him.”
“He knows. He must have seen me at the library. What I don’t understand is why I didn’t sense this was him.”
“Oh come on, Jazzy. You’re human, not Spider-Man. That Spidey-Sense stuff is bullshit.”
“But I could feel him when he was watching me. Why didn’t I feel it when he was in front of me?”
“I don’t know. Maybe he’s got a split personality. You feel only one of his sick personalities. Where are you now?”
“Almost back to the station.”
“He’s going to be looking for you. Call him. Try to get him to meet you.”
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