Spare the Lambs (10 page)

He might be right, but this job should be about catching criminals and protecting the innocent.  The accountants should be the only ones worried about the cost.  The chief used to do the job the right way.  However, the bad luck of these murdering teens managing to slip by us got the Mayor interested in the cost to the city’s budget.  An investigation or two had put enough fear into the chief that he had become more of a bean counter than a cop.  However, this habit of cutting corners was useful this time, since it gave me a head start on the Judith’s diary.

Mr.
Smith
was furious when I got to their apartment with the court order.  He flat out refused to let me in.  I pushed a copy of the order into his chest until he took it, not unlike Gerald with the cleaver.  I explained what it meant and he ranted for five minutes about the system “fucking him over.”  I asked for any personal notes, diaries, or computer that she may have used.  Fear flashed on his face a second before rage replaced it.  He told me that there was no way I was getting any of his daughter’s stuff and started to swing at me.  He telegraphed his move so long before he could connect that I was able to pull my service revolver out.  He stopped mid swing and stared at the barrel now in his face.  His gaze shifted to my face and whatever he saw made him go ashen.  He stepped aside and I walked into the apartment.  I went to Judith’s room with my pistol still held in my hand.

              She only kept one diary.  It was hot pink with a pink elastic attached to the spine that wrapped around the cover to prevent easy snooping.  Her clothing was mostly dark and bland.  The walls were covered with posters of rock bands.  The diary was out of place with what I could see of her style.  I would have suspected a fake if Mr.
Smith
hadn’
t
been surprised by the court order.  I still doubt she chose the diary herself.

              Judith’s sister was home and she walked by the room while I was searching it.  The black eye had healed, but I could see a large bruise on her upper arm.  It looked like a handprint from a man with a big hand.  She noticed my gaze and quickly hurried off to her room.  I don’
t
know if she was afraid of me, or worried that I may do something that she would be beaten for later.  I don’
t
know if the diary will give enough evidence to convict the parents of hurting the girl, but I called Child
Services
after I left the apartment anyway.  I have never had any dealings with them but I think the bruises are enough to arrest the father.  I hope they can get the mother too.  Even if she is being beaten as well, no mother should let her children be abused.  I just hope, if the dairy and bruises are not enough, that the people at Child
Services
care enough to put in a little effort.

              I only have until tomorrow to read and copy any parts of the diary that might lead me to the others.  Thinking about finding the murderers in a diary makes me think someone could read these files, whether I kill the monsters or not.  I should just stop, but I find that I am better able to order my thoughts when I am writing them down.  Ordered thoughts or not, I can’
t
write anything else on the computer at work.  It’s too easy to get into.  Even if I password protect the computer or the file itself, the IT guys can break it in a few minutes.  And as the computer is government property, they don’
t
need anything more than the chief’s okay to hack in.

              I’ll need to come up with a good password for this computer and for the files.  As long as I don’
t
fuck up and get caught in the act, there shouldn’
t
be enough proof of my personal investigations to convince a judge to agree to search my home computer.

From the diary of Judith
Smith

March 5, 2001

              Everyone stared at me today.  The
Asshole
gave me a black eye last night and everyone stared at it at school.  What kind of father hits his daughter for something as small as spilling bleach of his “
favorite
damn shirt”?  It’s not like I meant to do it.  I wish I could hide the bruises with makeup, but he would blow his top if he thought I was trying to make myself look more attractive.  I still have nightmares about the day I made the mistake of asking mom to take me to get a bra in front of the
Asshole
.  Throwing things around the room, like some super strong toddler having a hissy fit, and smacking me a few times.  Screaming “you’re a fucking dirty whore.”

              I don’
t
see how I was being a whore for needing a bra.  I wasn’
t
asking for one of those Wonderbras that I have noticed some of the girls in class wearing.  I doubt I need one of those.  No, I am not a whore.  But everyone at school will think I am. If I went in with these jumbo tits braless.  I told him that.  Bad idea.

              He punched a hole in the wall and stormed away.  Mom’s face turned red and she told me not to say the word “tits” again.  I don’
t
get it, she listens to her daughter being called a whore and doesn’
t
bat an eye, but if that daughter says tits, she loses it.  It’s just a word and not nearly as bad as whore.  Plus, that’s how everyone talks about them when they think I can’
t
hear, “Look at her tits!”  “She’s got some great tits” and “God, what I wouldn’
t
give to play with her tits.”

              Guys are pigs.  But, I guess that’s what happens when you go on summer break flat chested and come back with large boobs.  At least the boys have stopped hovering around me like horny bees.  Most of the boys at school are yuck worthy, but one or two are kind of cute.

              I wanted to let them get to know me so bad.  I want to go on a first date or give one of them my first kiss.  But, I shudder when I imagine what the
Asshole
would do if he found out I was going on a date.  The last boy, the sweetest one, gave up on me today.  He said hi when I came in to homeroom, but a friend of his called his name and he didn’
t
see the smile I gave him.  When he
realized
I didn’
t
say anything, he walked away and never looked at me again.

              It may have been the black eye that turned him off or it could be that most of the guys are calling me a “fucking bitch.”  Ignoring all the boys does make me look like a bitch, but I’m not.  I could probably have shot down the creepy ones, but I knew if I even talked to one of the really cute ones, someone would’ve got me to go on a date with them and then the
Asshole
would’ve killed both of us.

              So, I have to deal with everyone staring at me.  I can hunch over to make my breasts less noticeable, but that hurts my back and all eyes turn if I stretch in class.  I’m not allowed to do anything about the eye.  Ali gets to wear makeup and not just to cover up bruises and shit.  It’s part of the reason we had to move to this place.  I remember the night they came back from the parent-teacher conference after sending Ali to school with a black eye.  Mom gave her some makeup and showed her how to use it.  Then, we moved to Charlesville.

              I miss my old school.  Most of the students were nice and liked me.  The teachers actually cared about us.  The
Asshole
must love that no one asks questions in this city.  The teachers here give me the same looks as the students.  I hate the pity in their eyes, well in the boy’s’ eyes.  The girls in class look overjoyed when they saw my shiner.

              I heard a
rumor
today, that I like girls.  Ignoring the boys might have had something to do with that, but I blame the bitches at school.  When the boys gave up on me, I noticed that all the girls had been ignoring for some time.  I feel their hateful gaze whenever I stretch in class.  Half the girls have breasts now, but none are as big as mine.  If my boobs caused their hate, they can have them.  I hate buying a bigger bra every other month and my back is starting to hurt.

From the diary of Judith
Smith

March 6, 2001

              I met a guy today.  It was kind of creepy but at the same time, kind of romantic.  He was waiting for me outside the school.  I had never seen him before and I don’
t
think he goes to my school.  I would have ignored him and stopped at a crowded shop or something if I’d felt like he was following me.  But as I walked by, he put his hands in the pockets of his tattered
jeans
.  It reminded me of some shy little boy, even if he was a few years older than me.  Then, he gave me a smile that made my stomach feel all fluttery.

              That smile and the fact that he was wearing a Korn
t
-shirt made me feel like he couldn’
t
be a creeper.  We talked for about ten minutes before I had to go.  His name was Lee.  He was fourteen years old and he didn’
t
go to my school.  He liked all the bands that I love and he knew all of my
favorite
Korn songs.  I felt flattered when he told me how he saw me walking to school this morning and just had to talk to me.  That short conversion made me feel light and carefree, but I kept an eye behind me on my way home to make sure he wasn’
t
some kind of sweet weirdo.  I didn’
t
notice him if he was following me, but I took the long way home, just in case.

              The best part about him is that during the ten minutes we talked, he didn’
t
look at my chest once.  Not once.  And, I didn’
t
see any pity for my black eye.  I think he saw it as a battle scar or something.  Something to be respected and not pitied.

Lee wasn’
t
mentioned in her diary for another six days.

From the diary of Judith
Smith

March 12, 2001

              My black eye is finally gone.  If it had stayed black the whole time that wouldn’
t
have been that bad, but the a disgusting yellow
color
for the last few days is so much worse.  I wish I didn’
t
have to go to school for the last week.  If the
Asshole
is going to do this to Ali and me, then we should be able to stay home.  Of course, I wouldn’
t
want to wander around town alone all day, and there is no way I’m going to stay home with that jobless
Asshole
.  So, I’m stuck with going to school with the bitches and pervs.

              That slut Jasmine managed to call me a lesbian and a whore in the same breath.  I made her so mad that she sputtered when I laughed at how stupid she was.  I asked her how I could be both at the same time.  One of the boys snickered at that, the one she likes, which made her even more mad.  Anyway, she was the one who called me a slut.  These “knockers” wouldn’
t
be very noticeable if they weren’
t
so damn big.  My huge baggy sweaters are not that appealing.  But, Jasmine wears tight jeans to show off her none ass, shirts cut really low to show off her flat chest, and more makeup than a group of clowns would need in a week.

              Trashy girls aside, today was mostly about being glared at by the girls and some of the boys.  The angry boys are better than the ones that don’
t
care enough to hide the fact that they are drooling as they stare at my sweater.  The teacher was out today.  They said she needed to have something removed and would be gone for a while.  The sub is the worse.  It sucks to be stared at by lusty boys, since, they are losers, but when the teacher is staring in the same way, I felt like running out of the room with my hands shielding my chest.  I guess the boys aren’
t
smart enough to know that they should hide where their eyes go.  But that ancient man?  It’s just gross.

              Finishing homeroom didn’
t
end my problems.  In P.E., the guys actually stopped running to watch me bounce around as the girls ran.  Ms. Hellasect was pissed.  I don’
t
know if it was because they stopped early or because it’s rude.  Either way, she made them run for the rest of the period.  We finished our run and played half-court basketball until the bell rang.  The boys were tired and mad at me, as if I made them rutting pigs.

              The day sucked, but Lee was waiting for me when school ended.  It was cold so he covered his buzzed head with a knit cap and he wore a black coat.  We talked for half an hour before I remembered that I really needed to head home.  He offered to walk me part way to my house.  I agreed and we took the long way home.  If he started to get weird, I could hop into one of the busy shops until he left or the cops came.

              On the way, I asked what school he went to.  I can’
t
remember which school he told me, but I remember Lee saying that he avoided going to class as much as possible.  He told me he normally spends his time with his friends.  By the way he talked about them, I could tell they were close.  By the time we parted, I felt like I was close to Gerald,
James
, Sammy, Lilly, and Eric, too.  I know these people aren’
t
like the girls in my class, the ones that said they were my friends.  He even asked if I want to meet them.  Lee thinks I’m cool enough to meet his friends!!!<3 <3 That made my stomach all fluttery again.