Romance
Chapter Four
March 23rd, 1948
Gail Primmer slowly adjusted her glasses, making sure that the lenses were completely clean before positioning them on the bridge of her slender nose once more. She finished her task, and then sighed to herself. It had been roughly a month and half since George had lapsed into his eerie obsession. One month of whispers, one month of quiet regret. George, her crime scene investigator husband; was usually a reserved man about his work - yet for the past 25 days or so, he had become completely and utterly seclusive. Gail understood his frustration -the victim was, after all, only sixteen. Gail bit her lip, remembering the unusually daft look in his eyes the night he explained the scene.
“Abandoned in a alleyway, buried in trash, it was almost a miracle they found her in time to identity her body” He said, his slightly crooked teeth clenched and his cheeks flushed. “We’re gonna catch the bastard that did this. We’re gonna roast him from the inside out!” At first, Gail’s reaction to George's obvious engagement in the murder was somewhat uplifting, George was a proud father and the slayings of children always had him at a emotional chokehold.
But it still wasn’t solved, and George had become anxious. More times than once, Gail had caught her once respectable husband staying up until the early beginnings of the mornings, spending his witching hour’s pawing hungrily through reports with unblinking concentration. Even their thirteen year old daughter, Johanna, had noticed a change in the tall, thinning and distant man she claimed blood relation to.
“Mom?” A small voice clawed through the silence.
Gail snapped out of her trance, and turned to her trembling daughter. Johanna, a rather rotund with curls Shirley Temple herself would envy, and a quiet, serene attitude to contradict her appearance; stood in the oval doorway. She cast a long shadow across the scuffed living room floor. Gail swallowed the excess saliva festering in her mouth, and spoke. “Go back to bed now, Johanna” She fought with herself to keep her tone steady and firm. “Haven’t you got a clue what time it is?” For extra effect, she swiftly brought her bony wrist to face, expecting her thin watch to have been there. It wasn’t.
Gail’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment, and as quickly as her arm had shot up, it was soon limp by her side. “But mom-” Johanna protested, holding up a telegram, obviously fresh from the sender; “Dad’s gone!”
Gail’s stomach lurched. Her mind spun like a deranged carousel, and her heart was beating it’s way out of her chest. “It, it says here in the telegram. They’re pretty sure that they’ve found the guy the killed that girl, remember?” Johanna bit the inside of her cheeks, sensing her mother’s fear. “Mom, I tried to tell him that the police would handle it, that it was too late, but he just flew out the door...Mom, Say something, please! Anything” Johanna rushed to her mother, who had by then collapsed on their plaid couch.
“God knows how long he’s going to be gone....” She said under her ragged breath, each syllable slurring into the other. Gail thought of that previous morning, when she overhead a hushed conversation stemming from Mary Ann Lixsen- who’s husband was also on the force- and Frances Williouby. “Oh, he’s really gone off his rocker, that Primmer” Mary Ann had sighed, resting her elbow on her family’s mailbox. “I have to agree with you there, Mary. You know, Fred said that when he’s waking up for work in the morning, George’s light in his office is still on. Says he must’ve been up all night. And all for what? That little jewish girl? For God’s sake, it was a tragedy what happened, but what’s dead is dead! It’s a miracle that they haven’t fired him yet....”
The words exchanged still rang clear in Gail’s ears, and she knew that next morning, a conversation to follow could surely ensue.
If only it was true, what Frances had said; if only the dead would stay dead.
Gail Primmer slowly adjusted her glasses, making sure that the lenses were completely clean before positioning them on the bridge of her slender nose once more. She finished her task, and then sighed to herself. It had been roughly a month and half since George had lapsed into his eerie obsession. One month of whispers, one month of quiet regret. George, her crime scene investigator husband; was usually a reserved man about his work - yet for the past 25 days or so, he had become completely and utterly seclusive. Gail understood his frustration -the victim was, after all, only sixteen. Gail bit her lip, remembering the unusually daft look in his eyes the night he explained the scene.
“Abandoned in a alleyway, buried in trash, it was almost a miracle they found her in time to identity her body” He said, his slightly crooked teeth clenched and his cheeks flushed. “We’re gonna catch the bastard that did this. We’re gonna roast him from the inside out!” At first, Gail’s reaction to George's obvious engagement in the murder was somewhat uplifting, George was a proud father and the slayings of children always had him at a emotional chokehold.
But it still wasn’t solved, and George had become anxious. More times than once, Gail had caught her once respectable husband staying up until the early beginnings of the mornings, spending his witching hour’s pawing hungrily through reports with unblinking concentration. Even their thirteen year old daughter, Johanna, had noticed a change in the tall, thinning and distant man she claimed blood relation to.
“Mom?” A small voice clawed through the silence.
Gail snapped out of her trance, and turned to her trembling daughter. Johanna, a rather rotund with curls Shirley Temple herself would envy, and a quiet, serene attitude to contradict her appearance; stood in the oval doorway. She cast a long shadow across the scuffed living room floor. Gail swallowed the excess saliva festering in her mouth, and spoke. “Go back to bed now, Johanna” She fought with herself to keep her tone steady and firm. “Haven’t you got a clue what time it is?” For extra effect, she swiftly brought her bony wrist to face, expecting her thin watch to have been there. It wasn’t.
Gail’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment, and as quickly as her arm had shot up, it was soon limp by her side. “But mom-” Johanna protested, holding up a telegram, obviously fresh from the sender; “Dad’s gone!”
Gail’s stomach lurched. Her mind spun like a deranged carousel, and her heart was beating it’s way out of her chest. “It, it says here in the telegram. They’re pretty sure that they’ve found the guy the killed that girl, remember?” Johanna bit the inside of her cheeks, sensing her mother’s fear. “Mom, I tried to tell him that the police would handle it, that it was too late, but he just flew out the door...Mom, Say something, please! Anything” Johanna rushed to her mother, who had by then collapsed on their plaid couch.
“God knows how long he’s going to be gone....” She said under her ragged breath, each syllable slurring into the other. Gail thought of that previous morning, when she overhead a hushed conversation stemming from Mary Ann Lixsen- who’s husband was also on the force- and Frances Williouby. “Oh, he’s really gone off his rocker, that Primmer” Mary Ann had sighed, resting her elbow on her family’s mailbox. “I have to agree with you there, Mary. You know, Fred said that when he’s waking up for work in the morning, George’s light in his office is still on. Says he must’ve been up all night. And all for what? That little jewish girl? For God’s sake, it was a tragedy what happened, but what’s dead is dead! It’s a miracle that they haven’t fired him yet....”
The words exchanged still rang clear in Gail’s ears, and she knew that next morning, a conversation to follow could surely ensue.
If only it was true, what Frances had said; if only the dead would stay dead.