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IT wasn't that hard to convince the warden of the county jail to allow Josh to have a single. Apparently, he was already a well-mannered inmate, and the warden had heard that Detective Kingsley was one of the most trusted on the force. Once she mentioned her past "friendship" – or whatever you want to call it – with Joshua Zuma, the warden had no problem with giving him a single.
She hoped this wasn't something she could get in trouble for. However, she merely presented it as a suggestion.
Iris knew that she needed to get a grip. While Dick did have somewhat of a point that she couldn't ignore something like this, he didn't realize that that was simply the only way she could cope. What she needed to do was bury herself into her work again, like old times. She needed to go to the station with her hair half-brushed and maybe a stain on her dress pants, sit in on one of those stupid meetings where the Chief liked to hear himself talk, take the train home and listen to the same man laugh over and over again, and then retire for the night in her shitty apartment with a box of cold pizza and another rerun of Friends. Normalcy – that's exactly what she needed.
She hustled her way to the station after quickly running off the train platform. She had to be cautious while still maintaining her usual sprint, due to black ice was already littering the ground. Icicles hung from the roofs of independent shops and pharmacies, signaling a winter storm that would soon be upon them. Iris only hugged her scarf closer to her face.
Her feet were moving so fast, and it was amazing that she even thought to glance in the direction of the newspaper rack sitting just outside the station's entrance. She almost didn't notice it – I mean, why would she? Iris only read the paper on Sundays. But for some reason, her eyes wavered in that direction, and suddenly, her whole body was moving towards the rack. Through the frost-covered glass, she could see the headline of today's Detroit Free Press:
TRAGEDY STRIKES LOCAL VINTAGE STORE ONCE AGAIN: MAN FOUND DEAD OUTSIDE ITS DOORS!
Iris swallowed, hoping that this was just some kind of sick joke being played on her, but everything was too real. She wiped away the frost with her gloves, and the paper was still there, burning into her eye sockets like a form of torment. Did she really not expect this to happen? How could she be so foolish? She was only practicing self-defense. Who knows what those men would've done if they got their slimy hands on her? But why – for the love of God – did she think this wouldn't get reported?
False hope, she guessed.
It didn't matter. She was going to ignore this, like everything else. She needed to pretend. Pretending allowed her to be normal. She couldn't be tracked to this crime – it wasn't like she even touched him.
