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#Post#: 1014--------------------------------------------------
Closure, Pt 1
By: Infinimata Date: March 4, 2025, 10:53 am
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# Closure, pt 1
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## John LeTour / 2025-03-04 01:51:00 | 13268
*To the living, we owe respect; to the dead, we owe only the
truth* - Voltaire
Home (L.A.)
"I just want some closure, that's all."
The woman sitting across from John at his kitchen table looked
like she needed some closure, all right. She had the
raccoon-eyed face of someone who only slept thanks to pills, and
a voice ripped up with grief. She'd come to John by way of one
of the few people in the department who did believe John had
been raw-dealed, but wasn't going to stick their necks out too
far over it. But they had stuck said neck out just far enough to
toss John this bone: *There's a lady who is trying to find out
if her husband ran off with someone or if he actually got put in
the ground. It's not much but it'll get you working.*
*Yeah, give me her number.*
A couple of phone calls later, and now Denisha Thawne sits in
John's apartment. She brought receipts: credit card statements
showing her husband's Visa had been used a couple of times after
he didn't come home, photos of the man (big guy, arms as big
around as legs), some things she'd been texted possibly by
mistake that had raised her suspicions.
"I'm going to start with some statistics," John says, "just to
give you an idea of what we might be looking at. It's been said
that in around one-quarter of all marriages, there's at least
one discernible incident of infidelity. By contrast, the number
of spouses in a marriage that go missing for no visible reason
and are never seen again is ... maybe a fraction of a percent.
In other words, it's far likelier he set things up in advance to
leave. For all we know the card usage was a red herring. People
who *want* to vanish don't use cards. So ... let's open with the
assumption he's ghosted you for another woman, since there's
already a lot to work with there."
"Yeah," the woman said, swallowing to try and clear her voice
(and failing). "Yeah, there sure is."
----
## John LeTour / 2025-03-04 02:01:33 | 13269
*To the living, we owe respect; to the dead, we owe only the
truth* - Voltaire
Home (L.A.)
"This may be a lot to ask," John says, using his best *can you
do something for me real quick?* "cop favor" voice, "but would
it be possible to see your house and any of his things? There
may be some more details among the stuff he left behind that
might -- "
"If you think it'll help. Does it have to be now, though?... The
place is a mess, and ... "
"I won't judge. I promise. I had a shovel to push everything
into the closet here before you came by." His laugh is,
thankfully, echoed by her. "It'll be *really* helpful, honestly.
And ... to be super honest about it, if you tidy up, you might
end up getting rid of something that matters."
She's still hesitant, but she does say yes, and she does let him
follow her back to the house. Judging from the Acura she drives,
and from the numbers on the card statements (both the available
credit and the revolving balance), they weren't exactly hurting
for money. And she made decent enough money on her own that even
with him out of the picture she's still able to keep up payments
on everything. He had been fired from his job at the
custom-kitchen place after not showing up and not returning
calls for a week.
Someone has to be either really disenchanted with their life to
do this, John thinks, or really dead.
She did say she wanted closure. You give it to her even if she
has to wash it down with more tears.
----
## John LeTour / 2025-03-04 02:13:04 | 13272
*To the living, we owe respect; to the dead, we owe only the
truth* - Voltaire
Home (L.A.)
The house isn't the pesthole John has been led to believe.
Everything new; the only real signs of disarray are in the
kitchen, where the stove top and surrounding counters show some
grease splatter from a recent meal. The husband's man-cave is in
a "bonus room" off the living room, with its own big-screen TV
and PlayStation 5.
"He'd sit in there," Denisha says, "and I'd sit out here, and
we'd hardly say ten words a night to each other. My *birthday*
was two months back; he didn't even remember *that*. And then
there was the *flowers* -- "
It's like a river's trickle that turns into a lava flow. John
just lets her spit it all out -- all the ways he drifted away,
all the things he neglected and then got angry with her for
being reminded of, all the signs of a marriage with feet of clay
(and ankles of straw).
**or at least that's what she says**
That's the worst part about cop life. You want to trust people,
because it's easier to help people who can be trusted. When you
can't trust them, they're just another *problem*. And one of the
ways people deceive you is by larding you up with what *sounds*
like the truth, and maybe is, but is just designed to get you to
not look somewhere else.
Something behind and around all her words -- as far back as when
she first started laying out her case to him -- has been eating
at him. And what's weird is that it's eating at him in a way
that reminds him of **the desert** -- not what happened there
but how it felt. The way all that felt like he was looking into
what's just behind everything when you tear it away.
**there's a good chance she's not telling me the whole truth**
No, more than a good chance; there's a big fat chance she's
leaving something out of the picture entirely that I'm not
supposed to see.
"Can you -- " John fights to sound unruffled by what his own
deepest senses are telling him is wrong. " -- tell me what
happened the last time you saw him? I know you said it was here
in the house, but ... just run through it for me, here, so I can
see it. If you know what I mean."
----
## John LeTour / 2025-03-04 02:23:26 | 13273
*To the living, we owe respect; to the dead, we owe only the
truth* - Voltaire
Home (L.A.)
"So, I came home -- and he was there, in that chair, like he
always is, and -- "
Everything beyond that John hears only as a bunch of distant
mouth-noises, like that teacher in the Charlie Brown TV
cartoons. It's all blotted out by this *certainty* bubbling up
from inside him, from the same place as all that desert shit:
**she's lying and you know it**
"She's lying and you know it," Petey Mavreedy says.
He's there and not there at the same time, somehow. John's
hearing his words loud and clear, as if the man is standing
behind him and speaking at the back of his neck. But there's no
sign the woman sees or hears anything; why would she? Everything
Petey is and comes from, everything John is drawing on now, is
as removed from that woman's world as an ant on this world is
from the surface of the moon.
John lets her finish her bullshit story, and gives her a
practiced cop nod.
"What d'you think, man?" Petey "says". "You think she knows he
bought it somewhere and is just looking to pin something on some
chick he was dicking on the side? You think maybe *she* did
*him* with some help and is throwing off the trail? You think
maybe it gets worse, even?"
*Not now for god's sake--* John manages not to snarl that out
loud.
"What I'm going to do next," John does say out loud, "is start
with some other people your husband had contact with -- his
employers, friends of his, that sort of thing -- and find what I
can. Those charges on his card, I'm also going to -- "
"The credit card company already looked into that," she says a
little too quickly.
"I can draw on different things than they can." He keeps his
tone even.
"They don't even think that was him."
"Why don't they think that was him?"
"Because they said the -- the purchases aren't the kinds of
things he normally used on that card. I just want you to know
they looked into that, so maybe it's not that useful. That's
all."
**bullshit detector goes to eleven**
*"They get stupider every year, don't they, John?"*
(Petey, my god, you *would* be laughing your ass off if you
could see this for real.)
----
## John LeTour / 2025-03-04 02:28:59 | 13274
*To the living, we owe respect; to the dead, we owe only the
truth* - Voltaire
Home (L.A.)
There were more not-so-pleasant pleasantries, more promises from
John that seemed to inspire more brushoffs than encouragement.
At last John gets back in his Toyota with the weird little
squeal that only manifests when backing up and heads home.
The phone rings the second John pulls out of the driveway.
Petey. Of course.
*"You picked up on all that, didn't ya? You knew she was full of
it. Maybe you didn't know what she really WAS full of, but you
knew the odds weren't good that she was leveling. You saw all
that, right?"*
"Is that part of this whole Tales From The Darkside journey
thing too?"
*"One tiny little piece of it. Just a smidge. Juuuust a
fraaaaction. But there's tons more. And it isn't all about
guessing if someone's b.s.ing. But that's sure one useful bit of
it, yeah?"*
"I'm still seeing where this thread goes, you know. I suspect
I'm not getting more than my first payment. But I'm still
following up."
I'm still following up, John thinks, because I just realized I'm
like her in one respect.
I want closure.
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