Jasper – Chapter 1
Intro
Start reading jasper, a dystopian amateur sleuth novel set in post-disaster rural alabama.
Ian D. Feldman, Copyright 2026. All rights reserved.
Chapter text
My husband wants to kill me.
Only he’s supposed to be dead—from a car crash.
But I heard his voice plain as day on a hitman’s phone.
So I left Los Angeles and returned to the scene of my husband’s crimes.
Outside the 20th Special Forces Group headquarters building next to the Birmingham, Alabama airport, an outdoor museum features a staged F-4 Phantom. We’re waiting.
A glance at my watch jumpstarts my heart. Thirty minutes past the hour. He’s not coming.
I should have stayed in LA.
The dented subcompact rental car beckons to me with the promise of a cheap motel and bad food until the money runs out…unless I sleep in the car. The money will run out either way. I have to wait.
“Hello, Claire.”
Heart pumping, I whirl around to face the tall man who’s materialized from nowhere. He gazes down at me, sunglasses hiding his eyes. The circular badge with a star in the center hangs from a lanyard, relieving my initial panic. “Hello, yourself, Marshal Watanabe. Where do you get off sneaking up on me like that?”
The bit of his temple I can see behind his sunglass frame crinkles with amusement. “From the report on your brief stay in Los Angeles, you gave the City of Angels a full-on coronary.”
“If the report you read had any facts in it, you’d know someone sent two contract killers to murder me. You should be jumping higher than a scalded frog to protect me. As far as I know, your contribution to the whole mess was confirming my identity for the LAPD. They did the heavy lifting. The Marshals Service added a ride to the airport, but nothing to cover my airfare.”
“The service doesn’t pay for witness transport without authorization.”
“Will I get reimbursed?”
“You’re not a witness.”
“Multiple murders in LA orchestrated by someone who wants me dead? Seems to me you’d want to bring whoever hired those killers to justice.”
“I can’t comment on any investigations the Marshals Service might or might not be working. Besides that, neither of your kidnappers wants to talk.”
The whine of passing jet engines matches my voice. “The first one jumped off a building to avoid arrest. You have the second. Make Moretti tell you what he knows.”
“It doesn’t work that way. He has rights. Lots of people want a piece of him. If we ever get any information from Moretti, it’ll be years from now, assuming he lives that long. That’s the reality.”
“Poop on the reality. Where’s the rest of your team?”
“Why would I need a team?”
“You’re taking me back into WITSEC. Last time we met here, you had a team to guarantee my safety and chase down leads on the case.”
“If there were an active threat on your life or a trial needing your testimony, the service would have a team for you. I’m not aware of either.”
“No active threat? What about Fitz and Moretti?”
“You said it yourself, Claire. Dead or in prison.”
“Don’t you want to know who hired them?”
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“I’m sure you’ll tell me. Again.”
“My husband. Saxon’s alive.”
He folds his arms. “Right. Your husband. Deceased. Burned in a car wreck so hot it left only his partial denture among the ashes. Dental records proved the remains in the burned car were his. Case closed.”
I plant my hands on my hips. “Reopen the case. Saxon Holloway lives. You wanted him behind bars before. Why not now?”
“He’s dead. No matter what you think, you never left WITSEC. You graduated to the self-sufficiency phase when Saxon died.” Watanabe removes his glasses, dark eyes flashing like the F-4 cockpit behind him. “We put you in witness protection because Saxon was the bigger fish when you caught a bad case of the guilts. We couldn’t prove you had direct connections to his associates. Saxon’s death ended the case and let you off the hook.”
“And two contract killers—”
“Don’t prove your husband lives.”
“It proves someone wants me dead!”
“You were and are in WITSEC and ran from our protection. I asked if you wanted to come back because of the hitmen. That means going back to the life we gave you in Arizona. If you want me to request resources for a new investigation now, bring me proof.” He dons his sunglasses.
“How can you say that? Two contract killers tried to murder me. Someone sent them. That someone will try again. That someone found me in LA and will find me again. Ask Detective Zalerian of the LAPD. He’s a cop, right? He’s trained for these things, right?”
The marshal lifts his sunglasses and rubs his eyes. “We both know Detective Zalerian would say anything to help you. You lived with him.” Watanabe mimics my voice, “Right?” He folds his arms and stares into the sky.
I don’t want to be here, either. But we’ve got a job to do. “Marshal, you have to take me back into the program. I need your help to flush him out and bring him to justice.”
“That’s not how it works, Claire. If you want to talk to the dead, hold a seance. If you want the Marshals Service to activate high-threat protection, give me evidence that Saxon lives or that you’re in danger. Real evidence. Something tangible to convince my superiors to give you resources. The government needs to get something to give you something. We don’t give handouts.”
“If I have to solve the case, what do I need you for?”
“Sounds to me like you need us for room and board. That ship sailed when the trial ended. All your histrionics won’t change it. We both know there are plenty of living people who want to take a piece out of your hide. On that basis, we’d have to arrest everyone in Walker County, Alabama, to protect you. It’s why we moved you to Arizona.” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “I can’t go round and round with you all day. I brought what you asked for—your old cell phone, identification, bank cards, personal photos, and so on. The ID and cards expired. You’ll have to apply for new ones. Are you sure you want to do this?”
“I’m legally Charlene Tilton-Jones. I left Charlene in California. If I’m going to make restitution, I have to be who I was—Claire Holloway.”
“The Marshals Service can’t protect you if you use your old identity. You understand that, right?”
“I don’t feel protected now.”
“Something you did when you skipped out on the life we gave you in Arizona to move to Los Angeles enabled the hitmen to find you. I can send you back to the life we created for you. I’ll even pay for the trip if you get on a plane right now. The Marshals Service has never lost someone in the program. It’s the best protection there is.”
“So my choices are to go live in Arizona looking over my shoulder while Saxon gets his stolen loot or run that rascal to ground now? Whatever my failings, I can’t let Saxon get his hands on the money he stole. That money needs to go back to his victims. It was different when I thought he was dead.”
Marshal Watanabe spreads his hands. “I can’t stop you from voluntarily leaving the program, though I strongly advise against it. Live in Arizona. Whoever wants the money will show up, and we’ll catch them. You’ll get protection and justice. You know you don’t get to keep the money if you find it, right?”
“I don’t want the money. I want to give it back. And, if the program is as good as you say, he’ll find some other way to get the money because he can’t find me. How can I live with myself knowing that will happen?”
The marshal shrugs. “You have the options, Claire. You choose. If you leave the program, there’s no going back.”
“Can I have the financial records from the ministry?”
“You know I can’t share any evidence with you. If you go back to your old life, you gather all the evidence and find this person on your own. Everyone will know who you are. You won’t know enemies from friends…if you still have any friends here. And, conspiracy or no, ten will get you twenty that you’ll be dead in a week. I’ll ask you one more time: Are you sure you want to do this?”
“Only Claire Holloway can lure the living Saxon Holloway out of hiding and get that money back.”