What Lies Within
A Sam Casey Mystery
S.D. Tooley
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and
incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used
fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons,
living or dead, is coincidental. Any slights of people, places, or
organizations is purely unintentional.
Copyright ©2010 by S.D. Tooley
All rights reserved.
This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced
in any form without permission.
Library of Congress Catalog Number: 2010921148
978-0-9820352-4-5
Published March 2010
Smashwords Edition
- 1 -
Unincorporated areas were like warts and scars, hard to ignore and impossible to hide. They clung to the outer edges of developed towns trying their best to remain hidden, but like bratty kids they had a tendency to draw attention to themselves. Some people liked to put out a shingle or back up a doublewide onto a chunk of land and call it their own, thankful they were avoiding the taxes and other fees associated with belonging to a real city. And sometimes these obscure chunks of landscape attracted the wrong people.
On the outskirts of such a section of land in Chasen Heights, Illinois, a man maneuvered his pick-up truck onto the shoulder of a gravel road. He kept the headlights off as he used the moon’s meager light to keep from steering into a ditch. He put the gear in park and climbed out of the truck. Young trees sprouted next to its larger parents. Overgrown brush crowded the ditch and made the perfect hiding place.
He spent several minutes standing in front of the truck watching and listening. The warm earth collided with cool air producing an eerie mist which rose up like steam from a hot spring. Branches moved overhead while something stirred in the brush. Nature was fighting for a front row seat to whatever the visitor had brought her. His eyes slowly skimmed the shadows looking for human movements. A crunch of dried leaves brought his head around. Something small had just scurried across the road behind his truck.
Satisfied he was alone, he opened the back seat door and pulled on a set of legs as pale and thin as the moon overhead. All she had wanted in exchange for her silence was a ride to a large Amish flea market in Indiana. Just one time, she had promised. Right, he thought. Nosy bitch. And how many people had she already told about the disguise he wore? Who else might be suspicious of his true identity?
He dragged her toward the drainage ditch and rolled her in. The mist swallowed her up, welcoming the new addition. Weather forecasts called for rain which he hoped would erase any trace of tire tracks and footprints. With any luck, animals would get to her first but luck had rarely been his friend. He stood for several minutes as though waiting to see if she got up and walk out of the ditch or if the mist would find her unworthy and roll her back out.
The thought that he should return in daylight to make sure the body was hidden crossed his mind but he quickly decided against that idea. Twigs crunched close by, and he paused to listen closely. He had adapted to the dark over the years so his hearing was acute. Satisfied he had gone unseen, he climbed into the truck, and drove away.
- 2 -
Two men waited patiently in an expansive hallway of worn carpeting and chipped wainscoting. The dank and musty smell had met them at the door and quickly saturated their clothes and filled their heads. They stood across from each other leaning against marred walls. A chase up three flights of stairs had their uniforms clinging and their pulses pounding. Now it was just a matter of catching their breaths and waiting for their quarry’s next move.
Their eyes drifted, each listening to the groans and creaks of the aged building, reluctant to express verbally how appallingly creepy the boarded up hotel felt. It used to be easy for Jake to dismiss any such reactions, at least before he had met his wife. His partner, however, was showing signs of folding, backing out on his agreement not to engage in any further banter. Frank had started with comments about how much the Embers Hotel reminded him of the hotel in Stephen King’s book, The Shining. Then he had started guessing how many people had died over the years and how many were still roaming the halls. Jake’s death ray stare had squelched Frank’s lips, at least for a short time.
Frank’s fingers were tapping out a tune on his thigh. His head bobbed to an imaginary beat while his eyes continued to dance with each sigh and groan from the decrepit building. The only way Frank knew to drown out the sounds was to fill it with his voice. “How long are we going to wait her out?” He glanced down the length of the hall where she rested, challenging their patience.
“As long as it takes.”
“Should have shot her when we had the chance.” Frank squatted down and opened the door to the pet cage. “Although it should be Chief Murphy in our crosshairs. Assigning us for a month with the animal control officers. Bet he’s laughing his ass off.”
Jake wasn’t happy about it either. Their exile was the result of their last case where the suspect had been deposited into a hospital room with a window that opened. Neither he nor Frank had been aware of what rooms were available. They had been too busy helping to dig up the bodies of twenty-three victims. How were they to know the murder suspect would jump to her death? Chief Murphy hadn’t seen it that way. He pulled them off Homicide and tossed them to the Animal Control Department for four weeks. They had thought of filing a complaint with the Board of Police and Fire Commissioners but Murphy threatened to revoke Frank’s recent promotion.
“Did you know a cat barely waits for your body to cool before it begins eating you?”
“I take it Claudia still has the cat,” Jake said.
“Yeah, and now my son has become attached to the beast. Damn thing sleeps in my bed and when I roll over all I see are these slitted eyes staring at me, its pink tongue smacking its lips. One time it tapped my neck ever so gently, right on the carotid artery as though checking to see if I still had a pulse.” A flash of black darted toward a table at the end of the hall. “Do you know how many times this black cat has crossed our paths today? This is not a good sign.” They took off at a trot, the cage knocking against Frank’s thigh.
“We do have our guns,” Jake reminded him.
This brought a devilish smile from Frank. “That we do.” They paused several feet from the feline as it cowered under a narrow table, inching itself against the baseboard. Amber eyes blinked slowly and the cat yawned as though tiring of the game. “Heh, heh, heh,” Frank taunted. “Nowhere to go now.” The feline’s eyes shifted from Frank to Jake then inched back on its haunches and licked one white paw. Frank set the cage down and moved with the caution of a hunter sneaking up on a cobra. “Come here, kitty kitty kitty.”
The cat stopped licking and stared at Frank, not blinking but its eyes seemed to say, “Come here, piggy piggy piggy.”
“You see what I see?” Jake nodded at a chunk of missing plaster near the baseboard several feet to the right of the table, which could provide another narrow escape for the feline. “You don’t think…” The words no sooner tumbled from his lips when the cat lurched toward the baseboard, appeared to magically shrink in size before poking its head through the opening.
“NO!” Frank ran toward the wall as the cat disappeared. He pounded both fists repeatedly on the wall in frustration. The force of the blows collapsed the wall sending Frank, arms flailing, riding the wallboard like a surfer. He landed on a narrow stairway leading up to another floor.
“What the hell?” Jake studied the debris. Two eyes smiled back at him from eight stairs up, then disappeared into the dark. He found a light switch on the wall and flipped it.
Frank scrambled to his feet and brushed dirt and drywall dust from his clothes. “There wasn’t a fourth floor in this place, was there?” The stairwell was less than four feet wide, a far cry from the ten-foot wide marble staircases and hallways on the previous floors. They lifted the wallboard, dragged it out of the way, and leaned it against a wall.
“Leave it up to you, Frank. We have a simple job of chasing down the cat that dug up the mayor’s garden and all hell breaks loose.” Jake swiped at cobwebs hanging from the ceiling, their cottony fingers sticking to his clothes. Tiny paw prints disturbed the film of dust that coated the wooden stairs. A loud whelp and screech erupted from the floor above them.
They pounded up the stairs and down the hallway. The cat was hissing at a closed door, its back arched and fangs showing. As the detectives approached, the cat gave one last hiss before darting around a corner. Instinct kicked in. The detectives slowly pulled their weapons even though common sense told them this floor had been closed up for sometime. But that didn’t mean there wasn’t another entrance somewhere. Jake gave a nod to Frank who grabbed the doorknob, turned it, and pushed the door open with one fluid motion. Jake stepped through, gun in his right hand, flashlight in his left.
Sunlight streamed through the top half of shuttered windows revealing a room cluttered with mismatched furniture. Newspapers were stacked on the floor next to an old time box television set. A worn couch was centered on an Oriental rug. In front of the couch was a wooden coffee table white with dust. Next to the couch was a recliner where a body sat, facing the television set as though waiting for someone to turn it on. The body was fully clothed leaning back in the recliner, its legs extended by the foot rest.
“Oh god,” Frank groaned. “Please tell me that’s a very ugly mannequin.”
“Shit!”
“See?” Frank motioned toward the room. “That damn black cat brought us bad luck.”
They spent several seconds taking it all in from a stationary position, letting their eyes survey the room from the doorway, storing the details, looking for signs of a dispute, a discarded weapon. From their angle they couldn’t see blood on the clothes or an entrance wound from a knife or gun. The person may as well have sat down to watch television and died in his sleep. The fact that there was an ancient television set in the room gave them a clear indication it wasn’t in this decade. Then in unison they holstered their guns and stepped back into the hallway.
Jake pulled the door shut and stood staring at the floor for several seconds.
“What do you think? Should we call Homicide or work it ourselves?” Frank asked. “After all, we are still Homicide.”
“Not for another two weeks.” Jake pulled out his phone, flipped it open, and punched several buttons. When the phone was answered, he said, “Hi, hon. What are you doing?”
- 3 -
Sam moved swiftly through the parking lot behind the hotel and through the courtyard to the back door where Jake and Frank were waiting. Jake was checking his watch as she approached. “How many speeding laws did you break?”
“I wasn’t caught,” Sam said breathlessly. “Hi, Frank.” She immediately turned her attention back to Jake. “Where is it?”
“Third floor.”
“Congrats on the promotion, Frank,” she yelled over her shoulder as she raced through the doorway.
“That’s Sergeant Travis to you,” Frank yelled back.
Sam didn’t take time to admire the woodwork and molding as she hustled through the lobby and up the marble staircase, her tote bag slung over one shoulder. She hadn’t taken the time to change out of her jeans after Jake called. Just shoved her feet into gym shoes and grabbed a tote bag she kept stocked should occasions such as this arise.
She rounded the corner and raced up the next flight, hearing the clamoring of shoes on the stairs behind her. When she reached the third floor she stopped and checked both directions, not sure which room to enter. At the end of the hallway she noticed a large gap in the wall and a partial sheet of drywall propped on its side. Plaster and paper littered the floor. Sam waited for the men to catch up.
Frank slapped Jake on the back. “Not even a kiss hello. It’s a sorry day when you play second fiddle to a dead body.”
“You haven’t been paying attention, Frank. I have always played second fiddle to a dead body.”
Sam wasn’t listening. She was focusing on a wisp of frosty fingers motioning her closer to the narrow stairwell. Jake had said the third floor but he obviously meant one floor up. It wasn’t until Jake’s arm moved around her and said “this way,” did her feet finally move.
“We think this might have been an attic apartment for the manager or maintenance,” he explained. “There’s one apartment on the right and a storage closet further down the hall. Can’t really see this floor from the ground.”
“Did you find a door out onto the roof?”
“Didn’t look yet,” Frank replied. “We got a bit sidelined.”
Sam studied the debris on the stairs. If apartment doors had been hanging on one hinge and holes knocked in the walls along the hallways, she wouldn’t have given a second thought to the broken wallboard. Other than peeling paint and worn carpeting, the interior hadn’t suffered major damage from its previous residents.
“And how did this wall come down?” Sam asked no one in particular.
Frank explained their morning chase and how they had cornered a cat in the alley which ended up slipping into the building.
“Chasing a cat?” Sam’s attempt to hide her amusement was unsuccessful.
“It was huge,” Frank argued. “And a black cat to boot.”
They started climbing the stairs single file with Jake in the lead. Rank and moldy air pressed down as they climbed. The wisp of frosty air appeared to gather in front of the apartment door and then dissipate near the floor as though sucked into the room.
Sam shook the chill from her body as she grabbed latex gloves and booties from the tote bag. As she slipped into the gear Jake checked his watch and said, “Let’s make it quick, Sam. I’m going to have to call this in but I don’t want you anywhere near when the crime scene unit shows up.”
Sam turned the door knob and entered the room. It creaked like an arthritic knee. It felt as though the temperature had dropped fifty degrees. A stream of sunlight moved across the floor and centered itself over the body as though it were opening night at Zany’s and the body were the main attraction. The two detectives remained in the hallway as Sam took several steps toward the body. She paid little attention to the surroundings, focusing only on the body. “Definitely died here. Signs of slight decomp on the chair and the floor. Dressed in what looks like corduroy so could have died in the fall or winter, although I’d have to guess a frigid winter. The body doesn’t look ravaged by insects.”
“Cause of death?” Jake asked.
Sam realized she had been holding her breath when it wasn’t necessary. There wasn’t the typical odor of decay. The body was beyond that point. “No rope around the neck, no indication of knife wounds or a bullet hole. Can’t even tell if the victim was strangled.”
Frank pulled out a notepad and started writing. “Male or female?”
“Can’t tell. Clothes are sort of unisex. Hair is short. No earrings or nail polish.” Sam saw a matching corduroy jacket draped over the arm of the couch. “Jacket is a size seven so the deceased could be either female or a teenage boy but I’d go with female.” She tried not to look at the body but it was difficult. The skin, or what was left of it, was like dried parchment. The eyes were non-existent, the empty sockets appearing to stare at her. “How does a body mummify in the Midwest?” she asked no one in particular.
“Good question,” Jake replied.
“You mean like Boris Karloff-type mummy?” Frank had an unmistakable edge to his voice.
Sam knew better than to go through the pockets of the victim. That was Benny’s job. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t search the jacket pockets. The right pocket was empty but the left pocket had a slight bulge in it. She pulled out what looked like a locket on a chain. The moment she touched it Sam saw a house in the woods, a log cabin with a wrap-around porch. A petite blonde with a model’s face smiled as someone climbed the porch. She held a bouquet of lilacs. Hey, Slick. Sam heard the words distinctly. The voice was sultry; the crystal blue eyes flashed with intimate knowledge of Slick. This was followed quickly by a sense of profound loss in one wisp of aura but Sam couldn’t detect the source of the loss nor could she see the man climbing the stairs, just the back of his head, brown hair cut short. Military? A medley of images filled her head—a bank teller window, a truck of some type, a leather couch with a bright-colored wool blanket thrown across the back. It sported a rustic scene of bears and evergreen trees. Suddenly the room filled with an overwhelming aroma of lilacs.
“What’s that smell?” Frank snapped. “Why does it smell like flowers?”
“Lilacs.” Sam told them what she had seen, but she was surprised they could smell the lilacs. Usually all of the auras associated with a deceased were sensed only by her.
“Oh shit oh shit oh shit,” Frank mumbled.
“Just write.” Jake tried to appear calm and reserved, but he was as antsy as Frank to get out of there. His eyes surveyed the room taking visual snapshots.
Sam checked to see if the men were watching. Frank was too intent on writing and Jake was leaning against the doorjamb making sure Frank had all the details correct. Slowly she slipped the locket into her pocket. Highly irregular but it was her only link to the deceased once the body was removed.
Frank looked up from his notepad. “Does your crystal ball tell us when she died?”
Sam picked up a newspaper from the floor next to the television set. “The newspaper is dated September 4, 1976, but…”
“But what?” Jake asked.
Sam shrugged. Like in the past, the aura started strong then faded, visions were clear then opaque. She received pieces of evidence like a jigsaw puzzle. Eventually she would put the pieces into their proper place. “Any idea how long this building has been empty?” Sam asked.
“We’ll find out.” Frank said but then stopped. “No, the detectives assigned to the case will find out.”
“They can’t turn this over to another team. You are still detectives even if Murphy has temporarily assigned you to Animal Control.”
“Right, tell that to Murphy,” Frank replied.
Sam stepped back into the hallway and removed the booties and latex gloves. She dropped them into the tote bag just as a black shadow rounded the corner and stopped. It looked directly at Sam and meowed.
“Look at you.” Sam squatted down and held out her hand. “Come here. I won’t hurt you.”
“There’s that damn cat,” Frank growled.
The cat ignored Frank and pranced up to Sam. When she picked it up it continued to meow as though telling her how terrible her morning had been. The cat appeared to stab accusing glares at the two men while lightly tapping Sam’s chest with its white paws.
“Aren’t you a beautiful kitty.” Sam stood and cuddled the cat in her arms.
“No, Sam.” Jake folded his arms in defiance. “You are not taking it home. We have to take it to the Humane Society. It doesn’t have a collar.”
“But look at that sweet face.”
“It’s a black cat, Sam.” Frank stressed the word black.
“Poco will eat it for lunch,” Jake reminded her. “Just place it in the cage at the bottom of the stairs. We’ve been chasing the damn thing all morning. She won’t let us near her.”
Sam turned on her heel and stomped down the stairs. “Meanies.”
- 4 -
Since they were probably going to be there awhile, Frank called one of the animal control officers to retrieve the cat while Jake notified Dispatch of the dead body. “Glad it won’t be us having to go through these rooms,” Frank said after ending his call. “Who do you think the captain will assign to the case?”
“Probably the baby dicks.” Jake lit a cigarette, the first of two he allowed himself each day. They were sitting on the front bumper of the ACO van which was parked in the back lot.
“Should be interesting how close they come to Sam’s assessment. How do you think she does it?”
Jake shrugged. “Ours is not to question why.”
“Yes, ours IS to question why. That’s our job. We detect. We question. We seek answers.”
“I would think after we dug up those twenty-three bodies Sam deduced from her methods that you would realize there aren’t any logical answers,” Jake reminded him.
“Good point.” Frank shielded his eyes from the sun as he looked at the roof. “No wonder no one can see a fourth floor. There’s a brick wall all the way around concealing that small apartment on the roof.”
They studied the hotel in silence. It was one of the last vestiges of a bygone era. A three-story structure of rot and decay left over from the days when this part of downtown had been the focal point of Chasen Heights, a town clinging to the southern shores of Lake Michigan far south of Chicago. Over the years the hotel had teetered between renovation and demolition. The building claimed two square city blocks yet remained relatively unblemished by vandals. What had helped was that it was caged within a black wrought iron fence which fought the overgrowth of trees and bushes. The lobby was raised one floor above the ground so there wasn’t easy access to the first floor windows should anyone scale the fencing. Sidewalks branching from the building were riddled and bled weeds between the cracks, as did the parking lots.
At one time downtown had been the host to big name stores as well as condos and apartment buildings. It was close to the rail station which transported thousands to Chicago for even better paying jobs. But the shopping center changed all that. Customers preferred the indoor mall and restaurants. Downtown stores started closing and investors were unwilling to keep the buildings presentable. The only businesses that survived were the bars, package liquor stores, and drug trades made in the darkened alleys and street corners. An investment banker had dumped millions into the restoration of some of the buildings but downtown could never be resuscitated.
“How pissed do you think Captain Robinson will be that we didn’t get the owner’s permission before entering?” Frank said. Jake slid his eyes toward him with a look that said, Do you really need to ask? “Then again, one of Chasen Heights was in danger,” Frank added. “That’s why I had to use my pick gun.”
“Robinson won’t have a problem with it. The chief shouldn’t either considering we were doing the bidding of the mayor.”
“I’m curious,” Frank said. “You usually discourage Sam from sticking her nose into our cases yet today she’s the first person you called. What gives?”
“Sam has been miserable since Abby and Alex left with Dillon for the reservation. She tries to hide it but I can tell. A wadded up crib blanket, her puffy eyes. Abby was hoping Cora, her friend, might have a video cam on her computer so Sam could see Dillon but she doesn’t. There might be one in the local high school but Abby hasn’t had a chance to check into it yet.”
Three black vehicles slowly made their way into the parking lot. The first was the crime scene van followed by two medical examiner vans, one carrying Benny Lau, the second reserved for the deceased. Two men clad in white overalls emerged from the van. They each grabbed a case from the back. Benny gave a wave to the detectives as he climbed out of his van, his colorful Hawaiian shirt flapping in the mild breeze. The driver of the last van opened the door but remained seated, drinking something steaming and opening up a newspaper.
Benny nodded. “Should have known it would be you two.” He let his gaze run down their mode of dress, brown uniforms that made them look more like UPS drivers. “Thought you two were relegated to animal control.”
“Yeah, well, you know us,” Frank said. “Crime comes to us, we don’t go to it.”
“In other words, you attract trouble.” Benny started toward the building then stopped and turned to Jake. “Did she tell you anything?” When Jake raised his eyebrows to question who she was, Benny replied, “It’s subtle but I can smell the perfume she wears.”
- 5 -
Sam hated handing over the cat to the ACO. Once it was neutered it would be put up for adoption. If it wasn’t adopted, the cat would be euthanized. Jake was right. Poco, Alex’s Irish Setter, would be a little put out. Sam had no doubt Poco would play nice but Sam couldn’t saddle Abby with a baby, a dog and a cat. And how could anyone stop at one cat? Their one hundred acres of land already was home to a number of wild animals who instinctively knew of Alex’s healing abilities. Jake still doubted his eyes when he would witness Alex tending to an injured animal. The last place Sam needed to enter was the Humane Society because she knew she would be walking out with a yard full of animals. She pushed the hands free button on the console and dialed.
“What’s up, girlfriend?” came the familiar reply.
“I need a friend.”
It was a short drive to Mimi’s Café. Sam found Jackie seated at a booth by the window looking intensely at the cars in the parking lot. Jackie jerked like a startled bird when Sam approached and slid onto the seat across from her.
“Been waiting long?”
“Not at all.” Jackie reached across the table and patted Sam’s hand but just as quickly her eyes returned to the parking lot.
“You okay?” Sam noticed Jackie wasn’t her usual bubbly self. She hadn’t jumped up and rushed to greet her when she walked in.
“Fine. I just…” Jackie took a long sip of water sending lemon wedges floating to the bottom of the glass.
“Just what?”
Jackie shook her full head of Donna Summers hair and set the glass down. “I have the feeling someone is watching me.” Her attention swung back to the parking lot.
Sam followed her gaze, checking for movement, cars with occupants sitting and watching, men lingering by vehicles, but she didn’t see anything. “When did this start?”
“Couple days ago, I think. Probably shouldn’t have gone to see that zombie movie with Lamon. Now I see shadows behind trees, cars trailing me, eyes watching me when I don’t see anyone around.” She picked up the glass of water and stared at the contents, set the glass down again. “Maybe I need to drink something stronger.”
“Do you think it was a man or a woman?”
Jackie shrugged. “That’s the strange thing. Sometimes I glimpse a woman, other times a man, but when I try to give it my full attention, there isn’t anyone there. They either move quickly or I’m really letting my imagination run wild.”
“Have you told Lamon?”
Jackie disregarded her question with a flip of her wrist. “I am not going to bother him with my silly goose bumps. He has criminals to catch. Besides, he warned me three times that I shouldn’t see that movie, but all I said was, “Who you’all calling a sissy?”
A waiter who didn’t look old enough to drive came over to take their order. His eyes lingered on Jackie for a few seconds too long and he almost dropped the menus when he left the table.
“You have to admit it, Jackie,” Sam said with a nod toward Jackie’s yellow knit keyhole dress which did little to contain her cleavage, “you do draw attention. Even if you wore a sack dress, you’d still garner stares.”
The waiter brought two iced teas and a basket of bread. Jackie smiled at the young man. “Thank you, sugar.” Once the waiter left Jackie said, “I know I am a little too friendly at times. It’s my nature.”
“You just have to be sure men take it as friendly and not as an invitation.”
“Now you sound like my mama. Don’t lecture me.” Jackie’s gaze drifted back to the windows.
Sam winced. It wasn’t like Jackie to snap at her. If ever she needed confirmation that Jackie was unnerved, it was her loss of patience. She and Jackie had never had a disagreement. They may have differed over certain plans Sam had instigated in the past where she had coerced Jackie’s assistance, but nothing that would have angered her friend.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for it to sound like a lecture. You can take care of yourself. You’ve always been able to take care of yourself.”
Jackie waved her off again. “No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be taking all this out on you. Especially with Dillon gone and all.” She reached across the table and patted Sam’s hand again. “Forgive me?”
“No problem. But you will let me know if you find proof that someone is following you, won’t you? Slip into a store, snap some pictures with your phone in the area where you might have seen someone. You never know. It might pick up something.”
Their waiter deposited their Caesar salads in front of them. “Can I get you more bread? Iced tea?”
Jackie studied the salad for a few seconds. “Do you have some anchovies, sweetie?”
“Sure.”
Sam waited until he left to say, “Would you believe Jake called me out on a case today?”
“Jake Mitchell? You sure you got the right guy?” Jackie thanked the waiter as he set a plate of anchovies in front of her. She placed several strips on her salad, then pushed the plate toward Sam.
“I know. I couldn’t believe my ears when he called. Just out of the blue.” Sam scraped the remaining anchovies on her salad.
“I doubt it was out of the blue. You carry your emotions on your sleeve, girlfriend. Ain’t nothing gets by your husband. He knows you are suffering being apart from Dillon.”
“The puzzling question is, why isn’t he?”
“You should know by now that your husband doesn’t show emotion. He is as wooden as a Buckingham palace guard. But there ain’t nothing that gets by him.” They finished their salads in silence with each glancing occasionally toward the parking lot. Jackie picked up the dessert menu and studied it for several seconds. “Want to split something?”
“I shouldn’t.”
Jackie smiled slowly. “That means you can be tempted.” When the waiter came over to remove their plates, Jackie ordered a brownie delight. “Extra scoop of vanilla and two spoons, sweetie.”
Sam could swear she saw the waiter blush.
“So, tell me about the case.”
Sam explained how Frank and Jake had spent their morning chasing a cat, how it led them to the shuttered building and the hidden staircase to a fourth floor apartment. Jackie howled with laughter at the vision of the two tough cops tramping around downtown streets and alleys in pursuit of a kitten. Her amusement ended at the graphic description of the remains they had found.
“Good thing I didn’t ask for blood red strawberry syrup on this brownie.”
Sam pulled the chain from her pocket and set it on the table. “This was in the victim’s jacket pocket.”
“Eeyuuu.” Jackie backed away from the table. “That still have her remains on it?”
“You think I’d be touching it?”
Jackie gingerly picked up the locket and studied it. “Not cheap. Fourteen carat gold.” She turned it sideways. “Hmmm, I wonder.” She pried one of her long talons into a split on the side and the locket popped open.”
“You broke it?” Sam leaned across the table. “What is that?”
“A locket-type thingie with a picture in it. Looks like it was taken in one of those old time photo booths. Love Always, Slick engraved on the other side.” Jackie handed the locket to Sam.
“I heard her say that name...Slick.” The picture showed a man and a woman, young, possibly in their early twenties. “Picture is pretty clear. It’s the same woman I saw when I first held the locket.”
“If she was a homeless woman, she could have stolen it.”
“I don’t know. It all depends on Benny’s examination, the estimate of age at time of death. But I only saw the young blonde in my vision, not an older woman.”
“These days, sweetie, even the young can be homeless. Are your boys working the case?”
Sam reminded her friend that Murphy was playing hardball. “He’d leave Jake in Animal Control for the rest of the year if he had his way.”
Jackie did a slow smile, then broke out in raucous laughter. She leaned across the table and whispered, “You stole this from the crime scene, didn’t you? Afraid you wouldn’t have an in if Jake wasn’t on the case.”
Sam just hoped the locket wasn’t an intricate part of the case, something that would prove the person who bought it was the killer, if it was murder. Then it would be inadmissible in court. Just like in the past, Sam had a habit of acting first, consequences be damned.
- 6 -
“Anything?” Benny asked as he climbed down the staircase to the lobby. Andy Brainard and Maury Jackson stood like obedient altar boys in their Sunday school best. They moved in tandem to meet the medical examiner in the middle of the lobby.
“We still have a couple guys going through the rest of the rooms but it doesn’t look like anyone has been here for years.” Jackson’s bright Miami Vice colors were stark against his dark skin.
Andy Brainard flipped through his notepad. Wisps of baby-fine red hair dotted the tops of his freckled hands. “There are twenty-four apartments on the second and third floors. The first floor has eight apartments, four offices, and miscellaneous rooms which might have been a utility room, gym, and laundry facilities. There’s a huge banquet room which might have been turned into a recreation room. We found empty bookshelves and markings on the floor that could have been made by pool table legs. The former hotel kitchen has been stripped of all equipment so it’s hard to tell what the apartment renters used it for.
“No sign of a break-in,” Maury added.
“Or vandalism,” Andy finished.
“The crime scene guys are just finishing up their scavenger hunt. So far they haven’t seen any signs of foul play. No injuries I can see to the skeletal remains but I’ll know more once I get her back to the lab. Weird case. Did you find an access to the roof?” Benny said.
“There’s a ladder in the third floor stairwell and a hatch leading out to the roof of the third floor but there isn’t any access to the fourth floor from there. The only way in was through that stairwell. Somehow she found a way into the hotel that none of the homeless have been able to find.” Andy folded his notepad and shoved it in his pocket.
Benny nodded his thanks. “I’ll head back to my office and wait for the lady to arrive.”
Jackie checked her watch. It was nine o’clock but she still had one shopper left in the store. The woman was attractive, maybe in her early twenties, petite with curves in the right places. Her skin was a shade darker than caramel, as Jackie’s mother used to call it. The hair needed help though. Whatever straightening product the woman was using on her shoulder length hair was doing more harm than good.
“Is there anything I can help you with, sugar?” Jackie asked. “We’re about to close up.”
The young woman held up a black lace teddy in one hand and a white bra with matching thong bikini undies in the other. “Which do you like?”
Jackie took a step back and studied the woman, not the garments. The young woman looked more like a seminary student who would blush at the thought of wearing anything that didn’t go up to her neck. “Is this a present for someone or is it for you?”
A sudden flush rose in the woman’s cheeks. “I just thought I’d be a little daring.”
“Are you wearing it for yourself or for the man in your life?” Jackie could see more color rush to the woman’s face. “No need to blush, sugar. I have a lot of customers who just want to feel feminine.” Jackie took the garments from the woman and hung them up. She led her over to another rack. “Some customers just want to feel sexy. They pour themselves a glass of wine, light a couple mood candles, put on a Michael Buble CD and just sit and relax. Ain’t nothing wrong with that.” Jackie pulled a lime colored spaghetti strap two-piece silk lounging set from a rack and handed it to the woman. “Perhaps you should take baby steps. This color looks perfect on you.” She held it up to the woman and watched her reflection in the mirror.
“That is so pretty.” Her eyes widened like a school girl’s.
Jackie touched the tips of the coarse straight hair. “You need a better relaxer, sugar. And you should leave some curl in your hair. The shape of your face calls for more fullness.” When she saw the look of shock on the girl’s face, Jackie added, “You have beautiful features. You should really play them up.”
“Thank you,” she stammered.
Jackie held out a hand. “I’m Jackie Delaney. I own this shop. Hope you didn’t think I was criticizing your appearance.” The young woman’s hand was soft and warm to the touch.
“I think you’ve sold me on the outfit.”
“You’ve made a wonderful choice.”
The young woman walked to the corner then turned down a side street. The black Nissan rental car started up as she climbed into the passenger seat. She glared at the driver and tossed the package into the back seat. “You owe me eighty dollars,” she snapped. “I had to buy the damn outfit or she would have gotten suspicious.”
- 7 -
Captain Robinson groaned inwardly when he stepped off the elevator onto the fourth floor of Precinct Six. Not only was a bookworm with a press badge clipped to his lapel waiting at the front desk but the reporter also had the full attention of Chief Dennis Murphy. It was the start of Robinson’s day and already it was headed downhill at a fast clip.
“What are your top priorities if elected mayor?” the reporter asked Chief Murphy, his pen hovering over a spiral-ringed notepad.
Robinson stepped closer to the front desk. The name on the press badge was Rafe Bennett. Brown hair was spiked and had that just stepped out of the shower look, all wet and glossy. Black square-framed glasses appeared too large for his narrow face but served to enhance the penetrating eyes. To Robinson the reporter looked like the president of a college debate team. With a notepad filled with what could have been the man’s grocery list, Bennett fired off questions barely giving Murphy time enough to respond.
“Since you have been with the police department for thirty-three years, are there any changes that are on your list of top priorities for the department?”
Murphy held up a hand and leveled his own patented stare at the young reporter. “I haven’t seen you before. What newspaper do you work for?”
“Post Tribune. I’m one of their on line correspondents. Just got into town.”
Murphy glared at him with a cop’s eye. “You must be a fast learner.” Murphy appeared to let that slide as he added, “I will be holding a press conference this afternoon so you are more than welcome to pose your questions then, Rafe.” The beady stare told Rafe to watch his step. The warm handshake and pat on the back said he could be the chief’s best friend if he played ball. The elevator door opened and the chief, with his entourage in tow, stepped on.
Rafe wasn’t deterred. “Your main opponent is former councilman and trucking company owner Jeffery Schuler. He says crime has gone up in the city since you took over as chief. Any comments?”
Murphy’s smile was camera-ready as the doors closed.
Rafe turned to Robinson, but before he could open his mouth the captain said, “I’d sure like to hear what his planned changes are, too. Do fill me in after the news conference.”
“What about the body found yesterday morning in the vacant building?”
“Still sifting through the evidence. When I know something firm, we’ll notify the press.”
“I’d like to hear first. Would be great to impress my new bosses at the Post Tribune.”
So if Murphy wasn’t going to play ball with him, Rafe wanted to make sure he had a backup. Robinson wrapped a mitt-sized hand around his coffee mug as he studied the reporter. “Where did you work at before?” Rafe appeared youthful but now that Robinson stood closer, he could see the looks were deceiving. The tie which hung askew, the hair which looked more punk than preppy, the puppy enthusiasm which was peppered throughout his questions, were all a smokescreen. He was a seasoned reporter which meant he had previous gigs.
“All over. I freelance, selling stories to a number of newspapers. I’m not getting rich but I get by. Had my own on line news site for a while which caught the attention of the Associated Press.”
“Any specialty? Sports? Entertainment?”
Rafe gave a smile that almost made him look dangerously sinister. “Corrupt politicians. If there’s dirt anywhere, I find it. Wasn’t given the nickname the gardener for nothing.”
Robinson slowly smiled. “Well, you’ve come to the right state.”
“From what I’ve read about Chasen Heights, you have one heck of an exciting town. It may not be New York City or Chicago but it sounds like it might keep me busy for sometime.” Rafe saluted with his notepad and stepped onto the elevator. He slammed his hand against the door to hold it open. “Captain, is it possible to get a ride-along? And I don’t want to be with traffic cops. I want a night ride. I want to be where the action is.”
“See the desk sergeant on the first floor. He’ll have to set something up with the night patrol shift.” Robinson watched the elevator door close then turned to Sergeant Scofield who was peering over his bifocals, eyebrows raised. Robinson chuckled. “This town is going to eat him alive.”
The office was a fury of moving bodies stacking yard signs in one corner, window signs in another, barking orders on phones, shoving leaflets into outstretched hands, and wishing the man in the crisp white shirt would go hit the gym or the links at the country club. Jeff Schuler’s campaign headquarters was in a strip mall in the heart of the city.
Jeff Schuler - A tough man for tough times
“I’m still not sold on that slogan, Tom. Makes me sound like a boxer.” Schuler stared at the glossy red, white and blue bumper sticker in his hand. The moving bodies stopped in sync, a collective gasp catching in their throats. They had just spent months of frantic work getting campaign materials printed after Schuler made numerous changes.
“Not at all, Jeff.” Tom’s voice was calm and soothing, a lyrical backrub that workers joked could hypnotize listeners rather than put them to sleep. Behind his back they called him the magician. Just when the councilman was on the verge of changing strategies or scrapping an ad campaign, Tom would magically turn him around.
“These are tough economic times and who better to handle it than a successful businessman,” Tom continued. “It says it all in simple terms people can understand.” He opened up one of the pamphlets and pointed to bright red bullet points. “These are the tough issues facing voters and below each point is your solution. We aren’t criticizing Mayor Jenkins, after all that would be interpreted as heartless by the voters seeing that the man’s health is deteriorating. You aren’t running against Jenkins. You are running against Murphy who hasn’t been tough on criminals. We point out the waste in spending, lack of oversight on casino revenues. We stress how your frustration to buck the system is why you wouldn’t run for another term on the council, but now you have a chance to make a difference as mayor.”
“I don’t know.”
Tom Lukavich pulled out a chair and patted it, indicating for Jeff to sit down. The young crew behind him started to relax, feeling somewhat confident that they wouldn’t have a repeat of the last forty-eight-hour all-nighter. Tom did more than put out fires. If one needed a go-to guy to dig up dirt, manipulate the media, finesse a campaign strategy, there was no one better. Just as some people say pet owners start to look like their pets, people in politics start to look like how they operate. One look at Tom’s beady eyes and pointed features, the first word that came to mind was weasel. He moved as though he mainlined caffeine and loved the dirty side of politics more than the politician. Some like Schuler had to be coddled, cajoled, their feathers unruffled, and delicate psyches soothed. But Tom didn’t doubt for a minute that Jeff could go for the jugular. He just had to make sure it wasn’t his.
Tom looked at his team of workers and nodded at the door. “Let’s get those items distributed. You’ve got your names and addresses. And don’t come back until all your signs and literature are gone.” As they moved en masse toward the door, he barked out, “And I don’t want to hear about campaign literature being dumped into the garbage because you’re too lazy to go door to door.” Then he remembered their psyches also had to be soothed. “I know you can do it.”
Once the door closed, Tom pulled out a seat and sat across from Jeff. He did a quick assessment of his boss from the threads of hair which failed to hide the shiny pate to the starched white shirt and alligator loafers. The executive health club obviously helped to keep him in shape. “First, that comb over has to go. People don’t trust someone who isn’t authentic, who doesn’t accept who he is. Second, tone down the smell of money. I have been studying Murphy. He dresses like a millionaire when he isn’t one. He’s got the gold cufflinks, the two hundred dollar shoes, and Armani suits. When you are a millionaire and dress like Trump, people feel you are flaunting it. You aren’t feeling their pain. You want to wear a white shirt and tie? Fine, but make it short sleeved or roll up the sleeves. Rolled up sleeves shows the voter you are ready to do tough work. Loosen the tie. Find some comfortable shoes and for god sake, don’t make them alligator. The more flashy Murphy looks, the more he’ll look like he’s on the take. It plants the idea in the voters’ minds without you having to open up your mouth.”
“This isn’t the first time I’m running for an office, Tom.”
The tone of Jeff’s voice bordered on irritation but Tom didn’t get where he was by not being forthright and honest. “But it’s the reason you didn’t run for councilman again. You knew your poll numbers were slipping. People didn’t feel you could relate to them. You couldn’t get down to their level. That is what my post election focus group proved.”
Jeff dismissed him with a wave of his hand. “Fine, now what are you doing to discredit the competition? With Jenkins throwing his support at Murphy, I’m going to need a hell of a lot more ammunition.”
“I’m working on it,” Tom said as he rubbed his hands together, anticipating a down and dirty fight. “I have your speech ready for the press conference this afternoon. We’re going to touch on the current murder rate and increase in drug gangs in the city.”
“Murphy will say he has increased the number of police on the street.”
Tom never doubted for a minute that Jeff did his homework. “And you will be out in front reminding people you led the push for more police when Murphy’s predecessor was police chief. You were the one to introduce the bill and sway the rest of the councilmen that the protection and safety of the citizens of Chasen Heights was a top priority. It was because of your willingness to spend money when it was needed that had the other council members blacklisting you. They wanted to tighten the purse strings and the hell with the citizens.” Tom could almost quote the speech verbatim since he helped to write it. Now the touchy questions. Tom knew Murphy had more resources at his disposal to shake Schuler’s family tree. “Anything out there Murphy could use?”
“I’ve covered my bases. I have been audited, turned up one side and down the other. I’ve paid my taxes, paid off the girlfriends…”
“Oh Christ,” Tom moaned. “They will be crawling out of the woodwork for more money to keep their mouths shut.”
“Doesn’t matter. Extra marital affairs are no big deal these days. If a former president of the United States can use the Oval Office as his harem, the subject is no longer taboo. Besides, my wife and I are solid, we did the marriage counseling bit, talked to our pastor. People respect a man who owns up to his faults. Besides, it’s a private matter is the buzz phrase of the decade.”
He was good, Tom reminded himself. “Any disgruntled employees ready to picket your speeches?”
“I made sure they all received yearend bonuses last year. I worked from the ground up when my dad owned Schuler Trucking. Swept floors, drove the trucks, was a dispatcher.” He looked at the paper in Tom’s hand. “Did you mention that in my speech?”
“Yes, and it’s in great detail in the flyer.”
There was a steely glint in Jeff’s eyes. Tom was no fool. Jeff didn’t get where he was today without knowing his opponents’ weaknesses, whether in the boardroom or the courtroom.
“What about Murphy?” Jeff asked. “I need better ammo than crime statistics. He’s a cop for crissake. Aren’t they all on the take? There are skeletons and I want you to shake the trees until you find them.”
“There’s a new reporter in town. He’s young and hungry for a big story.”
“And to make a name for himself. Good. Cultivate him. Feed him whatever you dig up on Murphy.”
Tom jotted notes on a notepad. “On the downside, he’s probably hungry enough to take whatever Murphy’s people feed him, too.”
“Murphy is lazy. He’s banking on Jenkins’ support and putting very little money or effort into his campaign. Do you see a campaign headquarters for him? No. He hired a PR firm to do ads and get the word out. That’s it. But I don’t doubt that he isn’t using his own resources at his disposal to try to find every fight I picked in school all the way back to my kindergarten days.”
Tom looked up from his note writing. “I want them all. Every nose bleed, every pigtail you pulled. I don’t want to be blindsided at a press conference.”
Schuler opened his briefcase and tossed Tom a book. “I wrote it eight years ago. Cultivating Success the Schuler Way. I’m surprised at you, Tom. Thought you researched me thoroughly. I spell out every nose bleed, pigtail, marital indiscretion, handling problem employees, living with a demanding father, you name it. I smoked pot in college, had to file Chapter 13 for the first company I tried to grow. Spelled out every wart on my ass. The good, the bad and the ugly. It’s the latest thing. Get out front with a book on your life story and no one can say you are hiding anything.”
Tom’s eyes narrowed as a spark of creativity hit him. “Here. Hold the book up.” Tom grabbed his camera and motioned for Jeff to stand. “Roll those shirt sleeves up, lean against the bookshelves holding your book and give me a smile.”
“Need I remind you the book is eight years old?”
“And there’s a possibility there are voters who also forgot or are unaware of your book. Sales will go through the roof.”
At the thought of royalties, Jeff gave a broad smile.
- 8 -
“I have a great deal more respect for our AC Department.” Frank held the screen in front of the fireplace. Trapped behind the screen were two ducks. It was difficult to tell if they were male or female since they were covered in soot from the chimney. “Can’t believe the shit they have to deal with. Alligators, pythons, ocelots and all the other exotic pets people purchase on the black market.”
Jake opened an animal crate and set it aside. “If Alex were in town he’d have them walking right into the crate.”
“Well, Alex isn’t here so how do you think we should handle it?”
“You need bread. They like bread.” A man in a crisp white shirt and bow tie leaned over Frank. One gnarled finger pointed at the duck. “She’s scared. Look at how she’s shivering.”
“You need a big pan with Palmolive liquid dish soap. That works best for washing birds,” a woman wearing layers of wool chimed in. Her hair was cut so short they could see pink scalp between blades of white hair. “They do that for the birds caught in an oil slick. I seen it on the Discovery channel.”
Frank looked over his shoulder at the crowd assembled behind them. They had pulled up chairs in a half circle. It was probably the most entertainment they would see this month. The Shoreline Shelter was located two blocks from the Embers Hotel. The downward spiral of the economy had forced more residents into the shelter than it could handle. The local churches had stepped in to help find foster families for those without relatives.
One couple in their thirties was holding back their two curious children. “Don’t hurt them,” the young girl around age five yelled. She refused to sit down so her father had to force her onto his lap.
An elderly woman teetered over and stood next to Mister Bow Tie. She spoke to the entire room. “Anyone seen Eleanor? We were supposed to go to lunch today.” She searched the faces in the room but no one replied. She was decked out in a hat and gloves as though going to Sunday services. “Anyone seen Eleanor? She never misses lunch at her favorite restaurant.”
“What? McDonald’s has one buck burgers again?” Bowtie said.
The two ducks edged further away from the screen.
“Quiet. You’re scaring the birds,” the little girl shouted.
“Amy, shhhh.” Her father tried to keep her quiet.
“Can we step back a little and let these men do their job?” A woman in a suit who appeared to have some authority clapped her hands as though standing in a room of third graders. She turned to Jake. “I am so glad you were able to make it here so quickly. I’m Marie Bakowski, the director here at Shoreline. I have my maintenance guy up on the roof putting a screen on the chimney. It must have blown off. That’s how the birds got in.”
The church lady tugged on Marie’s sleeve. “Have you seen Eleanor? She never misses lunch.”
Jake turned toward the church lady. He couldn’t help it. His cop senses were twitching. “When was the last time you saw her?”
“Did you see her at dinner last night, Lucille?” Marie asked.
“No, come to think of it she missed dinner. She never misses dinner.”
The ducks started squawking and jumping onto the gas logs. Someone yelled to turn the fireplace on which had the children whimpering. Jake had to keep Lucille busy until he had a chance to question her more. He stood and directed his words to Lucille. “Could you find us a large pot and fill it with warm soapy water.”
“Fill the large sink in the kitchen,” Marie suggested. “Then we can place a large rack over the top so they can’t fly out. They can wash one bird at a time.”
“How do we handle this so they don’t fly the coop?” Frank held on tight to the screen as the ducks flapped their wings in an attempt to fly up the chimney.