MURDER WITH ALL THE TRIMMINGS

by Shawn Reilly Simmons

  “Okay,” Doyle said. “Would you mind coming down to the station? I know you’re busy but it would really help if we could identify this victim, see if there’s any connection to our first victim.”

  “It seems like the connection might be me,” Penelope said.

  “One thing at a time,” Doyle said softly. “I’ll text you the address. Watch your back in the meantime.”

  “Thanks, Detective,” Penelope said numbly. “I’ll be right down.”

  Chapter 34

  Penelope walked into the three-story gray building on West End Avenue and presented her ID at the security desk. The woman behind the glass eyed her license for longer than Penelope thought was usual, then handed it back to her. Her fingernails were so long Penelope wasn’t sure how she could type on the keyboard in front of her, but after a few clicks, Detective Doyle opened the secured door and showed her inside.

  “Thanks for coming down so quickly,” Doyle said. He handed her a plastic evidence bag with her card inside.

  “Of course,” Penelope said. “I just hope I can be of help.”

  “This is what we found,” Doyle said. His shoulders drooped and Penelope noticed his stomach protruded slightly over his belt. They stepped into an elevator and went down a level to the basement.

  Penelope turned it over, smoothing the bag over two scrawled names: Chadwick and Connor had been written in blue pen. The card was worn, like it had been in the woman’s pocket continuously for days. “Did you see these?”

  “Yes,” Doyle said with a nod. “Obviously we know the Connors. Still trying to find a link to Chadwick.”

  “Maybe it’s a clue to the woman in the alley?” Penelope asked.

  “Possibly,” Doyle said. “Or the name of a place, or who knows what it could be? We are checking into it, but it’s like a needle in a haystack if we have nothing to check the name against.”

  When the doors opened, the smell of antiseptic and lemon floor cleaner assaulted her nose and she put a hand over her mouth.

  “You okay?” Doyle asked, appearing to not notice the odor.

  Penelope nodded and kept her hand in place as she followed him down a corridor to the left. They stopped outside a glass window, and Doyle rapped on it gently.

  A few minutes later the blinds were drawn up and a man wearing a lab coat was visible on the other side.

  “We’ve identified her through fingerprints, corroborated by the staff at the shelter. Our victim had an extensive sheet, mostly minor offences, panhandling, vagrancy, a couple of solicitation busts going back thirty years. She spent a couple of months behind bars for theft. Oranges, from a grocery store. Back in the zero tolerance era where people like her would get locked up for anything.”

  “What’s her name?” Penelope asked.

  “Gabby Bainbridge. AKA Mother, according to the director at the shelter.”

  Doyle nodded at the coroner on the other side of the glass. A gurney holding a zipped black body bag rolled to the window and Penelope held her breath as the tech unzipped it.

  “Is that the woman from the grocery store?” Doyle asked. “The one you gave your card to?”

  “Yes,” Penelope said, dropping her hand from her mouth. A lump formed in the back of her throat and she swallowed it back down. “Where did you find her?”

  “Just a few blocks from the theater, in an alley behind a dry cleaner,” Doyle grumbled.

  “Did you say her name was Bainbridge?”

  “That’s correct,” Doyle said, looking down at the notes in his hand.

  “That’s the name of the ghost at the Vitrine,” Penelope said.

  “I’m sorry, a ghost?”

  “Some legend about the theater being haunted. One of the original lead actors died during a production. They say his ghost haunts the theater.”

  Doyle sighed. “It’s interesting the names are the same. Can you tell me exactly what your encounter was like? Why did you give her your business card?”

  “Gabby was with another woman. I thought it was her daughter, because she kept calling her Mother. There was something wrong with their debit card, or whatever, and they couldn’t pay for their groceries. I went ahead and covered it. Gabby insisted on getting my information so she could pay me back, even though I insisted they didn’t have to do that.”

  Doyle gave her a smile. “That was kind of you.”

  Penelope shrugged. “Anyone would’ve done the same thing.”

  “I’m not so sure about that,” Doyle said.

  “Detective, who would do this?” Penelope asked.

  Doyle put a hand lightly on her shoulder. “I’m working on it, I promise. Let’s go outside, get some air.”

  Penelope nodded gratefully. “Wait, what about the other…aspect of the attack?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Was she…attacked sexually?” Penelope asked.

  “There’s no clear evidence of sexual activity,” Doyle said.

  “That’s a relief.”

  Doyle led Penelope back to the elevators and outside the front door of the station. She breathed in the fresh air, relived to be free from the bowls of the police station. “Do you think it’s the same killer?”

  Doyle considered the question before answering. “Gabby Bainbridge was dumped behind the dry cleaner, stuffed inside a large cooler, roughly the same size as the case we found our first victim in.”

  “So they must be connected,” Penelope said.

  Doyle nodded, his face grim. “So far it appears that way. And they’re both connected to the theater. And you.”

  “Me?”

  Detective Doyle pulled an envelope from his back pocket and handed it to Penelope. Her name was scrawled in blue ink on the front.

  “What’s this?” Penelope asked, taking it from him.

  “It was found in Elspeth’s belongings,” Doyle said. “A letter addressed to you, Penelope Sutherland of Red Carpet Catering.”

  She shook her head. “I’ve never met her. I would’ve remembered by now, her name is unusual.”

  “Either way, she seems to have known about you,” Doyle said.

  Penelope pulled the document from the envelope. “It’s Elspeth’s résumé?” Penelope asked. “She wanted to be a chef?”

  “Apparently,” Doyle said. “Are you hiring?”

  “Yes,” Penelope said. “I mean, I’m always on the lookout for talented people.”

  “You know many professional dancers who are also chefs?”

  “No, but it’s not the craziest thing I’ve ever heard,” Penelope said. “It says here she studied culinary arts in Portland, Oregon. Maybe she was looking for a fallback career?”

  “Seems to me Elspeth wasn’t old enough to have one career yet, much less a second one.”

  “I checked with that school,” Doyle said. “They don’t have a record of her attending. Do you check references when you hire new chefs?”

  “Always,” Penelope said. “I would’ve found out she wasn’t qualified. So why bother?”

  Chapter 35

  Penelope sat in Detective Doyle’s cramped office waiting for him to return from getting them each a cup of coffee. Papers were stacked on his metal footed desk and a newer looking file cabinet sagged under more files in the corner.

  “Here you go,” Detective Doyle said, handing her a blue and white paper cup. “It doesn’t look like much, but it’s actually pretty good. Will warm you up, at least.”

  Penelope held the cup in both hands, savoring the heat radiating into her palms.

  “Nothing came up when you ran the girl from the alley’s fingerprints through the system?” Penelope asked.

  “No hits,” Doyle said, sitting down heavily in his chair.

  “There are dozens of catering companies in New York,” Penelope said. “Not to mention restaurants
, clubs, thousands of other places for her to work. Why pick me?”

  “How would she find out about your company?” Doyle asked.

  “Well, every job we do, we get a credit on the movie. I’m listed as head chef, and then the members of my team. If you’re one of those people who stay for the end of the credits, that’s where we’re listed.”

  “Uh huh,” Doyle said.

  “And Red Carpet Catering is named as a choice of employer with many of the hospitality and culinary schools,” Penelope said. “Companies like mine are always looking for talented candidates.”

  “But why you?” Detective Doyle said after a sip of coffee. “Like you said, it’s not like you’re the only game in town.”

  “That’s what makes me think there’s something more, like Elspeth wanted to meet me for another reason all together. Or…”

  “Or what?”

  “Maybe the Madisons,” Penelope said. “I work for a pretty famous family. If for some reason she wanted to try and meet them, it’s possible she’d choose my company to apply.”

  “Possibly,” Doyle said, jotting something on a pad. “Tell me, do you have future projects listed anywhere?”

  “Yes,” Penelope said. “On my website, you know for references when producers and studios are looking to hire a caterer, it’s good to have a history of higher profile jobs, and upcoming ones, so you appear well connected and active.”

  “What about this one, at the theater?” Doyle asked.

  “No,” Penelope said. “This is just a small project, a favor to the Madisons, really.”

  “So, maybe it’s something to do with them,” Doyle said.

  “Maybe,” Penelope said darkly. “I’d hate to think Elspeth wanted to run a con on Arlena or Randall and might have been trying to use me to do it.”

  “Would connect a few things,” Doyle said, jotting down another note. “Less of a coincidence when you think about it. You’re the common link between the theater and the Madison family, where they are working on a project.”

  “So,” Penelope said, talking quicker. “Maybe her plan was if she didn’t get on the Big Apple Dancing team, she’d try and get hired on as a chef for my crew.”

  “That’s something that makes some kind of sense,” Doyle said. “What do you think of that résumé that was attached to the letter?”

  “It looks good,” Penelope said. “The degree, some good experience listed. I would’ve been interested in this candidate.”

  “But you know now it’s probably all made up,” Doyle said.

  “It can’t all be made up, really,” Penelope said. “Isn’t there a saying about every falsehood contains a kernel of truth?”

  “I’m not sure I’ve heard that one before,” Doyle said doubtfully.

  Penelope pulled out her phone and dialed the number of the first place on the résumé, a restaurant where Elspeth listed herself as a server several years earlier.

  “Victory Diner,” a man’s voice shouted over the phone.

  “Can I speak to the manager?” Penelope asked, then put the phone on speaker after the man who answered dropped the phone on something hard and walked away from the receiver. Penelope could hear him shouting in another language, his voice still strong in the distance. After a few minutes a woman picked up and barked out a hello.

  “Hi, I’m checking a reference on an employee,” Penelope said. “Elspeth Connor? She’s listed that she worked at your restaurant back in 2012.”

  “Elspeth, right,” the woman said hoarsely. “Yep. Good employee.” Penelope could hear dishes clanging in the background and several different voices shouting.

  Penelope looked at the phone number and the Seattle area code. “What kind of restaurant is it that you have there?” she asked.

  “Greek,” the woman said. “Will that be all? I got a line here.”

  “And you’re in Seattle, Washington?”

  “Duvall. Right outside,” the woman said impatiently.

  “Oh wait,” Penelope said, “it looks like I got the date wrong. She was there in 2010, right?”

  The woman hesitated a moment. “She was here for a while. Whatever she told you, that’s the date. Look I gotta go.” The woman hung up abruptly. Penelope stared at Doyle, who shrugged from his chair.

  “Checks out,” he said with a sigh.

  “Um, no,” Penelope said. “That woman didn’t check any dates or files. I could’ve asked her to confirm anything.”

  “What are you saying?” Doyle asked.

  “I’m saying either that woman doesn’t confirm employment correctly for anyone, or there’s a link to whoever Elspeth really is at a diner in Duvall, Washington.”

  “You might have something there,” Doyle said. An appreciative look had overtaken his usual exhausted expression.

  “Another thing. I don’t usually get mailed letters and résumés. I mean sometimes, but normally it’s emails.” She set the resume and letter on his desk.

  “I’ll check the other places,” Doyle said.

  “Let me call the school,” Penelope said, already pulling out her phone. “Looks like a community college or trade school maybe.” She dialed the number and pressed the prompts to be connected to the records office. The recording said they were closed for the holiday but to leave a message and someone would call her back. Penelope left her number and hung up.

  “Maybe I should just call them all,” Penelope said, itching to call the next company down on the list.

  “We’ll get to that. Our victim might have wanted to mail it so her email couldn’t be traced,” Doyle said. “And if she was a con artist like we’re thinking she might have been, she could’ve lined up references that would vouch for her.”

  “Wouldn’t it be easier to create a fake email? Reroute her IP address, or something like that?”

  Doyle dropped his pen on the pad and sat back. “Whatever this young woman was up to, I’m afraid it might have gotten her killed.” The phone on his desk rang and he snatched it up. “Yeah?”

  Penelope watched him listen to the voice on the other end. He began nodding and rubbed his mustache roughly with his fingers. “Okay, thanks.”

  “What is it?”

  “The same weapon, a large serrated knife, was used in both murders,” Doyle said. “The link between our two victims has been confirmed.”

  Chapter 36

  “Let’s go through it again, so I can take some notes,” Doyle said.

  Penelope described meeting Gabby at her local grocery market to Detective Doyle, who alternated between listening intently and raising a hand to slow her from time to time as he jotted down notes.

  “And you were under the impression they were related,” Detective Doyle said.

  “Yes, I remember the younger woman referring to her as Mother, and they seemed close,” Penelope said. “Although it didn’t seem like there was a big enough age difference between them. I didn’t realize it was a nickname.”

  “Well, you never know,” Doyle said. “Some moms are younger when they have children.”

  “True,” Penelope said.

  “Had you ever seen them in that market before?” Doyle asked with a sigh.

  “No,” Penelope said. “But it was the day before Thanksgiving, and the place was packed with people I’d never seen before. Wait, what about the card they were trying to use?”

  “I’m not sure that any information would have been captured by the store’s register then, if the transaction didn’t go through,” Doyle said. “But I will ask them.”

  “They were walking,” Penelope said. “I think they were headed to the bus stop on the main avenue that runs in front of the store. I thought about giving them a ride but…” Penelope trailed off, uncomfortable with how she thought about the women.

  “You’d already done a good deed for the day,” Doyl
e said. “It’s not always a good idea to invite strangers into your car. It’s better not to, actually.”

  “Still,” Penelope said. “Maybe they were in Glendale visiting someone for the holiday.”

  “There’s a train station there, right?” Doyle asked, rubbing his chin.

  “Yes,” Penelope said.

  “So it would be easy enough for them to go back and forth between the city. Especially if they have family living by you.”

  “Right,” Penelope said.

  “I’ll send your description to the shelters, see who Mother might have been traveling around with. Do you have time to look at some booking photos while you’re here?”

  “Sure,” Penelope said. “If you think it will help.”

  “If we find out who the other woman is, that might lead us to who killed Mother. And possibly Elspeth,” Doyle said, as he began tapping on his keyboard.

  Penelope crossed her legs and leaned forward as the faces of different women filled the screen. After twenty minutes of looking into the eyes of a stream of middle-aged women who had been arrested in New York in the last few years, Penelope shook her head.

  “I don’t think I see her here,” Penelope said. “Is this just New York?”

  “Yeah, and just Manhattan,” Doyle said.

  “I have that New Jersey connection,” Penelope said. “I can maybe look at some photos when I get home later.”

  “I appreciate your willingness to help,” Doyle said, folding his hands together on his desk. “But I don’t want you to get caught up in anything dangerous. You’re not police.”

  “I know,” Penelope said.

  “I should let you get back. Thanks for the information you’ve provided.”

  Chapter 37

  When Penelope returned to the theater, she found Francis outside in the truck, getting things prepped for dinner service.

  “Hey, Boss,” Francis said. “Miss Madison wanted me to let you know the crew is set up upstairs.”