Parker & Knight

by Remington Kane

  A man named Charles “Chaz” Woolley went missing and his disappearance was reported by his mother, who lived nearby.

  Woolley had been a manager of Taggart’s, a bar and grill that sat on the other side of the lake.

  If the body before him was Woolley than it looked as though they now had a homicide on their hands. It also meant that they would have to question the staff of Taggart’s once more, a staff that included the very lovely Heather Jones.

  “Why the smile?” Knight said.

  Parker shrugged.

  “It was a grimace; the gel helps but that smell still gets through.”

  “Mm, hmm,” Knight said. “I thought maybe you were smiling because you were thinking of Heather Jones. If this is Woolley, we’ll have to question Taggart’s staff again, Jones included.”

  Parker stared at her.

  “How long have we been partners?”

  “About two weeks, why?”

  “We’ve only known each other for two weeks and already you can read me like a book? No wonder you’re a great detective.”

  “So, you were thinking about Jones?”

  “Yes, I admit it, but chalk it up to hormones. A girl that beautiful tends to stay on the male brain.”

  “She’s twenty-two and studying to be a doctor, I’d say that makes her a woman.”

  “A very young woman, too young for an old man like me,”

  “Forty isn’t old, Rick, you’re just feeling down because of your divorce.”

  “Speaking of relationships, did that alarm guy Hooper ever call you?”

  “He did, we had Sunday brunch together and we’ll be going out this weekend.”

  “Good, I hope things work out there.”

  The coroner, Stella Harvey, arrived, and after exchanging pleasantries with Rick and Jo, she put on a mask and gloves and began examining the body. The body and the surrounding area had already been photographed.

  “This gash on the neck looks like a knife wound and is likely the cause of death.”

  She reached into the back pocket of the body’s soiled jeans and wrenched a wallet free, a difficult task given the bloat of the corpse. She then opened it and read from the driver’s license.

  “The victim’s name was Charles Woolley.” Stella said.

  Parker nodded.

  “Our missing persons case has just become a homicide.”

  Chapter 12

  The following day, Heather Jones checked her face in the car’s rearview mirror, and then tucked an errant strand of hair back in place.

  When she got out of the car, she smoothed the wrinkles from her black skirt while wondering if she should have worn the red one instead, the shorter of the two.

  She shook her head slightly, and decided that she had dressed the right way, after all, she wasn’t throwing herself at the man, she just wanted to make him interested in her.

  She smiled, while thinking of Parker, and once again wondered why she couldn’t get him off her mind.

  After opening the passenger door and grabbing the white bag off the seat, she took a deep breath and headed for the front doors of the municipal center.

  Upstairs, Joanna Knight sat at her desk and smiled at Parker.

  “That’s a new tie, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s very nice, and is that a new sport coat too?”

  “Yes, I, ah, did a little shopping.”

  Jo’s smile widened.

  “You got it bad, don’t you?”

  “I don’t know what you mean.” Parker said, but he knew exactly what she meant.

  “She should be here any minute; would you like to interview her alone?”

  Parker hung his head.

  “You think I’m a fool, don’t you?”

  The smile left Jo’s face and she reached across and touched Parker’s hand.

  “Hey, Rick, I don’t think it’s foolish for you to be attracted to Jones, and I’ll tell you something else, I think it’s mutual. Every time we’ve talked to her, she’s asked you to come by the bar.”

  “She was just being nice, and besides, she’s now part of an active investigation.”

  “We’ll solve this case and then that will end, when it does, ask her out. The worst that can happen is that she’ll say no.”

  Parker shook his head in disagreement.

  “That’s not the worst; the worst would be if she said yes.”

  Jo gave him a puzzled look, but then the phone rang and she answered it. When she hung up, she grinned.

  “The lady is on her way up.”

  Parker watched Heather Jones as she stepped off the elevator.

  The woman was stunning, with a gorgeous figure, thick red hair and large green eyes.

  She was wearing a black skirt that displayed her legs, but wasn’t so short that it couldn’t be worn on any occasion. Her blouse was cobalt blue, and Parker noted that it matched her shoes perfectly; he also noted that it gapped slightly, and displayed just a hint of cleavage.

  Her make-up, if any, was understated, and the only jewelry she wore were a pair of gold earrings and a turquoise ring.

  As he and Knight approached her, Heather smiled and Parker felt his knees weaken. Only one other woman had ever affected him that way, his ex-wife, Rachel.

  He shook her hand.

  “Ms. Jones, thank you for coming in, we’ll try to make this quick.”

  “I’m in no hurry,” Heather said.

  Jo suddenly sniffed the air, as a mouth-watering aroma reached her nose.

  “Oh my God, what have you got in that bag, is that barbeque I smell?”

  Heather grinned.

  “It is; I thought I’d bring you some of Taggart’s ribs; they’re the best in town. There are two rib dinners in the bag, one for each of you, just a show of appreciation for solving Tiff’s murder.”

  “That’s very kind, but not necessary,” Parker said.

  “I would have been in sooner, Detective Parker, but I thought I might see you at the bar, in fact, I was looking forward to it.”

  Jo reached out and took the bag from Heather.

  “I’ll take this and put it in the break room while Rick interviews you about the case. Rick, why not use Interview Room C?”

  Parker looked at his partner, wondering if she could be any more obvious. Interview Room C was where lawyers met with their clients. There were no one-way mirrors and no listening devices and was arguably the most private spot in the building. Parker nodded in agreement and led Heather down a corridor to the right as Jo walked off with the bag of food.

  Interview Room C was a cramped space with a single table and two chairs. Parker held out a seat for Heather and she sent him a smile.

  “I see you’re a gentlemen; Detective Parker, there aren’t many of you left.”

  “You can blame my mother, she drilled certain behaviors into me and one of those was to always open a door or pull out a seat for a lady.”

  Heather said nothing in return, but only smiled at him.

  “Um, thank you for the food; that was very kind of you.”

  “I meant what I said; I’d like to see you at the bar sometime.”

  “You’ll be seeing me there for certain now that Charles Woolley has been found murdered.”

  The smile left Heather’s face.

  “I don’t know how I can help, as I told you before, I barely knew Mr. Woolley. He had only been working at Taggart’s for a short time.”

  “Right, we were just hoping that something had occurred to you since our last talk, maybe something Mr. Woolley did or said?”

  Heather shook her head.

  “No, nothing, but then, I only spoke with him a few times.”

  “Did he ever ask you out?”

  “No, why?”

  “You’re an extremely beautiful woman; I thought that he might have shown interest.”

  “Extremely beautiful?” Heather said, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

  “Just the fa
cts, ma’am,” Parker said.

  Heather’s smile widened.

  “I get asked out quite often, most of the time the attention is unwanted, but not always, and sometimes I look forward to saying yes.”

  Parker raised an eyebrow at that.

  “You don’t have a boyfriend, why is that?”

  “I’m not an easy woman to date. If I’m not working at the bar, I’m in class, and if I’m not in class, then I’m studying. My whole life these days is medical school and work; it doesn’t leave much time for play.”

  “You’re a serious person for a girl your age.”

  “I’m not a girl, Detective Parker, I’m all woman,”

  “I meant no offense; it’s just that at my age, you seem very young,”

  “And that bothers you, the age difference?”

  “Yes.”

  “It shouldn’t, it doesn’t bother me.”

  They stared at each other, and Parker actually had to stop himself from reaching out and taking her hand.

  He stood and opened the door.

  “Thank you for coming in.”

  “No more questions?” Heather said, a hint of disappointment in her voice.

  “Not at this time, no,”

  “I see.”

  Heather grabbed her purse and rose, but Parker continued to stand in the doorway.

  “There is one more question...”

  “Yes?”

  “I can’t ask it right now, because technically you’re part of an ongoing investigation, but once we solve this case, I intend to ask it.”

  Heather moved closer and stared up at Parker. She was not a short woman, but Parker still towered above her.

  “Anytime you’re ready to ask, Detective, I’ll have an answer for you.”

  Parker smiled, and led her back to the elevator. As the doors opened, he spoke to her.

  “Ms. Jones, will you be working later this afternoon?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good, Detective Knight and I will be at Taggart’s later; we’re meeting Mr. Taggart there.”

  “Be sure to come see me and say hi,”

  “Oh, I will, take care now,”

  “You too Detective, and call me Heather,”

  They smiled at each other until the doors closed, and when Parker turned around, he found Jo staring at him.

  “Did you find out anything?”

  “Yes.”

  “What?”

  Parker wiped his hands on his pants.

  “I found out that my palms still sweat whenever I talk to a beautiful girl.”

  Chapter 13

  A short time later, Parker and Knight visited the morgue to hear the results of the autopsy from Stella Harvey.

  “While there was a lot of bruising on the face and torso, death was caused by a single wound to the throat, a gash caused by a serrated instrument, most likely a knife, but I’ll have the detailed report ready for you in about a week, after the toxicology results comes back.” Stella said.

  “What about the bruising? Could it have been caused by a fist?” Parker said.

  “Yes, but death occurred shortly after they were made,”

  “So, possibly a fight that led to a knifing,” Jo said.

  Stella gestured at the walls.

  “Say goodbye to the old place; they’re moving us into the basement of the new hospital next week.”

  “So soon? But I didn’t think it was open yet?” Parker said.

  “It’s not really, but our section is done and they’re attempting to move departments in one by one. The place is massive and to get it up and running completely will take time, but they do have the emergency room taking patients.”

  Jo wrinkled her nose.

  “I hope the new morgue smells better than this.”

  “There’s state of the art ventilation, but you know, death smells like death,” Stella said.

  They thanked her for the preliminary autopsy report and stopped for coffee, which they drank in the car.

  The car was an unmarked, black Chevy Caprice. It was new and much needed. The only other unmarked vehicle the department had available prior to their purchase of the Caprice was an ancient Crown Vic that smelled like rotted fish. Parker had hated that car so much that he had been driving his own car while on the job, a classic 1965 Mustang, but both he and Jo found the Caprice to be a sweet ride.

  Jo looked sideways at Parker, who was seated behind the steering wheel.

  “I know you said that she had nothing to add to the case, but how did your talk with Jones go otherwise?”

  Parker grinned.

  “It went excellent.”

  “That’s all you’re going to say?”

  He shrugged.

  “She’s part of an active case, but once it’s solved, well, we’ll see.”

  “I told you that she likes you.”

  “Enough about my hopes and dreams, what do you think our next move ought to be?”

  “You mean after we talk with Patrick Taggart again?”

  “Yeah, I don’t have much hope of learning anything new there, so we need another angle to approach this from.”

  “We know it wasn’t robbery; Woolley still had his wallet, so I guess we take a closer look at his life.”

  “Up until six weeks ago, Woolley lived in Pittsburgh, but we’ll talk to his neighbors again.”

  “What about his mother? She’s the one that reported him missing in the first place.”

  “Good thinking, maybe she can tell us if he was seeing anyone, although I doubt a grown man would tell his mother about his love life.”

  Jo smiled.

  “Speaking of love life, let’s go to Taggart’s.”

  “I’m not going there to see Ms. Jones, only her employer.”

  “Oh, so we’re all business now, eh?”

  “You’re damn right; the quicker we solve this case, the sooner it becomes inactive.”

  “And the sooner you can ask Jones out, I get you, and hey, it’s nice to see you happy.”

  “I’ll be happy when we find the murderer.”

  “You don’t tell the damn cops anything, you hear me, boy?”

  “Yes Granddad, I hear you.” Patrick Taggart said. He was at his home, which was actually his grandfather’s home, and the old man was telling him what to do, again.

  The old man, Nathanial Taggart, was ninety-nine and the owner of the bar that bore his name.

  The house was a huge three-story colonial that sat on ten acres and was adjacent to the fifty plus acres that the bar on the other side of the lake sat upon. All in all, Nathanial Taggart owned a good chunk of land, most of which was undeveloped.

  They were in the old man’s office, a space lined with books, but dominated by the huge picture window behind the desk.

  Patrick leaned down and spoke to his grandfather, who sat in a wheelchair. The old man’s bald pate was covered with age spots and his eyes were two bright blue points set in deeply wrinkled flesh. Whenever he spoke more than a sentence, he needed to pause to take a breath.

  “I don’t understand why you don’t want me to talk to the police. Maybe they can help us with Nico, maybe they’ll even arrest him for murdering poor Chaz Woolley.”

  The old man pointed a crooked finger at him.

  “You don’t talk to cops, period. Be a man and handle this yourself.”

  “I tried that, remember. I told Nico no and he punched me in the stomach, then, I paid Chaz to handle it and... well, now he’s dead. This Nico Umbria is a dangerous man.”

  “There’s a .32 in my top desk drawer. Arrange to meet this Nico punk somewhere and... and take care of things. That’s how I would have handled it in the old days... hell, I still remember where I buried the bodies.”

  Patrick shivered at the thought of committing violence.

  “I’m not like you Granddad, and times have changed.”

  “A punk’s a punk, Pat, and there’s only one way to handle a punk.”

  Patrick checked his wa
tch.

  “I have to get back to the bar.”

  “Alright, but don’t tell them cops nothing, we’ll handle this ourselves.”

  “Yes sir,” Patrick said, as he took out a handkerchief and wiped the sweat from his receding hairline.

  The housekeeper came in as Patrick was leaving and handed the elder Taggart a glass of water and several pills. Her name was Margaret; she was in her eighties and had worked in the home for decades.

  “Take your pills, Nathan, and what’s up with Pat, he looked ill.”

  “That boy’s got no backbone, that’s his problem.”

  “Pat’s a good boy; it’s just that he takes after his mother.”

  The old man sighed.

  “I wish Nate was here. That boy wouldn’t put up with this nonsense, I’ll tell you that.”

  “Nate left a long time ago; he’s off making his own life.”

  “I think I’m gonna wind up handling things myself,” the old man said.

  Parker’s eyes searched for Heather as he walked into Taggart’s, and he spotted her taking a food order at a corner table. She sent him a little wave and he smiled at her.

  “What are you going to do if she’s the murderer?” Jo said.

  “Bite your tongue,” Parker told her, and Jo laughed.

  The bartender, a young man with a huge mustache, told them that Patrick Taggart was expecting their visit, and showed them to his office by leading them through a pair of swinging doors next to the bar. The doors opened onto the hot and busy kitchen, which was noisy and filled with activity, as pots steamed, grills sizzled, and a radio played heavy metal music.

  Jo took a deep breath and sighed.

  “M’mm, it smells good in here; I’m eating those ribs Jones gave us as soon as we get back.”

  The bartender knocked on the door, and Taggart yelled for them to enter. The office was small and contained a cheap wooden desk, two filing cabinets and a wall of shelves that held a combination of overstuffed file folders alongside supplies such as drink cups, napkins and garbage bags. Taggart’s desk was equally cluttered and Parker wondered how the man got any work done.

  Patrick Taggart was fifty-two, tall, but pudgy and would have been bald except for a fringe of dark, but graying hair. His blue eyes looked nervous, and upon seeing Parker and Knight, he suddenly had trouble getting comfortable in his chair.