by Keene, Susan
“I think we found Lizzy Smith. Well, no, I’m sure we found Lizzy Smith.”
“Where is she?”
Ryan walked in and sat in a chair near the door. I thought he didn’t want to talk so as not to steal my thunder.
“She’s in a house in Pogue, off Route 111 and 270, outside of Granite City.”
“How did you find her?”
I spent the next half an hour filling him in on the Jump Club fire, Stanley Wu, Jasmine, and her accident, Lizzy knowing both of them from the Kansas City Art Institute, and, worst of all, the fact that I let Jasmine remain trapped under a table--perhaps longer than need be, because I didn’t insist the paramedic come immediately.
Once I finished my story, Roger sat quietly as if trying to take it all in. “Sounds as if you’ve busted this wide open. I’ll get a hold of the Illinois Highway Patrol and the Madison County Sheriff and see if they will let us have a part in our own case.”
He was on the phone for over an hour. He had a three-way conversation going with the sheriff, the captain, and the Granite City Police, who said they would love to be in on it but it was out of their jurisdiction. Roger keyed open his phone at the beginning of the call so Ryan and I heard everything. We were to meet at the Madison County Sheriff’s office in one hour.
It was finally going to happen. We would catch the bad guys--Stanley Wu, or someone who worked for him--free Lizzy, and stop the killing and mayhem for good.
We took Ryan’s truck and followed Roger and three of his men. We got there five minutes early. “Kate, you’re a civilian here. I know you want to be in on all of this, but I can’t guarantee you the Illinois troops will agree it’s safe.”
When we arrived, we were told the FBI had been notified because Lizzy was from Missouri and apparently had been transported to Illinois. This thing was getting bigger. Within thirty minutes, four agents from the Springfield, Illinois, office walked in the door. So now, there were eighteen of us. We had enough manpower and firepower to overthrow a small country.
The FBI had maps of the area, Ryan and I made notes, drew pictures, and pointed out hiding places from the road to the house. Everyone was nice to us but they were clear, unless someone shot directly at us, we were to stay in the background. We nodded our heads in agreement, although I knew neither one of us actually did.
By four in the afternoon, we headed toward Pogue.
They sent two men in camo outfits with a thermo-imaging camera up the lane to see how many people were in the house. They came back puzzled, saying they heard conversation yet picked up only one heat-image. We all decided it was strange.
We spread out and headed toward the house. The FBI were on the south; the highway patrol on the north; the sheriff and his men headed east; and Roger, his men, Ryan, and I walked up the west side. It was familiar because it was the route we took the first time we were there.
As preplanned, when we got to the shed, we signaled that the car was still parked inside.
After that, it all happened fast. On a predetermined signal, men went in the front and back doors. They swarmed the house and the basement and, within minutes, came out and motioned for us to come in.
There was an FBI agent talking quietly with Roger. They came over to us. Roger spoke first. “Kate, there’s no good way to say this. Things are not as we thought they were. I don’t know what to say here to prepare you for what you’re about to see.”
“Is Lizzy dead?”
“No, but she hasn’t been kidnapped either. I’m going to take you downstairs, but you have to promise me you’ll stay calm.”
I was anything but calm. I didn’t have an imagination big enough to try to come up with anything to match the horror on Roger and the agents’ faces.
The sheriff came upstairs. “The medical examiner’s on the way. Ms. Nash, you can go down now. We have Miss Smith restrained. You know the drill, please refrain from touching anything.”
Ryan took my arm, and we headed toward the basement door. I looked back. Roger was deep in conversation with the men around him, and everyone was shaking their heads in disbelief.
Oh, my goodness! There was such a mess in the basement. My eyes flitted from place to place, but I couldn’t stay focused on any one thing. My mind wanted to explode, and my eyes wanted to look away.
This was what I saw: Lizzy was handcuffed to the rail of the bed she was sitting on. Her hair hung matted and filthy onto her sagging shoulders. She stared at me but her eyes were glazed and glassy. I didn’t think she could focus. She looked at something behind me, over my shoulder.
When I turned around, I let out a gasp. It was something nearly indescribable. I thought it used to be a human. It was Jasmine Wu. It sat on a platform about two feet off the floor. I knew it was Jasmine because its legs were missing. The thing was dressed in ski gear from the waist up. It’s hair was thick, black, and shiny. There was make up on the face--almost clown like--and the skin was dark, mummy looking. I fought back the bile rising in my throat.
I looked at Ryan. He was white as his eyes scanned the room until they found mine. “Are you okay?”
I couldn’t get my mind around it. “What are we looking at?”
“We’ll talk later,” he said.
I kept looking around. There were paintings everywhere, at least fifty of them. They were of the hideous thing on the stand, but they looked more like Jasmine might have looked alive. The rest of the paintings I recognized to be by Jasmine Wu, the painter. It was too bizarre for me to comprehend.
I took three big steps toward Lizzy who, until this time, showed no signs of life or spunk. As I got within her reach, she jumped up and grabbed my neck with her free arm.
“You bitch! You murdering, unfeeling bitch. You took my life from me, and this is what I get.” Had it not been that one of her hands was handcuffed to the bed, I think she would have killed me right then.
Men came bounding down the stairs and, at the same time, Ryan hit her arm so hard, I heard it crack. She dropped her arm and fell back on the bed, giving out long moaning screams like a dying animal.
I retreated toward the stairs. “What does she mean? I didn’t kill anyone.”
“Let’s go. We’ll sort it out later.”
I didn’t look back, but I saw Ryan look over his shoulder.
We sat on a couch in a nicely decorated room to the left of the kitchen. Someone found some tea and fixed me a cup. I sat holding the cup in both of my shaking hands as we waited for the officers to finish their investigation.
The medical examiner was a woman, Tiffany Marshall, a no-nonsense yet compassionate woman who took her time with Lizzy and the body downstairs. The sun had set long ago and every light in the house was on when she came into the room where I sat. “That looks good. Is there any more tea around? I could use a stiff drink, but I’ll settle for a hot cup of whatever she’s having.”
A young deputy said he would take care of it. It took two men to load Lizzy into a squad car. She fought and scratched like a feral cat. I didn’t know where they were taking her. I hoped to a hospital.
Within a few minutes, the room filled up with lawmen. They leaned on walls and sat on every flat surface. It looked more like story hour at the kids’ library than a crime scene. Let’s face it. No one had ever seen anything like this.
It was the stuff of nightmares for years to come, and we all wanted to know what happened.
“As near as I can tell,” the medical examiner said, “Jasmine Wu died about three years ago. I’m going to speculate on some of this and, when I get all of the chemical analysis back from the lab, I’ll fill in the parts where I might have guessed wrong. Your friend didn’t take the death well. I would say they were more than friends. Rather than not have Miss Wu in her life, Miss Smith varnished her body. By the looks of it, I’d say there were twenty or thirty coats of the stuff. I’m guessing, from the initial decay, before she came up with her plan to preserve her friend, she let her lay a few days. Her hair has several cans of hair sp
ray on it. Miss Smith didn’t realize that hair doesn’t rot, and it was something she need not have done.
“Looks like, over the last year or so, Miss Smith has been painting portrait after portrait of Miss Wu, depicting the beauty she had in life. Your friend, Lizzy Smith, is a mental case. The death of her soul mate--and I am only guessing that was their relationship--was more than her mind could handle. That’s about all I can tell you for now. Miss Smith will remain at Alton Memorial Hospital for observation. I’ll have a full report in a week or two.”
I sat, staring in disbelief. Ryan told her thanks. He walked over and said he thought it was time for us to go. We walked silently to the truck, where Digger was jumping up and down like a wild man. He had been in the truck for several hours. He missed dinner and probably needed a potty break. I put his lead on him and started walking down the road. Ryan started the truck and followed slowly behind. We fed the dog and gave him water. While we drove back to the city, I held that puppy as if he was the most important thing in the world to me. Maybe I did need a dog. They certainly were more forgiving than people were.
CHAPTER 31
I t had been three weeks since the day at the farm. Amy was back and we had tackled several new cases. Life was good, if you didn’t count my guilt over Lizzy, Michael, Roomy, and Andy. Ryan said I was too hard on myself. I asked for forgiveness daily and didn’t even kill a spider anymore. I relocated them to the balcony or took them downstairs.
Tiffany Marshall finished her report and sent a copy to Roger’s office. He invited Ryan, Amy, and me in to read it. While we were there, we read all the investigative notes they were making for the case they filed against Lizzy. She was charged with the murders of Michael, Roomy, Andy, Doug and the theft of some twenty paintings from Wu Enterprises.
Just for good measure, they charged her with the attempted murder of Amy, Ryan, and me. One conviction would send her to prison for life, but she freely admitted to all of it in gory detail, blaming me for ruining her life because I didn’t move fast enough to help Jasmine at the scene of the fire.
Four separate medical experts testified that the paramedics would not have come any sooner had I pleaded and begged. There were too many injured people and not enough emergency personal. I was guilty of one thing only, and that was not staying with Jasmine and comforting her, during the hour or so she waited.
Each doctor agreed that Jasmine’s legs were crushed when the table went airborne and hit them and a steel beam from the ceiling added to the weight. They said there was no way I could have helped her.
It didn’t make me feel any better. Holding her hand would have been the humane thing to do.
Lizzy told the court she intended to kill me, but she wanted to hurt me first, thus the murders of my friends and the attempts on the others.
The morning she left the message for me to meet her in the park, she was going to kidnap me and take me to the farm with her and Jasmine. She had waited for hours to make sure no one was there. She waited too long and showed up the same time Ryan did. It saved my life.
The night we saw her stealing paintings from the warehouse, and we didn’t think she was alone, she drove the car for a block from the passenger’s side in order to throw anyone off who might think she was alone.
When she called and said she couldn’t do this anymore, it was a brief moment of sanity.
She had gone to the Wiccan Coven, hoping she could have a baby for her and dead Jasmine to raise. Thank goodness that part of her plan didn’t work.
When we left the station, I felt dirty and guilty. Ryan and Amy tried to comfort me. I had wondered many times why I didn’t stay with Jasmine. The only reason I had was that I was looking for my family, and that included Lizzy. I had gone over that night a thousand times, and I remembered that I went back to Jasmine no less than ten times during that hour.
***
I wanted to be alone.
Ryan took Amy home and then me. He left me at the door and didn’t even ask to come up.
What did I do now? Maybe it was me who was crazy. When he wanted to stay, I pushed him away, and when he tried to do the right thing, I wanted him.
Ah.
After a half a bottle of wine and a hot bath, I went to bed and slept like the dead. I woke up to a strange noise and a cold something on my nose. I opened my eyes to loving brown ones staring back at me and warm puppy breath. “Ryan, Amy, Are you guys here?” More kisses on my face and then some burrowing under the covers. It was a puppy. “Hi, little guy,” I picked it up. “Oops, I mean, little girl.”
I cuddled her and went into the kitchen. There was a small dog kennel, a water bowl, food, treats, and a note. My name is Chili. I am a miniature dachshund, and I am your forever friend. No matter what you do, I will always love you.
I went into the living room, puppy in hand, and there sat Ryan. He patted the seat next to him. “Do you like her?”
“She’s beautiful. I don’t think I’m ready to have a puppy, though.”
“Sure you are. She and I are going to teach you all about unconditional love. And I know you’re ready for that.”
The End
WHO’S ROXY WATKINS
The Kate Nash Series
Book 2
DEDICATION
In memory of
Molly Keene
July 3, 1970 – June 22, 2017
Forever in our hearts.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thanks to Blenna for always reading my work and giving great input.
Shirley McCann, you always do a great job, thank you.
Sharon Kizziah-Holmes, thank you for everything you do.
CHAPTER 1
T he phone rang. I glanced at the caller ID before I answered it. The call came from Central. It couldn’t be good. The clock on my bedside table flashed four a.m.
Homicide detectives from the St. Louis Major Case Squad called their office―Central. I hadn’t been a detective with the force for over five years.
“Nash here,” I answered.
“Kate, its Roger. I need you down here right away.” We worked together in homicide for years. He was my partner and my friend since I left the department.
My feet were already on the floor. I scooted them around to find my slippers in the dark. “What’s up? It’s of kind of early for a social call. Is there something I should know?”
“It’s not personal. However, I do need you down here now.”
My heart pounded in my ears. “Is that an order?”
He wasn’t going to let this go. “I can send a car.”
“Are you going to tell me what this is about?”
“I can’t tell you over the phone. The most I can say is; it’s imperative. Are you coming or should we come get you?”
“I don’t like your tone, Roger.”
“It’s been a long night. I’ll expect you within the hour.” He hung up.
Jeez. I peed, brushed my teeth, and lassoed my unruly hair with a scrunchie. I picked up a St. Louis Cardinals sweatshirt and some jeans from the floor of my closet and put them on.
There were always more clothes on the floor and the dresser than ever got hung up or put away. One day I would straighten it up.
Chili, my two-year-old dachshund, slept peacefully on the bed. I gave her a pat on the head.
Ten minutes later, I headed downtown.
The parking lot was nearly empty. I drove up front and parked where all the cops left their personal cars and headed for the front door.
Roger leaned on a stair railing two steps above me. He came my way. “I need you to go in through the side door. Go directly to my office. Don’t get sidetracked and don’t talk to anyone.”
“Come on, Roger; is this some sort of game?” I already knew it wasn’t when I saw the way he looked at me.”
I followed his wishes.
A couple of minutes later Roger walked in and sat. I saw the silhouette of a uniformed officer through the front door. I must have done something awful.
>
Roger sat in his chair behind the desk. The armed guard stepped into the room. I stood and looked from one of them to the other. The officer patted the back of my chair, to indicate I should sit again.
I did.
After a long pause, Roger broke the silence. “Where were you at twelve thirty this morning?”
“In bed asleep. I’ve had enough of this, do I need a lawyer?”
He picked up a pen and tapped it on his desk. “Do you? I haven’t charged you with anything.”
I tried to stand. The officer put his hand on my shoulder once again with enough pressure to persuade me to remain seated.
“Okay, enough’s enough. We’ve been friends for almost ten years. If you and I have a problem you need to tell me what it is.” I prefer to stand when I’m nervous. Roger knew that. It was an old interrogation technique. Make the subject as uncomfortable as possible. Get their mind on something else. They’re more likely to answer with less thought. The fact he thought he needed to use it on me set me more on edge than I was before.
“Okay, Kate here goes. I have a dead body we picked up on the Delmar Loop and a dozen witnesses who say they saw you shoot him. There was a Saturday night showing of the cult film, The Rocky Horror Picture Show. The shooting took place in front of about a hundred people, but you know that, don’t you Kate? They recognized you from the publicity after the Lizzy Smith case.”
I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. I looked around for the camera that had to be recording this joke. All I could say was, “You’ve got to be kidding!”
Roger tossed the pen down. “That’s what I thought. Before we called you down here we contacted every business in the area with a security camera. There were four, two on the movie theater. One pointed north and the second pointed south. One on the bank across the street recorded the shooting. Any detail it didn’t show was picked up by the surveillance system on a nearby pharmacy.”