Dangerous & Deadly- The Nick Myers Series

by Tanya R. Taylor

  “Come on, Bee. This is serious. How could you make light of such a horrible situation?” He returned angrily.

  “I’m not making light, Victor. I guess I’m just trying to talk my way into thinking that it never really happened, that Freda really isn’t dead.”

  Victor sat across from his sister. “Before you came, I was upstairs reminiscing on our childhood years, wondering what went wrong between Mom and Freda. Why they lived the way they did. My memory of that time is so cloudy,” he sighed. “Did Mom ever tell you why there was so much animosity between them?”

  Betty gazed at the wall ahead for a moment transfixed, far away. “She never did, actually,” she soon responded. “I asked her about it once, but she completely avoided the subject. That was my cue that she didn’t want to discuss it, so I left it alone.”

  Betty stood up and began to saunter about the living room, looking at family photographs as she strolled along. “I remember when the four of us lived in Miami in that old wooden house Grandpa left us. Mom and Freda would just pass each other like complete strangers. They barely spoke a word to each other except for when they felt they had to. I mean, something as simple as sitting together at the table for a meal was unheard of. They cooked separate meals. Mom would make ours, and Freda would fix her own. I never understood it, but I vividly remember the day Freda left. It was a hot, sticky Summer’s day. She had all her things packed and waiting outside for a cab. Said she was going to Michigan and was never coming back. When the cab pulled up, she gave me a kiss, told me she loved me, then walked over to you standing shyly next to Mom, reached down and kissed you on the forehead. You were just five or six then. It wasn't until she was about to get into the cab that she looked back at Mom for a brief while. I wondered what was going through her mind. I remember looking up at Mom as Freda drove away. Hers was the saddest face I’d ever seen - eyes ready to gush with tears. Right then, I knew for sure that she truly loved her sister in spite of their differences.”

  Victor sat quietly, fully absorbed by the story.

  “Well, after Mom died,” Betty continued, “someone said they saw Freda at the funeral standing some distance away near a tree,” Betty slid a finger across her aunt’s picture, “but I never saw her, and as you know, my search for her five years ago turned up absolutely nothing. If she ever went to Michigan, up to that time, there was no record of her being there. That’s why I was surprised when out of the blue she sent you this photograph - from Michigan. Detroit, was it?”

  “Yeah, Detroit,” Victor affirmed.

  The room was silent. Their aunt’s abrupt re-appearance into their lives in such a tragic manner was troubling. Even more disturbing than that was the baffling mystery as to who would want her dead.

  THREE

  Around eight o’clock the following morning, Nick Myers headed to the Medical Examiner’s lab after receiving a phone call that the pathologist was ready to disclose some interesting findings in the Jennings case.

  Doctor Debbie Parker sat comfortably on a stool near Freda’s naked corpse, sucking whatever little remained of a sour apple lollipop.

  “Good to see you again, Myers,” she smiled. “Where's Riley?”

  “Was in the john. I left a message...couldn't wait. He'll be here soon.” Nick appraised the remains that had already assumed the deep-purplish, red color of postmortem lividity.

  “So, what's the scoop?” He asked eagerly.

  Debbie tossed the remains of her snack into the nearby trash bin and stood up with a pincer-like tool in hand. “Well, for starters, although the heat inside the plastic bags caused the body to decompose more quickly than it would have under normal conditions, we can estimate time of death to be somewhere around 72 hours ago,” she explained. “It was determined, however, that cause of death was due to a single stab wound to the heart. There were twenty-four stab wounds in all.”

  “Twenty-four?”

  “Yeah, twenty-four,” she repeated. “Anyway, in spite of the bruises on her inner thighs, she was not sexually assaulted. See these bruises on her chest and face?”

  Nick nodded.

  “These areas have been pounded repeatedly, clearly targeted. And check out her hands.” She raised them individually for him to observe. “Multiple lacerations stretching from the little pinky to just above the wrist...”

  “Defense wounds,” Nick noted.

  “Uh, huh. This lady suffered a grisly demise.” Doctor Parker turned away momentarily and retrieved a packet of peanuts from a drawer. “Want some?” She offered, tearing the bag.

  “No, thanks,” Nick replied, unable to hide his grimace.

  “So, what about the arm? You have any idea what type of tool was used to sever it?” He asked.

  “On these areas here,” she pointed along the abdomen, “my guess is a rather large hunting knife was used. Most of the stab wounds hold a definitive measurement of two to three centimeters in width, five or six in depth. However, when the perp got to the arm, he had already graduated from hunting knives to what I presume to be a hacksaw or something of that sort."

  “A hacksaw? Man, what kind of a loony are we dealing with here?” Nick muttered. “I suppose he carries around a tool bag too, huh?”

  “Believe me, you're dealing with a real dangerous loony,” Debbie asserted. “My bet is he got some kind of sick pleasure mutilating this lady like this. I really hope you get this guy off the streets, Myers ... and fast. I've seen a lot of corpses in my day, but not very many butchered like this one.”

  “We're gonna get him, Doc. You can count on it.” Nick's tone was unusually tense and determined.

  “The official report will be ready in a couple of days.” Her eyes followed Nick as he walked away.

  Nick's curiosity was now beyond piqued. He had a pressing urge to learn the answers. Mentally re-visiting images of Freda Jenning’s mutilated body as he walked down the long, narrow hallway made him more eager to find the perpetrator. The police had turned up nothing useful from their interrogations the day before, and Victor Emerson’s claim of his housekeeper being out of state was investigated and confirmed. No one in the Emersons’ neighborhood claimed to know or to have seen anything out of the ordinary, and the family’s alibis all checked out, which left the detectives at a solid brick wall -- a dead-end.

  “Glad I caught you,” Lou Riley hurried towards Nick, breaking his concentration. “Nicholls dropped me off. No thanks to you.”

  “You were on the john all that time, Lou? Come on man, buy some laxatives from the drug store on the way down, will ya? Constipation's no good; believe me.”

  “I wasn't constipated, Nick. It just took a little while, that's all,” Lou’s voice lowered.

  “It just took a little while, that's all,” Nick mimicked, a smile cracking his face. “Now, seriously speaking, Nick, we might have another 187 on our hands. A body was just discovered through Third and Main. I heard it over dispatch a minute ago.”

  The smile quickly faded from Nick’s face. “What’re we waiting for? Let's check it out then,” he said.

  Third and Main was crammed with onlookers when the detectives arrived. Passersby gaped as police officers meticulously inspected and controlled the area. Meanwhile, one onlooker surreptitiously took snapshots of the semi-concealed corpse sprawled on the side of the road near some thickets.

  “Fill me in,” Nick said to Sergeant Hank Bellows whom he had met on the scene.

  “The kid over there on the bicycle found the body,” Bellows pointed. “It’s covered up with that piece of blue tarp there with the tree branches on top.”

  Nick and Lou went over to inspect the finding. Slipping on a pair of gloves, Nick’s mind immediately drifted on the unsettling discovery at 114 Creshan Drive the day before. He slowly pulled back the blue tarp. “She’s just a kid,” he sighed. “Maybe fifteen, sixteen the most.” He was deeply moved by what he saw.

  “The perp wanted her body to be found,” Lou said, half aloud. “I’m gonna go over and question th
e kid who found her.”

  As Nick attempted to stand, he noticed Bellows sifting through the dirt a few feet away from the girl’s body. As the dusty object was unearthed, his heart instantly dropped.

  * * * *

  Later that morning, Nick Myers and Lou Riley paid the Emersons a visit.

  Victor answered the door. “Hello detectives. Come on in and sit down,” he said. “I suspect you made some progress on the case already?”

  Nick and Lou stepped inside, but declined his offer to sit.

  “I wish I could say we have, sir.” Nick started, his eyes quickly scanning the piano top. “Actually, we’re wondering if you’d mind coming down to the station. We have a few questions to ask you. You can drive your own car if you want.”

  “Why?” Victor pressed. “I thought we went over everything yesterday. I told you everything I know.”

  “I assure you, Mr. Emerson, this won’t take long,” Nick said.

  “Oh, all right then. I’ll just let the kids know where I’m going.” Victor called out toward the stairs. The children quickly exited their rooms and looked down over the balcony.

  “What, Dad? Is there something wrong?” Tim asked, noticing the detectives in their living room.

  “No, Son. Everything’s fine. I’m just going down to the police station to answer a few questions for the detectives here.”

  “Why, Daddy. Why do you have to go down there?” Lisa insisted, dreading the worse. She and her brother started down the stairway.

  “Kids, believe me. It’s just procedure,” Nick interjected. “I promise you he’ll be back before long.”

  Victor snatched his keys from the table. “I’ll see you kids when I get back. Keep the doors locked, okay?”

  “Sure, Dad,” Tim replied, shutting the door behind them.

  * * * *

  Victor sat quietly in the Interrogation Room, twiddling his thumbs on the cold, steel desk. “Should I phone my attorney?” He asked wearily.

  “You certainly have that right, sir.” Nick replied. “But like I said before, we just have a few simple questions we need to ask you. Should we give you a minute to make that call?”

  Victor thought for a moment. “I’ll pass for now,” he said. “So what’s this all about?”

  “We recently left the scene of another murder,” Nick started.

  “Oh?” Victor replied, wondering what that might have to do with him.

  “Well, during our examination of the crime scene, we came upon a very interesting object.” Nick turned to his partner, who immediately handed him a transparent, medium-sized evidence bag that clearly revealed the item.

  Stupefied, Victor gaped.

  “It's a photograph of Freda Jennings,” Nick said. “Looks like the very one you showed me on your piano yesterday when Miss Jennings’ remains were found in your house - by you. Tell me, sir, might this be the same photograph?” He held up the item for Victor, enabling him to get a close look at both sides of the photograph.

  Victor could not find his voice. He knew from the handwriting at the back that it was definitely the same picture. Freda wrote with winded curls at the beginning and ending of every word. There was no mistake about it.

  “Mr. Emerson, would you say this is the same picture you kept at your house?” Lou demanded, almost in his face.

  “Yes.” Victor spoke softly.

  “Sorry, I didn’t hear you,” Lou returned.

  “Yes. It’s the same one, but I didn’t know it was missing,” Victor said.

  “I see. So how do you explain it finding its own way just a few feet away from that dead girl’s body?” Lou asked sternly.

  “Well, I certainly didn’t put it there or drop it if that’s what you guys think. Would it make any sense for me to implicate myself by doing that, detectives?”

  Nick remained seated at the desk, facing him. “We don’t know what to think right now, Mr. Emerson. That’s why you’re here. We were hoping you could assist us in some way,” he said.

  “Well, I can’t!” Victor snarled. “Someone obviously stole that picture from my house and is now trying to frame me for another murder.”

  “You think someone has some kind of a sick vendetta against you, Mr. Emerson?” Lou asked dryly.

  “I have no idea. I don't think I'm surrounded by people who despise me, but you never know; do ya?”

  “You had a break-in or something last night that you didn’t report to the police?” Lou probed, clearly unconvinced of Victor’s innocence.

  “There wasn’t any break-in; at least I don’t know,” Victor replied. “You guys still have yet to find out how my aunt’s dead body got into my house. There wasn’t any sign of a break-in then either; remember?”

  For the first time during the course of the interrogation, both detectives were at a loss for words. Lou was obviously enraged, but kept quiet just the same.

  Then Nick said: “Do you mind if we take a look around the house to see if there’s been any forced entry this time, sir?”

  “Be my guest,” Victor said.

  Nick stood up. “All right, Mr. Emerson, you’re free to go. We’ll follow you to your house. Thanks for coming in.”

  After Victor left the room, Lou stared at his partner in disbelief. “What the hell are you doing?”

  “We can’t hold him, Lou. You know that. That photograph proves nothing.”

  “Proves nothing? What do you mean, proves nothing? Emerson admitted it’s the same one!”

  “We can’t hold him on suspicion alone. This photograph being found at a crime scene is only circumstantial evidence; it doesn’t prove he murdered anyone. It could’ve easily dropped from someone else’s possession or deliberately placed there to frame him, just like he said.”

  Nick could have cut Lou’s stare with a knife. “You know better than that, Nick. I know you know he did it.”

  “I don’t know nothing,” Nick said, heading for the door.

  They pulled up at 114 Creshan Drive only moments after Victor had arrived home. Expecting them, Victor stood at the front door that was slightly ajar.

  The detectives both entered and went straight to work, quietly inspecting all possible entrances into the home. It was not very long before they returned to the living room where Victor was sitting with his children.

  “Sir, do you keep a key to the front or back door hidden outside the home at any time?” Nick asked.

  “No, I don’t,” Victor responded curtly.

  “Did any of you ever lose the keys to the house?” Nicked queried.

  The children simultaneously shook their heads. “As a matter of fact, we never did,” Victor replied.

  Lou sighed heavily. “So then, that brings us back to square one - to the question as to how and why that photograph disappeared from this house and appeared at another crime scene. You said you believe someone is trying to frame you, Mr. Emerson. How can you prove your suspicion?” His tone was crude and direct.

  “I can't. None of us can!” Victor barked. “And we can't because we don't know a damned thing about what's going on here! But tell me something, detective…” he stared Lou right in the eyeballs, “…are you trying to get at something in particular here? Because if you are, why not just say it straight to my face?”

  Lou kept his calm. “I admit that I am trying to get at something here, sir. I’m trying to solve a couple of murders; that’s all. Simply doing my job.”

  “Thanks for your time, Mr. Emerson. We’ll be in touch,” Nick nodded.

  “Oh, and Mr. Emerson…” Lou stopped at the door, “if I were you, I wouldn't take anymore of those out of town trips while this investigation is continuing without contacting us first.”

  “I’ll certainly keep that in mind, detective”, Victor replied. “And next time, you’ll speak directly to my attorney!” He slammed the door behind them so hard that the front windows vibrated.

  After getting into the car, the detectives sat quietly for a few moments.

  “I stil
l think we should have arrested him,” Lou finally said.

  “Bad timing, Partner. Trust me on this one.” Nick revved the engine and pulled off.

  * * * *

  Victor walked along the seventh floor of the office building. The piercing stares of his colleagues penetrated him.

  AR Trust & Holdings, one of the nation’s leading financial entities, seated its main office in Downtown, Los Angeles. Victor was very proud of the strides the Company had made after twenty years in business. He also humbly gleamed at being the second largest shareholder in the Company.

  He finally arrived at his office, relieved to be temporarily clear out of everyone’s view, when Harold suddenly stood up. “Victor, I’ve been waiting for you. I heard the awful news! Is it true?”

  Harold Guillespe, president of AR Trust, was a lean, domineering figure with the gentlest demeanor of a person of his stature and influence. Approaching the ripe old age of seventy and cringing at the very thought of retirement, he realized that although his mind was willing to go the extra mile, his body now had greater limitations.

  Victor rested his briefcase on the desk. “I’m afraid so, Harold. She was my aunt: My mother’s only sister. Bee and I hadn’t seen or heard from her in over thirty years. I hardly remember her at all, actually.”

  Victor slumped into his tufted mahogany chair and spun around toward the window, instantly drawn to the picturesque view of the city below. Moments later, Harold’s voice managed to seep through his muddled thoughts.

  “Oh, I'm sorry, Harold. You were saying...,” he said on turning.

  “I was just saying that since Mary and I drove out of town Friday morning to our goddaughter’s wedding, we had no idea what was going on down here.”

  “You mean...you just found out?” Victor asked.

  “Yeah, about a half-hour ago. Walter told me,” Harold said.

  “I see.”

  “So, do they know who killed her? I heard someone stashed her body in some trash bags or something.” The old man grimaced.