He set the bags down as close to where they were as he could. The dresser was next. Drawer by drawer he examined the fabric of Julie’s life. On top of the dresser were bottles of sprays and perfumes. He didn’t touch them. In a frame was a picture of a small girl and two adults. He decided it was Julie and her parents.
There was a box in the last drawer with a flip latch. There was an envelope inside. The envelope contained a string of jet black beads and skull and cross bone earrings with the snake wrapped around them. A leather bracelet with dangling charms of ankhs, anarchy symbols, marijuana leaves, and an infinity symbol seemed never worn. In the center of another bracelet was a wooden charm with a single eye burned into it. He rubbed his hand over the items. It made him feel even closer to her. He knew all her secret things.
The thought of staying until she got home was strong, but he knew he must leave. The mother would soon be coming back from her gym session and he couldn’t stay.
As he headed for the window, he passed a nightstand with a drawer. The temptation was too great. He opened the drawer to find a scramble of shiny metal bracelets, hair clips, and ribbons. It was the designated catchall drawer. Without hesitation, he rifled through the contents. Something caught his eye. A pink ribbon. He took it and closed the drawer.
As he walked toward the window he caught sight of several mannequin heads in the mirror perched on the wall shelf. There was a black wig on one of them. The hair fell straight down with bangs in front. Julie wore it once at a show. It covered her eyes. When she’d swung her hair and looked him in the eyes, they made a direct soul-to-soul connection. That was when he knew that they were meant to be together. But, she didn’t come to him. Perhaps she didn’t understand the intensity and importance of the moment they experienced.
Julie was young, but soon it would be obvious to the world they belonged to each other.
The sound of a car alarm chirping in the distance startled him from his thoughts. He bolted, snagging the wig as he left the room. He lowered the window back to the position he’d found it. Climbing down was even more damaging to the foliage along the latticework but he didn’t care.
He needed to sit. On the curb behind his car, he waited for his hands to stop trembling. As he did, the garage door at the Vernon house went up. He looked up the street in both directions and saw the returning Mrs. Vernon. There were no other cars to be seen.
He looked back at the house to see her car pulling into the garage. Mrs. Vernon’s clean white cross-trainers hit the garage floor. She made her way past the borders of her meticulously trimmed lawn. Bending down she plucked a few flowers on her way into the house. The garage door lowered, and he leaned forward from the curb where he crouched, opened the car door and pounded the seat of the car with his fists.
If anyone was watching the young man on the curb, his opened car door would block their view. He cut it way too close and almost got caught. He was sure Mrs. Vernon didn’t see him. He was oh so careful the whole time. The only evidence of anyone having been there would be some crumpled leaves along the trellis. The only thing that could link him to the Vernon house was his car. If someone got the plates, it was over.
But, why would they?
No one would know he was there except maybe Julie. She would surely miss the wig. For a moment he regretted taking it, but as he turned it in his hand he dismissed the thought. He had to have it.
Soon she would understand. He would tell her about his visit, and she would forgive him because she loved him and they were meant to be together.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Eva was gone for the afternoon, and he was sitting at the table with Jacki. They were eating reheated deli case rigatoni. He was telling Jacki about his day, focusing on his interactions with the guys at the precinct. For a reason he couldn’t quite understand, he didn’t mention Kerrie. Even stranger was the feeling that he needed to. He almost felt guilty about it. To stave it off, he mostly joked about Herr Comrade.
Without delving into the case, he listed all of Flynt’s peculiar mannerisms, absurd speculations, and outrageous personal hygiene. He told her of the Captain’s desire to get rid of the weird little troll.
“You know I feel guilty, though,” he explained to Jacki. “I’ve been given a great opportunity. I don’t want it to start off with a betrayal of my new partner, as worthless as he is. Some of the guys might see it as a service to the precinct. I don’t. I’d feel like a rat. You know?”
“You’re too nice for your own good sometimes,” she said. “That’s why I love you.”
She smiled weakly, the only kind of smile she could give these days, but her eyes gleamed in total understanding and appreciation of his dilemma. She always understood the delicacy of any situation. Another person would smile and tell him to get over himself and give Comrade a swift kick. Another person would have told him that he would be doing taxpayers and the community a favor by getting rid of the terrible detective. But Jacki wasn’t just another person.
He smiled back and shared a few more anecdotes. She was in better spirits tonight. He rarely saw her in a genuinely good mood these days, but she was in one as they ate and as she listened to his stories. It was the beginning of what he hoped would be a lovely evening.
Then the phone rang. The landline jangled loudly, shattering their intimacy. Steele wondered with anger why he installed it, then remembered it was for Eva to call in case of an emergency.
It wasn’t Eva on the line, though. It was the Captain, calling from the precinct.
“I’ve been trying to reach you,” the Captain hissed. “What’s wrong with your cell? Is it switched off?”
It was a deliberate act, but Steele lied as best he could. “I left it in my jacket pocket. I guess I didn’t hear it. Is anything the matter?”
“There’s been an accident.”
A million scenarios ran through Steele’s mind. Those words were like a punch to the gut. He looked at Jacki. He knew nobody else could see those words being so personal. Still, he saw a crush of vehicles. Morbid of course, but that was the only thing to warrant a call from the Captain to pull him in after hours.
“Do you want me to come in?” Steele asked.
“I’d rather you went straight to the location.” The Captain rattled off a region that was completely foreign to Steele, but he committed it to memory all the same.
“What have we got, sir?”
“Dispatch received a 911 call for an ambulance. Seems somebody’s been electrocuted.”
That seemed more like a health problem than a problem with the law; maybe the utility companies should get on it. Of course, he was hesitant to say such a thing.
“Sir?” Steele’s confusion was clear to the end of the other phone.
“Usually I wouldn’t worry about this or certainly not disturb what I am sure is a fine evening, but they mentioned your band.”
Steele resigned himself to go, and almost missed the explanation; in fact, he caught nothing except the last few words.
“My band?” he inquired, more alert and a whole lot more confused.
“The case that you’re investigating, the dead drummer.” The Captain patiently explained with a slight show of exasperation creeping in. “Or have you closed the case?” He tempered his question with a tinge of hope.
“Not at all. The case is wide open, but all leads have gone cold.” He hated to say it, but at least it was out there.
There was a moment of silence on the other end of the phone before the Captain exploded. “That idiot Flynt!” It was obvious he concluded that the actions of Detective Flynt the night of the murder jeopardized the case.
Steele didn’t bother to tell him that the delay didn’t change much. In truth, who knew what, if anything, the haphazard treatment of the crime scene really meant. He offered only a tentative “Sorry, sir.”
The Captain took it down a few notches. “Not your fault. You need to get down to the warehouse, concert hall, whatever it is. Their lead singer is the one t
hat got electrocuted.”
“Any word of his condition?”
“Nothing. Just get down there. I don’t know about you, but one dead, the other with the crap shocked out of him…it smells completely fishy to me.”
“Me too, sir,” Steele offered.
“Good, see if you can dig up that partner of yours.”
There was no time for Steele to protest, the Captain already hung up. Steele set the phone back onto its black base and reviewed the conversation in his head.
It was a strange call for many reasons, namely that the Captain was the one calling to pass along the information. Steele guessed it was the introduction from the Chief of Police that afforded him this courtesy. Maybe the Captain was rooting for him despite the butt-chewing he gave him earlier.
Steele returned to the kitchen to find Jacki smiling patiently. She’d probably heard his end of the conversation and pieced two and two together.
“I have to go,” he told her. “I’m sorry.”
She nodded or tried to. “All… all…right,” she finally said in that halting voice that broke his heart.
“I’ll call Eva to come and stay with you. I know she just left, but maybe…..”
She started to shake her head from side to side in a slow, but definite no.
“You can’t stay here alone.” It was an argument they’d had several times in the past, one that they never really came to an agreement on.
“Yes… I… can,” she said with a bit more force.
“Let me put you to bed, then,” he conceded.
“Ja… ja.. juss…. g.. go.”
“I don’t know how long I’ll be. Let me put you to bed first.” He waited for the nod that eventually came. He carried her to their room, a growing sadness blooming in him at how fragile she felt. At one point, she leaned her head lovingly into him. Once in the bedroom, he placed her on the bed.
He dimmed the lights, as he knew she preferred it that way. He fluffed the pillows and pulled the sheet up just so. With the catheter bag placed safely on the bed rail, she was settled.
He bent and kissed her on the forehead. She smiled softly at him, the pain and the tension of the day flowing away from her face. She sighed once and he took her hand to plant another kiss as he looked at her. It was hard to believe that just five minutes ago, she was smiling and radiant. Now she looked deflated…probably from having their perfectly fine evening taken from them.
Still, though she looked weak, he caught a glimpse of the way she looked before the accident; so beautiful, soft, as she drifted toward sleep. He released her hand and walked out of the room.
Steele grabbed his jacket from the hook by the door and walked out without putting it on. He locked the door behind him and headed for the Crown Vic.
A single call of inquiry gave him Comrade’s location. Luckily, he was heading in that direction as well.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Steele picked up Flynt in front of a greasy looking diner. He was eating something wrapped in a napkin. Standing in the flickering neon lights of the diner, he looked like something out of a slasher flick. As the car came to a stop in front of him, Flynt downed the rest of his meal and tossed the napkin to the ground.
“What’s up?” Flynt asked still chewing.
“One of the kids in our band seems to have gotten electrocuted.” Steele pulled away from the curb before Flynt was able to close the door.
“That’s shocking,” Flynt said with a dry little laugh.
They rode in an uncomfortable silence to the venue where the accident occurred. The ambulance was wailing into the night, carrying its patient to the hospital just as the detectives arrived.
“Just missed him,” Steele said.
“Lights were on, siren screaming,” Flynt pointed out. “He must be alive. They don’t do all of that if they’re carrying a dead body.”
At least he’s observant, Steele thought.
They got out of the car and hurried into the venue. Steele ran a hand through his hair and sighed deeply before heading in to survey the concert hall. Now that the strobe lights and laser effects were off and the house lights were on, it was just another concrete rectangle with the cops swarming everywhere. Little wisps of remaining mist from the fog machines defiantly lingered here and there.
As Steele started to survey the area, Flynt, as if pulled by a divine revelation, nearly ran to the stage. Steele almost asked what he was doing but stopped short. He wasn’t sure he possessed the emotional fortitude to endure Flynt’s shenanigans right now. Still, Steele watched as Flynt immediately started poking around on the stage, examining the gear. This highly unusual hyperactivity surprised Steele, it also pleased him. If he was preoccupied on stage, it would keep him out of the way for a bit.
Just inside the door to his right, Steele noticed a skinny kid in a torn t-shirt standing against the wall. He looked frightened and a bit confused. As Steele approached, the kid turned to face the wall, hands in his pockets as if he could make himself invisible.
“You okay, kid?” Noah asked.
“What do you mean?”
“You’re facing a wall. That’s a bit odd. What are you on this evening?”
“Nuthin’.” But the kid still would not turn around.
“Kind of a buzzkill, somebody getting electrocuted,” Steele said. “Did you see what happened?” Noah waited a long moment for his comment to sink in. “How ’bout you turn around?”
When he did, the kid was crying. Tears were trailing down his face, taking black mascara with them. Behind the black streaks, Steele could see a kid of about fifteen who was scared to death.
“It’s okay to be scared,” Steele said. “This has been a pretty awful night for everybody. I could really use some help, you know. Were you near the stage?”
The kid still seemed reluctant. Steele stepped over to the abandoned merchandise table beside them and took a skull-patterned bandana. “Here.”
The kid wiped his face and blew his nose. The streaks smeared further down his cheeks.
“What’s your name?”
“Robbie.”
“Robbie, I’m Lieutenant Steele. In the last few days, there’s been a dead drummer and now this. If you saw anything, anything at all, it might help us catch whoever is doing this.”
Robbie started to speak, then paused before a single noise escaped his mouth. He looked up at Noah, realizing that he was about to contribute something important. His fear and sadness were overtaken by a muted excitement.
“Fatty Gristle played the opening chords,” Robbie said, his voice still shaking a bit. “Then the drummer and Passion kicked in and rocked it, but Thorny didn’t sing. He just stood there shaking, smoke coming off his skin.” Robbie choked up. “Sparks shot everywhere and he fell to the stage.” He began to sob into the bandana. “Some people upfront screamed he was on fire. Someone else said they could smell him…you know…cooking.”
“You need me to call your parents to come get you?” Steele asked.
“Nah, I walked over. I’ll be okay. Can I go?”
“Sure,” Steele smiled at the kid, trying to look grateful. “Thanks, Robbie. I know it was tough.”
The boy looked fragile and more like a ten-year-old than a teenager as he went through the doors, head down and shoulders drooping.
Steele stared at the stage still not able to get his head around what happened.
Across the room, sitting on a folding chair was Julie Vernon. It was both odd and reassuring to see her there. She seemed to fit—a piece to a puzzle he wasn’t yet able to finish. As Steele approached, she stood up and regarded him with a look of what could only be called relief.
“Hey, Julie. You alright?”
She reached up and pulled her wig off, her Passion Pitts persona abandoned for the night. She looked even prettier without it. “I’m OK I guess. I can’t believe he’s dead.” She gazed at the stage, numb.
“Let’s not get ahead of things. He’s on the way to the hospital. No o
ne said he’s dead. Ambulances don’t run the lights and sirens if the person in the back is gone.” He shook his head slightly, hating that he just quoted Flynt.
“For real?” she asked.
“Yeah,” Steele gave her a reassuring smile. “Can you tell me what happened? Who was the first person to notice him having problems?”
“All of us I think.” Her voice was thin, broken. “I wasn’t really looking at him, I was so into the music.”
“Do you think it could be drugs?” It was a reasonable question Noah thought. But then he felt the absurdity of it. What sort of drugs could cause a kid to get electrocuted?
“No, we’re clean like Bloody Fingers. I mean Mark.”
“I know who you mean,” Steele replied softly.
“Well, he kinda preached it constantly and we just steer clear of drugs anyways because it kinda ruins your playing. And we totally have to bring it.” The girl was babbling now, but he understood the effects of shock. All in all, she was handling it better than most. After having someone else you know die of being punched through the neck with a drumstick, electrocution likely didn’t seem so bad.
“Mark preached being clean, you say?” Steele asked. This reaffirmed Mark’s roommate saying the exact same thing.
“Yeah. You think Terry’s gonna be…?” She stuttered now, eyes wide unable to say the word.
“We’ll know in a while, but he seems to have survived.” Steele was trying to calm her, noticing that they’d covered this topic less than a minute ago and she was already fixated on it again.
“First Mark,” she said. “Now Thorny is electrocuted on stage.” She continued mumbling to herself mostly, but Steele clearly heard when she said, “Is someone out to get the band? Am I next?”
Dead Beat (Flynt and Steele Mystery Book 1) Page 16