The Wicked Hour

by Alice Blanchard

  “How’s it going, Natalie?” Dennis the dispatcher asked.

  “I have a pounding headache,” she said, the pain between her eyes making her almost nauseous. “But hey, I’ll survive.”

  “Need an aspirin?”

  “Just took a few. Thanks, Dennis.”

  He nodded. “Chief wants to see you.”

  Down the hallway, past the squad room, the mail room, and the roll call room were the elevator banks. Just past the elevators, the corridor branched off to the right and left. A left turn took you down an L-shaped hallway leading to the holding cells and booking area. To the right, another L-shaped hallway led to the kitchen and restrooms.

  Natalie rode the elevator to the second floor. Chief Roger Snyder’s corner office overlooked the commercial buildings across the street. She hesitated before stepping inside. Luke was seated in one of two guest chairs, and both men were looking at her.

  “Close the door, please, Detective,” the chief said.

  She closed the door and shook Snyder’s hand.

  “Natalie, I’ve heard nothing but good things about the job you’re doing.” He had an aggressive, bone-crushing handshake. His mouth barely moved when he spoke, but the words came out crisp and clear.

  “Thank you, sir.”

  His desk phone rang. “Ignore that. Have a seat.”

  She sank into the only other available wooden guest chair. The air inside the office was stuffy and hot. There were photographs and certificates on the walls, along with an antique American flag in a modern frame behind the desk.

  Chief Snyder was a barrel-chested man with a square, puglike face and a pragmatic smile. His gold-plated badge gleamed in the dying light of day seeping through the old-fashioned windows. “I was just telling the lieutenant here … we’ve received a list of partygoers from Hunter Rose’s attorney. Mr. Rose is cooperating with us on this matter. And seeing as you’ve got your hands full, Detective, I’ve assigned Assistant Chief Gossett the task of handling this particular aspect of the investigation.”

  Natalie felt her cheeks grow warm. “I’m sorry? Which aspect?”

  “The guest list,” he clarified.

  Natalie glanced at Luke, who refused to meet her eye.

  Tapping her fingers on the polished veneer side table, she spotted an old photograph on the wall of Hunter Rose posing with the chief and Mayor Arnold Bryden, along with several town council members, in front of the headquarters for Rose Security Software.

  “Arnie … the mayor and I went to Columbia together,” the chief said, following her eye line. “We go way back. He only has the town’s best interests at heart.”

  Natalie frowned—why did he feel the need to say that?

  “Anyway,” the chief continued, “I want to assure you, Natalie, that this in no way diminishes your role as lead detective in charge of the investigation, and nothing has changed essentially. We’re simply lightening your load.”

  “Sir, with all due respect, I don’t need my load lightened.” She got a hard, dry feeling in her throat. Snyder was a busy man. A grinder. Cagily political. On the wall behind him was a sign that said, “Do What You Love and Love What You Do.” Did he love fucking over his detectives?

  “Anyway, I just spoke to Hunter’s attorney,” the chief reassured her, “and he’s promised to get us those surveillance tapes ASAP. Assistant Chief Gossett will take care of that as well.”

  “Wait a minute … I’m sorry, sir,” she said anxiously. “Both the guest list and the surveillance tapes?”

  The chief nodded. “This will allow you to focus your efforts on other aspects of the investigation.”

  She frowned. Assistant Chief Timothy Gossett was an asshole. He was so well-groomed you could smell the store on him. His shirts were neatly pressed, his belt matched his loafers, his buckle was shiny bright. In his late forties, he knew himself and his place in the universe—he belonged with his head planted firmly up Snyder’s butt.

  Natalie sat back. “But isn’t that an unusual step to take?”

  He gave her a patronizing smile. “I have to respectfully disagree. The assistant chief will liaison with Mr. Rose’s attorneys, and he’ll examine the surveillance tapes and compare them to the guest list. We’ll certainly advise you and Lieutenant Pittman of any pertinent findings, that’s for sure.”

  “Well, okay, fine,” she said. “To be honest with you, I don’t care about the other guests at the party. I just want to know what happened to Morgan Chambers. Who she came with, who she left with, any altercations that may have occurred, I expect to be informed of it…”

  The chief picked up an expensive fountain pen from his desk, fingers twitching. He spoke with tired authority. “Rest assured, we will leave no stone unturned. But according to the witnesses we’ve already spoken to, you’ll be happy to learn that Morgan left the party unharmed. She had a few drinks. They think she called an Uber. Nothing happened on Mr. Rose’s property. He’s cooperating fully with us because he wants to put this thing to bed. His lawyers are cooperating a hundred percent with the investigation.”

  The puckered pockets of her brain hurt. Her head was pounding. Natalie studied the chief’s square, inscrutable face and said, “An Uber? Who’s the Uber driver? Do you have a name? Because just an hour ago … no, less than an hour ago, I talked to Hunter, and he said he was fine with me handling it. When did you speak to his lawyers?”

  The chief held on to his pen and twirled it nervously between his fingers. “We’ve been communicating with Mr. Rose’s attorneys since yesterday afternoon. They’ve decided to go through other channels. Things change. The point is, we’re receiving his full cooperation.” His face turned an unnatural shade of pink. “I hope you understand what’s at stake here, Detective. Between the Crow Killer case and, well … let’s just say the obvious. This town relies on tourism. We don’t need the negative publicity. Half our annual income comes from tourism, and if this thing were to drag on too long, it might hurt us. The entire town. The mayor’s main concern is that this story doesn’t grab national media attention again … you know how that goes.”

  She lightly touched her forehead. “As long as you’re not asking me to stop investigating all avenues of the case. Are you?”

  “No, I most certainly am not.”

  She stared at him. “Because we can’t change the facts to silence the media.”

  “This is simply procedural,” he insisted with a grim smile.

  “Because like I said, I can handle it.”

  “Nobody’s shutting you down, Detective. We’re diverting resources.”

  She nodded, feeling numb all over.

  “In the meantime, let’s try to resolve this case as quickly as possible.”

  She didn’t like this turn of events, not one bit. But sometimes you had to let the Wookiee win—or at least you had to let him think he won.

  “Good. I’m glad we talked.” The chief tapped his pen lightly on the desk blotter. “I sincerely hope this addresses your concerns.” He appeared to be smiling, even though he wasn’t. “Feel free to drop by my office anytime, Detective.”

  She stood up. That was her cue to leave.

  27

  Bristling at the chief’s decision, Natalie waited for the elevator doors to slide shut before she turned to Luke and said, “What the fuck?”

  “Excuse me?” He blinked at her, but she knew he understood exactly what she meant. They stood for a moment watching each other’s reaction. His eyes were more gray than blue under the artificial lights.

  “You’re babysitting me now?” she accused him, face flushing.

  “It’s not up to me. This was the chief’s decision.”

  “And you went along with it.”

  “What else am I supposed to do? Disobey a direct order?”

  Her head was pounding. “Why all the secrecy? What’s going on?”

  “There was apparently some nudity at the party…”

  “Nudity? Like a sex party?”

  �
�Not a sex party … it’s just that people were drinking and doing business deals, and the chief wants to honor their privacy.”

  “So where does the nudity come in?” she demanded to know.

  Luke rolled his eyes—whenever he got embarrassed he would roll his eyes like that. “The nudity was part of a performance piece meant for entertainment purposes only. Apparently, there was a reenactment of a Wiccan initiation ceremony. Risqué stuff, from what I hear. A dozen or so paid performers, attractive young men and women, going through the motions of an authentic ritual. Most of the guests didn’t want to be seen enjoying such a spectacle. Including the mayor. It was almost as if Hunter Rose wanted to embarrass them.”

  Natalie suddenly understood. The Wiccan initiation ceremony was an important rite of passage, a spiritual cleansing where novices dedicated themselves to the service of the goddess. The sacred ritual was performed during the waxing moon. A coven would form a circle inside four white candles, pointing north, south, east, and west. Initiates would completely disrobe, and a nine-foot cord would be looped around each one, binding their arms behind their backs. To the uninformed, it looked like BDSM, but the ceremony itself was considered religious in nature, with a Wiccan priestess conducting the ritual using all the tools of the trade—bells, censers, goblets, libation dishes, crystals, and anointing oils. It was a solemn ceremony, not meant for entertainment purposes.

  “So the chief is protecting the town’s VIPs instead of doing his job?” Natalie said, feeling a pressure at the back of her eyes.

  “He’s doing what he has to do,” Luke pushed back. “Politics is politics. I wouldn’t go sticking my hand in that hornet’s nest.” He looked at her for a miserable moment. “We don’t make the rules, Natalie. That’s not our job, okay? Do you want my advice? Find a work-around. I’m not telling you to turn a blind eye, and I’m not telling you to disobey direct orders. I’m saying … follow all leads. Just understand what you’re dealing with.”

  “What am I dealing with?”

  “City politics. Corruption. People who can afford to hire whole teams of lawyers. People who could bankrupt you. Who could break you. And don’t think they wouldn’t try.”

  “Oh fucking fuck,” she muttered, appalled.

  “Look,” he said in a voice full of good intentions, “fight the good fight. Just keep a low profile. It’s poker. Don’t show your cards. Be a little more circumspect. I’ll pressure Gossett for updates and make sure he keeps us apprised, but it’s your job to solve the case. With or without a guest list. With or without surveillance tapes.”

  Her head was pounding. The burden of this case felt like a grinding in her bones. “All right, so what’s next?”

  He smiled slyly as they stepped off the elevator together and headed down the hallway toward their offices. “As soon as I heard about the Uber ride, I took the liberty of calling Brandon’s informant, Jules Pastor. He knows all the local Uber and Lyft drivers. I had him ask around and find out if there were any pickups of a Wonder Woman at Hunter Rose’s house on Halloween night. Turns out an Uber driver picked her up from the party and dropped her off in downtown Burning Lake around ten fifteen.”

  Natalie stopped in the middle of the corridor. “When were you going to mention this to me?”

  “As soon as you were finished chewing me a new asshole.”

  She crossed her arms. She was grateful and relieved. She should’ve trusted him. She should’ve known better than to blame him. “Dropped her off where?”

  “Sarah Hutchins Drive. She happened to mention that she was meeting someone at Blondie’s—you know that place?”

  “Yeah, it’s a popular jazz bar. But there were no ink stamps from Blondie’s on Morgan’s hands.”

  “Right. We couldn’t decipher every single stamp, since some were blurred beyond recognition. I’m assuming Blondie’s was one of the illegible ones. Anyway, according to Jules, an Uber driver named Stefan dropped her off a few blocks south of Blondie’s due to street closures. You’ll need to confirm that she made it there.”

  “Isabel Miller told me Morgan came to the party with a man in a Batman costume. Since we found her car parked behind the bed-and-breakfast, we can assume he drove her to the party, or she took an Uber to the party and met Batman there.”

  “I’m way ahead of you,” Luke said. “Jules told me none of the drivers recalled transporting Wonder Woman to the party in the first place, so it’s possible she might’ve ditched her date. Anyway, Stefan the Uber driver says he received a ride request around quarter of ten and picked her up in front of the residence fifteen minutes later on Hollins Drive. She was waiting alone by the side of the road.”

  “I’ll head over to Blondie’s now,” Natalie told him. “Hopefully, they’ll have her on their surveillance tapes.”

  “I’ll go talk to Gossett and see if I can squeeze blood from a turnip.”

  Natalie cracked a smile. “Thanks, Luke.”

  “No problem. I told you I got your back.”

  She watched him head down the hallway toward his office, then went to catch the elevator. After Blondie’s, she would drop by the hospital and get a prescription for this migraine from Russ Swinton.

  28

  Blondie’s was cool and comfortable with a vintage feel. Sticky, beer-tacky floors. Plastic flowers on the tables. Funky ragtime music on the sound system. A favorite watering hole for the locals.

  Natalie knew the bartender. She’d gone to school with Gabrielle Dunham—Gabby for short. The skinny brunette was busy picking up after last night. She scooped a beer bottle off the table, held it to her nose, and sniffed. “Ugh. I hate beer, don’t you?” she told Natalie.

  “A bartender who doesn’t like beer?”

  “I tried a craft beer once. It tasted like piss.”

  “Beer always tastes like piss.”

  “No, I mean literally. As if someone peed in the bottle and put the cap back on.” She made a disgusted face.

  “But that’s the whole point, isn’t it?” Natalie said. “Beer is supposed to taste like piss. It’s a guy thing.” She shrugged. “You drink, you piss, you fall down drunk, mission accomplished.”

  Gabby laughed. “Okay, if you say so.”

  “Work with a bunch of guys for a while, and see if you don’t start to enjoy a cold, clean beer in a sparkling mug. It’s an acquired taste,” she said with a smirk.

  “Huh,” Gabby said, setting the bottle on her cluttered tray and heading around the bar with it. “I get sick of the banter from jerks who are beer drunk.”

  “Beer drunk is different from other drunks?”

  “Oh, yeah. Beer makes some guys think they’re Mike Tyson. Wine is for ladies. You sip it slowly, but it gets you drunk faster. Vodka is for philosophers. Whiskey’s for womanizers.”

  “Hmm. I like whiskey once in a while. Does that make me a womanizer?”

  Gabby laughed. “Ha-ha. No. Women who drink whiskey are cool.”

  Stiff red curtains covered the windows. The bar was practically empty except for a couple of guys playing pool in the back room. On Friday and Saturday nights, the noisy kitchen served hamburgers and ribs, and the air grew dense with barbeque smoke.

  “Who am I to judge, right?” Gabby said, lighting a cigarette and taking a hungry toke. Then she hunched her shoulders from an unseen danger. “Are you here about that poor woman who died?”

  Natalie nodded. “Morgan Chambers. What can you tell me about Sunday night?”

  “It was Halloween. We were busy as heck,” she said, blowing smoke. “She came in shortly after ten and ordered a glass of white wine. I remember, because we chatted a bit. She said she was supposed to meet Hollis Jones here at ten, but I guess he stood her up. She asked if I’d seen him. I said no.”

  “He never showed up?” Natalie asked.

  Gabby shook her head. “She seemed a tad upset. She was dressed as Wonder Woman. Did you notice? There were a ton of Wonder Women running around this Halloween.”

  “What about
Batman. See any of those?”

  “There were about a million Batmen and Spider-Men and Catwomen and Belles and Ariels and all sorts of Disney fucking princesses. All the employees were in costume, too. I was a sexy vampire.” She wiggled her eyebrows.

  “What time did she leave?”

  “Oh gosh, Natalie. It was so freaking busy. Elevenish? I honestly can’t remember. Like I said, it was fucking insane.”

  “So—eleven o’clock? Did she talk to anyone else while she was here?”

  “Not that I recall, but I wasn’t exactly standing still.”

  “How many glasses of wine did she have?”

  “Two.” Gabby studied Natalie for a moment. “What’s the deal with Luke Pittman and Rainie Sandhill?” she said with barely concealed glee. “I heard they were seen together in a romantic corner of Lucia’s the other night.”

  “Dunno.” Natalie tried to prevent the flush from crawling up her neck.

  Gabby drew smoke deeply into her lungs. “I thought you two were an item.”

  “Me and Luke? Nah. We’re good friends. We were never an ‘item.’”

  “No?” Gabby waved a dismissive hand. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have mentioned it. Small town—big ears. Right? Want a cigarette?”

  “No, thanks. Did Morgan Chambers mention anything else?”

  Gabby took out another cigarette and made a big deal of flicking her lighter and lighting the tip with a dramatic gesture. She put her lighter away and rested her hands on the countertop. “She made a few jokes about fiddle players. Like, what’s the difference between a fiddle and a violin? I didn’t know. She said, ‘The number of teeth in your head.’ I honestly didn’t get it.”

  “It means she’s a snob,” Natalie explained. “It means she thinks fiddle players are beneath her.”

  “So why was she meeting Hollis Jones then? Isn’t he a fiddle player?” Gabby blew out a plume of smoke. “No wonder he stood her up.”