by K. C. Turner
“Wow. What is all this?” He turned to her questionably. “Don’t tell me you’re an artist too?”
She took a sip of her wine and sighed. “Yeah, I wish.” Looking at him with a sense of bitter sweetness, she grinned. “This was my mom’s studio. I haven’t been in here since the accident. I used to love coming in here when my mom was working.”
Impressed, he asked, “She did this for a living?”
“Yeah, for quite a while. She was an art teacher for years but once my dad made partner at the firm, she started painting what inspired her. She did okay with it, she wasn’t a famous artist or anything.” She tilted her head and smiled at the memories. “It was a nice little part-time business though.”
“You’re mom seems like she was a pretty interesting individual.”
“She was. She was amazing. I wish I were more like her. I’m afraid I took after my dad being analytical, suspicious, and logical. Or shall I say, boring?”
Grabbing her by the small of her back his strong hands wrapped around her waist. “You are far from boring, Elizabeth Strong.” He pulled her a little closer. “And at least you know which parent’s character traits you’ve inherited. The jury’s still out on me.”
Cupping his cheek with the palm of her hand, she gently swiped his full bottom lip. “I imagine you’re a lot like your mom, Angel Martinez.” Or rather she hoped.
Chapter 7
Martinez woke to the sound of his phone vibrating against the coffee table. He was just able to reach it without disturbing Elizabeth who was nestled under the throw blanket and half on top of him. They had fallen asleep comfortably on the sofa. The time on his phone read 6:57 am. Clearing his throat as quietly as he could, he answered. “Martinez.”
“Martinez, it’s Lacy. Chief wants you down at the public boat launch. We’ve gotta live one.”
“Shit.”
“Don’t kill the messenger, alright? There are already a couple cruisers down there. Coroner should be there not long after you arrive.”
“Sorry, Lacy. Not really how I wanted to start my weekend. Gimme twenty?” Upon confirmation, he placed the phone back on the table.
Elizabeth looked up at him with sleepy eyes from her comfortable pillow made from his pec. “Who was that?”
He kissed her forehead and held her close. “Can we just run away? Somewhere far from here?”
Nestling her face in his chest, she moaned. Then she threw the blanket on the back of the couch and made herself get up from the warmth of his body. She stood in front of him as he gazed at her tenderly. “Let me make you some coffee to take with you,” she said before turning from him and heading to the kitchen.
He quickly rose from his overnight makeshift bed and began gathering his things. “Liz, I really appreciate it, but I don’t have time. I have to get into town. They found a body down by the docks.”
She looked at him and curiously raised her eyebrows. “Well, I guess they’re not going anywhere are they?”
Amused he said, “Okay, can I take a to-go cup?”
She smiled. “Of course.”
Martinez drove into town sipping his coffee along the way. Coming close to downtown, he turned left onto Shelby Street and drove two blocks to the boat docks. Next door, a cargo ship was pouring salt onto a mound getting ready for the winter season to come. One cruiser was blocking the entrance to the parking lot and backed up to allow Martinez entry. He pulled around and parked next to the other two cruisers and a truck from the fire department. It was early and already humid, the smell of fish staining the heavy air.
Officer Lucas walked up to meet Martinez at the edge of the embankment. “Good morning, Detective.”
Looking over Lucas’ shoulder he responded, “Morning, Lucas. What do we got so far?”
Lucas shook his head and scratched behind his ear. “Well, Duval is talking to the jogger over there who found the body and called it in.” He pointed over to Officer Duval and a young lady in running clothes sitting on the park bench overlooking the lake. “And the fire department just got here. Two guys suited up and they’re pulling her out now. So far, it looks like a female anyway. Coroner should be on the way.”
Before Martinez could ask anything else, they heard a vehicle pulling in. The coroner’s van backed up to the sidewalk close to them and parked. Dr. Wexler, a petite fellow, hopped out of the passenger side of the van. Sweat beads were already forming on the top of his bald head, which was surrounded by a half moon of graying, brown hair. His assistant left the drivers seat and joined him behind the van, opening the back doors to retrieve the gurney.
The firefighters lifted the body up onto the dock and laid it on its back. Dr. Wexler and Martinez walked down the wooden strip to the corpse, his assistant following behind with the gurney. “How have you been, Dr. Wexler?” asked Martinez.
His voice matched his small size. “Much better than our cadaver, I’m afraid. You’re looking well, Detective.”
Martinez picked up on the sarcasm. He was disheveled and he was well aware of it. He hadn’t shaven in a week and he had been wearing the same clothes for the past two days. “I thank you for your dishonesty, Doctor.”
As they reached the body, the firefighters stood to greet them. “Here you go fellas. She appears to have risen up just under the dock. Looks like her sundress got caught on the mollusks underneath. Good thing, otherwise the current could have washed her straight through the channel.”
“Hey, Sizemore, thanks for doing our dirty work again.” Martinez winked.
“No problem, man. We all know real men do dirty work.”
Shaking his head he grinned. “And all this time I thought they carried guns.”
Kenneth Sizemore was a big man with an even bigger heart. “Hey, you’ll be at the spaghetti dinner next week, right?” he asked speaking of the fundraiser for his wife who was just diagnosed with breast cancer.
“Of course! I bought an extra ticket. Bringing a friend.”
Walking back up the dock, Sizemore grinned and pointed at Martinez as if to say, ‘You the man!’
Kneeling over the corpse, the two men placed latex gloves on their hands and Dr. Wexler began his examination. “Female in her mid to late 20’s. Epidermis is wrinkled with pronounced discolorations; blanching and bloating appear to be underway.” He gently pulled the drenched hair from her face and turned her chin towards him. “Initial estimations of cause of death point to drowning, however, there is an approximate three inch laceration from the frontal bone to the temporal bone indicating a possible point of impact caused by blunt force trauma.”
The gut of the body appeared to be contracting. It began to spasm and its mouth and nose gurgled. Before Dr. Wexler could move out of the way, the corpse spewed a pinkish, red substance from its dead lips onto the lenses of his glasses. Martinez’s face coiled as he covered his mouth, placing his forefinger under his nose so he could smell latex instead. It didn’t help.
Dr. Wexler pulled off his glasses, wiped his face with a medicated hanky, leaned over and dunked his specs in the lake. Drying off the lenses he continued, “Putrefaction has begun as evidenced by the purge fluid that was just expelled.” He examined her hands one by one. As he lifted her left hand, he looked up at Martinez. “Well, she’s married. Someone has to be looking for her.”
“Maybe. Then again, maybe they already know where she is.” He wrapped his fingers around the charm in the shape of a heart hanging from a silver chain around her stiff, cold neck. It had a single diamond in the center surrounded by a starburst. Turning it around, there was an engraving on the back that read, Love, Brandon. “Shit.”
“What is it, detective?”
“I think I just identified our victim.”
“Ah. That is a good thing, yes?”
“Depends who you’re asking.”
“Of course. That sounds more like your line of expertise. For now, I am going to place the time of death somewhere within the past 24 hours. I’m afraid I won’t know more until w
e perform the autopsy, which we need to conduct as soon as possible due to the circumstances. Once the body hits the air after being in the water for some time, the rate of decomposition is quite rapid.”
Martinez stood up and said, “I understand, Doctor. Can you leave everything in tact until the ID is made? I can be there within the hour with a presumed family member.”
“We have a few hours at least.”
He nodded at Dr. Wexler’s assistant and looked back to the doctor and said, “Okay, well, I’ll leave you to it.”
The doctor and his assistant prepared the body for transport as Martinez walked back up the dock to the sidewalk to meet Officer Lucas who was waiting for him.
“Lucas, make sure this entire area is sealed off. Take a look around and look for any signs of blood, a weapon, or personal belongings that might have been ditched. Have Duval check with the border patrol and find out if anyone was on duty at this port within the last 24 hours. Also, find out who owns that Buick over there. It looks out of place.” Martinez pointed to an old four door, tan Buick with rust around the frame, which was parked in the middle of the parking lot. He grabbed his keys from his pocket and walked towards his vehicle.
Lucas looked irritated being left with the grunt work yet again. “Where are you going, Martinez?”
Leaning on the driver’s side of his vehicle with the door open he hesitated for a moment. “I’m gonna try and ID our victim, Lucas. Once I do that, I have some very bad news to break to a few people. Unless, of course, you wanna trade?”
He immediately regretted asking the question. “I think I’ll just stay here with Duval and investigate further.”
“Good choice, Lucas.”
Driving a few blocks into downtown, Martinez pulled into one of the diagonal spaces in front of the Silverton Tribune just in time for them to open at 8:00 am. It was a massive, old, three story stone building taking up the entire corner of Jackson Street and Water Street. Tribune was plastered on either side of the building in large letters. He entered the lobby through the front doors nestled within the large archway in the middle of the structure.
Making his way to the front counter, he was greeted by a young lady with shoulder length white hair and a bull piercing through the center of her nose. She wore a faded, black T-shirt with I know my First Amendment rights written on it and a closed fist underneath. Her blue eyes thrust beneath the dark liner on her lids. “How can I help you?” she asked.
Placing his hands on the counter, Martinez scoped out the place. “How’s it going? I need to speak with Brandon DeFranco. Is he around?”
“He might be. Who are you?”
Flashing his badge on his belt he replied, “Detective Angel Martinez. It’s official business. I’m afraid it’s a private matter.”
Looking at his badge then to his face, she said, “Yeah. Sure. Let me see if he’s here.” She came around the counter and headed up the wide marble staircase, disappearing into an office on the next floor. Within minutes she returned to her station behind the counter. “You can go on up. He’s in the conference room across from the landing.”
Martinez looked up the stairs. It was wide-open leading to the second floor. Nodding a thank you to the girl, he began up the staircase, holding onto the antique wooden rail. Reaching the landing, he glanced through the windows of the conference room. Brandon sat at a long table with two other people. The door was ajar, waiting for Martinez to enter. Rapping on the glass window of the door, he slowly entered the room.
An average sized man with blonde, spiky hair and icy blue eyes immediately stood to greet him, shoving his hand towards Martinez as an invitation. “Detective, come in, come in! We’ve much to discuss.” He grabbed Martinez’s hand and shook it hard. “Jim West, managing editor of the Tribune. So glad to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you Mr. West. I’m afraid I need to speak with Mr. DeFranco alone.” Turning to Brandon he asked, “Is there somewhere we can speak in private?”
Before Brandon could answer, Jim spoke up again. “Nonsense, Detective. We’ve actually been hoping to have the chance to speak with you!”
Turning again to Brandon, Martinez said, “Mr. DeFranco, I’m afraid this is a delicate matter. You may want to consider some privacy.”
Finally speaking for himself, Brandon closed the screen on his laptop and said, “It’s okay, Detective. Anything you have to say to me can be said in front of my colleagues. I don’t have anything to hide.” The look on his young face seemed smug.
Sitting down on the other side of the conference table, Jim extended his arm to the seat on the end of the table offering it to Martinez. “Please, sit.” He sat back in his chair and smiled, crossing his legs and resting his hands comfortably on top of his knees. “Would you like something to drink, Detective?” He turned to the pretty girl sitting next to him. “Sam, get the detective a water would you? And make sure this is recorded, would you please?”
“When was the last time you spoke with your wife, Mr. DeFranco?”
Sam set a water bottle down in front of Martinez and sat down next to Jim. She set the voice recorder on her phone, placed it in the middle of the table, and glanced at Brandon. Catching his eyes for a moment, she gave him half a smile.
Rolling his eyes thinking for a moment, Brandon recalled, “Sometime yesterday. We were in court yesterday morning.” Remembering the night of his arrest he said, “You’re aware we had some problems.”
Shaking his head affirmatively, Martinez replied, “I’m aware. So, you haven’t talked to your wife since court yesterday?”
He nervously adjusted the collar of his polo. “I came into the office after that and worked late. Um, she sent me a text around 8:30, said she was staying at her sister’s house.”
“That was the last time you heard from your wife?”
“Well, yes. She needed some space. There’s nothing illegal about that.”
“Do you remember what your wife was wearing?”
Chiming in, Jim was less amused and more worried where the line of questioning was headed. “Where are you going with this, Detective? What is this all about?”
Acting as if he didn’t hear him, Martinez asked the question again. “Do you remember what your wife was wearing yesterday, Mr. DeFranco?”
Brandon scratched his forehead and ran his fingers through his wavy brown hair. “I don’t know – uh, a blue sundress? I’m with Jim. What exactly is going on here?”
“Mr. DeFranco, does your wife wear a heart pendant with a diamond sunburst and an engraving on the back?”
The chair made an unpleasant noise against the floor as Brandon pushed back and rose from it. “How do you know that?” He placed one hand on his hip and the other on his chin. He looked at Jim then at Sam begging for an explanation. “How does he know that?”
Martinez stood and met Brandon’s eyes. “I’m very sorry to be the one to tell you this, Mr. DeFranco but I believe we found your wife’s body this morning.”
Shock carried over him taking his speech and his breath. His body slumped back into his chair. “What the hell are you talking about?” He looked at Jim. “What the hell is he talking about, Jim?”
Jim was just as shocked. “Oh my. Are you sure, Detective? Pam?” he asked shaking his head.
Nodding his head, he turned back to Brandon. “Of course, I’ll need you to come with me to the morgue to officially identify the body but I’m pretty confident it’s Mrs. DeFranco.” He put his head down for a moment, almost ashamed of his next question. “I’m sorry to have to ask you this, Mr. DeFranco, but can you tell me your whereabouts yesterday?”
A dumbfounded glare washed over his face. “Are you kidding me?” He turned to Jim. “Is he freaking kidding me?” Nestling his temples between his thumb and his middle finger, he massaged them before moving in and rubbing his eyes.
Sam jumped up from her seat and placed her hands on the table exclaiming, “He was with me.” She was as surprised at her outburst as Brandon and Jim.
“Well I’m sorry Mr. West, I need him to identify the body.”
“And I will take him to do that. Brandon, don’t say another word. Detective, we’ll meet you at the coroner,” he said as he grabbed the door handle and nodded for Martinez to exit.
Pausing, Martinez stressed, “It will need to be done now. Request of the coroner due to time constraints, of course.” As Martinez walked out the door, Jim assured him of their attendance and shut the door behind him.
“Christ, Brandon. I’m so sorry.”
Samantha took to his side and placed her hand on his shoulder. “We don’t know for sure it’s her. Do you want me to come with you?”
Brandon pulled away, his tanned face turned pale and he needed hydration. He walked over to the water cooler unable to answer her.
Whispering, Jim said, “Sam, I know you’re trying to help but I’m going to need you here. If it is Pam, I need you to take hold of his assignments and make sure our deadlines are met. He’s certainly going to need it if his wife is laying up there at the morgue.”
Sam sighed and rolled her eyes underneath her Betty Paige bangs. “I want to be there for him, Jim.”
Gently placing his hand on her upper arm in a fatherly manner her assured her, “You will be. That would be a huge help to both Brandon and the Tribune. Right now, I need to help him with Detective Martinez. While we’re taking care of this, get a hold of our legal department. Looks as if we’re going to need them.”
She opened the door to return to her office down the hall, glancing at Brandon with concern on her way out. “Please let me know as soon as you know something,” she asked.