by Deanna King
“I knew the woman because she was my boss, for crying out loud. I didn’t know about her life or stuff. It wasn’t like we all hung out together. Hell, I was on my back making money for her. I don’t do that anymore, I stopped when JoAnn…I just stopped.”
“When JoAnn what, Jenna, when she disappeared off the face of the earth?” Now Lucky was wound up.
“Hey, if you want to arrest us you better have a bloody reason to do so. I have a very smart lawyer, and I’m ready to make that call. Unless that’s the case, I think you should leave now.” Sarge was bluffing, he didn’t have a lawyer.
“Take a seat, Mr. Renner, or we’ll take a trip downtown and I am not joking,” Jack ordered, “lawyer or not. You know, Daphne wanted to make sure she told her story. She decided to get this truth out, to clear up an old life. Maybe you should too.” Jack looked straight at Jenna.
“I ain’t dying, and my conscience is clean enough,” Jenna said, trying to keep her voice from quivering.
“What about your conscience, Max?” Jack looked at him. “You wanna clear yours up? Do you have anything you want to get off your chest?”
“Like what?” The vein in Sarge’s neck was visibly pulsating.
“Like what happened in the motel room, that’s what. I’m telling you, if we can tie you to that, I will charge you both with capital murder. You might even be facing the needle.” Jack’s voice boomed louder with each word.
“Look, I’m telling you I had nothing to do with what initially happened in that room.” He stopped, he had not meant to say that.
“What did happen then, initially that is?” They were pissing Lucky off with all the lying.
Jack decided to take a different approach since they had decided not to talk or tell the blasted truth.
“Here’s a question, Jenna…was Troy Wolff ever one of your johns? Because I am betting, if I figure this correctly, he tried all you girls, and he liked JoAnn the best, am I right?”
“Yes, he was, once, but that was all. The man was a lunatic and every hooker was deathly afraid of him, except Jo.” Her hands no longer shook, as she narrowed her eyes. She knew that Jack knew she had hooked for the judge, back before he was Judge Wolff. Even if he didn’t know for sure, all he had to do was go back and ask Daphne. That was, if she hadn’t kicked the bucket yet.
“What exactly do you want from me, from us? It happened a dozen lifetimes ago, and the dead are not going to come back to life now, are they?” She stubbed out her cigarette crushing it to pieces.
“Evidently the dead do come back to life, Jenna, because throughout this entire story everyone keeps saying that Celeste Mason is not dead. Now, what I’d like to know is where she is and what happened that night, the night JoAnn disappeared off the face of the earth!” Jack was angry, he knew she knew more than what she was telling him.
Jenna sat up straight and she was shaking, not from fear, but from anger. Sarge felt her raging emotions; she was at a breaking point. He turned and looked at her, a scowl crossed his face, and he put his hand on her arm, but she flicked it off.
“No, Sarge.” The corners of her mouth pulled into an ugly frown. “Look, I wasn’t in that room, I can’t tell you what I don’t know. All I know is that I thought it was JoAnn in the room, but all I saw were feet on the bed. A few days later, no one knew where she had hightailed it to, and then no more than a week, Celeste’s dead body turned up, that’s all I know. Hell, it might have been her on the bed, I couldn’t see who it was.”
“You were there, weren’t you, Max?” Jack looked at the man, he wanted him to talk, try to make a deal, hoping the man was smart enough to do that.
Sarge was dead silent, and Jack knew by the look on his face he wasn’t going to utter a word.
“Are you being blackmailed?”
“Sure, you can see we have buckets of money to pay a blackmailer, look around at the pots of gold.” Jenna’s sarcasm was obvious. “Look, I wasn’t as good as JoAnn and Daphne were in the profession, but I was a fantastic topless dancer. The other stuff I didn’t care for as much. I did get Daphne going by supplying her with Quaaludes, and the truth of the matter is, I started selling drugs and we moved out here and made some money, but no, no one is blackmailing us.”
Sarge was stone-cold silent.
“Are you still in the drug trade?” Lucky spouted out accusingly, and she shot him a look of contempt.
She jumped up, her face turned red, and she stomped her foot. “No, no, I am not. If I were and made riches would I be living out here in Podunk Waller, Texas?” If it hadn’t been for the fact that they were in the middle of nowhere, the whole county could have heard her.
Lucky inched his hand toward his piece. If she were to go nuts, he would fire a shot and put a hole in their ceiling.
“You don’t understand, do you? I don’t want to be involved, I left that life behind me, and I don’t want to go back.” Her arms were flying all over the place, and she was pissed off.
“Calm down, Ms. Berrie,” Jack warned her.
She plopped hard and heavy back onto the tatty love seat.
“I think you need to leave now, unless we are under arrest, are we?” Sarge stood up, his question asked with magnified impatience.
“No, not yet, but Max, this is not the end of this, understand?” Jack stood and looked at Jenna. “Both of you are involved. If I have to make it my life’s mission, I’ll find what I need to find to haul both of you in for conspiracy to cover up a murder, hell, I’ll find evidence to charge you both with capital murder, and any other trumped-up charge I can think of.”
He looked at them both. Jack West didn’t smile, flinch, or blink. Yet they both sat, wordlessly.
“Here, Jenna, take my card again. I want to make sure you have my number.”
“Ms. Berrie,” Lucky spoke to her, and she turned to look at him.
“What?” she snapped at him, she was pissed off.
“Do you know a man named Skip, he used to bartend at the Crystal Barrel, and what his last name is?”
“I don’t know him.”
Jack looked first at Jenna, then at Max, his best cop face on.
“I know that you know Skip.” He looked at Max. “Daphne said you stayed on at the clubs. I know you knew Celeste wasn’t dead because she was calling the shots. I know that you know what happened to Randy Simpson.”
He looked at Jenna. “You.” Jack pointed his finger at her. “You knew something happened in that room, but you never said a word, except to Daphne, that you knew for a fact that JoAnn wasn’t coming back. Max was still working for the boss, don’t tell me you didn’t know the truth too, I mean hell, you sleep together, I’m sure you share secrets.”
“What we say in the bedroom ain’t none of your goddamn business,” Jenna spat out venomously.
“Fine, keep lying, but we know the dead girl isn’t Celeste. I want you to know that we’ve figured out a way to get DNA to match to the dead girl. We’re waiting for the reports, and then the truth will come out.” He lied, knowing there were no reports coming, but they didn’t know that.
“I was giving you a chance to help us clear up something, but hey, if you want to take a chance and be charged with as many charges as I can find, then who am I to force you, huh?” Jack was determined that someone was going to jail.
“Detectives, I know you see the front door, now you can use it and leave us alone,” Max gritted out between clenched teeth.
Jack’s ears were red, and he was pissed that he hadn’t broken them to tell the real freaking story.
. . .
Lucky snapped the strap back on his Glock and put on his seat belt.
“We know they were there, and we know Jenna knows something, and so does that big goon, Max. Now, how to connect all these dots, we have to flipping figure that out. We did get one thing out of this drive though.”
“What’s that?” Jack backed up, turned, and punched the gas, spraying white gravel behind him and kicking up white dust.
“A dirty filthy truck. So, now what’s the plan?”
Jack was silent, he was thinking.
“Jack, did you hear me? What’s our next move?”
“A smart cop walks, he talks, and he writes it all down, and then he reads it, and he walks and talks some more. Then he hopes something pops up that makes sense, or that he finds that one special piece of the puzzle that puts it all together.”
“What does that mean, we’re going back to the station or what?”
He looked at his watch, it was dinner-thirty.
“Tell you what, I’ll drop you off at the station, and then you can get home to your wife. I’ll see you in the morning bright and early, say sevenish?”
Again, Luck shook his head. What a freaking waste of an afternoon. Nothing very significant had come of it, but he was keeping his mouth shut. He was glad to be quitting for the day.
“Okay by me. I’m starved, and I know the department would howl at the moon on more OT if it’s not approved by the captain.”
Jack agreed. Besides, this was freaking way past the first forty-eight hours, like thirty years past.
He dropped Lucky off on Travis Street and waved. Jack wanted nothing more than to see Gretchen, and then his day would be complete, case solved or not.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Lucky looked at his watch. “It’s close to one, and I am starved too. How ‘bout I go grab us a bite?”
“Sounds like a super idea, bring me back something. Where’re you going?”
“Antone’s, you want your regular?”
“Two. Here’s twenty, it’s on me today.”
“Thanks, Jack.”
Jack sat back and thought about everything that they knew so far, hoping two and two would somehow equal four, but he kept ending up with five.
What had perplexed him had been the condoms. No mystery now, the condoms belonged to the prostitute; the one and only safe thing she did. He gathered up the M.E. report again. The M.E. stated that death was a gunshot to the back of the head, no act in a sexual nature seen. No rape kit performed. Jack thought about all of this, and Daphne’s story. There would have been semen if she had been sexually active with Wolff that night, but the M.E. had ignored it…was someone paying him off too? Jack looked at the name of the medical examiner, Layton Conch. He had heard of him. He had been an old fart, even back then. He heard that Conch had died of a heart attack during an autopsy. It had been the talk in the department back then. Bad luck or bad karma, who knew which?
Nevertheless, shooting a woman in the back of the head was not
S&M, it was murder. What if she was already dead, was it overkill? The M.E. report from back then stated that there wasn’t much blood, just small bits of brain matter. Blood spatter would have been everywhere, she was already naked, stands to reason in her profession. Why had they dressed her then? What had gone wrong in that room?
He was curious about Randy Simpson’s car accident, so he did a file search on auto accidents around that same year. It took him a few minutes, but he found the accident report.
A one-car accident, the report stated his blood alcohol level was over the legal limit and his neck had been snapped when he hit a tree head-on. This had happened about three miles from the Silver Moon, and his car had been found at four in the morning by a passerby.
Scrolling through the reports, he searched for the responding officers. Well, whatdaya know, Pete Bullard and a patrol cop named Jacobs. Why would a homicide detective go to a car accident? He paged over to the M.E. report. Yep, there it was—Layton Conch’s name. Seems he was the M.E. called for every case Bullard and Simpson worked. The other M.E., Stan Harlow, Jack figured was a straight arrow.
“Antone’s served up, and here is a Diet DP, but no chips, twenty gets ya just so much these days.” Lucky handed Jack a sack with his subs and his drink.
“I know.” His voice trailed off as he unwrapped his sub and took a bite. His mind filled with a thousand questions and not one damn answer.
. . .
They had been at it for hours, and zilch was coming together…just more questions.
“You want something, I’m headed to the vending machines and for coffee?” Lucky stood and arched his back stretching.
“Coffee, thanks.”
Setting Jack’s coffee on the desk, Lucky took his drove of chips and cookies and dove in.
“Get any ideas while I was gone?” Lucky had a mouth full of chips, and he crunched the words out.
“Yeah, like finding this Skip dude, the one Daphne mentioned. I want to see if anyone knows him.”
Lucky chewed and then swallowed. “No one’s given him a last name, what do you propose to do?”
“I want to take a drive over to the Crystal Barrel tonight and ask around, see if someone remembers something from back in the day, you know?”
“Tonight, awe, man, you’re kidding, right?”
“Yes, tonight say about ten, I’ll meet you here at the station, and we can ride together, I’ll drive.”
“Okay, all right, I don’t like it, but I’ll do it.” This little trip didn’t excite him one inch.
Silence filled the room. They went back to work. Lucky cursing in his head because he had to drive back and Jack thinking about his dinner date with Gretchen tonight. He would have to cut the date short; besides, he did not know how it would go and this gave him the best excuse to leave early if he wanted to bug out.
It was almost four, Jack was frustrated, and so he decided to pack it in for the day. He’d be right back at it later tonight, so leaving early was no big deal.
“See you tonight, Lucky, at about ten. I’m outta here,” Jack said as he closed then locked his file cabinet.
“Okay, Jack, I’ll be here.”
Lucky looked at his watch. It was 4:00. He wasn’t Jack’s boss. If he wanted to leave, he could. Hell, made no big difference; they were going to be right back here later. Lucky packed it up and left too.
. . .
Jack’s nerves were jittery as he showered and shaved, combed his hair, and dabbed on cologne. He wore jeans and a nice button-down shirt. Dressed this way he might be less conspicuous at the club tonight. He would leave from her house and go right to the station…if all went as well as he hoped it would.
. . .
Gretchen’s neighborhood was nice, small houses, older, but nicely maintained. He pulled up in her driveway and took a deep breath. No bar, no barflies, no work, and his nerves were jumping all over the place.
Before he had a chance to press the bell, she opened the door. “Hey, Cowboy Cop, come in. I heard you drive up.”
She was a breath of fresh air. Dressed in a pair of faded worn jeans, a nice blue pullover shirt, and barefooted. Her hair was hanging loose, her face makeup-free, and he was glad she didn’t pack it on like some women did.
“Sorry I didn’t dress up more, but like I told you, I am a no pomp and frills girl, hope you don’t mind.”
“Uh, not at all, you look beautiful, and something smells mouthwatering.”
“Hope you like pot roast and the fixings. Can I get you a beer?”
“As a matter of fact, a beer would hit the spot right now.”
Cold beers in hand, she offered to show him her homey place.<
br />
“It was my grandmother’s house. I was her only granddaughter, and she left it to me when she died, which was about three years ago. This house holds memories for me, Jack. Some good and some not so good, but that’s life for you.” She smiled wistfully.
“It’s a nice house, Gretch, fits you.”
Jack looked around. Gretchen’s personality was all around her house, he felt it.
“If you’re ready, let’s eat.” Taking him by the hand, she led him to the kitchen. Such a simple act, holding someone’s hand, and his toes curled a bit…what was this woman doing to him?
“I haven’t had a home-cooked meal like this since my mom and dad moved off to Florida.”
“I have dessert too—homemade blackberry cobbler and vanilla ice cream. You let me know when you are ready for dessert.” She winked at him. He wasn’t sure what that meant, and her smile was a bit devious. Jack blushed at what he was thinking.
. . .
“Come on, I’ll clean up later.”
She led him back to the living room. Sitting next to him, she curled one foot up under her leg and then angled toward him to see him as she talked.
“Tell me about Jack growing up.”
Jack talked about his boyhood days and shared some of his memories, but he left Cole’s story out, right now that was too personal. Besides, it was a demon in him, and he wanted zero gloom tonight. Gretchen entertained him with her grandma stories, and stories of growing up with a brother and male cousins.
“Jack, it’s a wonder I act like a girl at all. Boys were all I had to pal around with. Even in school, my best friend was a boy.”
His hand reached up and touched her cheek. “You’re a fine woman, Gretchen, you’re beautiful, smart, and…” He paused then he leaned in and kissed her, butterflies dive-bombing in his gut.
She responded, leaning closer to him. Pulling her foot out from under her leg, she put one hand on his shoulder and the other on his arm, and she deepened the kiss.