Lethal Invitation

by Randall Dale

  The boy stood ramrod straight. “Thank you, sir.”

  The conversation had lasted less than a minute. After the handshake, Demetrius turned to stroll through the hall, convinced the boy was not involved. He reached the classroom door at the same instant Edward exited. The youngster had his head down and almost ran into the big man. Both smiled as they recognized one another.

  “Hello, Edward. How are things going today?”

  “Hi, Demetrius. What in the world are you doing here?”

  The detective pointed over his shoulder with his thumb. “Just talking to students about the Smallwood case. It’s all routine.”

  Edward turned to glance behind. At the glance, Demetrius suddenly felt guilty he had inadvertently encouraged the boy to learn William’s identity. It made no difference that Edward had been the one to mention his classmate in the first place. It would have been better to have kept his conversation secret. He turned and was relieved William had apparently taken the stairs and was gone from sight.

  Together Demetrius and Edward sauntered to the front doors of the building. Once outside, they both squinted at the bright, Tucson winter sun, then continued their stroll down the crowded sidewalk. They fell in step with the students ambling along and talked about the Mustang and about Adam’s infatuation with the sleek car the evening before. Edward thanked him again for dinner, then was silent for half a minute.

  As they walked, Demetrius wondered what else he could do for the boy. “How is your paper coming? You know, the one for your criminal justice class?”

  “It’s getting there.”

  “When you get your first draft done, bring it by and I’ll be glad to take a peek at it. I’m no English expert, but I know the subject matter.” He grinned.

  “I’d sure appreciate that. How about tonight? I’ll come to your house at eight. Will that work?”

  The big man thought for a moment. Football and volleyball were over for his kids and he couldn’t think of anything they had planned. “Sure. See you at eight.” Then with a wave, Demetrius turned toward the east side of campus where his car was parked.

  “Hey, Demetrius.”

  The big man turned, waiting.

  “Do you have my phone number?”

  He thought for the shortest moment. “No, I don’t think so.”

  “Let’s trade numbers. That way if you ever need to get a hold of me, you know, to mentor me or anything, you’ll be able to.”

  “Good idea.”

  Demetrius pulled his phone from the clip while delivering his number for the boy to enter. Edward then recited while the detective punched the numbers on his own keypad. The detective so focused on the task at hand, didn’t notice the boy turn to mosey down the sidewalk. Once the contact was created, he looked up. Edward was already half way to his next class.

  Demetrius smiled inwardly at his ineptness with the cell phone. Edward had probably waited for him to finish, then gotten impatient at his lack of skill. The smile moved from inward to outward as he watched the retreating figure. He remembered the boy’s announcement of the evening before about wanting to be a detective. Demetrius relished the thought he might have had something to do with that decision. Edward was a good boy, and if he focused he would make a good cop. What was it Dr. Smallwood had written? Something about him being smart but lacking direction. Demetrius was happy he was in a position to help the boy get some guidance in his life.

  At his watching, Demetrius realized his shoulders were tingling. Hmmm. This must have been what Dr. Smallwood felt when his students showed promise. He compared this feeling to the tingling when a case was close to being solved and discovered to his amazement that there was no difference.

  Chapter 18

  The diner was busy when the two detectives arrived. Demetrius held the door while his partner entered. Dan’s girlfriend was too busy to notice them enter so they crowded into adjacent stools at the counter next to the cash register. A small man in a suit on the next stool gave Demetrius a dirty look as the giant of a man sat down. With a “humpff,” the man crammed the last bite of a burger into his mouth and squeezed out of the cramped space.

  Demetrius shrugged at the amused glance from Dan then slid to take advantage of the suddenly available extra space.

  The waitress smiled warmly as she lingered in front of the younger man. In an uncharacteristic show of affection, Dan reached and held her hand for the briefest of moments. She sighed, he smiled and Demetrius chuckled. She quickly released the hand, embarrassed, then pushed a stray wisp of hair from her forehead, tucking it behind her ear.

  The sight of the man and woman together, especially with the news that Dan was going to propose, made the bigger man think again of his wife. He was the luckiest man in the world to have her. He loved her more than he could ever have thought possible. With a deep breath and a smile, he silently wished this young couple all the success and happiness they deserved while resolving to buy Wanda a dozen roses on the way home.

  Dan stayed distracted all through lunch. Demetrius realized a working lunch at the diner had not been the best suggestion. He grinned at his partner’s unabashed staring at the pretty lady, then ate with the enthusiasm of a man on a mission.

  ◆◆◆

  Standing on the street corner on the way back to the office, Dan counted on his fingers as he rehearsed his conversations of the morning. “The phone number from Vegas was a dead end. It’s a casino and they regularly contact members of what they call their passport club to invite them to play. You know the drill, free points they can gamble just like money, free drinks and discounted meals. Fillmore was a member but hasn’t been there for over a year.” He shook his head. “You know, I think I’m a member of a couple of those things too because you have to join to get the meal bargain.”

  The bigger detective nodded. “Yeah, now that you mention it, I think I am too. We were coming back from a volleyball camp with the kids. We stopped in Vegas and joined for the discounts. Shucks, we don’t even gamble.” He chuckled at the thought.

  The crossing signal turned green so they started across the street as Dan continued his report.

  “The next two were old friends of his trying to help him get a job. Both admitted to calling him and one was able to get him the interview with the QT station where he works now so I didn’t see anything there. Last was a guy on the north side of town. Fillmore owed him fifty bucks. He said he got the money about a week after the call so they were square.”

  Dan held the door then followed Demetrius into the cavernous lobby of the Violent Crimes division building. Both men entered Demetrius’s office, the bigger man taking the chair behind the desk and the smaller man the hard-backed chair to the front. Demetrius picked up the paper Suzie had given them that morning. It was the second of two copies. Dan had the other folded in his pocket. He clicked his pen and scratched through the first three numbers on the list.

  “That leaves the law firm.” He reached for the phone.

  He’d only dialed the area code when a staccato knock came at the door. With finger poised over the keypad, he looked up. Dusty leaned halfway into the room with a huge grin. Demetrius replaced the phone to the cradle while motioning with his other hand to the empty chair next to Dan. The tingle in his shoulders instantly jumped to the next level of intensity.

  “Whacha got?”

  “The shoeprints.” He was almost laughing. “I’ve heard about it before but I’ve never actually seen it.”

  Both detectives waited, impatiently. “Seen what?” they asked in unison, then waited until the young man could stop laughing.

  “You know I told you the shoe size was eleven or possibly twelve?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, whoever was wearing them is actually a size eight or nine.”

  Demetrius made a face. “How can you know that?”

  Dusty stood. “Come on up and I’ll show you.”

  The forensic tech took them directly to his work station. “See here?” Under th
e magnifying apparatus with attached lamp, a cast of the shoe rested while three more lay to the side. He pointed with his pen to the first. “See this?” He stepped back so they could crowd around the magnifier.

  The detectives took turns gazing through the glass. Both men stood with blank faces.

  Dusty grinned again then pushed between the men. “Look here.” He pointed to the cast. “See the outline of the entire shoe?” He followed the outline of the shoe in a circular motion. “It’s about a size eleven, but look at this.” He moved the pen to where the ball of the foot would typically be. “The shoe is pretty much worn out so the sole is quite thin. See how the weight of the wearer is distributed?” He stepped back again for the men to view the cast.

  Demetrius frowned and shrugged. To him, it looked like nothing more than the bottom of a tennis shoe. “I’m sorry, Dusty. I’m not following you.” He glanced at Dan and saw his partner nodding in agreement.

  The forensic technician took another pace back. “Okay. Think of it this way. When you are standing, your weight is distributed evenly on your heels and the balls of your feet, correct?” He stood, bouncing slightly on his feet.

  “Yeah, I guess.”

  He took an exaggerated step forward. “But as you step forward, your foot rotates so all the weight is suddenly shifted forward. Try it with me and feel it.”

  Both men took a slow step.

  “Do you feel the weight shift?”

  Both men responded, “Yeah.”

  Dusty got animated. “Don’t you see?”

  Demetrius quizzically gazed at the youngster with his lips pressed together and one side of his mouth raised. He shook his head. “Sorry.”

  Dusty exhaled then looked at the ceiling in thought. He brightened. “Pretend you are at the beach walking in the sand. The footprints you leave typically would be deepest at the heel and ball, right?”

  The big detective imagined what his prints would be. “Yes.”

  “Now pretend you have a shoe three or four sizes too large with a very thin rubber sole. What would it look like if you were wearing the shoe? Wouldn’t the indentation in the sand match your foot? In other words, wouldn’t a deep spot in the print be from the ball of your foot? Wouldn’t that indentation show more deeply than your toes, for instance?”

  Demetrius quickly stood straighter with eyes wide. “So you’re saying you were able to determine the murderer’s actual foot size through the depth of the marks?”

  “Exactly. The consistency of the dirt at the railroad tracks allowed for a perfect print. The guy’s real shoe size would be in the eight to nine range.” He smiled in evident pride.

  “Well, I’ll be,” exclaimed Dan. “That’s pretty cool.”

  “Sure is,” added Demetrius, remembering his study of William’s feet during the morning interview and guessing them to be a size nine.”

  ◆◆◆

  The detectives retreated down the stairs and reentered the office. Demetrius sat and leaned back in his high, leather office chair with his fingers interlaced behind his head. “So what do you think?”

  “I think Dusty is a darn smart kid. I’m glad to have him on our team.”

  The big detective nodded. “You got that right. It’s amazing what those forensic guys can figure out with almost nothing to work with. I talked to a kid on campus this morning that was a size eight or nine. I’d crossed him off, but I’ll have to look into him further.” He leaned forward, placing his massive forearms on the desk. “And we have a call to make.”

  He picked up the paper with the phone number to the law firm in San Diego and carefully punched the numbers. He pushed the speaker button then replaced the handset to the cradle.

  “Johnson, Conrad and Smith. Can you hold, please?”

  He grunted then leaned forward to speak into the phone. “Sure.”

  A full minute went by while the men listened to the irritating elevator music. Demetrius leaned back in his chair and fiddled with the pen from his pocket, clicking the point in and out in exasperated impatience.

  An audible tick came from the phone as the receptionist reconnected. “Thank you for waiting. How may I help you today?”

  “Good afternoon. I’m Detective Crown of the Tucson Police Department. We’re checking into a call made from a cell phone registered to your firm. Would you be able to tell me who has the phone number 619-555-4985?”

  “I’m sorry. You understand we are a law firm and do not disclose any information pertaining to lawyer/client conversations or interactions.”

  The remark sounded rehearsed causing Demetrius to wonder if they got a lot of calls asking about their phones. “I realize that. We don’t want any information about your clients, we just want to know which lawyer is assigned that phone. To be honest, we feel there’s a perfectly reasonable expectation that the person who was called would have contact with a law office. We are simply running all the leads. You know. No stone left unturned.” He hoped that the nice guy approach might work.

  “Tsk, tsk tsk,” came the condescending reply. “We have over fifty cell phones issued not only to lawyers, but paralegals, assistants and office staff. You sound like a nice man, but as a detective you know we won’t give out any information.”

  Demetrius tapped his thick fingers on the desktop. He wondered if the threat of a possible subpoena might make a difference. He knew, of course, that even a subpoena would not force them to divulge any information if it had to do with client privilege.

  Before he could speak the voice returned through the speaker. “You may try a subpoena, but I must tell you that in all my years working here, that has never worked. I’m sorry. Have a good day. Goodbye.” The phone clicked as she hung up.

  ◆◆◆

  His roommate watched a basketball game that afternoon on the TV with the volume near maximum. Edward frowned as he sat at the small desk next to his bed in the two-bedroom apartment. He was working on the paper and had it almost completed, but the distracting noise from the front room caused his anger to boil.

  His mind wandered to the second killing. The homeless man had eagerly climbed into his car at the offer of a meal, and his brain, probably fried from drugs, seemed not to register what was happening when Edward pulled the gun. He compliantly walked from the car to the tree adjacent to the railroad tracks.

  In his mind, Edward imagined what it would be like to do the same to his roommate. He relished the thought of placing the gun next to the pillow and snuffing the life out of the ungrateful punk. He wondered for a second if he could bring himself to cut the thumbs off. He’d decided not to for the railroad track deed because in the professor’s garden, he’d almost been sick. He smirked as he thought of cutting his roommates thumbs off. That wouldn’t bother him at all. He growled, then forcefully closed the laptop and jammed it into his backpack.

  “I’m going to the library,” he yelled over the noise of the TV. His roommate made no acknowledgment, which made him even madder.

  Edward spent the rest of the afternoon in the library on campus, then drove to a local restaurant to eat. He sat in a booth, uncomfortable in his aloneness, and fantasized about the next step. He’d taken care of the phone issue and his fingerprints were not on the shell casings. He knew the tall man from whom he’d bought the gun could give a description but because of the hat and large sunglasses, it was vague and even Demetrius had indicated that half of the male students at the university matched the description. He smiled smugly.

  He thought of Demetrius and of running into him on campus this afternoon. He was sure the student he’d been talking to was that loser William, the one who always had the pretty girls talking to him. Maybe that would keep the detective occupied.

  Edward grudgingly admitted it was impressive the police had been able to gather any evidence at all. He’d planned carefully and was sure there were no loose ends. He admitted he’d forgotten about the phone and his call to the tall guy who’d sold him the gun, but in his defense, how could he have known the m
an’s fingerprints would show up? He breathed a sigh of relief that he’d been able to get a new number and he hadn’t given the old one to Demetrius. If his dad was able to let the secretaries know not to give any information out, he was home free now.

  Edward looked at his expensive watch. He had just enough time to drive to the Crowns to let the big man read his paper. With a spring in his step he marched to his car, then drove to his mentor’s house wondering what he might find out about the Smallwood case.

  Carrying his laptop, Edward strolled up the steps to the front door. Adam answered the ring of the bell, smiling in welcome and pushing the screen door outward to allow the visitor to enter.

  “Hi, Adam. How’s it going tonight?”

  “Great. Mom’s in an extra good mood ’cause dad brought her roses for whatever reason. She decided to make him cherry cheesecake and we’re about ready to sit down and have some.”

  Demetrius joined his son. “That’s right. Come on in and join us.” He motioned toward the dining room.

  “Hello, Edward.” Mrs. Crown’s smile was huge and he could see a dozen red roses in a vase on the table.

  He returned the smile. “Hello, Mrs. Crown. I’m sorry to be intruding.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re more than welcome. Have a seat.” She placed a delicious-looking dish in front of him, then served each of the family members.

  The pleasant conversation was hard on Edward because it reminded him of what his family did not have. His dad was rarely home for meals. And as he thought of it, he decided his mom wasn’t there all that often either. He noticed the loving glances between the big detective and his wife and was instantly angry at his own parents and their apparent lack of affection. The anger at his parents turned to dislike of the man and woman at the table. He caught the frown in time and concentrated on his acting, hoping what came across to the family was a grateful recipient of their generosity.