Blind Vigil

by Matt Coyle

  “He killed her.” The anger throttled down to despair. “If you weren’t his friend, you’d see it.”

  “Help me gather evidence so I can see what you see. Lead me over to the woman. Please.”

  A hand on my arm. “Two steps to your right and then we step down onto the street and cross it.”

  Moira let go of my arm and I took hers. We started our walk toward the woman. I didn’t count the steps across the street. I was busy trying to find the right words inside my head that I could ask Shay’s grieving friend to get her to tell me what she knew.

  “Rick?” A woman’s voice, choked with grief. Familiar.

  “Kris?” Kris Collins, Turk’s manager at Muldoon’s. The Crying Woman?

  Arms wrapped around my neck and a damp face pressed against my cheek. I let go of Moira’s arm and hugged Kris back. She sobbed and shuddered in my arms. I held on until she finally let go.

  “It’s so awful. Shay … She’s dead.” She let go a sob.

  A low moan escaped from Moira. Any hope that Shay Sommers somehow wasn’t the body being examined by the coroner inside her house was gone. Moira’s fear of a repeat of the Doctor Donnelly tragedy had come true. Half of it. The worst half.

  “What happened? Why are you here?” I knew Kris lived in Pacific Beach, two or three miles away.

  “We were supposed to go running this morning. And then I found her!” More sobs and gasps. I hugged her again. They must have been friends, which made sense because Kris was close to Turk. I waited for her breathing to settle before I spoke again.

  “Are the police done talking to you?” I finally asked.

  “Yes. I’m waiting for a ride from a friend. My car’s inside the police tape and they won’t let me have it back yet.”

  “We can give you a ride.” Moira surprised me with the offer. I thought she’d want to distance herself from the whole situation as quickly as possible.

  “It’s okay. Thanks. I have a friend coming. She’s probably already left.”

  “It’s no trouble. We’re right here.” Moira, calm and soothing. Putting someone else’s grief above her own. Or, maybe she had another motive. Kris was a witness. Moira and I both wanted to hear what she knew. Each with different expectations.

  “Why don’t you let us give you a ride home? I’m worried about Turk.” I didn’t have to feign real concern. “I need to know what happened today so we can help him if he needs it. This is Moira MacFarlane. She’s a private investigator. If the police think Turk is responsible, we need to know what they know.”

  “Do they think he killed Shay?” Panic.

  “They may not. It’s just the police’s standard operating procedure to look at the people closest to the victim and then work outward.” Moira jumped in before I could do any more damage. Her voice, velvety smooth. “There’s nothing to worry about at this point, but it would be helpful if you could tell us what you know. You sure you don’t want us to give you a ride? It’s no trouble.”

  “Okay. Yeah. I guess.” Her voice, still brittle, ready to shatter with the next crack. “I’d better call my friend and tell her not to pick me up.”

  A hand tugged my arm. Moira. I took a couple steps backward with her. She waited until Kris started talking on the phone, then asked me how I knew her. I filled her in. I’d hired Kris as a hostess when I was the manager at Muldoon’s. One of my best hires. She was capable, reliable, and friendly. Valuable traits in any business. Kris worked her way up the Muldoon’s ladder after I left and now was the manager. Moira didn’t make any comments and I couldn’t read her silence.

  “I talked to my friend.” Kris, still a wobble in her voice. “I’m ready to leave whenever you are.”

  “We’re ready.” Moira. “I’m parked across the street.” She offered her arm and led me back to her car. Kris’ footsteps fell in with ours as we crossed the street in silence. I got into the back seat and left the front for Kris so she could be next to Moira when Moira asked her about what she’d seen at Shay’s house this morning. She had a softer touch than I did, as she’d already demonstrated.

  Kris gave Moira directions to her home in Pacific Beach and the car pulled away from the curb but stopped abruptly just as the front wheels started to turn to the left. I figured Moira must be waiting for another car to pass going the other way, but I didn’t hear one.

  “What are they doing?” Kris.

  “Photographing evidence in situ before they bag and catalog it.”

  “What are you looking at?” I asked. No improved smell or hearing could help me deduce what the women saw.

  “Can’t see yet.” Moira. “A crime scene tech is taking photographs of something in the hedge between Shay and her neighbor’s apartment.”

  “Ma’am.” The rookie cop’s voice drifted in Moira’s window from afar. “You have to move your vehicle.”

  “Shit.” Moira.

  “What?” I asked.

  “They just put up a couple screens around the hedge. Whatever they found, they think it’s important.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  WE DROVE IN silence for a block, before Moira took charge.

  “Can you tell us exactly what happened this morning?” Her tone caught between soothing and her normal clipped. “Why did you go by Shay’s house?”

  “To go for a run.” Kris fought to control her voice. “We run together or go to the gym four times a week.”

  “What time did you get there?”

  “Seven thirty. We always run at seven thirty.” Reciting her routine seemed to sturdy Kris’ voice and give her momentum. “Shay didn’t answer the door, but her car was parked in the front. I called and texted her, but she didn’t respond so I called Turk to see if she was with him. She wasn’t. I could tell by his voice that he was as worried as I was. He drove over from the restaurant and unlocked the door.”

  Turk had a key to Shay’s apartment. Not unusual, but something the police could use to show he could enter her apartment on his own at any time.

  Another loud intake of breath. Then sobs. Kris reliving the discovery of her friend’s dead body. I’d lost friends. I’d lost my father. I’d lost my wife. There were no words that could supply the comfort needed. Only an understanding of the pain.

  “I’m sorry, Kris.” I put my hand on her shoulder. The best I could do. The best anyone could do.

  A hand on mine, then movement in the seat like Kris had turned around in the front seat to face me.

  “I’m so sorry about what happened to you.” Her voice full of tears. “I’m sorry I never called you or came by. I meant to, but the restaurant …”

  “No need to apologize.” My mother didn’t even venture out from Arizona when she found out I’d been shot. A phone call and a get-well-soon card were the extent of her efforts. Our relationship soured when she divorced my father and married someone else. It didn’t get any better when I chose to become a cop like my dad before me.

  Kris and I had only the briefest of interactions over the last few years. Unlike my mother, she wasn’t blood. She didn’t owe me anything.

  “Did you go inside with Turk?” Moira, soft but coaxing. Forcing Kris to relive the worst moment of her life. Lived in real time only an hour ago.

  Moira had picked up my quest for the truth. And my bad habits. Necessary for the quest, but their repercussions weren’t always justifiable. I understood her need and her pain. She’d taken Turk’s case against her better judgment. The murder and suicide of Rachel and John Donnelly forever fresh in her mind. Now she had to live with what she thought were the consequences of that decision.

  “Turk opened the door and went inside.” The rustle of Kris turning back around in her seat to face Moira. “I followed him and we both called out Shay’s name. We went into her bedroom …” More sobs.

  Neither Moira nor I said anything. We let Kris’ pain roll out. I found her shoulder again and gently rubbed it. The sobbing ceased, followed by a few deep breaths. She sat silent. I didn’t probe.


  “Where was she?” Moira. Soft, compassionate, but the question forced Kris to relive the horror she just saw. I suddenly hoped we were almost at Kris’ house so she could grieve without having to answer questions and watch it all over again inside her head. But I didn’t intercede. My own need for the truth wouldn’t let me.

  “She was on her back on her bed. She didn’t have any clothes on. One eye was swollen shut. All black and blue. Her other … her other eye was open. Bulging … like, like.” Deep breaths. “And she had a red line around her neck. It was horrible.”

  “What did Turk do when you found Shay?” Moira.

  “He tried to revive her. He gave her mouth-to-mouth resuscitation and pounded on her chest, but she was dead. I knew as soon as I saw her.”

  “Was her body stiff?” Moira asked. She was trying to pin down a time of death. Rigor mortis usually begins four to six hours after death.

  “I don’t know.” Frustration bubbled up from Kris’ sadness. “She was … she was just lying there. Dead.”

  “What a horrible thing to have to see. I’m so sorry, Kris.” Moira’s voice soft as satin. I waited for the hook hidden in the soft folds of fabric. “How did Turk react when he knew Shay was dead?”

  There it was.

  “What do you mean how did he react?” An edge to Kris’ voice like she suddenly discovered the game. “He was crying just like I was. Because he loved her. How would you feel if you found your boyfriend or husband dead?”

  “I didn’t mean anything by it.” Full retreat now. A rare posture for Moira. She could have mentioned that she found her husband dead from a heart attack eight years ago but didn’t. I give her credit for that. “I’m sorry I upset you. We’re just trying to learn all we can.”

  We, not I. She dragged me in with her.

  “For who? You told me you wanted to help Turk.” The edge now sharpened to a stiletto point. “But it sounds like just the opposite. You can drop me off here. I’ll walk the rest of the way.”

  “It’s only a couple more blocks.” Moira, the satin gone. “I’ll take you the rest of the way.”

  Time to referee. “Kris—”

  “No! I want to get out. Now!”

  The car pulled over and stopped. I pushed open my door and leapt out, tripped over the curb, and fell onto all fours. An abrasion raspberried along my left palm from the sidewalk and ripped open the one from my fall last night. I hustled up to my feet, my support cane still clutched in my right hand. I unfolded it into a straight line and let its plastic oval tip find the ground.

  “What are you doing?” Moira’s voice through Kris’ open door. “Are you okay?”

  The door slammed shut.

  “What are you doing?” Kris, a steadying hand on my arm, but still angry.

  “I’m okay. Thanks.”

  “But what are you doing?”

  “I’m going to walk you home.”

  “No, you’re not.” The hand dropped from my arm. Footsteps on the sidewalk going away from me, then stopped. “I don’t know what kind of game you and your partner are playing but it’s sick and I don’t want any part of it.”

  A car door opened.

  “Rick, get back in the car.” Moira, staccato.

  “I’ll catch an Uber and call you later.” Over my shoulder to Moira. I turned my head back to Kris. “I’m not playing a game, Kris. Turk’s my friend. I want to help him.”

  “Leave me alone.” Footsteps. Quickly moving away. I tapped after them.

  “Rick!” Moira.

  “Leave!” Over my shoulder again.

  Slammed door. Screeching tires. Gassed acceleration.

  I tapped ahead, faster than I ever had. Faster than was safe. The footsteps ahead faded. I pronged forward. Kris’ house was tacked onto a map in my head, but I didn’t know where I was on it. Cars zoomed past me on my left. My cane found air and I stopped just in time to keep from plunging off the curb. Tires skidded to a stop in front of me. The stink of burnt rubber filled my nostrils.

  “Rick!” Kris from far ahead. “Wait right there. I’ll come get you.”

  I took a step back and waved for the driver I couldn’t see to continue. Tires slowly rolled on asphalt in front of me, then sped off.

  “Stay there.” Kris, closer now. Then footsteps running toward me. A hand on my arm. “Come this way.”

  She gently pulled my arm and I lifted my cane off the ground and stepped down into the street.

  “It works better like this.” I pulled her hand away, then grabbed the the back of her right bicep with my left hand so that she was between me and the street. A lifetime of chivalry reversed in an instant with one gunshot to the face.

  We took twenty-three steps, then Kris warned me about a curb. After we stepped up from the intersection onto a sidewalk, our pace slowed to a comfortable speed. The tension in Kris’ arm eased slightly. The air still and stale.

  “I apologize for Moira’s questions.” Even though they had to be asked. But maybe not today. “She’s just worried that something that happened with another client of hers might have happened with Turk.”

  “What do you mean?” Concern. Angle change of her arm, like she’d turned slightly to look at me.

  “The reason Moira and I were at Shay’s this morning is because Turk hired us to spy on her.”

  I’d broken the private investigator–client privilege, but I didn’t care. I wasn’t really even a P.I. anymore, anyway. My word still meant something to me, but the object of our surveillance was dead and the police were questioning Turk right now, no doubt, trying to link him to Shay’s death. The best way to help Turk was to find out as much as I could, and to do that I had to tell Kris the truth.

  “What?” She stopped walking and spun out of my grasp to face me. “Why did he want you to spy on Shay?”

  “Because he was afraid she was cheating on him.”

  “I don’t believe you.” Hot steam sizzled on her voice. “Turk loved Shay and she loved him. Why would he think she was cheating on him?”

  I told her about Turk following Shay to La Valencia a couple times and what Moira saw last night and the Mercedes Benz Maybach.

  “It doesn’t mean she was cheating on him.” No edge left in Kris’ voice. Just a dull dismay. She slowly started walking again, leading me along the sidewalk.

  “You’re right.” I tried to sound optimistic on a day devoid of optimism. “Do you know of anything Shay had to celebrate about?”

  “What? No. Why?”

  I told her about the champagne and cake.

  “That’s odd. She rarely drank alcohol or ate sweets. She was really into health and fitness.”

  “Was she planning to have a get-together with friends that you know about?”

  “She didn’t have that many friends here. She really only hung out with me and Turk.” A wistful exhale.

  “How long did you know her?”

  “About a year and a half. Since she started working at Muldoon’s.”

  “How soon after she started did she and Turk begin dating?” I asked.

  “A couple months.”

  “Did she leave Muldoon’s to work at Eddie V’s because Turk didn’t think he should date an employee?”

  “Sort of.”

  “What do you mean?” I got the impression from Turk that he’d gotten Shay a job at Eddie V’s so as not to break the Muldoon’s management/employee fraternization rule. But the timing was off. They were dating close to a year before she changed jobs.

  Kris stayed silent so long I was about to ask what she meant again, but she finally spoke. “She was rude to one of our customers.”

  Everyone who’s ever worked in the service industry has had a customer complain about them. I had a few when I ran Muldoon’s. Even employees with the sunniest of dispositions rub a customer the wrong way on occasion. Often, a complaint is based on a misunderstanding or the customer is just a jerk.

  One complaint, unless outrageously egregious, never warranted dismissal. Or in Shay�
�s case, an arranged new job at another restaurant.

  “What was the customer’s interpretation of rude?” Some people took my resting face as a scowl. Even when it wasn’t meant to be.

  “The customer said Shay called her husband a fucking coward.” Kris made the statement sound like a question. “Her words exactly to me on the phone the next day. I couldn’t believe what the woman was telling me. Shay is … was one of the sweetest people I’ve ever known.”

  After years as a cop and a private eye, I knew all too well that people could surprise you. In the worst ways.

  “Did the husband and Shay have some sort of history from another time he came in the restaurant?”

  “I don’t know.” The emotion of the day still clung to Kris’ voice.

  “A hostess doesn’t have that much interaction with guests after she seats them. Did anyone else see Shay talk to the man?”

  “No. According to Shay, he left his glasses case behind and she caught the couple in the courtyard right after they left.”

  “What did Shay say happened?”

  “She said that the woman was a little drunk and must have misunderstood what she said to the man.”

  “What did Shay say she said to the man?” I asked.

  “Something like, ‘Sir, you forgot your glasses’ and handed them to him.”

  “Did you believe her?”

  “I don’t see what any of this has to do with Shay being murdered and the police questioning Turk about it.” Steam back in her voice.

  Kris had a point. The answers to my questions probably had nothing to do with Shay’s death. But Shay might not have been the sweet woman everyone thought she was. She’d lied about things. Where she went at night, and, possibly, what she said to a Muldoon’s customer. What else had she lied about?

  Maybe Shay lied to the wrong person about the wrong thing and it had gotten her killed. The one thing I knew in my heart was that Turk didn’t kill her.

  “I don’t either. Yet.” I turned my blacked-out-sunglassed face to Kris. “But you never know what piece of information could help Turk if he needs it. That’s all I care about. Finding the truth so I can help Turk.”