The Last Lies (Kate Murphy Mystery Book 1)

by C. C. Jameson

  That was when Kate realized something was wrong. Very wrong.

  No matter how many times she flipped through the pages in her official notebook, she couldn’t find page 14. Her clip was on page 15. The one before said 13.

  What the fuck? Who the heck had touched it? Who had ripped a page out of it?

  “Sorry,” Kate said, flipping back to page three. Thankfully, she didn’t need the missing page right now. But she’d still have to figure out what had happened to it later and hope to hell that she never had to testify in court for whatever she’d noted down on it.

  “The vehicle pulled over right after the intersection of Columbia and Devon Street, which is three street blocks from the speed trap location.”

  “Thank you, Officer Murphy. Please continue.”

  With the photocopies in front of her, Kate relayed the rest of the relevant facts and answered the judge’s questions as he voiced them during her testimony.

  “Do you have anything else to report?” he asked after all the pertinent details had been brought to court.

  “No, Your Honor,” Kate said.

  “Thank you. You can return to your seat.”

  The judge asked Mr. Fartozi if he’d like to testify, but the short bald man rose and turned down his offer.

  “Does Mr. Fartozi have other charges on his driving record?”

  Kate stood up and shook her head. “Other than the unpaid parking tickets, I didn’t find anything else in Mr. Fartozi’s file.”

  Shortly thereafter, the judge issued a license suspension, fine, and a mandatory defensive driving program to Mr. Fartozi.

  With Kate’s court duties over and out of the way, she left the courthouse and returned to the station, puzzled as ever. She knew she had paperwork to complete, and she also had to get back out on the streets, but the missing page was top of mind.

  Who’d had access to her notepad? Someone must have gone through her locker at work or her clothing at home. So, was it a co-worker or Matt? And why?

  Who stood to gain anything from ripping a page out of her official notebook?

  Sitting at a desk, as she flipped her pad open to page 15, she noticed very slight indents on it. Someone had written something—a string of numbers?—on page 14 before ripping it out. Kate had to find out what had been written there, so she grabbed a pencil and gently scratched the surface of page 15 with the lead.

  Her own handwriting hadn’t been pronounced enough to make out what she’d written, but whoever had jotted down the numbers had done so with more force.

  It was a local phone number beginning with area code 617.

  Without hesitation, Kate picked up the landline at the desk and dialed the number.

  It rang. Once. Twice. Three times.

  Then a nasally female voice picked up. “Good afternoon, Gisele’s Salon. How may I help you?”

  “Sorry, wrong number,” Kate said before hanging up, even more bewildered than she’d been before. She proceeded to look up Gisele’s Salon for its address.

  Who would write a salon’s number on my official pad and then rip the page off?

  Sure, some of her co-workers were asses, but they knew not to mess with a legal document. And for a hair salon? There was only one other female cop and they barely ever crossed paths. No way she’d mess with Kate’s notepad.

  Her husband? Why the heck would he note down a salon’s number? It’s not like he had long hair that required services beyond what his regular barbershop could provide.

  None of these options made sense.

  Could the lady who picked up the phone be the blonde chick that Bower had bragged about banging a few days earlier?

  Now, that would be the last straw.

  Kate spent most of her days scoping out bathroom locations in between calls. She kept extra garbage bags in her car and extra tissues in her uniform. She also walked around with a nearly endless supply of strong, minty Halls and Tic Tacs, which helped with both her breath and her nausea. Her monthly budget was certainly going to suffer, but she’d make it work.

  Thankfully, she was on dayshift, which meant she didn’t have a partner due to budget cuts. More single patrol officers meant the district had doubled the number of cars that could be dispatched to answer calls. The increased vehicle maintenance was a tiny drop in the bucket compared to adding more officers to the payroll. She wasn’t sure how she would have explained all the vomiting to a shift mate.

  While she sometimes wished she had a partner, so Bower wouldn’t be the other unit that showed up half the time, she had yet to encounter a situation for which she’d felt unprepared. And for that, she thanked the universe every day. She knew being a cop was inherently dangerous, but she was willing to live with that. If being a cop could help prevent violence and save other children from experiencing what she had seen as a teenager when her family was murdered, then it was all worth it.

  Now that she knew why she was sick, she’d started paying attention to which smells triggered her need to vomit: canned tuna and sardines, most perfumes, and, for some reason, freshly baked garlic bread. She’d also googled the heck out of morning sickness and found out that ginger ale and lollipops could help her stomach. (But sucking on the latter while in uniform was a big no-no, unfortunately.)

  While manning yet another speed trap—this one near a shopping mall—she used her cellphone to research her abortion options. Knowing more about it should help her make an informed decision.

  Massachusetts had legalized it, but it could only be done up to twenty-four weeks.

  Why do pregnant people think in weeks instead of months like regular people?

  She did the math: five and a half months. She still had time. She had no idea when the baby had been conceived, though. She and Matt typically had sex two times a week, though their sex life had changed over the past year. Long gone were their romantic evenings. And so was foreplay. Sex had become a mechanical act. She now understood why some people referred to making love as part of their marital duties.

  All she knew was that she’d only missed one of her periods. The fetus wasn’t older than eight weeks.

  She’d probably have to see a doctor to determine the conception date. But the second she went to a doctor, she’d have to explain her absence either at work or at home, neither of which sounded good.

  How the heck did this happen?

  Kate was growing bored, waiting for a traffic violation to draw her out of her spot, when the dispatcher requested her current location and status.

  A second after she reported her speed trap position, the dispatcher spoke up again, “Harry-145, proceed to Ronan Park. Dead cat on the side of Mount Ida Road.”

  “I’m about ten minutes away. Heading over now.”

  As she made her way to the park, she pondered why it hadn’t been an open call as per usual. And for a crappy dead cat?

  Oh!

  The dispatcher was Andrews, one of Bower’s buddies. It all made sense now.

  So not cool. Another one of Bower’s practical jokes.

  Last month he’d done the transparent plastic wrapper on the toilet seat. The month before that, he’d switched the salt and sugar in the break room. While those hadn’t been aimed at her directly, she’d fallen for them.

  But this one? It was personal. And all she’d done to upset him was do her job by the book. Following procedures—and rubbing Bower the wrong way—had landed her this crappy call.

  Let’s hope it’s just the one.

  Ronan Park was a nice, large park, and the silly call would give her a chance to breathe in some fresh air. There were much nicer green spaces in and around Boston, but Ronan wasn’t the worst either, especially within Dorchester.

  Right after parking her vehicle, she spotted a group of people who had gathered near the edge of the park on Mount Ida Road. They appeared to be chit-chatting among themselves, so Kate walked toward them.

  “Officer! I’m the one who called,” a chubby woman wearing yoga pants and a lime green T-shi
rt said loudly, waving her hand in the air as she jogged toward Kate. Her brown hair had been tied in a ponytail that bobbed up and down as she approached Kate.

  “I found a dead cat,” she said when she reached Kate. “A bunch of birds were pecking at it, but I don’t think they’re the ones who killed it. They certainly did a lot of damage, though. There’s a hole in the poor cat.”

  “Did you call the municipality?” Kate asked.

  “No, I called 9-1-1.”

  “For a dead cat?”

  The woman frowned at Kate, apparently confused.

  “Let’s have a look,” Kate said as she followed the woman’s lead and headed toward the small group of people a hundred yards away.

  “What’s your name?” Kate asked on the walk over.

  “Mariana Edwards.”

  As they reached the dead animal lying on a bed of gravel near a small landscaping wall, a slender brunette wearing nothing but black moved over to make room for Kate. In doing so, the goth brunette pushed a tall, scrawny blond man in overalls and bright red shoes out of their little circle. A young blond boy with a buzz cut and a faded-out superhero T-shirt was poking at an orange cat with a stick, a wide grin on his face.

  “That’s a dead cat indeed,” Kate said while trying to ignore the disgusting scent and turning her attention back to the woman next to her. “Ms. Edwards, do you mind stepping aside with me?”

  The woman nodded and followed Kate.

  When they were out of earshot from the other people, Kate spoke up again.

  “Listen. 9-1-1 is for emergencies. Real life-or-death situations, you know? If people start calling for things like dead animals, it’ll clog the lines, and real emergencies won’t be answered in time. Do you understand?”

  “Oh. I’m sorry, Officer.”

  “Don’t worry about it, but try not to do it again. Do you have a cellphone?”

  The woman nodded at Kate, taking a black device out of her pocket.

  “All you need to do is dial 3-1-1 and then report it. Someone at Animal Control will handle it.”

  “Okay, should I do that then?” the woman asked, her cheeks a little red.

  “Like I said. No harm done this time. But please go ahead and call them now.”

  Kate could have easily called Animal Control herself, but she believed that citizens also had to do their part. They learned best by doing. If the woman called 3-1-1 this once, she’d be more likely to remember and do it later, if required.

  Kate started walking away toward her patrol car as she overheard the woman reporting it via the proper channels. Kate pressed her radio button to update the dispatcher.

  “Harry-145, stay on the scene. Pick up by Animal Control isn’t sufficient. A full report is required,” Andrews said.

  Kate rolled her eyes. Really?

  She could have sworn she heard Andrews giggle on the radio right before the static kicked in, but she knew better than to try to argue with the dispatcher.

  Bower. This is his idea.

  Here we go. Let the useless paperwork fest begin.

  Kate walked back to the woman who had since put away her phone.

  “I reported it; they’re sending someone to pick it up. Should I do something else?” Ms. Edwards asked.

  “Well… It appears this dead cat is more important than I thought,” Kate said. “I need to file a report on it, so I’d like to ask you a few questions if you don’t mind.”

  “Not at all,” she said, smiling.

  “What time did you discover the dead cat?” Kate asked, retrieving her unofficial notepad from her left breast pocket. It was a similar shape and size to her other pad but didn’t have the official page numbering. She knew her notes here would never make it to court, but she needed to write enough to fill out the official report at the end of her shift.

  After thinking for a second or two, the woman spoke again. “About thirty minutes ago?”

  Kate looked at her watch and made a note of the time. “And do you know or recognize the cat?”

  “No, but there’s a collar on it.”

  Kate lowered her notepad. “Let’s have a look again, then.”

  When they reached the carcass, Kate resumed breathing through her mouth to avoid triggering nausea. The buzz-cut kid was still grinning as he played with the dead cat.

  What’s wrong with this boy? Why is he poking at it? Is he just bored and curious?

  “Would you mind if I borrowed your stick?” Kate asked him.

  The boy raised his shoulders and handed it to her before stepping away from the carcass.

  Flies had already infested the wound. The feline was definitely dead. Kate squatted next to it and used the stick to move the collar, so she could flip the silver medal that hung off of it. She snapped a photo with her cellphone, hoping that she’d be able to read a phone number or something without having to touch it. She did have gloves on her belt but touching and moving a dead animal in her current situation was not appealing. The smell of it was making her queasy.

  “Did anyone see what happened to this cat?” Kate asked the group.

  She was met with shaking heads and quizzical expressions, and before she could ask a follow up question, the woman who’d reported the animal chimed in again.

  “I walk through here every evening. It wasn’t here last night at 9:30.”

  “Does anyone live around here?”

  Ms. Edwards replied again, “I’m just a couple of blocks away from here.”

  “Did you hear anything suspicious? Gunshots? Animal fights?”

  “We always hear cats in heat, but I think I heard a few dogs going crazy early this morning.”

  Kate looked up from her notepad. “And what time was that?”

  “I was dead asleep. It was loud enough that it woke me up. My alarm clock said it was 5:35, so I went right back to sleep.”

  “Okay, thanks. Animal Control should be here shortly to remove the carcass. Please don’t touch it. It’s probably filled with germs and other nasty things you don’t want to get on your hands.”

  Kate reflected on the 5:35 timing for a few seconds.

  In this neighborhood? Too much time had gone by. It was late afternoon already. Stray dogs would have ripped this cat to pieces. This has to have occurred more recently than that…

  A small pebble bounced near her boot. Then another, which hit the dead cat directly on the head.

  The same boy who had been poking at the cat with the stick earlier had opted to throw small rocks at it instead.

  Annoying as hell, but it wasn’t like he was committing a crime.

  But just as Kate was closing her notepad, another pebble hit her boot.

  “Hey, young man. Could you please stop throwing pebbles at the carcass?”

  That’s just a preview of how I’ll be as a mother. Argh.

  As she finished speaking, one last pebble landed near her boot before he dropped the rest of his rocks.

  The boy raised his shoulders and exhaled loudly, obviously annoyed at Kate for taking away all of his fun activities, one by one.

  But when she looked down, she realized his last projectile wasn’t gray like the others. It was a piece of shiny metal she was very familiar with.

  She bent down and used the end of her long sleeve to grab the bullet. Probably a twenty-two caliber.

  The head had been flattened by something more solid than the body of the cat near Kate’s feet.

  “Hey, kid!” she yelled at the boy, who was already ambling away toward another area of the park. “Where did you find this?” She held up the bullet.

  He shrugged once more then pointed to a small stone wall that supported the slightly elevated landscape behind it.

  Kate couldn’t tell if there was any blood residue on it. If there were, it would be tainted by the boy’s fingers anyway. Fingerprints would also be gone or well smudged, but maybe the bullet itself could prove useful. She pulled out a tissue from the tiny pack she carried and wrapped the bullet in it before p
lacing it in her pocket.

  Is this the bullet that killed the cat, or could it be from another crime?

  She examined the cat again, stick in hand. The size of the hole where the flies were collecting in the matted-out fur made it plausible that the cat had been shot. But it wasn’t like the department would ever approve funds to perform an autopsy on a cat to prove it.

  Then again, the dispatcher had confirmed she had to file a report…

  The possible weapon should be included in that report.

  Shit.

  Stupid Bower. Making me overthink a dead cat situation.

  Kate walked over to where the boy had picked up the bullet. She traced an imaginary line from her foot to the cat, and then extended it to see where the shooter would have been positioned. For the bullet to hit the cat on the ground and then end up where she stood, it was obvious to Kate that the shooter hadn’t been very high up. He would have most likely been lying in the grass somewhere farther back. There were lots of thick bushes around there. Or perhaps it was a stupid person, doing it right in the open. Or possibly shooting from the first or second floor of a home at the edge of the park on that street… In the distance, several trees stood, each with relatively low branches. Assuming someone shot the cat with a long-range weapon, the person could have been in one of those trees. It was summer, after all. Ronan Park had numerous trees filled with large, green leaves that could provide decent enough coverage.

  But someone would have reported hearing a gunshot, right? Or our triangulation system would have picked it up.

  Why am I even bothering with this?

  It’s just a stupid cat.

  Unless the shooter hurt someone, and this bullet’s just a stray bullet that happened to hit a very unlucky cat and then stop against the concrete here…

  Or maybe the wacko’s a serial killer working his way toward human kills.

  He or she certainly wouldn’t be the first… Numerous examples of such a thing popped up in Kate’s mind as she pondered that possibility.

  Could it be why the dispatcher had instructed her to stay and file an actual report?

  Could she have imagined Andrews’s giggle?

  She didn’t know anymore, but she certainly knew better than to disobey an order, so she opened her unofficial notepad and sketched out the important elements: location of the dead cat, where the bullet was found (approximately), and the overall shape of the park. She then named the surrounding streets, so she could orient her sketch if needed later on.