Burgundy and Bodies

by Sandra Woffington

  “I hear Anne had debts at the casino?”

  “I don’t know about that. I knew Grant had loaned her money before. Everyone knows I got a tight wallet. At last month’s game, Anne was feeling saucy. She asked me for a loan at the card table and joked about how she’d pay me back, but that was just Anne being Anne. She didn’t mean it. She did it to put a spur under Grant, if you ask me. If you play cards, you should know that you can lose—I wouldn’t loan ten dollars to my own mom and dad.”

  “Anything unusual happen last night?”

  Shane let out a whistle. “Sure. Anne hit on Eugene. I haven’t seen that before. I mean, the girl flirts, but it’s harmless. This time, she pushed it. It riled Grant to no end.”

  “Anything else seem out of the ordinary?”

  “No. Usual game. Deon was new. Friend of Anne’s from the hospital. Nice enough. Left early, same time as Lee.”

  “Well, that’s all I need for now. If you think of anything else, call me. Don’t get up. I’ll see myself out.”

  “I couldn’t get up if I wanted to. Not until the pain meds kick in.”

  En route to the casino, Max began to see a bigger picture. Anne did have a secret—she gambled and she flirted. Was either one, or both, enough to get her killed?

  Max’s phone rang. “King.”

  “Angelo here. Can you swing by?”

  “On my way.”

  Max pulled into the coroner’s forensic facility and found Angelo in an autopsy suite. Max could never get used to the place, especially the smells: butcher shop meets hospital. The pungent air assaulted his nostrils immediately. He had witnessed his first autopsy during police academy training. A policeman had to understand how the medical examiner processed a body to learn how to better preserve evidence in the field and avoid contamination. But no matter how many times he’d visited this place, the windowless suites filled with stainless steel tables, jars of formalin, florescent fixtures that hummed, displays of bone-cutting saws and dissection tools, vials with colored stoppers, scales, polished steel sinks, and a freezer creeped him out. “Find something interesting?”

  With gloved hands, Angelo pulled back the blue drape over Anne Martin’s head. The rock lay next to her ear. Angelo showed Max how the rock matched the impression made on Anne’s skull. “This was not enough to kill her. Creek water filled her lungs and she drowned.”

  “Murder. Why?” Max wasn’t really asking Angelo but rather asking himself.

  “My job only entails cause of death. Yours is finding ‘who’ and ‘why.’ This rock either knocked her out completely or it left her groggy and incapable of fighting off her attacker. One other thing. She’d had sex. Consensual, not forced.”

  “DNA?”

  “Unlike the TV shows that give us a bad reputation—that could take a few days. I’ll try to rush it, but maybe you could nose around instead.”

  “There were only a few boys at the party. I’ll start there.” Max gave Anne one final gander. Her pretty blonde curls surrounded her head like a halo—but lake dirt tarnished the gold. She was no angel, but she didn’t deserve to lie here on a steel slab with mud up her nostrils.

  “Time of death between midnight and four A.M.”

  “Thanks, Angelo.” Angelo turned away, and Max peered at Anne’s face: her petite nose, full lips, and cherub-like cheeks. “Anne, I’ll figure out which snake in the grass bit you. I promise.”

  5

  The Golden Earth Casino sat in the southerly end of Wine Valley. The people of the tribe, nearly decimated by Spanish invaders and the diseases brought by Europeans, had established the casino on reservation lands after California passed several acts that allowed Indian tribes to proffer legal gaming.

  Over the decades, the tribe thrived, the casino grew to include a spa, a golf course, and a hotel, and, through land purchases, the tribe expanded its territory too. The tribe supported its members by offering better schools and opportunities for higher education. They also spread the wealth to neighboring towns, like Vinoville, by employing hundreds or through charitable donations to local projects like revitalizing the old western part of town called Grape Gulch or helping to fund the new civic center.

  Max’s father had a long-standing friendship with the tribal elders and casino executives. He’d worked to promote gaming laws, saying, “It’s about time we righted a long-ass wrong.”

  Max had called ahead. A pair of beefy security guards in tailored suits and wearing earpieces met him at the resort entrance, the fastest way to reach the business tower.

  The security detail led Max through a maze of noisy machines with flashing neon lights that sounded like raining money: ka-ching, ka-ching. The carpet, a kaleidoscope of color, left him dizzy, and cold air chilled his skin. No matter how often he stepped into the casino, it felt like Las Vegas not Wine Valley. Max’s friends had brought him here—a local rite of passage—on his twenty-first birthday, hoping the momentous date coincided with a gift from Lady Luck, and when it didn’t, they moved on to the comedy club upstairs or the sports bar or they returned to Sal’s Saloon in Grape Gulch to dance.

  At the top of the elevators, the landscape changed to a place for business. Along the salmon-colored corridor, glass cases held shards of pottery and woven baskets and blankets and other tribal artifacts. But as soon as they veered left, away from the banks of elevators, the room opened up. Busy employees sat in low-walled cubicles. Beyond them, floor-to-ceiling windows beheld golden rolling hills. Phones rang. Voices bumped into one another. Laughter or a sneeze punctuated the more mundane office sounds.

  The guards approached a secretary, who nodded. “Go right in, Detective King. Can I get you a coffee or water perhaps?”

  “No, but thank you,” said Max.

  The first guard opened the door to the president’s office, and the pair sandwiched Max between them, one in front and one behind. The guards waited by the door.

  Max approached a massive mahogany desk, which was dwarfed by the large space that had curio cabinets with artifacts and the same floor-to-ceiling windows that made the land the showpiece and backdrop of the room. The president seemed to be sitting in the hills, a modern chief conducting business like his ancestors before him.

  Paul Lopez, a broad-shouldered man in an expensive gray suit, rose to his feet to greet Max. He had a tawny face, short-clipped gray hair, a square jaw, and piercing eyes. “Paul Lopez. Please have a seat.” Given the mission history in California, Max was not surprised by Mr. Lopez’s surname.

  “Detective Max King. W.V.P.D.” Max shook his hand and sat down. For this interview, Max had tossed on a navy jacket that he kept in his trunk. He felt awkwardly overdressed compared to his standard attire, yet underdressed compared to the man behind the desk.

  “I pulled the file you inquired about, a Miss Anne Martin. May I ask what this is about?”

  “She was found dead this morning.”

  Paul Lopez sighed. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “I’ve been told Ms. Martin owes the casino some money.”

  Paul opened the file. “Yes, she still owes us a little over fifteen thousand dollars.”

  “Whew!” said Max. “That’s a big amount on her salary. How did that happen?”

  “Well, as you probably know, we determine credit lines based on assets, but we pay particular attention to average balances in checking accounts. A couple of years ago, Miss Martin inherited from a deceased parent.” Paul’s face fell, as did his voice. Both carried a tone of sympathy. “I know we’re in the gambling business, Detective King, but we’re no different than companies that produce alcohol—none of us want our clients to abuse our products or services. Through this casino, we have been able to take care of our people and our neighboring community.” Paul peeked at the file. “There was some trouble at the end of last year.”

  “What kind of trouble?” asked Max.

  “Reviewing the file jogged my memory. Dr. Kenneth Grant came to see us. He spoke to the credit department. He mad
e such a ruckus, I came down and spoke to him personally. Seemed like a better tactic than having security drag him out or calling the local police to have him arrested. Dr. Grant cared for his friend. I could see that. I felt bad for Ms. Martin. Dr. Grant begged us to cut off her credit before she lost all of her inheritance, but I explained that I couldn’t do that. Ms. Martin had rights too. She could sue us. I had my secretary give Dr. Grant information on gambling addiction facilities. That’s all I could do.”

  “How much did she go through?”

  Paul Lopez leaned back in his chair and let out a heavy sigh. “One hundred twenty-five thousand.”

  “You must have cut her off, though, as she had been asking friends for loans?”

  “I don’t know about any loans. We’re not the only game in town, but I can tell you that she missed a payment about nine months ago. First time. She must have been out of money. We immediately froze her credit. She worked out a payment plan, but it would take some time for us to get the money back. If you’re implying that someone at the casino…”

  “No, Mr. Lopez. I assure you, these questions are part of a routine investigation. When was she here last?”

  Again, Lopez looked inside the folder. “Her player card shows minimal activity since we froze her credit. Looks like she still stopped in on occasion and played cash. A few hundred. Nothing big. She’d been making her payments. We keep tabs on our credit lines through routine credit checks. Missing a payment was the first sign of trouble. You know, sometimes, reaching a low point is the spark that helps a person turn his or her life around.”

  Max stood up to leave. “Unless they run out of time to do that, like Anne Martin.”

  Paul Lopez rose to his feet. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be of more help.”

  “Not at all,” said Max, shaking his hand. “Every bit of information helps piece the puzzle together.” Max handed him a card. “If you think of anything else, give me a call.”

  “You sound just like your dad, except without the gosh-dern-its. I was at the funeral. I’m sorry he’s gone. David King was a good man. A friend to the tribe.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Lopez. I appreciate that.”

  “Paul, please.”

  The guards, who hung at the back of the room, escorted Max as far as the elevators.

  Max picked up a to-go lunch and knocked on Captain Banks’ door.

  “Come in.”

  Captain Jayda Banks was a no-nonsense black woman with short-cropped hair. Although slender, she had a muscular build and an iron will. She had wasted no time in setting up her new office. A picture of her with her four-year-old daughter and her Marine husband in his beige camouflage utility uniform sat proudly on her desk. Her framed degree and commendations gave the room authority. She’d set two large potted plants, one in each corner, to add a spark of life.

  Max set a brown bag with a green Crisp and Crunch logo on the desk. “I owed you this, and it seems like since your promotion, you don’t get out to lunch anymore.” Max checked his watch. It was two o’clock. His eating routine had taken a hit as well.

  “Thanks, Max. That’s a sweet thing to do. I was just about to call for a delivery. Learn anything surprising so far about Ms. Martin?”

  “It’s been a busy morning. Anne gambled away her inheritance, and she owed money to the casino.”

  “The casino doesn’t kill off its customers, even if they’re in debt.”

  “No, they don’t. Anne was paying it off too.”

  “Good work. Keep it up. I see you got yourself a Crisp and Crunch bag. You didn’t go healthy on me, did you?”

  Max held up his bag. “Baked potato, loaded with bacon and butter.”

  Captain Banks shook her head. “When you eat that, I want you to imagine a bullet coming at you right between the eyes—‘cause that’s deadly, you hear me?”

  “Death by butter—now that’s an interesting investigation.”

  6

  Max strolled through the entrance of the Wine Valley Hospital, barely a decade old, and through the honey-beige lobby with wooden tables and cream-colored high-backed chairs that would fit better in a nice hotel than in a hospital. The P.A. system echoed an announcement about a sale in the gift shop. Max understood the concept of making a hospital seem like home—but it never worked, not really. Not with the smells of hydrogen peroxide, sweat and illness, the latter of which Max thought smelled eerily similar to the decomposing flesh of a dead body. To offset the negative, cheery framed prints of colorful flowers adorned the walls.

  Max rode the elevator up to the medical-surgical floor and checked in at the nurses’ station that had pastel green walls. Max left his jacket in the car. This made his Glock, which hung from a hip holster attached to his heavy duty belt, visible, but it was too hot for the jacket. Max caught the eye of more than one young nurse. He attributed the glances and smiles to his cop attire, but his polo shirt hugged his muscular body, and his blond hair and blue eyes didn’t hurt.

  An Asian woman, short and slightly pudgy around the middle, and wearing hospital-issue blue scrubs, turned toward him. “Can I help you?”

  “I’m Detective Max King. I’m looking for Deon Walker. I have a few questions in regards to a case of ours.”

  “Anne Martin?”

  “Yes.”

  “We heard. We’re devastated. I’m Lisa Nguyen, Deon’s and, formerly, Anne’s supervisor. Let me find Deon for you.” She headed down the hallway, as if knowing exactly where to find him.

  In moments, she returned with a black man, who had a muscular frame that Max guessed had been built lifting weights at the gym, not lifting patients. “I’ll cover you, Deon. This detective has some questions for you. Why don’t you go to the waiting area?”

  Deon led Max to an open area with tall windows and plush beige chairs where family members could sit and wait for loved ones undergoing surgical procedures. Magazines of various types sat in acrylic stands on square tables.

  Deon found a couple of seats away from others. “I heard the news this morning. We’re all in shock. I still can’t believe Anne’s dead.”

  “You were at the game last night?”

  “First time. Anne invited me before, but I always declined. I play some video poker at the casino now and again. I guess I thought it would be cool to play with the Chief of Police, you know. But I lost my three-hundred dollars in a couple of hours and left. Great food though! Eugene’s daughter made us sandwiches and chili and bread—all real fresh. Plus strawberry pie. Still, wasn’t worth three bills. Know what I mean?”

  “How long have you worked with Anne?”

  “‘Bout nine years maybe. I moved here from Long Beach right after nursing school. The hospital was pretty new. Needed nurses. Rents are cheaper here too. And I do like the wineries, I have to admit.”

  “Do you know any of Anne’s family or other friends?”

  “I didn’t hang out with her after work, but I think her father died a couple of years back. Might have lived out in Hemet or Lake Elsinore. I got the impression they didn’t speak much. He evidently paid for nursing school, and then Anne ran off with some biker guy Daddy didn’t like much. But, really, I don’t know any of Anne’s friends other than the ones I met last night. Seemed like an okay group. She’s a good nurse, though. She really cared for her patients. I’ve learned a lot from her.”

  “Did she gamble regularly?”

  “I think with the group, yeah. Like I said, I don’t know her personal life much.”

  “Was she anxious or upset last night?”

  Deon lowered his voice. “Something was going on with her. But I don’t know what. She seemed nervous all the time. Started back some months. But recently, she seemed okay. Last night, she cracked me up. She was hittin’ on every guy there. Playful, though. You know. I’d never seen that side to her before. She is a funny lady.”

  “What about Grant?”

  “He’s a pretty intense guy. He just played his cards. Took a few smoke breaks. When Lee and I
left, Grant and Anne were arguing outside. They stopped when they saw us.”

  “Did you hear any of it?”

  “Not a word,” said Deon.

  “Where did you go after the game?”

  “I went for a beer at a local bar.”

  “People see you?”

  “Yeah, they’d back me.” Deon gave Max the details.

  Max stood to leave. “Well, thanks, Deon. I’ll be in touch. Here’s my card if you think of anything else.”

  “Of course. Always willing to help the police.”

  As Max walked to the elevators, he began to see a clearer picture of Anne: a flirty, pretty girl from humble beginnings who couldn’t help herself even if she tried, yet she had dedicated her life to helping others.

  As he left the waiting room behind, he imagined Nurse Anne Martin coming out to greet visitors and leading them to the rooms of sick family members. He could see her holding someone’s hand or helping a patient take a sip of water. He could see her comforting a patient in pain or listening while someone shared his or her darkest fear—imminent death.

  Before Max left the hospital, he rode the elevator up to administration, which had cheery pastel-yellow walls, but it still had the hospital scent, just fainter, as if the smell had wafted up in the elevators or clung to the clothes of those who worked here.

  Max asked a secretary who he could speak to in regard to a nurse on the medical surgical floor. Max waited a full half hour and was about to complain, when a man and woman came to greet him. They escorted him to a small conference room.

  The woman introduced herself as Mrs. Grimes, Vice President of Hospital and Health Services, and the man, as Mr. Rodriguez, the Chief Nursing Officer. Mrs. Grimes, a statuesque blonde with features perhaps chiseled by a plastic surgeon, as they seemed too perfect, extended a hand. “Sorry to keep you waiting, detective.” Mrs. Grimes’ gravelly voice did not match her delicate face.