Kiss & Tell

by Luke Murphy

  “Any details connected to my dad’s case?”

  “Are you still on that theory?” Harris asked. “There isn’t one shred of evidence that links your father’s murder to the Celebrity Slayer.”

  She didn’t intend to get into a pissing match with the detectives, so she returned to her desk. She knew they were still eyeing her, so she sat down and opened up a manual.

  But she couldn’t concentrate, flipping the pages unconsciously. She kept the detectives in her line of sight, and when they had left the building, she got back up.

  She glided across the room and walked down the back hall. She walked into the twenty-by-twenty filing room and closed the door. Every case file was recorded both electronically and in hard copy.

  She knew what she was looking for, but was unsure where to find it. The old filing cabinets were unmarked, and she didn’t want to risk using a computer to retrieve the information, since her account would be detected.

  She rifled the first cabinet case files, always cautious of any approaching sounds. Fifteen minutes and two cabinets later, Charlene found it.

  She shut the drawer quietly and placed the folder on top of the cabinet. Charlene heard a noise and froze, her nerves cracking with every sound. When no one entered the room, she opened the file and quickly examined the black and white photographs of her father’s crime scene and the scene inventory and notes.

  The detectives hadn’t lied. There was nothing in her father’s case file directly related to the Slayer.

  She heard footsteps outside the door and quickly shut the file. She had to move.

  Charlene shoved the folder inside her shirt, tucking it inside her waistline. She buttoned her shirt and exited the room, making sure to lock the door on the way out.

  Charlene walked past the receptionist and approached the photocopy machine in the empty copy office. She quickly removed the contents of the folder and slid them in the machine, making sure to replace her father’s original file, and took all of her papers to her desk.

  She had just opened the report when her name was called. She looked up to find her captain standing outside his office, waving her inside.

  Had he seen her? Impossible.

  She shoved the file inside her desk and quickly walked across the room, biting her lip in anticipation.

  He didn’t tell her to sit down. “I just got Gardner’s report from your first meeting.”

  She gulped, held the back of the chair for support, and waited.

  “He cleared you for full duty.” He waited for her reaction. When there was none, he went on. “A lot of psychiatric mumbo-jumbo bullshit. His report concluded that in his opinion, you’re not an alcoholic, but did overindulge and you have a sincere desire backed by commitment to get it under control. As long as you continue with weekly visits, you’re eligible for full duty. Does that sound about right?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “You know what I think?” He didn’t wait for her to answer. “I think you caught a break, Kid. Don’t fuck it up.”

  “Yes, Sir.” She didn’t wait to be dismissed. She left, hiding a hint of a smile.

  Her phone was ringing when she got back to her desk. Her heart was still pounding and sweat pelted her upper lip.

  She recognized Dana’s cell phone number.

  “What did you find?”

  “These hair samples are an exact match to your father, Detective.”

  Charlene sat back in her chair. Now she was sure of it…the Celebrity Slayer had killed her father. But why? Wrong place, wrong time? But that wasn’t how the Slayer operated. From what she’d heard, the killer was careful, methodical, everything planned out in advance. He must have known what killing a cop would do.

  She listened as Dana continued. “There were two sets of fingerprints found on the hat. I ran them through AFIS. One belonged to your father, but the database didn’t find a match to the other.”

  If the print wasn’t in the Automated Fingerprint Identification System that meant it belonged to someone who had never been charged with a crime.

  “Thanks, Dana.”

  “What should I do with this?”

  “I’ll pick it up later.”

  Charlene had just hung up the desk phone when her iPhone chirped. She unclipped it and answered. “Detective Taylor, Robbery-Homicide.”

  “Meet me at the Mojo for lunch. You know the way?”

  “Yep.”

  Chapter 7

  Mel’s Mojo was the smallest pub in LA and a second home for LAPD. After stopping at the Forensics Center, Charlene arrived at the downtown pub before Larry, selected a corner booth, and sat facing the door, a paranoid habit she’d caught from her father.

  He was easy to spot coming through the door, his large, bulky frame squeezing through the afternoon crowd.

  At six foot even and two hundred twenty pounds, the detective was a little thicker around the middle than he used to be but his police instincts had not waned—his sharp brown eyes never missed a clue. He had wide, thick black eyebrows, matching bushy sideburns to the earlobe, a nose a little out of proportion, and gray hair never combed. He was overweight, but it had never hindered his reputation as having one of the highest solving rates in the state.

  The fifty-eight-year-old detective was gasping for air when he finally reached the booth, grabbing the table with one arm to steady himself. After catching his breath, he squeezed into the booth across from Charlene.

  “The captain called, said you’re good to go.”

  Charlene nodded.

  “Did you order?” he asked, looking at the glass of water in front of her.

  Charlene shook her head. “No, not yet.”

  They gave their order to the waitress, and when she had left, Charlene asked, “When do you think we’ll get on the Slayer case?”

  Larry smirked. “You’re kidding, right? You won’t be allowed within a hundred feet of that file.”

  Charlene leaned back in her seat and pouted.

  “I know you think this guy killed your old man, but all you have to go on is what some crank caller told you.”

  Charlene unzipped the black LAPD satchel she had with her and removed the plastic bag containing her father’s Dodgers hat.

  She threw it on the table. “He left that in my apartment.”

  Larry lifted the hat and examined it as Charlene continued. “My dad was wearing that hat the night he was killed, I’m sure of it. He rarely went anywhere without it since he’d retired. The person who killed him, who claims to be the Celebrity Slayer, left that in my apartment for me to find.”

  Larry studied the bag. “Fingerprints?”

  “My father’s prints and an unknown.”

  “Interesting. Anything else from it?”

  “The hairs match my father’s. SID couldn’t find anything else from it.”

  Larry smiled. “You move fast, Kid. I’m impressed. Guess you weren’t reading those manuals this morning.” He handed it back to Charlene.

  She could feel her face burn. They sat in silence for a few minutes, and she was about to say more when their food was served—a Cobb salad for Charlene and a cheeseburger with fries for Larry.

  Larry flipped his tie over his shoulder and took two healthy bites.

  “With all of your work with SID, did you get to the transcripts?” he asked with his mouth full of greasy burger.

  “I didn’t get around to it.”

  He put his cheeseburger down. “What have you been doing all morning?”

  She pointed to the Dodgers hat.

  He took a large drink from his Dr. Pepper and smiled.

  “What?” Charlene asked.

  “You’re just like your dad. He hated the paperwork too. He would rather be on the street.”

  This was the first time he had mentioned her father. Not only had they been best friends, but Larry had been a pallbearer at Martin Taylor’s funeral.

  “You ever been partnered with a woman before, Larry?”

  “No, M
a’am. This is a first for me.”

  She could sense Larry squirm, uncomfortable with where the conversation was heading. Charlene changed it.

  “Tell me about the Slayer case?”

  “This guy is sick. I’m from Brooklyn, grew up in the Bronx, and I’ve seen some whack-jobs in my life as a detective, but this sicko has them all beat.”

  She watched Larry eat and listened to his stories. His face and voice showed the strain of over thirty years on the job. Baker was a hard-nosed, old school detective who didn’t like the bureaucracy of the department.

  “Do you believe he killed my father?” Charlene asked.

  “I believe what I can prove. And right now, we ain’t got jack.”

  “What do we have? What are they saying at the monthly LAPD detective meetings?”

  “Kid, you ain’t got the years for that information. Besides, because of you, I’m off the Slayer case.” He ate the rest of his fries. “You done yet?”

  She looked down at her salad, and she had yet to take a bite.

  “We’re going over those transcripts this afternoon, maybe even visit the crime scene.” He sucked in his gut to escape the booth. “I hope you brought money, because I forgot my wallet. I’ll get the next one. I’ll meet you back at the office. We’ll grab the transcripts and head out.”

  He left before she could answer.

  ~ * ~

  She stopped at her parents’ house after work. Although she did want to check on her mother, something else was niggling at the back of Charlene’s mind, and it led her home. It had been something the Celebrity Slayer had said during their phone conversation.

  Her mother must have heard the car pull up because she opened the door and stepped outside, greeting Charlene as she walked up the walkway.

  “Charlene, what’s wrong?”

  “Nothing, Mom.” Charlene wasn’t exactly the pop-in kind of daughter, so any unexpected visit had to be a surprise.

  “It’s so good to see you,” her mom said. “Come in.”

  Her mother put her arm around Charlene and pulled her inside. The house still smelled like home, the scent of her mother’s pot roast wafted through the air, as if it was permanently installed.

  “I’m so happy you stopped by.”

  “Did Jane go back yet?”

  Her mother shook her head. “No, she’s sticking around for a while to help out. She went to the store to pick up a few items. It’s so good to have both my girls close by.”

  Charlene smiled and handed her mother a Styrofoam cup. “I stopped and got you one of those lattes you like so much from the café down the street.

  “Thank you, Charlene. You didn’t have to do that.” She accepted the cup and sipped gratefully.

  “I was wondering if I could look for something in Dad’s office?”

  “Well, of course, honey. What are you looking for?”

  “I’m not sure yet.” She stepped past her mother, heading towards her father’s office. “Are all of dad’s things still here?”

  “Yes.” Her mother followed. “I haven’t yet decided what to do with it all.”

  Charlene found much of his work had already been boxed, but not sealed. She opened each one, carefully sorting through all of her father’s papers. She looked for any key words or any clues that any of the files had to do with the Celebrity Slayer. Had her father really been working on the case as the Slayer had alleged?

  She didn’t see any papers in the eight boxes that could be associated with that case. She walked to her father’s desk and jiggled the locked drawers.

  “Do you have a key, Mom?”

  Brenda shook her head. “Your father was always so private with his police affairs. He never wanted me—or you girls—to be privy to such information. He always tried to protect us.”

  Charlene grimaced. “Do you have a screwdriver?”

  “Your father has a tool box in the basement.”

  Charlene took the steps to the cellar, an unfinished basement that consisted of her father’s work bench and storage space. Power tools hung on the wall, and the tool box sat on her father’s work table. A large oil-burning furnace in the corner kicked on.

  Her father hadn’t exactly been a handyman, but he had all of the necessary tools to be considered a man’s man.

  She opened the box and rummaged through, finding a small-slotted screwdriver. She returned to her father’s office and jiggled the screwdriver in the drawer slot, snapping the inner-lock and pulling open the drawer.

  “There’s that lock-picking skill. What are you looking for?” her mother asked.

  “A certain file.”

  Nothing in the top drawer. After quickly snapping the bottom drawer lock, she opened it to find a row of manila folders lined up. They were labeled and named, with dates and case numbers. All old cases. Still, nothing on the Celebrity Slayer.

  She rifled through the folders, knowing that every detective had certain cases that dogged them, and her father was no different. Most of these cases were still ongoing. They had a case number, but no one was actually investigating.

  She threw the folders back into the drawer and let out her breath. Was she chasing a lie?

  “Did you find what you were looking for?”

  Charlene shook her head in response to her mother’s question. She was trying to think like her father. Where would that file be?

  “I heard about your promotion.”

  Charlene looked at her mother, saw the sadness in her eyes, and immediately felt guilty. “I was going to call. I…”

  Her mother raised her hand. “It’s okay, Charlene. I’m happy for you.”

  Her mother said it, but Charlene could hear the anxiety in her voice, and knew what she really had wanted to say.

  “Mom, this has always been my goal.”

  “I know, honey. But ever since your father…” She didn’t finish the sentence, and Charlene could sense her mother had drifted. But before Charlene could speak, her mother continued. “I’ve just been so worried about you. I don’t want to lose another member of my family to that police department.”

  “I know, Mom. I promise to be careful.”

  “Remember the time I caught you playing with your father’s gun?”

  Charlene smiled to herself. She had only been a toddler. “I remember.”

  “I was so angry with him, and he just laughed, picking you up and placing you on his lap. Somehow, no matter how much I tried to ignore it, I knew you would follow him. I never denied that, or fought it. I’m not going to try to talk you out of this; it’s your decision and you’re a grown woman. So congratulations, honey, but don’t expect me to share your enthusiasm. But I’m happy you got what you wanted.”

  Charlene didn’t know what to say. She knew her mother was just acting like any loving, protective parent would. Even after everything they had been through, as cruel and hateful as Charlene had been, a mother’s love was enduring.

  A long, uncomfortable silence fell.

  “Mom, is there anywhere else where dad might have stored his police stuff?”

  “The last few weeks, before his death, he spent a lot of time in the basement. I never knew what he was doing down there.”

  Charlene returned to the basement. Searching the dark, spider-web infested corners, she came across a door she had never noticed before. Not that she had spent a lot of time in the unfinished basement.

  She could hear her mother’s footsteps overhead.

  There was a padlock on the door so Charlene grabbed a claw hammer from her father’s tool box. After three swings, the lock blew apart. She pushed open the door.

  The room was pitch black. She swiped the wall for the light switch, but couldn’t find it. She opened the door wider, to allow the minimal light inside, and stepped in, only to be greeted with a mouthful of dusty, stale, mildewed air. She coughed it out, moving further inside, walking directly into a cobweb. As she swatted it away, her hand brushed against a string dangling from the ceiling. She tugged on
it and the room lit up.

  The sudden light from the hundred-watt bulb temporarily blinded her. Once her eyes had adjusted, Charlene stood still, a lump gathering in her throat.

  The converted cellar was now a shrine. The walls were lined with newspaper clippings, pictures, and maps. A desk was littered with papers, folders, and notes. A collage of items was tacked to a cork board. Charlene recognized her father’s scribbled writing on a chalk board that had been screw-nailed to the wall. Newspaper articles, with dates, had been cut out and taped up.

  For every detective, there was always that one case that stuck out, the one that got away. This must have been her father’s.

  His homicide investigator’s textbook was on the counter and she started reading his notes when her mother appeared at the door. “Oh, my God! What is this?”

  “A case that dad was working on.”

  “But your father was retired.”

  “Cops never really retire, Mom. I’m taking it all with me, the computer too.”

  Charlene went to step past her mother when she felt a firm grip on her forearm. She had never felt her mother’s physical strength like that before.

  “Charlene, please don’t.”

  “I have to, Mom.”

  “No, you don’t. Don’t you see? This is what killed your father?”

  “Mom, I don’t think…”

  “Don’t lie to me. You know as well as I do that he was killed because of this case. I may only be a lonely, stay-at-home housewife to you, but I was married to a cop for forty years. Don’t you see how dangerous this is?”

  “I have to do this, Mom.”

  “Why? Do you really believe that if you catch this guy you will make everything right with your father? I know you, Charlene. I know that you’re the type of person who will take all that pent-up emotional energy and become obsessed with finding his killer, seeking redemption for yourself.”

  “What are you so scared of, Mom?”

  “That you’ll stop at nothing to get what you want. That’s what scares me. But I don’t know that what you’ll find will heal your wounds. It will never end.”

  “I don’t have a choice, Mom. I promise to be careful.”

  Charlene turned and headed upstairs. She went into her father’s office and flipped through the wooden rolodex on his desk. She found the number and dialed.