by DB Kennison
Randi recognized the anger in him—that much was obvious. She also noted the dark circles under his eyes, the firm line of his mouth, and weariness in his speech. She saw sadness and regret too. She suddenly felt sorry for him without knowing why.
“What happened to you?” she whispered.
The detective’s head snapped up, but he then acted like he hadn’t heard anything. A conversation about new home sales she’d had three weeks ago with CJ popped into her head and it dawned on her that this had to be the new detective from Milwaukee. No wonder he came across as a son-of-a-bitch, this was probably nothing compared to what he’d seen as a cop in the city. She got the impression that his anger had less to do with her, and more to do with his own demons.
At an impasse, they glared at each other in that way two people only can at four in the morning.
Randi recognized Detective Watman as she appeared tableside. She knew Terri from town but had never spoken to her in any official capacity. She nodded to Randi then whispered something in the detective’s ear that made an eyebrow rise. He stood up.
“We’re done here.” He pulled a five-dollar bill out of his pocket and tossed it on the table. “Somebody will be with you shortly to take your full statement.” He turned his back on her and walked away.
Chapter Six
Coffee?” Terri held a to-go cup out in front of Jon as she hopped into the passenger seat of his Jeep and nudged a half dozen empties out of the way with her foot. “Jeez, what a pit.”
He shrugged. “Cleaning lady’s day off.” Hours into the case and several cups down, coffee would continue to be his only fuel until he got the shakes. Then he’d stop for real food.
“Rumor is the chief will want you to include Wacko on the detail.”
“Yeah, but I’m not putting him behind the tape on this. If I’m forced to bring him on, he can play glorified secretary and messenger.”
Terri didn’t argue. Terri Watman had a strength that belied her stature—a pit bull in the body of a Chihuahua.
He didn’t know much about her personal life yet. Before he’d started his new job, Jon had learned through the town grapevine that his assigned partner was gay. On moving day his neighbor had asked if he knew who his partner would be. Jon had told him the only thing he’d known at the time…some female detective. The next thing the guy says is, “Oh, she’s a lesbian. And her significant other, Carrie Ann, runs the produce market downtown.” It wouldn’t have bothered Jon so much except the guy said it with a strange kind of pride, like he was taking credit for the town’s token gay couple. Jon chalked it up to small town shit.
In her free time Terri entered the occasional amateur bodybuilding circuit. Jon had discovered this when she’d shown up on a Monday morning looking like a basted Butterball because her spray tan wouldn’t wash off. He didn’t give her any shit because he was certain she could kick his ass anytime she wanted.
Jon placed a stack of interview sheets into a box in the back seat. “Should have known that lead would be a bust.” He grumbled. A busboy out on a smoke break had seen a guy he knew from town—Travis Pauley—pull up behind the building and wrestle something heavy from the trunk of his vehicle into the alley. The kid just blew it off until he was being interviewed regarding a murder.
“Yeah, but I have to say it was kind of fun watching Travis squirm when we showed up on his doorstep.” Terri said.
Jon, Terri and two sheriff’s deputies had dragged him out of bed to find out what the hell was he throwing into the alley. Turned out he was renovating his basement and wanted to save on disposal costs by dragging carpet, padding and other crap to public dumpsters around town at night. A quick call to the guys finishing the crime scene confirmed there was a roll of old carpet right where Travis said he left it. It matched the same shag crap he had left in his house.
“Never would have thought Travis to be a thong kind of guy…kind of freaks me out.” She grinned, referring to the underwear he had on when he answered the door. “I thought he was going to piss himself when we showed him the photo of the dead girl. He was probably only four feet from her when he made his dump.”
“Yeah, I doubt he’ll think twice about paying a dump fee in the future.”
Terri laughed and handed him a stack of sheets.
“Freaking weird how he and Lassiter were both in the alley tonight though…for a motel it might as well be Grand Fucking Central Station.” He took the fresh stack of papers she offered. “Are those the KODs?” He asked.
“Yeah.” There was no enthusiasm in her response, obviously bummed by the lack of any leads during the knock-on-door detail. “Didn’t take long,” she added. “Not much neighborhood to canvas. A couple of businesses—that’s it. And none of them open late. We’ll see what we get on security camera footage.”
“Don’t suppose there are any traffic cams in the area?”
Terri shook her head.
Jon thought of how remote the motel was, how small the town.
“You check the MOCIC for a match on missing persons?”
“Yep, a bust.”
“Not surprised. We’re more likely to get something from forensics. I was just hoping for a miracle.” MOCIC was a law enforcement database for the exchange of information in a more localized area and the first go-to place when seeking info on a subject. If anyone in the Midwest were looking for the victim, it would have been listed there. “We’ll check the site for updates in the morning.”
“It is morning, Slick.” Terri watched him as he lifted his wristwatch and squinted to make out the time. He scowled and stared out the windshield. His eyebrows pinched together, thinking about how he’d gotten here—from Milwaukee to Nowhere, USA.
At least he’d been able to recognize the signs of burnout at his old job before it had taken root. He’d done his homework. For months, he’d watched statewide job postings, searching for a small community where murder simply didn’t happen. And he’d found it.
Mt. Ouisco, Wisconsin. It was a homicide-free town, where a cop could work until he died of old age or boredom. There hadn’t been a murder in Mt. Ouisco in twenty years—a farm wife had caught her husband having sex with a heifer and whacked him over the head with a barn scraper, nearly decapitating him. Gave a full confession. Open and shut case, and not a single murder since then. That was what Jon had banked on when he’d transferred a month ago.
Karma’s a bitch, and it follows your mailing address.
A full two minutes had passed before Terri spoke up. “You know you’re going to have to share something with me eventually. I’m not going to learn this shit through osmosis.”
He let her stew a minute longer. “It’s just not what I pictured, you know. I moved here to get away from the violence.”
“Yup, sucks to be you. But it doesn’t mean you need to be a killjoy for the rest of us. I hate that somebody died, but God help me—I’m glad there’s finally a case that will work my brain.”
Jon shot her a look. “Hmm…thanks for the sympathy.”
“Well, you could look at it this way…once this case is solved there shouldn’t be a murder for another twenty years.”
“Hmmm.”
She chuckled. “Glad you haven’t lost your sense of humor.”
“Only where the Lassiter woman is concerned.” Jon placed all the interview sheets onto what was fast becoming a healthy stack inside the box. “How’d her interview go with Erland?”
Annoyed with the woman and unable to avoid staring at her cleavage, Jon had handed off the official interview to another detective as he and Terri took care of Travis “The Thong” Pauley.
“Nothing there. Jesus, talk about being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Erland said her story is pretty wild, but she’s cooperating.”
Jon snorted at the last word. “So what’s her background?”
“Like me, a local gal. We
went to the same school, but she was a couple of grades behind me. Married young…” She shrugged. “Didn’t last. No surprise to anyone but her, the guy was an asshole.” She looked over at him. “You know the type. The only snatch he wanted was the one he hadn’t had yet.”
Jon grimaced, disgusted with guys like that who gave the male species a bad rap. Then he remembered his comment about her defending her PI career as having come from personal experience. He was only trying to goad her, a little payback for his tainted crime scene. Now it seemed like he’d poured salt into an old wound.
Great, now he could add his name to that shit list.
“She seems nice enough.” Terri continued. “Good realtor. Carrie Ann bought the house from her a few years ago. She still raves about her.”
“What about this PI side gig of hers?”
“I hate to say it but she’s pretty good at that too. Supposedly she’s had a couple of other lawyers ask her to do some night work, and she’s turned them down. Only willing to help her friend, Sarah.”
“You think she could be involved somehow?”
Terri scrunched up her face and shook her head. “Nah, I don’t see it.”
“What about her sidekick, Caroline Jane Daniels?”
“CJ?” Terri shook her head vigorously. “No way. CJ is a certified fruit loop, but only the harmless Toucan Sam variety.” She pointed a finger at him as he opened his mouth. “And don’t bother asking about their lawyer. Sarah Redding has a solid rep…you’d be wasting your breath.”
“Well shoot, you have the scoop on everybody. In a couple more days, you should have this thing all wrapped up.”
“Nah…with your luck Wacko will have it solved by morning.” She gave a hearty laugh as she jumped down out of his Jeep.
Chapter Seven
Ben Wachowski pulled a fresh wet wipe out of the pack and rubbed the jelly smudge until it was gone. Clean again, the steering wheel gleamed in the light cast by the street lamp. “Sorry, baby.” He patted the dash of his Ford F-150 lovingly. The ’05 truck was his pride and joy. He looked down at the smear of jelly on his shirt and took a brief swipe at it, succeeding only in smearing it into a longer shape.
He tossed the wipe into the white bakery bag and vigorously rubbed his hands together over the open top. Crumbs and powdered sugar from the last of his three jelly donuts trickled inside, but also dusted his trousers. He twisted the top of the bag and unceremoniously tossed it out the window. As an afterthought, he looked around to make sure no one witnessed the littering and turned his attention back to the Jeep parked across the lot.
Just then there was a tap on the window. Ben jumped in his seat. “Fuck!” He rolled down the window. “Jesus Christ, you idiot! You’re asking for trouble sneaking up on someone like that.” He reached up and grabbed the folder out of Greg Stanton’s hand. “This all of it?” he growled.
Officer Stanton looked at him as if not quite understanding the question. “Well, no. I’m sure it’s not everything. It’s just the preliminary walkthrough and prints.” Stanton reached down and picked up the bag of trash. “Bricksen says you can run these to the station. He wants to get the prints into the system as quickly as possible, and I’m sure you want to get started on collecting data for the reporting systems.”
“Don’t tell me how to do my damn job, Rookie. Bad enough I’ve got to answer to some slug from Milwaukee on this.” He swiped his mouth with his sleeve. “He should be done by now. How damn long does it take to investigate a murder for fuck-sake?” He tossed the folder onto the passenger seat. Stanton glanced at the file to make sure its contents were still intact.
“I still don’t know why this guy got the assignment.” Ben pointed in Jon’s direction. “I’d have had this thing well in hand by now. Probably just some crack whore cut up by her pimp.” Or some computer-obsessed geek like his reclusive neighbor, who no doubt trolled the Internet for porn sites and murder how-to information.
Ben looked around disdainfully. Everyone was busy working the investigation. Not him, he wasn’t allowed behind the tape. Stuck at the fringes with a rookie didn’t sit well with him. Resigned to his vehicle, waiting for a hand off before he could be considered actively involved was such bullshit. And stuck doing computer import or whatever. Crap he believed had nothing to do with real police work. Shit, he was doing a rookie’s job.
“Tell pretty boy I’m not making a trip back out here if he needs anything. Like he said, I’ve got to get this shit done.” Ben didn’t wait for a reply. He started the engine and pulled away from the scene.
Stanton broke into a sweat as he watched Wacko turn the corner at the intersection and head in the opposite direction of the police station.
Chapter Eight
Randi held her hair to the side and let the hot water pound across her back. The massage jets beat her aching muscles into submission, and the stiffness in her neck began to loosen. Leaning into the shower wall, she let her mind stray as the filth from the night ran off her body. The events kept trying to replay themselves in her head. If anything popped in she shoved it right back out. Randi didn’t want to see the dead girl in her head anymore.
She focused on her friends and their ongoing interference. She understood why CJ and Sarah worried about her personal life—she had none, she just didn’t want to admit it—not to her friends and especially not to herself.
After the divorce, Randi had taken a simple philosophy: if she didn’t invest in a relationship then she could never fail at one again. Failure was the one thing Stuart had convinced her she was good at—excelled at, even. Over the years he never missed an opportunity to point out how she failed herself, their marriage, and everything else she touched. He had chipped away at her and over time she started to believe his assessments. By the time the marriage was over she barely had an ounce of self-confidence left.
How could she have lost the person that she was? How she could have let a man, any man, take that away? It was because of Sarah and CJ that she’d built Lassiter Inc. into a successful realty company, strengthened her self-esteem and found her way back. Now these same friends wanted her to get more out of life.
The plain truth was she didn’t know if she could ever trust like that again.
She reached up and dialed the showerhead setting to something more soothing and let the water ooze over her scalp. She drank in the sweet scent of the lavender and calendula body wash as she turned to expose her breasts to the cascading drops. The vibration caused her nipples to constrict. She leaned back and gave in to the sensation.
Damn, she missed sex.
She longed to have a pair of strong arms around her and the potentially messy aftermath of even a single night of passion…as long as it wasn’t in a motel room and didn’t result in a relationship.
Maybe she could try a one-night stand? Just get it out of her system.
Nope. Who could she wham-bam in Mt. Ouisco? She knew everyone in town. Not a solitary person came to mind that sparked her interest, sexual or otherwise.
Detective Bricksen’s smug face popped into her head, and she blew out an exasperated groan. Good looking or not, the guy was a jerk. And to think CJ and Sarah had defended him. Give him a break, her ass! He hadn’t given her a break, and she was the one that fell over a dead body.
Finally warmed to the bone, she felt a bit weak—drained. She looked down at the shiny stainless grate on the shower floor and watched the soap bubbles spin before plunging into the abyss. Once again, Detective Bricksen’s unkempt hair and blue eyes invaded her brain. She mentally dumped the man out of her head and let him swirl down the drain with the rest of the scum.
She had almost cleared her mind when the vision of the dead girl rose up and latched on.
That woman had lost everything. She would never experience falling in love, having a family, creating a life, or growing old. Everything she was. Gone.
Randi cra
nked the temperature up a little more, until her skin felt sterile and the tears came again. Her legs crumpled beneath her, and she slid to the shower floor. The visions that lit up in her mind were with the harsh glare of the crime scene lights.
Blood. Garbage. And a pretty face that had been chewed by scavengers.
Randi wept until her throat ached and the water ran cold. When she finally got out and dried off she was left in pieces. But she was also angry—furious that any human being could callously extinguish the life of another. She felt something shift deep inside. A fire ignited, and a plan began to come together.
Chapter Nine
Jon jumped at the loud horn blast. He glared into the rearview mirror at the guy in the crappy blue truck behind him. The man was lined up inches from his bumper and gesturing wildly for him to move ahead. Jon thought about taking out his gun and shooting the truck’s tires out. Instead, he eased his foot off the brake and moved up in line.
He was in the drive-thru at the only fast food place in town—Dinky’s Burger Bar, home of the Mega Dinky Deal—a Dinky’s LegendaryTM burger, Dinky fries and a Dinky drink. He ran his hand through his hair and tried to wait patiently. “Fucking Twilight Zone,” he muttered. Jon glanced at the menu board one last time as he rounded it. He wasn’t sure who or even what Dinky was, all he knew was he longed for a nationwide burger chain where he could get a normal artery-clogging meal.
As he waited for his food, he reviewed his notes. They’d spent the entire morning back out at the crime scene—conducting follow-up interviews, going over the grid, double checking everything. He perused his personal notes. One of the pages had two people listed. He scribbled “wack-job” next to CJ Daniel’s name. His eyes lingered on Randi Lassiter’s name. He wrote “bitch” then erased it. Wrote “troublemaker”, and erased that. Stymied as to how to classify the opinionated blonde who felt compelled to help divorcees feeling pinched, he left it blank and snapped the book shut.