Identity Found

by Ray Green

  ‘Yes… of course.’

  ‘Are you at home?’

  ‘No, I’m at work right now, but I’ll be on my lunch break in about forty minutes.’

  ‘OK, where can I meet you?’

  ‘There’s a little diner right opposite the salon – it’s called Marco’s’

  ‘OK … I’ll see you there in about forty minutes then.’ He hung up.

  What could she have to say which might open up another lead? He supposed he could have just questioned her on the phone, but Mark always liked to interview witnesses face-to-face: sometimes the non-verbal communication spoke more loudly than the spoken words.

  He tried to convince himself that this was the reason that he’d opted to interview her in person; it was, but truth be told, it wasn’t the only reason.

  ***

  Mark arrived at the diner before Mandy. It was nothing special: plain décor; laminate-topped tables; plastic-upholstered seats; and rather harsh fluorescent lighting. It did, however, look clean and tidy, and the only two staff he could see – a young girl working behind the counter and another, slightly older woman, clearing tables – were smartly turned out in their matching gingham uniform dresses and little white hats. There were only a handful of customers in the place.

  The woman clearing tables looked up and smiled. She sported an abundant mass of blonde curls, somehow cajoled into a protesting pony tail behind the neat little hat she wore.

  ‘Take a seat sir … I’ll be right with you.’

  He chose a seat by the window and waited for her to come and take his order. She was with him in less than a minute.

  ‘Hi there - welcome to Marco’s. I’m Tanya … I’ll be your server today. What can I get you?’

  ‘Just a black coffee for now,’ he replied. ‘I’m waiting to meet someone.’

  ‘Sure,’ she said. ‘Let me know if you need something else when your friend arrives.’ She flashed him a warm smile before disappearing.

  While he waited for the server to bring his coffee, he looked across the street, where he could see right into the salon.

  There were three girls working, two of them busy with customers, but the third – whom he instantly recognised as Mandy, in spite of the distance across the wide street – had evidently finished with her last customer before lunch. She slipped out of her overall and hung it on a coat stand, before pulling from her hair the band which secured her ponytail. She stood in front of the mirror and spent a minute or so brushing her hair before tilting her head from side to side, checking that she was satisfied with the result. She reached for her purse which was hanging on the coat stand and withdrew a small bottle of perfume, misting a short burst to either side of her neck. She replaced the perfume in her purse and slung it over her shoulder. Checking herself once more in the mirror, she seemed to say something to the other two girls working there before heading for the door.

  ‘Here you go, sir … enjoy.’

  He looked up as the server set down the steaming cup ‘Thanks, Tanya.’

  ‘You’re welcome,’ she cooed, smiling broadly, before turning away.

  When he looked out of the window once more, he could see that Mandy was waiting at a crosswalk around thirty yards down the street from the salon. As the lights changed and she crossed the street, he watched her every step; her gait was elegant without being exaggerated. She wore a pale blue, knee-length dress, cut high at the neck: modest, but closely tailored so as to complement her slim, shapely figure.

  Mark had not taken a single sip of his coffee by the time she stepped through the door of the diner.

  He stood up and gave a little wave; her face registered recognition before breaking into a warm smile. She came over to his table, unslinging her purse from her shoulder and pushing it along the fixed bench seat opposite Mark, before slotting her slim frame effortlessly in after it.

  ‘Thanks for agreeing to see me at such short notice,’ said Mark, catching a faint waft of her perfume: much subtler than the overpowering scent which her friend, Mary-Jane, had worn the other day. She wore slightly more makeup than when he had first met her, but nothing over-the-top: just enough to enhance her natural beauty.

  ‘Oh, it’s nothing,’ she replied, brushing away a stray tendril of hair from her face. ‘I just want to help as much as possible. Like I said on the phone I—’

  ‘Oh, hi Mandy.’ The blonde server had arrived; she looked back and forth between the two of them. ‘You never told me you were seeing a new guy.’ She gave Mark an appraising look, up and down. He had seen this look many times, from many different women. She clearly approved.

  ‘Tanya … it’s nothing like that at all,’ protested Mandy. ‘This is Detective Bowman of the NYPD. I’m just trying to help him with a case he’s working on.’

  The server looked at Mark. ‘Wow! A real-life detective … in my little diner. What’s going on then?’

  Mandy shot her a look which clearly spoke louder than words.

  ‘OK,’ said the woman, ‘I guess this is top secret stuff or something.’

  ‘Sorry ma’am,’ said Mark, smiling, ‘I’m afraid it is privileged information.’

  ‘Sure … I understand. I guess I’d better leave you two alone then, to talk your important talk. Want something to eat?’

  ‘Just a coffee for now,’ said Mandy, shooing Tanya away with a waft of her hand.

  When they were alone once again, Mark smiled. ‘I guess you’re a regular here then.’

  She laughed: a soft, gentle peal which, somehow, matched her lovely smile. ‘Well it didn’t really take a detective to work that out, did it?’

  ‘I guess not,’ he replied, also laughing now. ‘So, you were saying …?’

  ‘Well … as I mentioned on the phone, I’ve been going over everything I can remember and—’

  The server turned up with Mandy’s coffee, ‘There you go, babe … anything else I can get you?’

  Mandy stared a volley of daggers at her; Tanya took the hint.

  ‘Guess I’ll leave you to it then. Just let me know if you need anything.’ With that, she turned away.

  ‘You guys friends then?’ asked Mark.

  ‘Sort of … I come in here for lunch most days, so we’ve got to know each other pretty well. She’s a nosey bitch, but I love her.’ Once again, she gave that appealing laugh.

  ‘So,’ said Mark, finally taking a first sip of his coffee, which was now starting to cool, ‘what was it that you wanted to tell me?’

  ‘Well,’ she began, ‘you remember I said that this woman was carrying a lot of cash with her?’

  ‘Uh huh.’

  ‘Well, I remember her saying that she had left all her credit cards at her hotel.’

  Mark’s interest quickened; this could be a vital piece of information. He had already ascertained that the address she had given to the New York Times was false, but if she was, indeed, staying in a hotel it gave him two new leads: firstly, she was not a native New Yorker, but only staying temporarily; and secondly, he could start looking into New York hotels. There were, however, hundreds – maybe even thousands – of hotels in New York City. To check them all out could take a very long time.

  ‘I don’t suppose she mentioned which hotel?’

  ‘No, but I do remember that when I offered to call her a cab, she said she didn’t need one because she was going to walk, so I guess her hotel couldn’t have been that far.’

  His heart jumped; this was really useful. He could probably narrow the search to hotels within, say, a one-mile radius.

  ‘That’s incredibly helpful. It means that her hotel was probably quite close to the salon.’

  ‘Pleased to help,’ she said, smiling. ‘Oh, and something else …’

  ‘Uh huh?’

  ‘She was having trouble with her feet.’

  ‘Her feet?’

  ‘Yeah, she was wearing pretty high heels, and her feet were sore. She kicked off her shoes while I was doing her hair and I remember that she kind of winced
when she had to put them back on.’

  Mark suddenly realised where she was going with this. ‘And yet she didn’t want to take a cab …’

  ‘Right, so I’d say the hotel would have to be very close to the salon.’

  Mark mentally narrowed the search radius to half a mile maximum. ‘I can’t tell you how useful your evidence has been, Miss Jackson.’

  She smiled again. ‘Can you just call me Mandy? Calling me “Miss Jackson” makes me feel kind of uncomfortable.’

  ‘I will,’ he said. ‘Thank you ... Mandy.’

  Mark suddenly realised he was very hungry; he had skipped breakfast that day to make an early start. ‘Did you say you usually have lunch here?’

  ‘Yes’ – she checked her watch – ‘I’ve still got time to grab a bite before I have to get back to work.’

  ‘Well I haven’t eaten either, so how about I join you for lunch?’

  ‘Well yes … if you have time, I’d like that.’

  Chapter 31

  James, Kyle, and Juanita were debating what to do with the potentially explosive information they had just unearthed.

  ‘Maybe now’s the time to give an anonymous tip-off to the police, and then get the hell out of New York City,’ ventured James. ‘Juanita’s already put herself at considerable risk to get hold of this information … the police may be looking for her already.’

  The three of them fell silent as this suggestion hung in the air.

  After a few seconds, Kyle pursed his lips, giving a slight shake of his head. ‘Do you really think the cops would take any notice of an anonymous call with no evidence to back it up? I mean even we don’t know that there’s actually some sort of attack planned. All we have are two names and two dates. We have no idea who these two guys are, and we can’t even be sure that the dates refer to the G7 summit. Hell, they could be two innocent guys planning a barbeque for all we really know.’

  Juanita didn’t buy it. ‘Come on Kyle … you don’t really believe that, do you?’

  ‘No,’ he admitted, ‘but I’m just trying to put myself in the cops’ shoes.’

  ‘OK, so why did Julia Turner think it was important enough to investigate? Why did her co-workers think she’d stumbled across something big? Why was she murdered, for Christ’s sake?’ Juanita let out a deep sigh of frustration.

  Kyle raised both hands, palms-outwards, in a defensive gesture. ‘Look, I’m with you on this; I’m just trying to think how the cops might view it. We can’t say for sure what the journalist was investigating … beyond the possible employment of some illegals by this building company.’

  Juanita jumped to her feet, spreading her hands wide. ‘But there’s no way that—’

  James interrupted her; his voice holding an air of resignation. ‘He’s right Juanita.’

  She looked at him in disbelief. ‘But, a moment ago, you were all for contacting the police. Don’t tell me that you’ve suddenly decided that we’re not onto something sinister here.’

  He shook his head. ‘It’s not that … I’d lay bets that there is something being planned, but Kyle’s right about the likely police reaction. First off, we don’t have any real evidence to back up our suspicions and—’

  ‘Suspicions? You just admitted that all three of us are convinced.’

  ‘But however much we’re convinced – and I agree, we are – they are, if you look at it dispassionately, just suspicions.’

  Juanita shook her head in frustration, blowing air through pursed lips. However much she loved James, he could be absolutely infuriating when he went all logical and objective on her like this. Every fibre in her body screamed that this was a time to go with her instincts. Before she could frame her reply, James had resumed his irritatingly logical analysis.

  ‘Look at it from the cops’ point of view: they get anonymous calls all the time, and they’re always likely to be suspicious of anyone who won’t come and talk to them openly. Their first instinct would most likely be to dismiss our approach as a crank call. Then, when we won’t identify ourselves or offer any evidence to back up our suspicions, it’ll only strengthen that view. Add to that the fact that Camp David is probably about the most secure venue that could possibly have been chosen for this summit, and I don’t think they’d take us seriously.’

  Juanita had lost the will to argue … and, annoyingly, she had to admit that he could be right. She looked up at him, enquiringly. ‘So, what do we do then?’

  He came over to her and placed his hands on her shoulders, looking directly into her eyes. The moment he did so, she could tell by the firm set of his jaw – an expression she knew so well – that he was hatching a plan.

  ‘I’m not saying we give up: we’ve come way too far for that. But we have to find some more convincing evidence … something that the police will find hard to ignore.’

  Kyle, who had remained silent during the rather fractious exchange between James and Juanita spoke up. ‘I agree, but … well, what do you have in mind?’

  ‘We need to get inside that building company: find out just who these two guys are. Then we stand a chance of finding out what the hell they are up to and getting hold of something that will convince the cops.’

  Juanita’s spirits immediately lifted. This was the James she loved: the determined, driven James. Her annoyance with the other James – the logical, analytical, clinical James – evaporated.

  ‘Yes,’ she breathed, ‘let’s do it.’

  James gave a reassuring smile as he stepped away from her. ‘We need to come up with a plan as to how we get in there.’

  ‘And what we’re looking for when we do get in there,’ added Kyle.

  ‘Well,’ suggested James, ‘a good start would be to find out whether these two guys work for the company, or if they’re connected with it in some other way. Once we know who they are, we can try and figure out a way to find out what – if anything – they’re planning.’

  There it was again – ‘if anything’; he just couldn’t help himself; logical James had resurfaced for the moment. Juanita let it pass; at least, now, they were on the road to some sort of action plan.

  ‘OK,’ said Kyle, ‘so let’s get to it and try to figure out how we get in there.’

  Juanita’s mind immediately leapt back to the way she’d successfully inveigled her way into the New York Times office. ‘Maybe,’ she began, ‘I could—’

  James cut her off. ‘Whoa! Stop right there. You’ve already done more than enough and taken way too many risks. Like I said, the cops may already be looking for you. This time it’s down to me.’

  ‘But this company’s nothing to do with the pathology lab; even if they are looking for me, there’s no reason on earth why they should be looking there.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ insisted James, ‘it’s still too risky.’

  ‘But don’t forget,’ interjected Juanita, ‘if they are looking for me, they’ll be looking for someone with long, dark hair. You said yourself that the new hairdo has completely changed my appearance.’

  His stern expression melted. ‘Oh, Juanita, I know you just want to get to the bottom of this, and I love your commitment, but it’s just too risky. The cops are not stupid; your change of hairstyle certainly helps, but they’ll be well aware that you could have changed your appearance. You can’t rely on just a change of hairstyle to keep you safe.’

  She knew, deep down, that he was right. ‘So, what then?’

  He smiled. ‘I have an idea … but I’ll need Kyle’s help.’

  Chapter 32

  Mark sat at his desk, his head swirling with conflicting thoughts. He was energised by the new information that the hairdresser, Mandy, had provided, and he was now intent on narrowing down to the hotel at which his elusive quarry might be staying. Once again, the image of Mandy’s engaging smile flashed through his mind, but he thrust it aside: the sense of guilt at even thinking about any woman other than Julia preyed on his mind, and in any case, he needed to stay focused.

 
But he had another concern: he was worried about the possibility of Don Lister getting to Julia’s killer before he did. Don wasn’t the sharpest of detectives, but he had the advantage of access to the full resources of the NYPD in relation to this case, while Mark had to work under the radar. He now knew that Don had seized all of Julia’s papers and computer files from the New York Times office. Even though Don was too dim to have realised that her killer had been right under his nose, he now had access to information which might possibly explain why she had been murdered. That might just provide some clues about who had murdered her. Could that give him an edge in getting to the killer first?

  Up until this point, Mark had always had an unshakeable belief in the rule of law, and the American justice system. Not this time though: he wanted to be the first to get to Julia’s killer so that he could administer his own brand of justice. What that might mean for his job, his liberty, or his life, were considerations he just couldn’t yet confront: he just wanted to make the murdering bitch pay for what she had done. His resolve was further strengthened when he put his hand in his pocket and fingered the small gift box containing the ring: the ring which he had never been able to offer to the love of his life, and which he now carried with him at all times.

  He decided to wander over and have a word with Don Lister to try to find out how his investigation was going.

  ***

  Some hours later that day, Mark and Don sat opposite one another in The Outpost, a middle-of-the road kind of bar, several blocks away from the vibrant hub of Times Square. The bar was crowded and dimly lit; the clientele were almost exclusively men, mostly in huddles of two or three, furtively discussing who knows what deeds and deals. Mark doubted that they realised two detectives were in their midst.

  Mark and Don were not in the habit of socialising outside work, but when Mark had suggested they meet over a beer to discuss the case, Don seemed more than willing to do so. He had seemed genuinely moved by Mark’s loss, and perhaps even appreciated the opportunity to share with him what progress – or otherwise – he had made.