by Mary Burton
Rick noticed the cane to the man’s right. “She was killed. We think over the weekend.”
“My God.” The words rushed out breathlessly. “How?”
Jake ignored the question. “When was the last time you saw her?”
“Last Thursday.”
“Did you notice anything different about her?”
“She was distracted. She wasn’t concentrating on her work. Are you sure you haven’t made a mistake?”
“Very. Why was she distracted?”
“I can’t say. But I can tell you she was acting like a silly girl. Very unlike her. She’s very sensible. That’s what I always appreciated about Elisa. She was no-nonsense. She did her work. And on Thursday in walked a flighty girl. I knew she had met a boy. It’s always a boy.”
“Did she say anything about this boy?”
“Not to me, but I heard her in the hallway talking to someone on her phone.” He shook his head and his gaze drifted as if his thoughts had been tugged away.
“Professor, did you hear what she was saying to this person while she was on the phone?”
Professor Robbins blinked and met Jake’s gaze. “She was talking about playing a game. She said she wasn’t any good at games but that she would try.”
“What kind of game?”
“I don’t know. A lot of the kids in this department are big gamers.” He frowned. “But I don’t think it was that kind of game. Her voice got soft and low, but I think it had to do with sex.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Elisa is, was a smart woman. She works hard and most boys her age don’t appreciate that. One finally looks at her and it’s inevitable that she would be flattered. I told her to be careful before and she would always laugh and tell me not to worry. But I knew it was a matter of time. She is—was too trusting.”
Copies of her cell phone records should be on Jake’s desk later today. “That’s the last time you saw her?”
Old eyes narrowed. “They were going to meet, but I don’t know where.”
“Percy Warner Park?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did she mention a name?”
“If she did, I didn’t catch it.” Heavy gray brows slumped.
“There’s nothing else you can remember?”
“No. No. I’m sorry.”
Frustrations like this were part of the process. Most interviews gave him bits and pieces of the truth that he had to string together like beads on a necklace. He dug his card from his breast pocket and handed it to the old man. “Thank you.”
The old man studied the card. “You never told me how she died.”
“She was strangled.”
His face creased. “Who would do such a thing?”
“That’s what we’re trying to find out.”
“Her parents travel a great deal. They like to go off the grid in the wilderness. They’re often gone for weeks at a time.”
“We’ve spoken to them.”
He moved out from behind his desk and motioned for Jake to follow. The old man walked down the hallway, his posture bent but his gaze burning with purpose. He stopped at an office door at the end of the hallway and opened the door without knocking. A young man glanced up from a computer screen, his look of annoyance fading with he saw Dr. Robbins. “Yes, sir.”
Faded jeans hugged a lean waist and long legs. A Titans T-shirt stretched tightly across his chest. Dark hair skimmed wide shoulders. He was a good-looking guy, much like the man described by the clerk at Blue Note Java.
“This is Detective Jake Bishop. Detective, this is Ray Downs. He’s my teaching assistant. He and Elisa were good friends.” The old man glanced at the younger. “Elisa Spence was killed this past weekend.”
Ray shifted his stance and moved out from behind his desk. “I heard this morning. I was camping for a couple of days and was out of touch with the news until a few hours ago.”
“Why didn’t you tell me when you arrived this morning?” Dr. Robbins demanded.
“You had a Do-Not-Disturb on your door, sir. The last time I knocked when the sign was up you threatened to fire me.”
The old man rested a gnarled fist on his hip. “Not for news like this.”
The young man’s face flushed with frustration. “I knew you’d be out sooner than later. I was planning to tell you.”
Dr. Robbins waved a wrinkled, bent hand in the air as if shooing his words like a pesky fly. “Tell the detective all you know about Elisa.”
The younger man slid a hand into his pocket, his gaze flickering between Jake and the floor. “She was nice. A sweet girl. Always wanted others to be happy. I hear she was strangled. Is that true?”
“Yes.” Jake flipped to a new page in his notebook. After gathering Ray’s contact information, he asked, “Was she dating anyone?”
“No. Elisa was all about her work. She was putting the finishing touches on her senior thesis.”
Dr. Robbins shook his head. “I heard her talking to someone on the phone. Her voice sounded all girlie and soft. Who was that? You seem to know everything that goes on here.”
Ray shifted his stance. “She wasn’t dating anyone, but she did meet a guy a week or two ago that she said was hot. I thought she was making it up. I couldn’t see her with a hot guy.” He glanced at the professor to gauge his reaction. “She was hoping to hook up with him.”
The professor shook his head, regret chasing his words as he whispered, “Such a foolish girl.”
“What do you know about the guy?” Jake asked.
“From what she said, he just arrived in town. Said he wanted to make music.” Ray shook his head. “Everyone wants to make music in this town, and I laughed when she told me. I half expected her to laugh with me but she didn’t. She said he was really talented. She heard him sing and play the guitar.”
“Where was this?” Jake asked.
“She met him at the café, but went to hear him sing on Broadway. You know how singers just find a spot and start singing for tips. That’s what this guy was doing. Playing for tips when she met him. She thought he was amazing.”
“Do you know anything else about this guy?” Jake pressed.
“I snapped a photo of the two of them when I was at the coffee shop.” He reached in his back pocket and fished out his phone. Scrolling through several pictures, he handed the phone to Jake. “She asked me to because she was kinda proud of his attention.”
The image featured a smiling young girl standing next to a tall guy with long dark hair. A black beard covered the lower half of his face and dark sunglasses shielded his eyes. He wore a plain dark T-shirt and his left ear was pierced at least twice.
“Can you send me this photo?”
“Yeah, sure.” Ray took the phone and as Jake rattled off his phone number, the younger man typed the numbers into his phone. A whooshing sound rushed between them as Ray tucked the phone in his back pocket.
“This guy got a name?” Jake asked as he checked his phone for the image.
“Scott. But I didn’t catch a last name. I can tell you I didn’t like the guy. He was nice to Elisa, but she was also paying his tab at the coffee shop. She had a big heart, and he picked right up on it. Did he kill her?”
“We don’t know. I’m chasing as many leads as I can.”
“What about DNA and stuff? Don’t you have DNA? I thought that kind of thing caught bad guys.”
“Not quite the magic bullet everyone thinks it is.”
“I thought when you had a match that was it.”
“Some tests are dead-on matches but enough results land in the gray zone between yes and no. We’ve processed the scene, but it will take time to get the DNA back.”
“What about fingerprints?” Professor Robbins asked.
“We’re analyzing everything as we get it.”
“Shit,” Ray said. “I thought you guys had all this equipment to catch the bad guys. What the hell?”
Jake smiled, unwilling to explain that interv
iews cracked cases faster than forensic testing. “We’re working on it. Do you know if this guy was staying around here?”
“I don’t know. I was hoping to catch up with Elisa today and ask her. I looked for her this morning and then heard the news.”
Professor Robbins raised a hand. “She had a small cubby space if you’d like to look at it.”
“I would.”
“Ray, show him to the study cubbies.”
“Sure, professor.”
Jake and Ray left Professor Robbins standing in the hallway staring after them as they made their way to the elevators. Ray punched the bottom floor button and soon the two were in a windowless section of the building. Crowded in the corner was a collection of cubbies. Ray took him to Elisa’s space.
Books neatly stacked lined the back of the cubicle. There were pictures of a smiling Elisa with her roommate as well as two older people whom he recognized as her parents. In one image, grand mountains reached up to a dark cloudy sky. Also on the table were neatly sharpened pencils, a pack of gum, a clean red coffee cup, and a pack of matches and notepad both from the Palmer Motel.
“Did she smoke?” Jake asked. Dr. Heller had said her lungs were clean.
“No.”
Jake flipped open the matches. The inside flap was blank with some missing matches. But on the notepad he noticed indentation from writing made on the previous page now missing. He picked up one of the pencils and shadowed over the blank page of the notepad. The pencil darkened the page while highlighting words indented from the last page. The name Scott, circled several times, appeared along with “Palmer Motel.”
“Damn,” Ray said.
“Not high-tech forensic work, but effective. She say anything else about this guy?”
The kid glanced back to make sure Dr. Robbins wasn’t close. “She said the guy was into kinky stuff.”
“Kinky stuff?”
“They’d not tried anything yet, but she said it all sounded exciting. I’ve never seen her so giddy.”
“What did he suggest they do?”
“He was into strangulation.”
“And you didn’t think to call the cops about that?”
His gaze dropped before meeting his again. “I thought about it. Wanted to, but just wasn’t sure how to go about it.”
Jake allowed the flash of anger to chill before he held up his phone. “Not only takes pictures but it makes phone calls.”
* * *
The sun had burned off the morning chill when Jake arrived at the Palmer Motel. It was a seedy one-story motel with two dozen rooms strung together like a collection of little boxes. He parked in front of the office, which wasn’t more than a cinderblock box outfitted with a counter and a cigarette and soda machines. The young guy standing behind the counter was of medium build with short dark hair and a neatly trimmed mustache. His shirt was clean and starched and his jeans looked new.
Before Jake could pull his badge, the counter guy asked, “Cop, right?”
Jake nodded. “That’s right. And you are?”
“Barry McGraw. Day manager. I’m in school and working here lets me study while I get paid. Not much happens. Mostly, I make sure no one rips off cigarettes or sodas.”
Jake fished the matches out of his pocket. “Barry, I found these matches at a crime scene. Trying to link them to a suspect.”
Barry’s eyes widened. “Sure. Who are you looking for?”
He unfolded the sketch Jenna had drawn. “Seen this guy around?”
“Sure. That’s Scott Murphy. Room 18.”
“He’s there now?”
“I haven’t seen him since I started my shift a few hours ago. But I can open his room for you if you like. Boss always said if the cops show, give ’em what they want.”
“Let’s have a look.”
Key in hand, Barry led Jake to the room, but as he readied to knock, Jake shook his head. “Give me the key. You step back.”
“Yeah, sure. Right. What if he’s waiting for you, right?”
“Exactly.” Jake knocked hard on the door, careful to stand just off to the side, his hand on his gun. When he heard nothing, he banged again. “Mr. Murphy, this is Detective Jake Bishop with the Nashville Police Department.”
The manager stood to the right of the detective, hovering close to the wall. “Like I said, I haven’t seen him come back yet.”
Jake always entered a room assuming a loaded gun waited for him on the other side of the door. “Are there any other windows or doors connected to the room?”
“None. Just cinderblock walls.” Barry glanced around as if he expected trouble. “You gonna go in there?”
Jake reached for his cell and dialed. “As soon as backup arrives.”
“Right. Makes sense. He could have a gun.”
“Would you do me a favor and return to your office and wait for the police to arrive? Safer that way.”
Barry shoved out a breath. “Yeah, sure. But can I watch from my office window?”
“I’d get behind the counter.”
“Right.” Barry hesitated, then catching Jake’s gaze, tugged the edge of his shirt over his belly, turned and walked back to his office.
Within seconds, a patrol car pulled up in front of the door, lights flashing. The officer, tall, lean, and very young, reminded Jake of himself when he had first moved to Nashville. He’d been twenty-eight when he opted to give Nashville a chance. Had he looked that young?
The officer got out, and with a nod to Jake, moved to the other side of the door. A second patrol car arrived and took position at the curb.
Carefully, Jake unlocked the door and pushed it open, still angled to the side. When he heard nothing, he flipped on the light and glanced to the left. Seeing nothing, he allowed his gaze to sweep above him and then immediately behind the door. Momentarily satisfied, he moved toward the bed, and while the officer covered him, he glanced underneath the mattress.
“Clear,” he said. The officer moved past him to the bathroom and announced it, too, was clear.
The officer did a second sweep of the room before moving back toward the threshold. Jake thanked him and slowly holstered his weapon. He pulled on latex gloves as he stood in the center of the room. The thick stale air closed in around him. On a dresser next to the television stood a stack of pizza boxes and an ashtray filled with cigarette butts. Rumpled sheets clumped in the middle of the double bed and on the nightstand sat a half bottle of whiskey and several scattered unopened condoms.
An old guitar covered with stickers leaned against the wall. Hard to live in Nashville or hang out with Georgia Morgan and not learn something about guitars. This one appeared to be a low-end model. Georgia would know more than he, but he guessed the sound wouldn’t have been great. But he doubted Elisa cared about acoustics as long as the player was a good-looking guy who paid attention to her.
A shadow appeared at the door and Jake turned to see Rick. “Heard you called for backup. Find anything?”
“Our man Scott Murphy liked his pizza and booze. He fancied himself some kind of musician. It’s been a few hours since the manager has seen him.”
“There was a brief mention of a person of interest in this case on the midday news. Media used Jenna’s sketch,” he said. “Our guy could have heard something and bolted.”
“Or he’s out hunting again. He left his guitar behind. That’s what caught Elisa’s imagination.”
“Maybe he has a few lures he uses to catch a girl’s attention.”
“Maybe.”
Jake rested his hands on his hips, his elbow brushing his gun holster, before moving toward a closet filled with a pile of dirty clothes. He rummaged under the clothes and found a worn black backpack. Carefully, he lifted it so that Rick could get a good look.
“Elisa Spence’s backpack?”
Jake unzipped the bag and pulled out a laptop covered in flower stickers and a single shoe that matched the one found on Elisa’s body. He opened the computer and powered it up. He selec
ted a word document and the first he opened had Elisa Spence’s name at the top. “Call in the forensic team and have them sweep the room. Maybe we’ll get lucky and pull prints off something.” DNA would be collected and tested, but like he said earlier, getting DNA results would take too long for him. Scott Murphy, or whoever the hell he was, could be long gone before they had solid results. Boots on the ground would catch this monster.
He found several rumpled receipts on the floor. One was for burgers. Another was from a drug store where he bought bandages, antibiotic ointment, and candy. The last for rope from a hardware store. “We need to check each store and see if they had surveillance cameras rolling at the time of his purchase.” He’d learned firsthand after knocking on shop doors for surveillance footage that many stores didn’t have cameras. And if there was a camera in place, there was no guarantee it was hooked up. These days, with the economy tightening, expenses got cut, and that included surveillance cameras.
* * *
Jake arrived at the downtown offices of Walter, Owen & Davis, a Nashville law firm that specialized in entertainment law. He had traced Tim Taylor, Mike’s best friend at St. Vincent, to this firm where he worked as a law clerk while attending law school at Vanderbilt.
He stepped out of the sleek elevator and approached the receptionist, a slim petite blonde with green eyes the color of emeralds. She wore a blue silk blouse and a black pencil skirt. A strand of pearls dangled around her neck. She was as sleek as the office.
She smiled up at him. “Can I help you?”
“I called earlier. I’m Jake Bishop with Nashville Homicide. I’m here to see Tim Taylor.”
“Right. Tim. Let me buzz him.” Manicured hands picked up the phone and she pressed several numbers before an extension buzzed. “Detective Bishop. Of course.” She hung up. “He’ll be right out.”
“Thank you.”
She rose, running her hands over her narrow hips.
“I’m Alexandra Jones. Call me Alexandra.”
He nodded.
“I’ve been trying to guess why homicide would want to talk to Tim. He’s about the most mild-mannered guy you’d ever want to know.” Her smile widened. “But isn’t that what they say about all the serial killers?”