Homicide for the Holidays

by Speed City Indiana Sisters in Crime

  “Where did he work,” Drake said and waited for an answer. “Bingo! Thanks.” He hung up the phone.

  “Where?” Barrie asked.

  “The mall. Castleton had just closed for the night. The victim, Charles Livingston, was the mall Santa,” Drake said. “Now we have two dead Santas and the attempted murder of a third. Can’t be a coincidence.”

  Drake got up. “I’m going down to the evidence locker to look through Livingston’s belongings.”

  “I’ll go with you,” Boyce said. “Might be something there to help me profile who’s doing this.”

  “Get going,” the captain said to Drake and Boyce. She turned to Barrie, “Detective, I want you to look up everything there is to know about all three of these guys. Cross-check for any connections. Education, employment, military service. Dig until you find something.”

  The evidence locker was in the basement of the building in a caged area. Drake retrieved a box with Livingston’s things and signed for it. He took it over to a nearby counter, opened it and took out the contents.

  Nothing surprising. Wallet, wedding ring, watch, cell phone. Hand sanitizer. Breath mints. Drake flipped through the wallet. ID, credit cards, a library card, a transit pass, $57 in cash, family pictures. And…

  “What’s that?” Boyce asked.

  “Evidence,” Drake said with a smile as he held up a miniature copy of the photograph he saw in the Hernandez house. The picture of the men who graduated from Santa Claus school. He studied the picture closely. “Oh my god. I can’t believe it.”

  “What is it?” Boyce said.

  “Another connection,” Drake said, handing the photo to Boyce as he headed for the door. “Put the stuff in the box and sign it back in. Thanks.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “I got another hunch.”

  “Hey,” Drake said to Barrie as he reached his desk. “You find anything yet?”

  “No,” she said.

  “Well, I found something.” He picked up the phone and dialed.

  “Hello, Mrs. Gibson. This is Drake Curtis from across the street.”

  “Oh yes. Of course,” she said. An embarrassed hesitation followed. “Uh, I’m so sorry, uh, I haven’t thanked you and your wife for all your help and kindness when Henry, uh, passed away. It’s just I’ve been busy. But the bouquet of flowers were beautiful. And the Christmas Toffee Bars your wife brought over were so thoughtful.”

  Drake didn’t want to sound rude but he was in the hurry. “You’re quite welcome but that’s not why I called.”

  “Oh?” she said.

  “I have a couple of questions,” Drake said. “Your husband lost his job earlier this year, right? But I think you said he was working again.”

  “Yes, he worked part-time visiting patients at a couple of hospitals several days a week,” she said.

  “What was his job? What did he do?”

  “He dressed up as…” she started.

  “Santa Claus,” they said together.

  “How’d you know?”

  “I have one more question,” Drake said. “Did he attend a Santa Claus school?”

  “A couple of months ago, yes,” she replied.

  “Thank you very much, Mrs. Gibson. You have our sympathies, of course. And if you ever need anything, please just stop over.”

  Drake hung up but to Barrie, he said, “Now there are four victims. Three dead and one shot at. There could be more. You check the surrounding counties for every homicide in the last three months. See if there are any other Santas. And check again for Hernandez’s car. I bet it’s involved, too.”

  Drake swiveled around in the chair and faced his computer. A few clicks on his keyboard and up popped the website for The Santa Claus School. He scrolled through the site, checking its home page, the links to his history, mission, staff and finally its board. And it was there he discovered a familiar face.

  Joel Kerstman.

  Drake was shocked but recovered quickly. “Barrie, get your coat. Let’s go.”

  Detective Morgan Barrie was out of her chair in an instant. “Where we going?”

  “To my neighbor’s house. To confront the killer.”

  While he wasn’t expecting it, Drake also wasn’t surprised to see a blue, late-model Ford in Kerstman’s driveway.

  “I bet it belongs to Raphael Hernandez and has front-end damage,” Drake said.

  He signaled for two uniformed officers to head around back while he and Barrie approached the front door, which was ajar. They both pulled out their guns. Drake raised his hand and silently counted down from three with his fingers. Then they both entered the house.

  They moved in slowly, searching as they went. Finally, in the kitchen, they found Kerstman in a chair, his hands tied behind his back. He appeared amazingly calm, almost jovial, despite the dire situation he faced. Standing next to the kitchen table, wearing rubber gloves and preparing an injection with a hypodermic needle, was W. Brockman Boyce.

  “Put it down, Brock, and raise your hands. You’re under arrest,” Drake said. “Don’t make me do this.”

  Boyce looked up slowly. He had a faraway look in his eyes. “He has to die. They all have to die. There’s no Santa Claus. He’s pretending there is. Making them pretend. That picture this morning. You helped me find him,” he said, holding the hypodermic needle in a fist in his hand. “There never was a Santa Claus. It’s all a hoax. My parents said so. It’s why I never got anything for Christmas. I have to stop him before he disappoints more children. I have to do this. I have to.”

  He raised his hand to jab Kerstman in the neck just before Drake and Barrie fired.

  It was just before midnight on Christmas Eve and Dana was asleep. Finally. Drake and Shelly were in bed, having finished putting all the gifts under the Christmas tree, which dominated the front window of their living room. They left the tree lights on and the entire room twinkled in red, green, blue and yellow.

  It was wonderful inside and it was made all the more magical because of the falling snow outside. The forecast called for six inches overnight.

  Drake, who checked the door locks before coming to bed, reached over, turned off the light and pulled Shelly into an embrace. “I feel so bad. I really tried to find that doll. It kills me that she’ll wake up in the morning and be disappointed.”

  With Shelly’s head resting on his chest, Drake could feel her warm breath through his pajama top. “She’ll get over it. We all do. You did the best you could.”

  “Mommy, Daddy, wake up. Santa Claus came. Santa Claus came.”

  Dana’s excited announcement stirred both parents awake. Drake rolled to his right and looked at the clock.

  6:08.

  He sat up and stretched his back before standing. His breath tasted like he had eaten dirty gym socks. He grabbed his robe and they headed downstairs. As they reached the living room, Dana came running back, a doll in hand.

  “See, Mommy, see. I got it. Just like I wanted,” the child said excitedly.

  Shelly looked astonished as she took the doll from her daughter. She turned to Drake, “I thought you said you didn’t get…”

  Drake, his mouth wide open, wasn’t paying attention to her. His attention was on the far right side of the Christmas tree, where, propped up against the wall, was a four-foot plastic Santa, exactly like the one he had smashed.

  Zombie-like, Drake walked over to the Santa. A white note card was attached. The handwriting was in gold.

  I thought you could use a new one for your roof. And thanks for the rescue.

  Santa

  Christmas Toffee Bars

  2/3 cup shortening (Crisco)

  2 cups brown sugar

  1 cup white sugar

  2 eggs

  2 cups flour

  1 teaspoon salt

  1 teaspoon baking soda

  1 teaspoon vanilla extract

  1 cup chocolate chips

  1 cup toffee bits

  Red or green piping icing (optional
)

  Preheat the oven to 350°F.

  Cream shortening and sugars. Add eggs one at a time until smooth.

  Sift together flour, salt and soda, then add to the bowl. Add vanilla and mix until just combined. Fold in chocolate chips and toffee bits.

  Spread in a 10-inch lightly greased square pan and bake for 30 to 35 minutes or until golden brown.

  Cool in pan. Cut into bars (1 x 2.5-inch) and pipe “Noel”, “Santa” or family names on each bar using red or green icing.

  — Recipe courtesy of Jane Turner

  Unexpected Gifts

  By Stephen Terrell

  “Oh, baby, baby, baby! ! ! Momma’s gotta pee.”

  Maria Wafford pushed her foot harder on the brake pedal and pulled her knees closer together. She held her breath. If something didn’t move soon, she was going to pee all over the heated white leather seats in her new Mercedes sedan.

  Johnny Mathis came over the seasonal satellite radio channel singing something about marshmallows and Christmas. Maria tried to sing along to get her mind off the intense urge in her bladder, but she couldn’t concentrate enough to follow the words.

  “Hurry up. Please!” The unhearing line of cars creeped forward a car length, then two. Then stopped.

  Maria glanced into her rearview mirror. Her new dress hung from the hook above the window. Piled on the rear seats were nearly a dozen bags from Keystone at the Crossing—Nordstrom, Ann Taylor, Brooks Brothers, Michael Kors, Coach, and her favorite, Tiffany’s. Carter will be so happy with what he bought me for Christmas.

  One of the Nordstrom bags included the three new pairs of shoes she bought because she couldn’t make up her mind which one went best with her new holiday dress.

  Why didn’t I just grab the first pair of shoes? I would be home now. I wouldn’t be sitting here trying not to pee my pants.

  A more urgent pang hit. “Oh, baby, why did I have to try on all those shoes? Why didn’t I go before we left the store?”

  Flashing blue and red lights reflected off the cars in the left lane. The lanes in front of Maria were clear. There was an exit just a short distance ahead. Hope sprang in her that she might make it.

  Maria remembered the fake cover she had on her elementary school English book. “Fifty Steps to the Outhouse, by Willie Makeit, Illustrated by Betty Wont.” She gave a short laugh but stopped when she felt the increased pressure on her bladder.

  The cars in Maria’s lane were moving again, this time no longer creeping. Two minutes later, the right lane expanded into an exit. It wasn’t an exit with which she was familiar, but from the roadside signs, she knew there were at least two gas stations. And bathrooms. Thank Jesus, bathrooms.

  Maria accelerated down the exit, barely slowing to take the right turn at the bottom of the ramp. The neon sign of an off-brand gas station shined bright only a block away. She didn’t even care if the bathroom was clean. She didn’t care if she had to hover. She didn’t even care if she had to use the sink. She just needed someplace to pee.

  A handicapped space was closest to the gas station convenience store entrance. Maria saw the sign but ignored it. There was no time to deal with the car seat in the back. “Baby, momma’s gotta pee. I’ll just be gone a couple of minutes.”

  Maria left the car running to keep it warm and ran, nearly knocking over an elderly man exiting the store with two six packs in his hands.

  “Hey, lady!”

  Maria ignored him. “Bathroom!” she yelled at the young woman behind the counter.

  The clerk rolled her eyes and pointed to a far corner of the store. A sign painted on the wall said “RESTROOMS.” Maria ran, trying hold her legs together and not pee on the floor.

  Kevan Johnson and Cedrick Stone stood behind some bushes in the shadows around the corner of the convenience store. The location gave them a clear view of the parking lot but kept them hidden from customers and any roving patrol cars. For the past hour they had been passing fattys and watching for the right opportunity to boost a car. It was Kevan who saw the gleaming luxury sedan pull into a handicapped spot, and a well-dressed woman get out and run into the store. The car was running.

  Kevan punched Cedrick on the shoulder, then pointed. “Damn man, look what rolled in. That’s an S Class. That’s a hundred large if it’s a dime.”

  Cedrick took a deep drag on the last bit of the joint, then threw the roach under a bush. “I don’t know man. They got all kinds of theft stuff on them. They’ll get us before we can get rid of it.”

  “She ran back toward the bathroom. She didn’t have her purse with her, so I bet she don’t got her phone, neither. We’ll be clear across town before the cops get here. Let’s do it.”

  If they hadn’t split a shoplifted six-pack and shared three fattys, their decision might have been different. But for two seventeen-year-olds, the booze and bud took away any lingering inhibitions.

  The looked at each other. Kevan nodded, and they took off on a run toward the car. They moved with an efficiency honed through a dozen earlier car thefts. Cedrick headed toward the driver’s side, while Kevan ran behind the car. He slipped a magnetic dealer’s plate from under his coat and slapped it over the existing plate. By the time Kevan reached the passenger seat, Cedrick already had the car in reverse and moving. Kevan grabbed the purse off the passenger seat as he slid into place.

  “Go.”

  The car was up the entrance ramp and on the interstate before Maria stepped out of the store.

  “Where’s my car?” Maria said the words out loud. She scanned the lot, looking left, then right. This is where I parked, isn’t it? I put the car in park, didn’t I?

  It took the better part of a minute for the reality to hit her. Her car was gone.

  An instant later, Maria’s world crashed around her. “My baby! Someone took my baby!”

  She reached in her pocket, desperately grabbing for the cell phone that wasn’t there. Panic shot through her like an electrical current. She ran back inside the store. She could barely get the words out through her gasps and sobs.

  “Someone took my car! My baby’s in it. My baby!”

  The clerk stared blankly at Maria.

  “Call the police. Someone took my car and my baby is in it. Call the police.”

  The clerk seemed only to vaguely grasp the gravity of the situation. With no discernable urgency, she walked to the end of the counter, picked up a desk phone and dialed 911.

  Cedrick swung the car up onto the entrance ramp for I-465, trying to put as much distance as possible between them and the gas station. It would take the police at least ten minutes, probably longer, to respond to the 911 call for a stolen car. By that time, they could be halfway across Indianapolis. Maybe further.

  “Jackpot!”

  Cedrick looked over toward Kevan. He was holding up a thick wad of bills.

  “How much?”

  Kevan counted, then recounted. “Damn, there’s more than $800 here. She had five hundies hid away in a side pocket. Plus there’s five, no, six credit cards. There’s a black American Express card, a black Visa card, one from Nordstrom’s. These are top of the line. And we got her driver’s license.”

  “Jackpot is right.”

  “Wait. We got pin numbers. She had ’em on a piece of paper in that side pocket. We are gold, man.”

  Cedrick and Kevan bumped fists and laughed. Cedrick nodded toward the console between them where an iPhone sat plugged into a charger. “Throw that out the window.”

  “We can get some money for that.”

  “They can track those. Get rid of it.”

  Kevan shrugged and grabbed the phone. Cedrick took the Washington Street exit. Kevan lowered his window a few inches and flipped the phone outside. In the mirror, he saw it bounce and shatter on the pavement.

  “Cars like this. Don’t they have trackers, too?”

  Cedrick nodded. “That’s why we’re going right to Tony. He’ll disable whatever they got. Cars like this, he sells them down in Mexico. Th
at’s what I heard. I bet he’ll give us twenty bills for it.”

  “Sweet.” Kevan turned to look at the back seat. “Hey, looks like she just did her Christmas shopping tonight.”

  “Anything in those bags worth having?”

  “There ain’t no Walmart bags here. Nordstrom. Brooks Brothers. Damn, there’s even a Tiffany’s bag. That’s a jewelry store, ain’t it?”

  Kevan pulled the largest bag into the front seat. As he did, he heard a sound.

  Cedrick heard it too.

  It was cooing. It sounded like a baby.

  Kevan moved the bags around revealing a car seat that had been blocked from view. “There’s a baby back here. Oh, damn. There is a baby.”

  “What? You sure.” As soon as he said it, Cedrick realized how stupid the comment was.

  “Of course, I’m sure. I know what a baby is.” Kevan twisted further in his seat to get a better look. Strapped inside the car seat, facing the rear, was a baby wearing a blue hooded winter coat with a blanket wrapped snugly around him. A pair of deep brown eyes looked up at Kevan, then closed in sleep.

  Cedrick turned full around, catching a glimpse of the baby.

  “Watch where you’re going, Ced! You just ran that light.”

  Cedrick drove on for several blocks. When he saw an unlit parking lot in front of a deserted strip center, he pulled in and stopped.

  “What are we gonna do, man?” There was an edge of panic in Kevan’s voice. “Boosting a car is one thing, but taking a baby? They’ll put us away for fifty years.”

  “I’m thinking. I’m thinking.”

  The store clerk called 911. It was fifteen minutes before the IMPD patrol car arrived. Maria was shaking. When she could catch her breath between sobs, she was cursing the police for taking so much time. It took another ten minutes for patrolwoman Karla Houseman to calm Maria enough to get the basics of what had happened.

  Maria provided very little in the way of a description of the car other than it was a new white Mercedes, one of the expensive ones. “S Class or C Class. I never can keep that straight.” Neither she nor the clerk had seen anyone approach the car. It would be up to the detectives to check the store security video.