by Graham Smith
7
I knock on Alfonse’s door with mounting impatience. Just because I am a half hour early doesn’t mean he shouldn’t be ready to let me in. Given the first chance I get, I plan to steal his keys and get myself copies.
When he finally deigns to open the door, he is wrapped in a towel, his hair still wet from the shower.
‘I only got out of the shower because I know you’re enough of an asshole to keep banging on the door until it either breaks or gets answered.’ It’s fair to say Alfonse is not a morning person. ‘Why do you always have to be early?’
I step inside, careful not to slip on one of the wet footprints he’s leaving on the polished floor. ‘Didn’t you get the text I sent last night?’
‘Did I answer it?’
‘I wouldn’t be asking if you had.’
‘Question asked. Question answered.’
I leave Alfonse to get dressed and put my notebook on his kitchen table while I brew some coffee and look for his notes. I don’t find any, which is odd. Of the two of us he is the bigger note taker. Either he’s struck out or hidden his so he can gauge my reaction to his discoveries.
Within five minutes he is sitting opposite me, dressed in his usual attire of combat shorts and polo shirt.
I give him coffee and enough time to read my text then raise an eyebrow at him.
‘Wow! I never saw that coming but it explains a lot.’
‘It does?’
‘Yeah. I ran into a complete brick wall with her iPad and cell last night.’ Defeat shows on his face. I know he’s never before failed to get answers from a digital source, so I soften my expression. ‘She was on Twitter, but rarely used it. Her Facebook account has all the usual selfies and party photos along with mind-numbing posts about what she was having for dinner, where she was having her nails done, and a thousand other waste-of-bytes-worth of drivel.’
‘Anything about a man in her life?’
‘Nada.’ Unlike me, Alfonse fully embraces the American language and its slang forms.
‘Emails? Bank accounts? Apps?’
‘Looked at them all. Nothing untoward or underhand in any of them. Just normal everyday stuff for a girl living off Daddy’s dime.’ He takes a healthy slug of his coffee and grimaces. ‘Her monthly allowance from Daddy would keep you and I for a year, but she didn’t squander it. From what I could gather, she was spending a quarter of it, giving a quarter to some charities and saving the other half.’
‘What about her most recent credit card transactions?’
Alfonse hands me a printout of Kira’s bank and credit card statements. ‘The last ten entries are small beer. Groceries, hair salons and so on. A couple of meals out. Nowhere fancy, the kind of places we take dates.’
‘Were the transactions all here or elsewhere?’
‘Most were local, but there were a couple of things bought online from Amazon and other retailers.’
I stop questioning him while I think about what he’s told me so far. Kira Niemeyer had a privileged life, yet she only spent a quarter of the money she received on herself. That in itself was odd.
There were a number of girls in her position living in Casperton and they all spent money as if it were the last day of the sales. The clothes I’d found in Kira’s master bedroom had all been good quality with decent labels, but looking at her bank statements, I see she could have afforded better.
Yet the clothes in the other bedroom ranged from cheap to top dollar fashion. Some could be bought in a thrift store while others bore the fanciest of labels.
‘You see where her credit card was last used?’
Alfonse nods. ‘Of course.’
‘Do you think it’s him?’
‘I don’t know. Seems too simple to me. Everyone knows what a pervert he is, but I don’t know if he’s capable of killing someone.’
‘Those were my initial thoughts too, but all the same we’d better check him out.’
Alfonse is looking at me in a way that indicates he has more to say so I give him a nod.
‘She has secrets, Jake. She’s been doing something she’s determined to keep hidden. When I checked the files for her search history there were numerous occasions where I think she’s went InPrivate.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘With most operating systems there’s a way of going online without leaving an obvious trail on your computer or tablet. Husbands use it for looking at porn or emailing their mistresses without their wives being able to find out.’ He drains his coffee with a noisy slurp. ‘I went onto a hacker’s forum last night and tried to find out if there’s a way to get the data.’
‘And?’ I try to keep the impatience from my voice, but if his sour expression is anything to go by I’ve failed.
‘I was pointed to a program which I downloaded. It’s probing at her iPad now. When I looked before getting into the shower, it still had three hours to run.’
‘C’mon. Let’s go and speak with him now. If we’re in luck we’ll beat Farrage and his buddies.’ I reach for my jacket as I rise to my feet. ‘I’ll tell you more about what I found at Kira’s house on the way.’
8
I pull the Mustang into the yard adjacent to Casperton Auto Repairs and we go looking for Lunk.
The last use of Kira’s credit card had been here.
Alfonse leads the way into the garage. Lunk’s feet poke out from underneath an SUV.
I give his boot a gentle kick and wait until he slides out.
‘We need to talk to you.’
He doesn’t bother getting to his feet, he just lies on his back like an oil-soaked slug. Every inch of his overalls is a dull black where oil, grease and dirt have been ground in over countless months and years. The T-shirt underneath the overalls has the same disgusting patina. The unruly curls of hair sprouting from underneath his cap don’t look any cleaner, while his beard resembles second-hand steel wool.
‘Go talk somewhere else, Boulder. This is an auto repair place not a coffee shop.’
‘Get up, Lunk.’ I let a little menace creep into my voice as we don’t have time for his posturing. ‘This is a conversation you’re going to want to have.’
‘Whaddaya mean?’
‘You heard about Kira Niemeyer, right?’
He gives a slight nod before a lascivious look fills his eyes. ‘I have. Shame, she was a pretty little thing. A real animal in the sack.’
I shake my head at his bull. There’s no way Kira would have let this grease monkey lay a finger on her. ‘Really? AD Investigations has been hired to look into her death.’
I let Lunk bluster until he runs out of steam.
‘That’ll interest Lieutenant Farrage and his detective buddies, because sooner or later they’ll get around to checking her credit card statement. We’ve already had a look. Can you have a guess as to where she made her last payment?’
It doesn’t take him long to make the obvious connection. He’s unhygienic, not stupid. As soon as realisation strikes, his whole demeanour shifts.
Fear shrouds his eyes while his shoulders droop. Watching his face, I can almost see the cogs whirring as he works out he might just end up as chief suspect when the police roll up.
For all his lecherous behaviour and bull he is no fool.
‘When was she killed?’
‘We haven’t spoken to the coroner yet but she was found yesterday evening.’ I shrug. ‘He’ll need to establish a time of death and we’ll need to check people’s whereabouts. As will Lieutenant Farrage.’
The wrinkles on his brow deepen. His hands shake as he spreads them wide. ‘I’ve been working my usual hours. You know how late I usually work, Jake. You can vouch for me, can’t you?’
I do know how late he works. His garage is across the street from the Tree and I often see his lights still on when I leave at the end of a night.
That doesn’t mean I can guarantee he is innocent. But it does mean I can stand as a character witness and state with hand on heart that Lunk
can often be found working long after midnight.
It also means I can testify he is a night owl, who is often awake when the night is at its darkest. Perhaps he’ll be safer if he keeps me out of it. If asked in a courtroom about Lunk’s character, my honest answer would do his defence far more harm than good.
He hasn’t been allowed into the Tree since the time he left oil stains on a stool and grubby fingerprints on a barmaid’s ass. This doesn’t stop him hanging around outside so he can ogle the girls and try his sexist lines on them.
I can understand his fear. With no one at home to verify his movements he’ll have no alibi other than being seen to be working. Somewhere deep in his brain he must realise nobody believes a word he says and at best, the girls all think of him as a creep.
We throw questions at him for a while but get nothing incriminating or exonerating. He has no alibi, but then again, he doesn’t seem to have a reason to kill her.
Sure, Kira may have rebuffed his advances with a withering put-down, but I’ve seen him take enough verbal batterings from potential conquests to know he has skin thicker than a rhinoceros.
It all boils down to what the coroner has found. If Kira had been sexually assaulted before she was murdered, Lunk will have a tough time ahead of him.
As we prepare to leave, an unmarked sedan comes to a screeching halt inches from the SUV Lunk has been working on.
The sedan’s doors fly open, disgorging Lieutenant Farrage and one of his detective buddies.
Farrage grabs Lunk, spins him round and slams him face first against the SUV. Handcuffs are snapped onto Lunk’s wrists and a breathless Farrage begins to read him his rights.
‘You got a warrant for his arrest?’
I keep my tone mild, but Farrage is too keyed up to be sensible. Like the imbecile he is, he’d have seen Kira’s spending history and put two and two together. The problem is, he’s not capable of making four. He’d be lucky to make five or three.
‘Butt out, Boulder. This isn’t your business.’
Farrage squares up to me. All posture and no substance, he knows I can kick his ass, but won’t because of the badge on his belt.
At least that’s what he thinks. I know he’ll only push me so far before I snap and hit him. Today wouldn’t be that day though; his incompetence is more amusing than annoying.
Waving a hand in front of my nose as if his breath stinks, I turn to Alfonse. ‘You’re a licensed private detective aren’t you, Mr Devereaux? Did that look like a legally made arrest to you?’
‘Not for a minute. Lieutenant Farrage assaulted the suspect before ascertaining his identity. Then he arrested him without a warrant. A half-drunk law student could get this case thrown out long before it gets anywhere near a courtroom.’
Farrage’s body tenses at Alfonse’s criticism of his professional behaviour. I can see his hands have balled into fists and hope he’ll be stupid enough to throw a punch at Alfonse. That will give me all the justification I need.
However, I recognise the need to calm things down rather than escalate them, so I take a couple of steps to my left, positioning myself at Alfonse’s shoulder.
Getting the message loud and clear, Farrage turns and barks an order at his subordinate. The man possesses enough sense not to get embroiled in the situation and releases Lunk then returns to the car. His silence throughout the exchange is more damning than anything Alfonse or I can say.
Alfonse isn’t finished with Farrage though. ‘I trust you know you have to have your suspect’s name on the warrant when you come to arrest him.’
The scowl from Farrage is a thing of beauty insofar as a twisted expression of hate can be.
It’s a masterful move by Alfonse as Lunk is no more than a nickname, but I’ve never heard of anyone who knows Lunk’s real name. Known only by the nickname, his given name has been lost in the sands of time.
‘Thanks, guys.’ Lunk massages his wrists as he walks us back to the Mustang.
‘If I was you, I’d call my lawyer. It’s only a matter of time before Farrage returns with a warrant.’
9
Our next point of call is the Coroner’s Office. As we drive across town, Alfonse gives me his opinion of Farrage for what must be the hundredth time. Repetition doesn’t make his assessment any kinder.
The Coroner’s Office is located at the east end of town, a half block from the hospital on Route 40. A modern building with a glass and aluminium siding frontage, there is a small car park at the front for grieving relatives and a discreet back entrance for undertakers, ambulances and the coroner’s vans.
We enter the front entrance and speak to the receptionist. Her calm manner and relaxed nature will make her perfect for dealing with distraught families.
‘Doctor Green told me to expect you.’ Her left arm points along a white corridor. ‘Her office is around the corner and second on the left.’
Walking towards the doctor’s office, I marvel at the lack of antiseptic smells. I’d expected to get whiffs of formaldehyde and the strong chemicals used for cleaning; instead I’m getting lavender. Whoever designed the building must have made a deliberate effort to consider the sensibilities of the bereaved.
I knock on the doctor’s door as a technician in scrubs exits from a door encased with rubber seals. A waft of the missing smells emanates from the man until the scented air conditioning regains mastery.
When the door opens I have a split second to get the surprise off my face. Judging by the wide smile on Doctor Emily Green’s face, I’m not sure it’s long enough.
‘Hi, Jake, Alfonse.’
Emily is a regular at the Tree and, although I know she is a doctor, I hadn’t bothered paying enough attention to find out specific details. Alfonse and I had double dated once or twice with her and a friend, but, distracted by my own date, I had done little more than make small talk with her. If memory serves me right, he split with her because she became too clingy.
Hearing Alfonse’s laugh behind me, I know he’s set me up. It is the kind of childish thing we do to each other on a regular basis. Neither of us are looking for a big advantage or prolonged humiliation. Just another mark on the endless scorecard good friends keep.
I hold my hands up in supplication and let them have their moment. Alfonse somehow manages to maintain a friendly relationship with his exes, whereas I either crash and burn or never let them get close enough to be hurt.
‘I got a call from Chief Watson this morning. He told me I’ve to answer your questions.’
At work she is brisk and businesslike, the inane chatter replaced with clipped sentences arrowing to the points she wants to make.
‘That’s nice of him.’ I mean it too. Chief Watson could have paid lip service then ignored me. Instead he’s kept his word and opened up some of the investigation streams. ‘Have you performed Kira Niemeyer’s autopsy yet?’
‘I finished up a half hour ago.’
‘What did you find?’
‘She had seventy-three different knife wounds on her body. All concentrated on her chest and abdomen.’
‘Jesus.’ From the corner of my eye I can see Alfonse crossing himself.
‘How many of them were deep enough to be fatal?’
‘Just one. Whoever killed her pierced her heart to deliver the coup-de-grâce after slashing at her like a madman.’
Alfonse takes over the questioning while I consider the news Emily has just given us.
‘Are you sure the fatal wound occurred last?’
‘Positive.’ Her tone is filled with professional confidence. ‘Although her other wounds would have caused her to bleed to death if left untreated.’
‘Have you any thoughts on the knife used?’
‘The edges of the incisions were rough so my best guess would be the knife used was a typical domestic knife with slight serrations along the cutting edge.’
‘Can you tell if the killer was left or right handed?’
‘Right handed.’ She answers without hesitatio
n, confident in her assessment.
‘What about any sexual activity? Had she been raped or molested?’
Emily consults her notes. ‘There were recent signs of vigorous intercourse although it appears to have taken place two or three days prior to her death.’
Thinking about Kira’s dungeon, I hesitate before asking my next question. ‘Did she have any other marks on her?’
Emily gives me a funny look. ‘She had what looked to be slight rope burns on her ankles and wrists. Just like the vaginal and anal bruising, the marks appeared to be days older than the attack.’
She doesn’t offer anything else. She is following the chief’s dictate to answer our questions without offering anything more.
‘What else should we be asking you?’ Alfonse’s question brings a smile to her face. He’s realised the politics involved and has found a way to get past them which won’t cause her problems.
‘If I was you, I’d be looking at where she died.’
‘Did you examine her where she was found?’
A nod.
‘In your professional opinion, was that where she was killed?’
A shake.
‘So what you’re not saying is that she was killed elsewhere and dumped there.’
‘Exactly.’
Alfonse jumps in again. ‘Is there anything else we should be asking you?’
‘You’ve covered the main points. But there is one thing.’ A thousand-watt smile beams towards Alfonse.
He doesn’t get it, so I get my revenge for his earlier prank sooner than expected. ‘Alfonse was wondering on the way over here if you’re still single. If you are, he said he was going to ask you out to dinner.’ I look at Alfonse who is trying to tell his face to behave. ‘Weren’t you?’
Et tu, Brute.
He nods.
‘Great.’ She hands him a card. ‘I’m free tonight.’
10
After dropping Alfonse at his house to check if the software has finished its task, I go on to my apartment and change into running clothes.