“What are you doing?” Echo exclaimed, wondering at her friend’s bizarre behavior.
“Shhh!” Missy ordered, hanging the upper half of her body out the window and grunting. Echo heard a metallic sound and a loud thunk.
“Get back in here, girl! What are you doing?” Echo whispered, pulling her friend back inside.
“Look,” Missy pointed down at the ground. Echo peered out and saw the shadow of an object on the ground.
“Is that a…?” she whispered, afraid.
“Ladder. Yes, it is,” Missy grimaced. “I’m not crazy, someone had been in my room earlier, and left the window open when they left.”
“But who would do such a thing, and why?” Echo stepped away from the window, dragging her friend with her.
“Maybe it’s Renee Manta. Maybe we’re getting too close to finding out something important,” Missy was wide-eyed.
“But how would she know where to find you?”
“My return address was on the envelope of the birthday invitation.”
**
Paddy returned a few minutes later.
“Whoever it was slipped away somehow. The power cables for outdoor lighting have been cut, and the cameras have been disabled since this afternoon. My suspicion is that whomever was pretending to be the pest control guy cut the cords and disabled the cameras,” he reported.
“Pest control guy? What pest control guy?” Missy frowned.
“I had to go to the auto parts store to pick up a part so that I could fix the shuttle bus, and while I was gone, Maggie said that there was a pest control guy who came and sprayed. She assumed that you had ordered it to be done.”
“I didn’t order that…that’s something that Spencer would take care of, but I doubt that he’d have someone come while he was gone without notifying us. Did she talk to the guy, or get a good look at him?”
“No, he was outside and waved, but all she saw was a bushy mustache, because he had a ball cap pulled down over his eyes.”
“So, we’re absolutely certain that the bug person was male?” Echo asked. “Did Maggie happen to see his hair at all?”
“Not that she mentioned, she was quite a distance away.”
“So, theoretically, the bug person could have been a woman with a pasted on mustache, right?”
“I suppose it’s possible, but why would you suspect that?” Paddy asked, staring at her intently.
Echo and Missy looked at each other.
“If Spencer trusts him, I guess we can,” Missy said, and Echo nodded.
Missy told the Irishman all about her worries regarding Carla going missing, and he listened intently, nodding every now and again, or asking a question to clarify. After he’d heard it all, he thought for a moment, then seemed to come to a decision.
“I’m going to prepare some extra security measures until you find out what happened to your friend. Since nothing was stolen or destroyed, I rather doubt that this was just an opportunistic burglar or vandal. This seems personal, and with as involved as you’ve become in investigating your friend’s whereabouts, it would only be smart to assume that tonight’s events are related. Before I leave the Owner’s Quarters, I’ll make sure that all doors and windows are properly secured. I know it’ll be difficult, but try to get some rest, and be assured, I’ll be keeping a close eye on things.”
“Thank you, Paddy,” Missy replied.
CHAPTER 22
Detective Jim Reubens dreaded these kinds of calls – unknown female, approximately mid-thirties, found in dumpster behind The Gearbox Grill. There was more information – homicide, probable strangulation, medical examiner en route - that made his heart sink a little. Despite decades on the force, the thought of a human life being snuffed out, whether by accident, or at the hands of some psycho, depressed him a bit.
“What do we have here?” he asked the uniformed officer who approached him when he got out of the car.
“Dead female. Looks like strangulation. She’s pretty beat up, and some pretty serious decay has set in,” the officer reported.
“Was there any ID on her?”
“Nope. No ID, no wallet, no purse.”
“Weapon found?”
“Not yet, we’re going to have forensics go through the entire dumpster after she’s moved.”
“Oh, they’ll love that,” Reubens grimaced.
“They chose that line of work,” the officer shrugged.
“Alright, let’s take a look.”
“Here, you might need this,” the cop handed Jim a jar of menthol petroleum jelly, which he accepted, smearing a light coat beneath his nostrils.
The seasoned detective could handle the smell of human remains, but that sickly sweet smell mixed with the pungent aroma of a commercial dumpster might affect his dinner in a way that would be most unpleasant, and he preferred that it stayed put, in his stomach where it belonged.
Jim Reubens switched on his large flashlight and shone it down into the dumpster, seeing a woman who had been so badly battered before being strangled that her hair color couldn’t even be determined, and her features had morphed into a swollen, sticky mess that could barely be identified as being human.
“What’s the ETA for the Medical Examiner?” Jim asked, moving the beam of his flashlight slowly over the corpse to look for clues.
“He should be here anytime now.”
“Who called this in?”
“The manager of The Gearbox. One of his busboys took the trash out to the dumpster and freaked out. Poor kid was so messed up that they had to send him home,” the officer recounted.
“Anybody talk to him?”
“Yeah, I sent some guys over to his house. He’s clean.”
“What about the manager?” Reubens asked, thinking of potential suspects.
“No record, good reputation. Rock solid alibi, no matter when the crime occurred. Apparently this guy pretty much lives here, and when he goes home, he’s got a jealous old lady who doesn’t let him out of her sight,” the officer chuckled.
“Let’s keep an eye on him, and we need to talk to staff members and customers who’ve been around here for the last couple of days. When the M.E. determines the time of death, we’ll be better able to pinpoint who we need to talk to, but in the meantime, get some teams out talking to anyone and everyone who might’ve seen something.”
“You got it,” the officer nodded, striding toward the gaggle of police cars and cops on the scene.
The Medical Examiner’s hearse pulled up, and a pale, rather doughy-looking man got out of the driver’s side, while an attractive young woman exited from the passenger side. The M.E.’s reputation preceded him. Chas, the Mayor, and a bunch of other higher-ups thought that he was the best thing since sliced bread, and, while exceedingly eccentric, the pasty man had been key in solving several homicides in Calgon since he had taken the Medical Examiner position, in addition to owning Memorial Mortuary.
His quick-witted assistant, Fiona McCamish was a young woman from the wrong side of the tracks who used her keen mind to learn everything that she could from her most interesting boss. He’d made her give up her mohawk and piercings before he would agree to hire her, and she’d been performing brilliantly ever since. The M.E. had been relying heavily on her to run the mortuary when he had to perform his duties for the county, and she hadn’t managed to disappoint him.
“You must be Timothy Eckels,” Jim extended his hand, which Tim shook reluctantly. He wasn’t one for touching people.
“Yes,” was his reply, as he stared through coke-bottle thick lenses at the detective.
“I’m Detective Jim Reubens.”
“Where’s Detective Tall-Dark-and-Handsome?” Fiona asked, staring at him, eyes narrowed.
“If you mean Detective Beckett, he’s out of town on personal business,” Jim replied, a bit taken aback by the strange demeanors of the two. One was reticent and anti-social, the other bold as brass, and a bit irreverent – it was an intriguing combination, and one t
hat most likely explained why they worked so well together. Perhaps they balanced each other out.
“Where is the body?” Tim got right to the point. He wasn’t here to socialize, he had a job to do, and interpreting the clues that a lifeless corpse provided had always been a fascination for him.
“Uh, it’s…she’s right over here,” Reubens was nonplussed at the matter-of-fact manner with which this rather ghoulish duo dealt with death.
Fiona took a small tube of menthol jelly out of pocket and smeared some beneath her nose, her boss simply went straight to the body, seemingly unfazed by the smell.
“Whoa,” Fiona breathed, seeing the body. “Somebody got into a bit of a tussle.”
“If you’re done making your astute observations, kindly hand me the camera and hold the light,” Tim instructed mildly.
Fiona made a face at him and reached for the camera and the large flashlight that they used in order to photograph crime scenes.
“When do they empty these trash bins?” Timothy Eckels asked, snapping photo after photo.
Jim gave him a blank look.
“Every Tuesday,” the uniformed officer standing nearby called out.
“She wasn’t killed here,” Tim muttered, mostly to himself.
“What? How do you know that?” Reubens asked.
Tim and Fiona both blinked at him for a moment.
“Because today is Monday, which means the trash is due to be emptied tomorrow. The body is on top of the trash, which means she was just put there recently, otherwise there’d be a heap of trash on top of her. The extent of the decay makes it evident that she did not die yesterday, therefore, she had to have been killed a while ago somewhere else, and moved here today.”
“How long has she been dead?” Jim asked, surprised and impressed.
“I won’t be able to answer that with any precision until I test the bugs,” Tim replied, still taking photos and not looking at the detective.
“Test the bugs?” the detective hated sounding ignorant, but homicide wasn’t normally his gig, so he gave himself a pass, and asked questions anyway.
“Enough time has passed that flies have laid eggs in the victim’s wounds,” Fiona explained, still positioning the light for best photo quality. “Determining the life stage of developing larvae will tell us pretty accurately how long she’s been dead, because those flies are very efficient. When a victim dies, they descend within minutes and lay their eggs,”
“Testing the maggots will tell us how long ago she died,” Jim said, figuring it out.
“Essentially, yes.”
The detective swallowed, nodded, and remembered why he preferred the world of drugs and prostitution to that of figuring out how to catch murderous psychos who leave bodies in dumpsters.
“Well, I’ll leave you to this, then.” Jim looked a bit grey as he left to go talk with the manager of The Gearbox Grill.
“So, what are you thinking?” Fiona asked Tim, once the detective had gone.
“She struggled, and I think she’s been buried before,” he mused.
“What?” Fiona’s eyes widened and she lowered the light in astonishment.
“Look at her ear…see the dark patch inside…I don’t think that’s blood, because it doesn’t seem to have dripped from anywhere, it looks like dirt. Same thing in the corner of her mouth. I can’t take pictures if you don’t position the light properly,” he sighed, pushing his glasses back into place with a forefinger.
“If she was buried, are we still going to be able to determine when she died?” Fiona brought the light back up again.
“Yes. The bugs would’ve gotten in prior to her burial, even if she was buried merely moments after death.”
“Oh gosh,” Fiona turned pale.
“What?” Tim raised his eyebrows at his assistant’s expression of horror.
“What if she was buried before death?” she asked, wide-eyed.
“I’ll be able to tell during the autopsy. Now put that light back up.”
CHAPTER 23
Spencer and Chas had interrogated the pompous and unmotivated Earl of Halsbury, as well as his last remaining servant, Kosta, at length, and were getting nowhere. Either the frivolous fop really wasn’t behind the attempt on Chalmers’ life, or he was a very seasoned liar. Looking at his bloodshot eyes and pale countenance, Spencer doubted that the nearly penniless young royal had the capacity of mind to maintain a steadfast lie. His manservant, on the other hand, while seeming helpful, had the Marine suspicious. Was it possible that he’d acted on his own without the Earl knowing? If that was the case, the Earl could be in danger as well.
Because they hadn’t wanted to put any ideas in the Earl’s head if they weren’t there already, Chas and Spencer had made a point not to directly reference the murder attempt. Chas had just asked Wendell about any contacts that he might have in the US, when a button on Spencer’s watch flashed red. Chas had learned that a red flash always meant trouble, usually of an urgent nature, and apparently the Earl knew it too, based upon his immediate reaction.
“Wait a minute,” Wendell jumped up from his seat, suddenly showing more energy than he had during the entire course of their visit. “Who in blimey are you two?” he demanded, staring at Spencer’s watch while the Marine scrolled through a message. “This meeting is over – you both need to leave the castle now,” he pointed toward the door, trembling slightly.
Kosta stood, looking menacing, but stayed put when Spencer raised an eyebrow at him in warning.
“Fortunately for you, we have other business to attend to,” the Marine stood to his full height, dwarfing everyone in the room. “If you even attempt to contact Reginald Beckett again, I’ll know, and I’ll come back for you,” he said evenly. “Both of you,” he dared Kosta with a look. The swarthy man looked away.
Chas glanced at Spencer, his eyes filled with curiosity, but he immediately rose from his chair and headed for the door, knowing that Spencer would explain once they were in the car, and hoping against hope that nothing bad had happened back home.
“We need to return to New York,” the Marine said, once they’d left the circular drive in front of the castle.
Chas’s heart sank. “Why?”
Spencer’s jaw flexed and a vein pulsed dully on his forehead.
“Janssen has been shot, and Chalmers had a bit of a setback that may have been induced. One of our men was found dead on the property, and we’ve got even bigger trouble than that,” he reported in a low voice.
“Bigger trouble? Like what?” Chas frowned.
“Like my past coming back to haunt me,” the Marine replied, teeth clenched.
**
The Marine awoke slowly, giving no sign that he was awake – that was ingrained after having practiced the tactic for so many years that it was now second nature, like breathing. He assessed his situation; his head throbbed and felt like it had steel bands wrapped around it, squeezing like a vise. The rest of his body seemed to be unharmed, and there was a faint ringing in his ears that made it more difficult to analyze where he was at present.
The smell of antiseptic, raw alcohol, and blood reached his nostrils and he assumed that the relentless pounding in his head might have something to do with the presence of those smells. He heard the low hum of machinery felt the touch of cool, crisp sheets against his skin, and realized that he must be in a hospital, which meant that he’d abandoned his duties. Adrenalin shot through him as he realized that whatever had gotten him to this place may have meant the downfall of Chalmers and the Beckett family.
“Relax, Marine,” a familiar voice drawled nearby. “You might fool a rookie, but I know you’re awake and that you just realized that you’re not where you’re supposed to be. Don’t worry, the old man is safe, no thanks to you.”
Janssen opened his eyes, blinking rapidly to clear the blurriness, but not daring to move his head, and saw Steve Arnold staring at him from a chair in the corner of a very white room. He tried to speak, but his throat was so
dry, that the words didn’t produce more than a barely audible rasp.
“Just keep quiet until we can get some water down you,” Steve ordered, sitting casually, one ankle resting across the opposite knee, hands behind his head.
As if by magic, a male nurse came in with a water bottle that had a flexible straw that he tried to guide into Janssen’s mouth, but the Marine clamped his lips shut, glaring at his former boss.
“Oh relax,” Steve rolled his eyes. “Trust me sunshine, if I wanted you dead, I’d have let the traitor back in New York kill you. Just take a drink so that we can have a conversation.”
At the mention of New York, and the realization that he was no longer there, Janssen’s mind began to race. The nurse tried again to give him water, and again he turned away to glare at Steve.
“Now, I know you don’t want me to come over there, subdue you and pour that down your throat, and you know that I’m just waiting for an excuse to do it, so if I were you, I’d get drinking,” Steve eyes were like steel.
This time, Janssen took a sip of the water, the cool liquid soothing his parched throat.
“You shot me,” were the first words he spoke, leveling an accusing gaze at his former boss.
“No, genius, I shot the guy who was about to shoot you.”
The Marine narrowed his eyes. Steve might be a fast talker, but he’d never known him to lie.
“Who?”
“One of yours, actually,” the smug man smirked.
Janssen blinked at him. Obviously there had been an infiltration at the Estate, Chalmers had been poisoned, Kendall had been killed on the grounds, (if that story was actually true), and Janssen had been shot.
“Where am I hit?”
“The one place that it won’t hurt you much…right in the head,” Steve chuckled nastily.
“If I was shot in the head, I’d be dead,” Janssen raised an eyebrow and immediately regretted it. The simple action sent daggers of pain through his skull, causing him to see stars for a moment.
Marshmallow Creme Killer: Book 7 in The INNcredibly Sweet Series Page 9