by Kira Reese
“I would like to take this diary with me,” I told Jon.
He spread his hands out and shrugged his shoulders. “It’s fine with me. Take whatever you think will help find my sister’s killer.”
The second bedroom was occupied by Jon at this point. A large suitcase was opened on a trunk. He obviously had not unpacked and was literally living out of his suitcase. I asked him if he minded moving the luggage so I could look into the trunk. He did so and I opened it. Layers of soft blankets and extra sheet sets were pulled one by one. There were winter sweaters in flat bags on the bottom. Nothing else showed up, so I rearranged items as I found them. I opened the closet doors. Empty hangers were there waiting for Jon or another guest to hang their clothes there. Beyond that were winter coats and other out-of-season clothing. The hangers were color-coded according to items: dark blue for slacks, green for tops, and so on.
In the cabinets in the bathroom were the usual items of toothpaste, deodorant, and like items. The only thing of possible significance was the diary. The cops held anything else they thought was important to the case. They missed the diary.
Once back in my car I glanced at Jonathan Dubois, who stood in the doorway. I had yet to see signs of grief over his sister’s horrible death.
Chapter 7
Time to Relax
I stopped for a quick lunch before returning to my office. The grilled cheese and chips tasted good and reminded me of my childhood. After school on Fridays, my mother had a grilled cheese sandwich waiting for my sister and me. It somehow became her tradition to do this for us, though I couldn’t recall why. My heart grew heavy thinking of her and Pamela. I shook off memories of the day they were killed in a car accident. My father got the news at his office. He was changed forever. My mother took Pamela to the mall to purchase her dress for the dance at school. Pamela was three years older than me and going to her first formal dance with Pete Switzer. The car that hit them failed to stop at a busy intersection. Pamela was killed instantly. My mother died a few hours later.
My father and I lived together the best way we knew how. His sister Leticia, my favorite aunt, often came and spent time with us. The day of the accident changed my life forever, as well. I grew up before I wanted to. Leticia loved watching crime shows on television, and I joined her. It was a way to separate myself from reality in my young life. My aunt made a point of discussing the shows with me. We soon came up with alternate endings. My love for figuring possible outcomes of crimes became a part of me. I had Leticia to thank for my present career.
I finished my grilled cheese and turned my thoughts back to Janet Dubois. I had to find the person who wanted her dead. All too often there were no real reasons to the ordinary person why someone committed such dastardly deeds. Unless the perpetrator gave their reasons, they often remained a puzzle. My thoughts went to Jon Dubois. Not once did he show sadness as I rummaged through his sister’s belongings. His demeanor was one of detachment. Yet he hired me to find her killer.
When I arrived back at my office, Evelyn handed me a message from Ben. He wanted me to call him when I got back.
“Candy, I just want to give you some information on the latest homicide. The girl was only seventeen and in her last year of high school. Nancy Perkins lived on the wild side, but I suppose all teenagers do at one time or another.” The detective paused and then continued. “Anyway, she was already set for college next year at Vassar. We interviewed her family as well as close friends. One admitted Nancy was a light drug user, but nothing heavy.”
I wondered what he was leading up to. I could read all of this in the paper or online if reporters had this. I was sure they did by now. He wasn’t finished.
“The cause of death was multiple stab wounds and heroin overdose. Her body was placed in the exact manner as Janet Dubois. There is no doubt in my mind it was the same killer. Too many common signs for someone to imitate at this point,” he said. “He or she would have to be exact since there are no differences in manners of death.”
“I have to say I agree from what you are telling me. It looks as if it is the same perpetrator. Do you believe the victims were connected before their deaths?”
“I don’t have anything that tells me that yet, but we are looking hard at that possibility. They came from entirely different backgrounds. Keep me posted if you find anything.”
I told him I would do that. “Did the two victims die from stabbings or heroin? I mean which was cause of death and which was overkill?”
“The heroin in both was enough to kill them. Slashing them with a knife was either an afterthought, or the killer wanted to make sure they were dead.”
The two women were slender and I supposed one high dosage of heroin was enough. I told Ben thanks for the update and we ended the call.
In the meantime, I had to find the stalker that bothered Janet. I leaned back in my chair and rubbed my eyes. The crystal clock on the round table in the corner read three twenty-five. Stepping into the front office, I asked Evelyn if she was very busy. She told me nothing of importance at the moment. “I don’t think we’ll get many calls since it is Friday, but you never know,” she said.
I recalled when Natalie thought no one committed crimes on stormy days or Friday afternoons. I smiled to myself, thinking how she knew better now.
“If anything comes in, the machine will pick up messages. If you want to leave early, it is fine with me. I think I’ll close up in a little while.”
Evelyn thanked me. Her son had baseball that night and she wanted time to relax before driving forty miles to his out-of-town game. I told Natalie the same thing. She was ready to leave, as well.
“I’m going to a party tonight. A good friend is getting married in a couple of weeks and we’re taking her out for a fling before she ties the knot,” she said.
As it turned out, we all left at four and got into our respective cars. I stopped at the nearby deli and picked up dinner for Nick and me. Then I called him to tell him there would be no cooking that night.
“Just don’t bring me any dandelions,” he said.
That was a standing joke. I love dandelions in salads and once bought him the same. He asked what the greens were, and when I told him he said he would rather not dine on weeds. He stated there were reasons that most people poisoned them in springtime. I explained these were organic and not picked from someone’s yard. We had plenty of good laughs over that and he still teased me to this day.
I picked up a gigantic deli sandwich for him and the next size down for me, along with my favorite salad mentioned. I grabbed a couple bags of chips. Tonight would be a laid-back one. Nick had worked as hard as I had all week, and it was time for just the two of us. I resolved not to discuss my cases.
When he got home I was in the kitchen getting things ready to eat. He came up behind me and kissed my neck. Shivers raced through me and I turned for a long kiss.
“Friday nights must be good for us,” he said. The twinkle in his eyes only quickened my pulse as I agreed.
We ate on the patio and talked until the sun sank beneath the horizon. Nick and I had disagreements on issues at times but rarely got into a knock-out argument. In fact, we never had knock-out arguments, just heated discussions at times, in my opinion. This evening was not one of those times. It felt good to have had a productive week. Most of the necessary interviews were finished, though I would do some re-interviewing later.
“We should plan a weekend getaway,” I said. “Where would you like to go? And don’t tell me someplace to fish. You can do that by yourself.”
He gave me a look of mock surprise. “If you took up fishing, you would find it a great way to release tension.” I asked him again about a preference other than a fishing pond. “I suppose we could go up to North Creek sometime,” he said. “A brochure was dropped off at the office today about a festival going on up there three weeks from now.”
We both enjoyed antiquing and festivals. “That sounds good. We should make reservations soon if an
y rooms are still available.”
“I’ll do that tonight. So we are set?” he asked. I told him yes.
After dinner we took a long walk around the neighborhood. Friends called to us to come in and have a glass of wine. We did and ended up in their gazebo where several others were enjoying the evening. We stayed late and crashed when we got home. Reservations for North Creek would have to wait until morning.
Chapter 8
Different Client
The first call I got Monday morning was from Detective Ben Jones. He told me Janet Dubois’s car had been located. When I asked where, he told me it was in a storage locker being stripped down.
“A friend of mine owns storage lockers,” said Ben. “He called me when he heard the blue Focus was missing. When we found it in one of his lockers, there was enough identification in it to know it was the victim’s car.”
“Who rented the locker?” I asked.
“Someone with a fake name. The name on the rental agreement was false, as was the address. I asked Bill if he required proof of identification. He told me not at those lockers,” said Ben. “Apparently, they are rented for short-term reasons by customers, and he isn’t too particular as to who rents them. They aren’t in very good condition.”
Ben told me the car was impounded and they were scanning it for evidence. Once any fingerprints were found, they would go to the lab.
All of this information was good to hear, but right now none of it led me further into the investigation. I turned to the few people Janet Dubois had been acquainted with. Then I drove back to Benny’s Café. I had waited until mid-afternoon since that seemed to be their downtime. This time I went around to the alley behind the café. The odor of cigarette smoke greeted me. The dishwasher leaned against the building; a cigarette dangled from his right hand. Jim straightened up when he saw me.
“Miss McCauley, you startled me.”
I apologized and he smiled. Perfect white teeth were displayed against his dark skin. I realized he was quite handsome. I asked him if he had any other ideas about who may have stalked Janet. His eyes clouded over and he shook his head.
“I wish I did. She seemed to brush it off once we all knew she suspected someone had followed her.” He dropped the cigarette and ground it with his shoe. Then he bent down and picked it up, tossing it into the container next to the back door. “She kept personal stuff to herself. I just don’t have anything to give you.”
I thanked him and went around to the front door. Annie came to the table for two I selected near the window.
“Hello, Miss McCauley. What can I get for you?”
My lunch remained in the refrigerator in my office. I ordered a chicken salad sandwich and iced water with lemon. The diners were sparse and I heard Sheila tell Annie she was going on break. When my sandwich arrived, I asked Annie if she thought of anything that may help in the case. Her eyes misted slightly when she told me she could not think of anything but would let me know.
I ate in silence as she began wiping down tables at the other end of the café. A breeze blew over me when the front door opened. I glanced up to watch a large muscular man sit on one of the six stools at the counter. His back was as broad as any I had ever seen. He hunched his shoulders over with elbows on the counter. Annie smiled at him and asked for his order. It consisted of a double cheeseburger with everything she could find to put on it, or so he said.
“I’ll take your strongest cup of coffee, too,” he said. “Can you add fries to the order?”
Annie told him “right away” and left to put the order into the computer behind the register.
There was something familiar about the large frame. I felt if I could see him sideways, he could very well be the trucker I saw loading the railroad ties down by the alley where the two bodies were found. I finished my sandwich and water. When Annie gave the man his order she asked me if I wanted anything else. I told her a refill on the water. It didn’t take long for the man to scarf down his meal. He left a generous tip on the counter and stood by the register to pay. I left money for my meal on the table then waited for him outside.
“Sir,” I called to him when he finally stepped outside of the diner. His stride was faster than I expected. He turned back toward me. “If you have a minute, I’d like to ask you a question.” I was sure this was the same man or perhaps I wouldn’t have been so bold.
His face matched the rest of his body. His gray eyes questioned me.
“Do you work at a railroad warehouse on the lower east side?”
“I don’t work at the warehouse. I’m a trucker and every couple of weeks my partner and I load items from one and take them wherever they are meant to go. Why do you ask?”
I introduced myself and asked if he had heard of the two murders that took place in the alley next to a warehouse. He shook his head in disbelief.
“I did hear of them when the news got out. It’s a shame things like that happen down there. I always carry a gun with me. I can’t take chances.” He went on to tell me that women like that, meaning the victims, shouldn’t have to live down there. He hinted they were prostitutes. He must not have read the whole article about Nancy Perkins, in particular. I told him the backgrounds of the two women while keeping some details to myself.
“I wondered if you saw a particular man I have in mind. He may have been around at the time of the murders.” I described the scrawny man.
Otis Jackson fought to keep from laughing. “Miss McCauley, that description could fit more than one person down there. You realize there are plenty of homeless people on the lower east side.” When he noted I wasn’t smiling, he grew serious. “I have seen one man in particular on occasion like the one you mention. I’ve heard him called Sleek. I recall seeing him once or twice, but I don’t think he lives down there. Just my opinion since I concentrate on loading the truck more than on people who hover about the streets.”
I handed Otis my card with instructions to call me if he saw the man again. “If you notice anything at all that may help solve these two cases, I would appreciate that.” I gave him one of my best smiles and brushed my auburn hair from my eyes when the wind kicked in. He readily promised he would do that.
I dialed Ben. When he answered I asked him who identified Janet Dubois’s body.
“Since she had a Benny’s Café uniform on, we called there. Marian Lodge came down and identified her. She told us she did not know of any family around.”
I thanked him and hung up. Recalling how devastated Marian and Benny appeared to be, it was a puzzle neither one mentioned she identified the victim. I wondered why Benny wasn’t asked. Maybe he was too distraught. He did seem to be taking it harder than his wife, I thought.
Once back in my office, I googled Marian Lodge. There was a brief depiction about her and Benny’s history with the café. I moved down the page and found someone had written a short bio about Marian. She came from a family with means. They were in the commercial real estate business. When their youngest daughter married Benjamin Lodge, it seemed all ties with her family were cut. Benny Lodge came from a family that owned a bakery that was passed down from his ancestors. His family was content where they stood in life. Marian could not be persuaded by her parents to find someone with more influence in the material world. Other than this information, there was nothing amiss in the lives of the Lodges.
“Candy,” said Evelyn, “there is someone out here who wishes to speak with you.”
Evelyn stuck her head around my door and spoke softly. She did that on occasion rather than use the phone to call me out. I went to the front office. A tall well-dressed young woman stood and accepted my handshake. She introduced herself as Tracy Linden, friend of Nancy Perkins. I invited her into my office. Before I had time to offer her a beverage, she blurted out to me, “I know who killed Nancy.”
I sat down quickly before almost missing the chair. “Who was it?”
“Oliver Mansfield,” she said. Tapered fingers brushed a wisp of something imaginary f
rom the arm of the chair she sat in. “He is the only one who would possibly do that.”
“Have you taken this information to the police?” I asked. “This is not my case.”
“You have the case now,” said Tracy. Slender hands reached deftly into her Kate Spade bag and pulled out cash.
The money looked tempting. The young woman in front of me did not. Anyone who dictated me, especially as to which cases I took on, never set well with me. All right, I admit this was my first experience with this attitude. The fact remained that it did not set well with me. I did not reach for the wad of cash when she thrust it across my desk. Instead, I focused steady eyes on her emerald ones.
“It’s not my custom to take on a case before I hear everything the client has to tell me about it. After that, I take a day or so before deciding. In this case, I have nothing that tells me to delve into it at all.”
Her expression reminded me of a child who had just had her candy swiped from her hand. The next look was one where the child stomps her foot and demands the sweets back. I held my gaze on her.
“Nancy Perkins was my best friend,” she said. The petulant tone still warded me off. She had to do better. “Don’t you see? Best friends stand up for one another.”
I leaned back in leisurely fashion. “I appreciate it that you were best friends. That does not give me enough to take this case. Besides, the cops are on it. I’m sure they will make headway. You should give your information to them. If you suspect this Oliver Mansfield, you are obligated to tell the police.”