by Kira Reese
The flare that surrounded Tracy when she stood up spoke volumes. The woman was not accustomed to refusal from anyone. I spoke to her to remind her to take the cash with her. Without a word, she swept out of my office. I heard the front door slam. I imagined Evelyn’s raised eyebrows but did not enlighten her of the events in my office. I did smile to myself. I decided to find out about a certain Oliver Mansfield.
Chapter 9
Another Victim
It wasn’t as if I did not want to take Tracy Linden’s money or the case. It was a matter of whether she was someone I could work with or not. Either way, I doubted she would cross my doorway again.
Natalie buzzed me. “I want you to look at the case of the florist break-in if you have a minute.” I went to her office. Her computer screen was open, but she handed me her folder on the case.
“What’s the problem with it?” I asked.
“It does not appear to be a burglary at all. I have talked with the four employees. That includes the married owners and their two part-time workers. One worker told me they had not been paid for two weeks.”
“Is that unusual?”
“According to both of them it was very unusual. This was the first time paychecks weren’t issued. However, one stated she knew of two distributors who came in demanding their money for overdue payment on flowers delivered. I think the owners broke the window and faked the burglary for insurance purposes. They need money, in my estimation.”
We discussed the facts Natalie had gathered. It seemed she was on a plausible path. No fingerprints or unusual footprints outside were noted in police reports.
“Keep on it. Has the insurance paid up yet?”
She told me no. Then Natalie beamed when she realized how much she had discovered on her own about the case. With my encouragement, she returned to her file. I sat back down at my desk. I made up my mind that, for now, I had gotten all I could from the dishwasher and the server at Benny’s Café regarding Janet Dubois. I felt more time was needed with the victim’s brother. This time I didn’t give him a heads-up that I was stopping by. The second week away from his fishing job in Alaska would soon be here. I wasn’t sure how much more time he could take off.
I rang the doorbell and a few seconds later, Jon Dubois opened the door. His smile when he saw me did not reach his eyes, but he graciously invited me in.
“I hope I am not disturbing you,” I said.
“Not at all. Does this mean you have information as to who killed my sister?”
“Progress is being made, but unfortunately I don’t have anything new. By any chance, do you know an Oliver Mansfield?”
He thought for a moment and shook his head. “I don’t recognize the name. Is he a suspect?”
For the first time, I noticed red-rimmed eyes. There was an open photograph book on the coffee table.
“The name is one that crossed my desk today, but at this point, he is not a suspect. He was mentioned in regard to the death of another victim. She was killed in the same manner as your sister. I just thought there may be a connection.” I glanced at the open book. “I see you are reminiscing. May I take a look?”
He gestured for me to sit down and pointed out the pictures of him and his sister. “These are all taken after we became adults. I don’t have any of our childhood, except a few I salvaged that were school pictures.”
The young lady in the photos smiled in just about every one of them. There was one of Janet and friends at a restaurant.
“Who took this one?” I asked.
He shrugged his shoulders. “I have no idea. I suppose one of her friends. Janet told me they were at a nightclub. If she told me who the friends were in the photo, I don’t recall names.”
“How long will you be here?”
“I have to leave as soon as possible. The boat will leave for the waters in ten days.” He looked around the neat apartment. “I may continue to rent this until I have time to decide which items to let go of and which ones that I want.”
I wondered why he planned to come back since Janet would no longer be a factor. It shouldn’t take long to close the apartment. That had to be asked. His answer was another shrug.
“You are right. There will be nothing to bring me back here. I need to start getting things packed up. I can’t use furniture. I suppose her clothes will go to Goodwill or another charity.”
The task overwhelmed him. “Why not ask Janet’s friend Sheila to help you?” I had to explain who Sheila was. He agreed to go to the café and look her up. I purposely failed to mention that no one there had ever heard of him. He would find that out in time. I finally decided Jon held things inside much like his sister. More than once I noted that tears threatened to seep from under his eyelids. Grief had not yet overflowed to the outside and that remained private.
Janet’s body had been released and Jon opted for cremation. The police approved since they had all they needed from examining the body more than once. He fully cooperated with them. The cops had searched enough on Jonathan Dubois’s background to rule him out as a suspect at this time.
At the door of the apartment, Jon said, “I’ll let you know when I’m ready to return to Alaska. I hope your leads will find the person responsible. She was all of the family I had.” He amended the statement. “I mean she was all that I cared about.”
Back at the office, Evelyn was in the small break room near the back door.
“There is someone to see you. I was just getting ready to call you when I saw you parking,” she said.
I followed her to the front. A tall athletic man with shocking red hair stood. Two long strides brought him face-to-face with me. I looked up to meet his eyes. Evelyn opened her mouth to introduce us but he beat her to it.
“My name is Oliver Mansfield,” said the man. “I presume you are Miss McCauley?” I affirmed it. “I know I don’t have an appointment, but I would like a few minutes of your time if you can spare it.”
I invited him into my office and asked how I could help him. When he sat down, he leaned back and, with legs sprawled in front of him, appeared quite comfortable. I searched his face for sincerity. It seemed to be there. I figured his purpose was to shed some light on a case that was not mine but that of Nancy Perkins’s murder.
“A friend of mine told me Tracy Linden was here to hire you to solve the murder of Nancy Perkins,” he said. He didn’t wait for a comment. “I also know she thinks I had something to do with it. I’m here to tell you I did not. If you want to delve into my life, it is wide open for you. You won’t find any more than a few arrests for disruptive behavior at parties.”
It was my turn. I looked at him squarely in the face. “You have wasted your time coming here,” I said. “I’m not working on the case of Nancy Perkins’s murder, though I am aware it happened.”
I admitted to myself my interest in the case was piqued, but if Tracy Linden expected to be my client, I had to second-think that one. In the meantime, Oliver shifted position in the chair. He told me that Tracy Linden lied so often that her everyday life was hard to separate from reality. After a few minutes of listening to his description of Tracy as he saw her, I told him he should take whatever he knew about Nancy to the police.
“I am curious why Tracy suspects you,” I said.
“We once dated. I dropped her for Nancy.” His tone was nonchalant.
He finally stood to go and mumbled something about being sorry to take up my time and so on, and so on. I ushered him out.
I sat down at my desk and rested my head in my hands. I wondered if Nancy Perkins’s parents had hired a PI. The question of how Tracy Linden and Oliver Mansfield found me was another factor. My small office certainly was nowhere near Cobblehill. I presumed from the way they both dressed and knew Nancy Perkins that they lived in her neighborhood.
My thoughts were interrupted with another phone call. The detective was on the line. His voice held a hint of frustration.
“Candy, we have a third murder on our hands. Another wo
man’s body was found in the alley where the other two were found.” He took a deep breath that flowed through the line as if he sat in front of me. “She was found the same way, curled in a fetal position, stab wounds, and I’m sure when the autopsy comes back there will be heroin in her system.”
“Do you have any more on her?”
“She was identified by the grocer nearby. Her name was Aniyah Oalmann. She lived in the area not far from where she was found. Right now all I know is that she was married with two children. The husband is in and out of the house. She worked at a dry cleaners store. My men are down there now.”
“It sounds as if there is a serial murderer out there,” I said.
After we hung up, I thought of the three victims. All were from different backgrounds. Only one actually lived in the area she was found in. Was the killer randomly picking his victims? Something nagged at me that they were somehow connected with the perpetrator. The only answer to that was involvement in drugs and deals gone wrong, but I knew I couldn’t allow myself to concentrate on that possibility alone.
Chapter 10
Neighborhood Grocery
That night I told Nick about the third murder. He concluded it was the work of a serial killer.
“Be careful, Candy. It sounds as if he may be picking young women randomly.”
“I admit I thought of that. I told Evelyn and Natalie to be aware. So far two victims were in their twenties. Nancy Perkins is the youngest at age seventeen. He may not care about ages as much as looks.”
Evelyn Foster was forty-five but very attractive. She resembled a thirty-something more than forty-something. The killer didn’t concentrate on one area for his prey. He seemed to be all over the place. I looked up at Nick’s nudge.
“You are far away,” he said.
I told him my thoughts. We discussed possibilities, none of which solved anything.
***
The next day I told my employees I was going down to the lower east side. I had to get a look at the environment around the alley. Hoping Lillian would be there, I separated two ten-dollar bills and stuffed them in the pocket of my slacks. The first noise I heard when I parked was the thud of railroad ties landing on the dock of the warehouse next door. I looked over to see Otis Jackson backing his semi to the dock. I started walking in his direction. Our eyes met when he got out of the truck. No doubt he was surprised to see me down there; his eyes opened wide.
“Have you seen the man named Sleek down here lately?” I asked.
“I haven’t been down here for a couple of weeks. I haven’t seen him today. Why do you ask?”
I told him about the third murdered woman. “She was discovered in the alley like the two before her. My information is that someone who resembles his description seems to show up around the time of the murders.” Otis was interested. “Do you still have my card?” I asked him.
“It’s in my truck.”
I handed him a second one and asked if I could have his cell number in case I had more questions. A look of suspicion crossed his face. “You are down here on a regular basis. You may see things I can’t,” I said. “As you can tell, only a murder brings me here.” I laughed to lighten the mood and it worked. I scribbled the cell number and stuffed it in the pocket that held my cell phone. Otis called his partner over and told him it was time to get busy. I returned to the alley area to search for Lillian. Within the block I saw the sign that read Mitchell Grocery. The sign was lopsided and needed replacements for large rusted screws. It dangled from the post and I ducked around it and reached the door. The floors were antiquated tile but looked as if they had been recently mopped. A few customers were there. The man behind the counter was jovial with them all. I watched a woman with a small child pull out a worn billfold. On the counter were a loaf of bread and a package of bologna. She meticulously counted coins and looked desperately at the man.
“You have enough,” he said. He added canned goods to her bag. Then he reached for a striped candy cane and handed it to the child. “Eat this after your sandwich, Mellie,” he said. The woman thanked him and prompted Mellie to do the same. Her small voice expressed her gratitude. The wide smile on her face was priceless.
No one else was in line, so I stepped forward. I introduced myself to the man who I learned was Mitch Mitchell, owner of the store. His shoulders slumped when I stated my business in the area. He was a slim man with graying hair at the temples.
“We aren’t in the best neighborhood down here,” he said, “but murders are not common.”
He went on to tell the character of the neighborhood. Mitch grew up there and he took over his family’s grocery store when his parents passed away. “We have drugs around here but probably like any area today. We try to take it in stride.”
“Are there many families like the woman just in here?” I asked.
“There are still families down here trying to make a go of it. At least most of the small businesses have remained.” He spoke of the latest victim. “Aniyah was a hard worker. There are two small children left without their mother. Right now no one knows where her husband is off to. Jerome comes and goes, unfortunately. She did it all on her own for the most part.”
“Do you know where I can find Lillian?”
He paused and finally said, “It may be hard to find her. She always domineered the alley but not after the second murder. I’m sure it spooked her.”
I agreed with him and thanked him for his time. I walked out of the store with a bottle of water and a bag of chips. I turned around and went back in. Mitch looked up.
“Do you know anyone down here by the name of Sleek?” I asked.
Mitch stepped back and placed his hands on the counter and bowed his head.
“He comes around here. You don’t want to get mixed up with him,” said Mitch. “He goes by Sleek but that’s not his real name. He uses that for his business dealings.”
Mitch glanced around his store. A young man was in the snack aisle and a woman waited at the meat counter in the back of store as a woman approximately the age of Mitch was at the slicer making up a sandwich. Mitch followed my gaze and told me that was his wife, Annalee. She took care of slicing meat, as needed. People came in often for sandwiches.
“We sell them for a dollar. That’s about all anyone can afford to pay. Most of those customers come in on their short lunch breaks.”
I didn’t ask the quality of the meat at that price. On the other hand, I already observed Mitch was a generous person. Perhaps he provided quality food to the poor, and like the suckers he handed to children, he did care.
Once Mitch determined no one could overhear him, he continued with the subject of Sleek.
“His real name is Samson Johnson. Rumor has always been that he does not partake of drugs himself, but he is definitely a seller.”
“Where can I find him?” I asked.
Mitch stared at me. He assessed my slender frame and ivory skin. “Someone like you should not meet up with someone like Sleek Johnson. That’s all the information I have for now.” For the first time, Mitch’s demeanor twitched with nervousness. “Don’t go looking for that man,” he cautioned me. “Let the police handle people like that one.”
I thanked him and left for good this time. From my car I dialed the number for Detective Ben Jones. We set a time later in the afternoon to meet. My eyes scanned the area one last time to no avail. Lillian was nowhere to be seen. I did a second take at a vehicle that was out of place. The sports car, a light blue Mercedes SLR, parked several spaces ahead of mine. Who left a car like that unattended in a seedy area like this one? I hunkered down in my car just far enough to watch two young girls approach the Mercedes. Tracy Linden and an unknown got into the car. I tailed them as they sped away. Tracy was slick enough to maneuver the car with ease. I lost them as they left the neighborhood seven blocks away.
Giving up, I thought of several scenarios. Rich young women like that could easily find drugs of choice at parties or even at school, I tho
ught. Why down here? My first impression was that Nancy Perkins purchased drugs in this neighborhood. Did they buy from Sleek? Too many questions flooded my mind. It was time to let Detective Ben Jones in on the discovery of the heavy drug dealer. I reminded myself that the astute detective most likely was aware of the man. My new bit of information included seeing Tracy Linden and a friend down here. That should add to data already accumulated by the police. Leaving the run-down area and coming into familiar landscape, I noted the late summer foliage along the way changed to tints of pale yellows. This proved a reminder that time was moving fast without an answer to the mystery surrounding the murder of Janet Dubois. If she did get involved in drugs, did Sleek have anything to do with her demise?
Back in the office, I opened my computer to search for anyone named Samson “Sleek” Johnson. Two Samsons came up but were obviously not the man in question. Sighing, I paused my search and headed back out to the parking lot. It was time to meet with Ben.
Chapter 11
In Deeper
The precinct buzzed when I entered. Two cops led a young man through to an adjoining room. He gave me the impression he was around eighteen or twenty. He rushed to keep pace with the one who held his left elbow. His eyes were glued to the floor and his face flushed red, making me wonder what he had done. I heard doors opening and closing down the hallway. Never a dull moment here.
The clerk swept away notions racing through my head to tell me the detective was waiting for me. Gathering up my slim shoulder bag, I headed his way. Each time I met with Ben, I was well aware of his precious time frame, so I wasted little time.
“I was just down at the recent murder scene,” I said. “Are you onto someone named Sleek?”
The detective clasped his large hands together and rested them on his desk. Faint freckles, first noted in childhood encounters with him, remained visible on his fair skin. “We are aware of him. He has been brought in here more than once, but he has strong support behind him.”