Too Big to Die

by Sue Ann Jaffarian

  I was putting the folded towels away when my cell phone rang. Grabbing it off the counter, I saw from the display that it was Mom. She’d texted me when they’d arrived in Branson yesterday, and I’d heard nothing since. No news with her usually meant good news. It was impossible that she had heard about Burt’s murder since it hadn’t even hit our news yet. “Hi, Mom,” I answered, trying to keep my voice normal. “How’s the trip going?”

  “Pretty good,” she answered. “Alma got hives last night at dinner, and one of the dancers at a show this afternoon tripped and nearly fell off the stage.”

  “Is Alma okay?” I asked, concerned about the plump elderly woman who’d recently moved into Seaside.

  “Yeah, she’s fine. She had some meds with her for it, and today she was right as rain.” There was a pause. “The real question is how are you and Greg doing?”

  “We’re fine,” I lied. Well, it wasn’t really a lie. Greg and I were okay physically, just shaken to our marrow, and I was on administrative leave, but there was no way Mom would know about that.

  “Yeah, really?” Mom prodded. “Then why aren’t you at work today?”

  Everyone knows that mothers have eyes in the backs of their heads, but from nearly two thousand miles away? I held the phone out in front of me and stared at it. Mom is the one who should go into the research business, not me. “I took a half day off,” I said, returning the phone to my ear. I paused briefly, then added, “Do you have a tracker on me or something?”

  “No need,” she scoffed, “not when all your shenanigans are splashed all over the internet.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I insisted.

  “You never were a good liar, Odelia.”

  “The thing with the Kingstons will blow over in time, Mom.” At least I hoped it would. “You don’t need to worry about that.”

  “I’m not talking about that,” Mom said with impatience. “Who’s the dead guy at Greg’s work?”

  I nearly dropped the phone. “You know about that? It just happened, Mom. Are you psychic or something?”

  “Turn on your computer and look up the Human Stain on YouTube. She has a video of it already posted.” Mom paused. “I’m looking at it right now. I’m telling you, she has a thing for Greg. She’s stalking him or something.”

  The hair on my arms stood straight up. “Hold on, let me grab my laptop.” My laptop was in the bedroom, where I’d left it recharging last night. I dashed in, nearly tripping over Muffin in the process, snagged it, and brought it out to the kitchen table. Quickly, I fired it up, impatient with the time it was taking. I put Mom on speaker and set the phone on the table.

  “So who’s the dead guy?” Mom asked again while my computer went through its startup routine. “At first I was so worried it might be Greg, but I knew you’d call me if something happened to him.”

  “You got that right, Mom,” I assured her. “It was Burt Sandoval.” I drummed my fingers on the table with impatience. “The guy who helped us rescue the dog on Saturday.”

  “Really?” Mom asked with surprise.

  “Yes, really.” I filled her in on what we knew about the shooting, which wasn’t much. “I’m thinking maybe this Holly person is following him and not Greg.” Finally, my laptop was fired up and YouTube was on the screen. I went to the channel for the Human Stain and clicked on her latest video. In short order I was watching police cars and an ambulance in front of Ocean Breeze. Cops were working to set up crime tape and interviewing bystanders.

  “But in her other video she was focused on Greg,” Mom said.

  “True, but maybe that was to throw off anyone looking at the video. You know, make it look like she was fixated on Greg when she was really watching Burt.”

  “Huh,” Mom grunted. “I hadn’t thought of that, but you may be right.”

  “Whoever took this must have been standing in front of the payday loan place across the street,” I said. The video continued chronicling the activities, including the eventual hefting of the gurney holding Burt into the ambulance and its departure. “How long does this go on?”

  “Not much longer,” Mom replied. “It ends right after they cart him away.”

  Something didn’t jive. I stared at the screen. Another video was queued to start right after the last one. It was a rock music video. I paused it and tried to shake loose what was not fitting. Then it hit me. “Mom,” I said into the phone, “when Burt was taken away by the ambulance, he was still alive. He died at the hospital. So how did you know he was dead?”

  “It says so in the description of the video.”

  I punched some keys. The rock music video disappeared and was replaced by the one I’d just watched. Beneath it the description read: Shooting in Huntington Beach 6/17/17. Victim did not make it. There were a couple of comments from viewers, mostly calls for gun control and/or a stop to violence. Some applauded her journaling of the reality of the streets. There was one comment that even suggested she was the shooter for the purpose of getting ratings. I took note of the person making the comment. It was someone with a handle of Dire Consequences.

  The Human Stain. Dire Consequences. Both were pretty negative in their tone. I was betting, like Holly, Dire Consequences was also young. Were they really this jaded? Disappointed in the world in general or just trying to get attention? For being such a recent post, the video had an amazing amount of comments already. Most of the commenters used what appeared to be real names with real profile photos, though Dire Consequences had used a depiction of the grim reaper as his profile pic. But whatever the tone of the comments or who made them, Holly did not reply to any of them.

  “Do you see the description, Odelia?” Mom asked.

  “Yes, I see it. I was reading some of the comments. That one from Dire Consequences was pretty cold.”

  “He’s kind of a stinker,” Mom said. “He’s a video journalist like the Human Stain, but he’s very negative and his videos are meant to shock, unlike hers, which show both the good and the bad of the world around us.”

  I leaned back against my chair, wanting to refocus on my little part of the planet instead of the overall human condition. “At least this video didn’t catch Greg or me on tape.”

  “Yeah,” Mom said, her voice trailing off into silence, like she’d run out of steam.

  “Mom, you still there?”

  “Just thinking,” she replied, “about what you just said. You and Greg aren’t in this video. Was she waiting across the street to catch a glimpse of Greg or was she really following poor Burt? I wish we could see the footage filmed before this piece.”

  Mom was right. Holly could have been standing across the street for either reason. I was twisting a clump of hair around a finger, something I did when I was nervous or thinking, just as Greg ran a hand through his hair for the same reason. I tucked the hair behind an ear, knowing what I needed to do. “I think Greg and I should tell the police about this video,” I said to Mom. “If there was earlier footage, it might contain something the police can use to catch Burt’s killer.”

  “It also wouldn’t hurt to tell them just in case this Holly person is stalking Greg. You can’t be too careful these days.”

  I shivered at the thought of my husband having a stalker. “You’re right, Mom. I’ll talk to Greg as soon as he gets home.” Wainwright ran to the back door, causing me to jump, as if a stalker were breaking in right that minute. Wainwright’s tail was wagging excitedly and he was whining instead of barking, his wet nose pressed against the glass of the slider. Greg was home.

  nine

  I ended the call with Mom and went out to help Greg. As soon as I opened the back slider, the heat hit me like a slap. I took the Chinese food from him and carried it into the kitchen while Greg said hello to Wainwright. The dog stood in front of Greg, holding a knotted piece of rag in his mouth. It was one of the dog’s favorite
toys. Wainwright was far from dumb. He knew Greg couldn’t resist his big brown hopeful eyes. Greg turned and went back outside, a happy dog behind him. When they both came back into the house, Wainwright went straight to his water dish and Greg straight for a cold beer. Just a few minutes of playing in the oppressive heat had done them both in.

  I hadn’t done anything with the food except to set it on the counter before heading back to the table and my laptop. After his first long gulp of beer, Greg asked, “Aren’t you hungry, sweetheart?”

  “I am, but I want you to see this first.” He rolled over to the table and I turned the laptop so that we both had a good view of the screen. “After you watch this, we can discuss what to do about it over dinner.”

  “That’s the Human Stain woman,” he noted as he grabbed some napkins from a dispenser on the table and mopped sweat from his forehead. “What’s she up to now?”

  “Just watch,” I told him as I hit the play button.

  Together we watched. At first, I don’t think it registered with Greg what we were looking at, but soon I heard a sharp intake of breath, followed by “Hey, that’s the shop!”

  “That it is,” I confirmed, “and from today, while we were both inside watching Burt Sandoval die.”

  When we got to the end of the video, Greg replayed it two more times. “From the angle, she had to be standing in front of the payday loan place,” he said, turning to me.

  “That’s what I think too.” I got up and pulled two plates from the cupboard and two forks and a couple of serving spoons from the cutlery drawer. Usually we eat Chinese food with chopsticks, but I wasn’t sure we had the focus for it tonight.

  “How did you find this?” he asked.

  I placed the plates and utensils on the far end of the table from the laptop. “Mom called right before you got home. She subscribes to the Human Stain, and the link to this video showed up in her email a short while ago.” I began taking the food from the plastic bags and setting the dishes on the table. Greg had gotten our usual favorites: pork fried rice, Mongolian beef, spicy eggplant, and shrimp with vegetables. We always got plenty because we both loved leftovers. I placed the containers on the table and stuck a serving spoon in each.

  “Dinner is served,” I announced as I grabbed a handful of napkins and put a couple next to each plate. “Would you also like water or iced tea with dinner?”

  With his eyes still glued to the laptop, where he was once again viewing the video, Greg waved the hand holding the beer, indicating that was all he needed for now. I went to the fridge and poured myself a tall glass of iced tea. I took a seat at the table and started spooning eggplant onto both our plates. “We have to discuss what to do about this,” I told Greg. Muffin had come out of one of her secret napping spots and was begging at my feet. I stuck a finger into the shrimp sauce and held it down toward her. She sniffed it a few times before turning her back, declaring it inedible. Muffin did this at every meal. It wasn’t that she wanted what we were eating; she seldom did. She was just nosy and wanted to know what it was. Greg hated when she did it. Wainwright had better manners. He only begged when Greg wasn’t home because he knew I was a soft touch. The dog was in his bed, watching everything. He wouldn’t have turned his back on what I was offering. He would have licked it off my finger and right up to my elbow.

  Greg finally turned from the laptop and repositioned his wheelchair in front of his plate. I had already dished a bit of everything out for both of us. He picked up his fork, not even noticing the missing chopsticks, and held it aloft, suspended like he was a wax figurine cast in an eating pose.

  “What?” I asked him. “Did I forget something?”

  He lowered his fork, setting it down on his plate. “I was just wondering, was she following me or Burt?” he asked.

  “That’s what Mom and I discussed,” I told him. I took a bite of the eggplant. Even lukewarm it was delicious. I swallowed and dug into the Mongolian beef. I hadn’t realized how hungry I was until I’d tasted the first few bites. Now I wanted to tunnel through everything on my plate. Greg didn’t say another word but picked up his fork again and was tackling his food. Once each of us reached a point of slowing down, we got back to the discussion.

  “So you and Grace are both wondering if the Human Stain was following Burt and not me?” Greg asked between a couple of small sips of beer.

  I nodded and spooned more shrimp onto my plate. “If she was following you, wouldn’t there be more videos of you? She seemed fixated on Burt’s situation today. The video ends right after the ambulance leaves.” I glanced over at my husband. “Why? Are you disappointed that you might not be the object of her affection?”

  He laughed. “No, sweetheart. The last thing I need is a stalker. But as for the video, who knows what she has that hasn’t been uploaded? Depending on how long she was standing there, she might even have recorded the shooting.”

  “That’s also what Mom and I discussed—that and calling the police.”

  Greg tipped his beer back and drained it into his mouth. “Yeah,” he said when he was done. “We need to contact Detective Chapman.”

  “How about the Long Beach Police too?” I asked. “If she got Maurice’s rescue on tape, she might have earlier footage of Burt on that day too.”

  “Good thinking,” Greg agreed. “And how did she get the news of Burt’s death so quickly? Did she call the hospital? Follow the ambulance? I don’t think the hospital would have given out information like that, especially since it concerns a murder.”

  “I wondered the same thing,” I said between bites. “It hadn’t even made the news by the time she’d posted her video.”

  Greg took the rest of the shrimp and scooped it onto his plate. It was always the first dish to go. After shoveling a heavy forkful into his mouth, chewing, and swallowing, he asked, “Do you think maybe Marigold could have something on her? After all, don’t you have to put in some personal information when you set up a YouTube channel?”

  Marigold is a magic search engine available only by subscription, and even then only to those who know about it. It doesn’t exactly operate in the deep dark web where nefarious activities of all kinds take place, but it’s not crawling on the surface with banners and ads announcing its presence. You have to be referred to it by another user to even know it’s there. It can pull information on anyone or any company that already has a presence. If someone is totally off the grid, living under an assumed name and not using day-to-day things such as credit cards or a registered cell phone, I doubt much would be found. When Marigold generates a report, it seems to pull information from public records that are not easily attainable and certainly not conveniently located in one spot. And some of it may not be public but gathered from servers that the gremlins who operate Marigold have accessed, legally or illegally. It was the most valuable search site that Barbara, the contract researcher, had given me access to when she retired.

  “You’re right,” I said. “That information could be blocked from the public but might be required and stored in the company’s records.” I took a drink of tea. “All we know about the Human Stain is that her name is Holly. No last name or birthdate or even city,” I told Greg, “but it might be worth a try.” I got up and moved to the chair in front of my laptop.

  “Finish your dinner, sweetheart,” Greg told me. “It can wait a few minutes. So can calling the police.”

  “True, but sometimes the Marigold searches can take up to an hour or more, depending on the availability of the information. I want to at least get it started.” I quickly accessed the site and started a search for the Human Stain. I put California in for location and checked female for gender. Usually you would only tag gender for searches on individuals, but I thought I’d give it a try since she used the Human Stain as an online moniker. Done with that, I scooted back to my place to finish my meal. “Besides, I want to know as much as possible about this person be
fore we call the police. If the report comes back with nothing, we’re in the same spot we are now. If it reveals something, we can be armed with that.”

  Greg chuckled. “And how are you going to explain how we know what we know if Marigold does provide more info?”

  I had just speared a piece of Mongolian beef but hadn’t gotten it into my mouth when his words stopped me. It was a delicate path we’d walked before. I don’t know if Marigold is legal or not, but I did know that it was a lot like Fight Club or Las Vegas. What happened in Marigold stayed in Marigold.

  “We don’t have to share everything we learn, if anything,” I told him and popped the juicy savory beef into my mouth.

  “True, but if she knows something about Burt’s murder, then we need to be honest with the cops so they can find the shooter.”

  “There’s one comment on the video that asks if she’s the murderer,” I noted.

  “What?” Greg asked in surprise. “You’re kidding.”

  “Nope. He suggests she did it for ratings. Mom says the person who posted that isn’t very nice and his videos are pretty dark and ugly. Could he be saying that to throw dirt on Holly?” I paused, then voiced the next thought in my head. “Or do you really think someone, not necessarily her, could do something evil for ratings?”

  Finished with his food, Greg pushed his plate back. “Chris and I were talking about this recently, long before we knew about the Human Stain. He’s helping one of his friends with his YouTube channel. It’s a cooking channel. It’s a huge business these days, just like TV.”