Schooled in Murder

by Kim Smith

  The scream erupted along with scalding tears of regret. “Oh my God!”

  Dwayne twisted around and grabbed me. “What are you lookin’ for? You ain’t supposed to be over here lookin’, Shannon! I said call—”

  “It’s Dan! It’s Dan Justice!”

  “Yes, damn it. Jesus, Jewel, and Madonna, it’s Dan!”

  The whole room whirled like a Ferris wheel at the Mid-South Fair. Nausea did a dance to the tip-top of my stomach and swallowing became gulping.

  “Back up, Wall-ass. This is a crime scene. Somebody done took somethin’ and thumped him one. He ain’t goin’ nowhere, you understand me? We gotta get outta here.”

  He didn’t have to tell me twice to scram. I flew up the stairs, the camcorder flopping heavily against my chest. Once in the bathroom with the fake Monet, I yanked the camera from around my neck, plunked it onto the vanity, and threw up in the toilet.

  Chapter Three

  Salvador Ramirez, homicide cop extraordinaire, would not be the one to question me this time. His comrades and friends would not even allow him access to the house. Dan Justice had been his partner for a few years. Obviously, they didn’t trust him to keep his cool when viewing the body on this case.

  From the window, I saw them stop his exit from his car. His face went from concerned to confused to crushed in a few seconds flat. He struggled against strong arms holding him back, and tried to rush for the door, but the officers insisted with brute force. Or maybe he was too weak with grief? At any rate, he staggered under the news and I let the curtain fall. It hurt to watch him. I knew exactly what that feeling was like.

  My weak stomach had kept Dwayne and I from making an anonymous call to South Lake Police, which is what we wanted to do. But since my fingerprints danced everywhere in the bathroom from the wall light switch to the marbled sink, to the granite floor, there was no way to hide my being there. And as my sucky luck would have it, I was in the system, thanks to prior incidents.

  We had to tell them who we were and what we had found.

  Dwayne had done a cursory search to make sure Thelma Denaldo wasn’t also lying somewhere in the same condition. We didn’t find her, but we found her purse, a Dooney and Bourke done in the finest leather, lying agape on the formal dining room floor. That led us to a mini-argument.

  “She’s been taken against her will,” I said, pointing at the bag.

  “Why? What’s her purse prove?”

  “No woman leaves without her purse. Especially one like that.”

  “What? No way. She dropped it there in her hurry to get outta Dodge. Hell, she probably did the deed. You said she was a mean old crow. Maybe it was an accident, but it freaked her out and she ran off. She wasn’t in her right mind.”

  “Oh, so now you’re going to come over to the dark side? Weren’t you defending her earlier? No, Dee. I’m serious. She left her purse. That purse.” I pointed at it. “No woman, regardless of her mind being right or not, would leave an expensive bag like that behind. Look at it. It’s all spilled out.”

  “A cop’s all spilled out in the other room, too. You think she’s worryin’ about her purse? Come on. I don’t think so. She’s worried about what’s lyin’ on her floor.” He waved toward the family room.

  “We have to call the cops,” I told him. “And I bet you right now, she’s going to be a kidnap victim. I just hope they find her before she ends up dead, too.”

  When the cops arrived, blue lights swirling and sirens screaming, someone took Dwayne to a different part of the house to get his side of the story. My interrogator, a hefty young cop with a red face and eyeglasses that had to be constantly pushed up the bridge of his rather straight nose, took me to the guest bedroom. He sat on a ladder-back chair with his notepad across his lap. I glanced around the room trying to focus on something besides the seriousness of the situation. Thelma’s choice of brass bed, valances, mountain art and other things was assessed and dismissed inside my head as the cop and I sort of did this ‘you go first’ dance.

  “Miss Wallace, tell me everything you know about the deceased.”

  His voice, deadpan, chilled me, convinced me this was real. It was happening for real. I fiddled with the bedspread, a tufted thing of lace and avoided his eyes. He waited with pen poised, intensely interested in my answer.

  “I don’t know anything about the deceased that your department doesn’t know. He was a cop. A friend of a friend, maybe even a friend of yours. You know more than I do probably.”

  “Tell me what you can. State how you knew him, at least for the report. We should keep this thing official and perfect. Detective Ramirez said, you know, no mess ups.”

  If I knew anything, I knew the officers working this case would get it right. Sal wanted it done to the letter and they would comply. Dan had been a straight up guy and likely had a lot of friend on the force. They would nail this killer’s butt to a wall quickly.

  Okay. I would follow orders.

  “He was a cop, Sal’s partner. He worked in Sal’s office, homicide. He, um, was a nice guy.” I brushed the tears away, giving up on trying to stop the flow. “Now he’s dead. Ah, damn.”

  “What were you doing here?” He pointed at the camera still sitting in my lap. “What were you filming?”

  “Oh, that. Um. I came over to talk to the woman who owns the place about a video.”

  “And where is she?”

  “Not at home.”

  “Obviously.” He wrote on his pad. “What exactly is your business with her?”

  “Can you legally ask me that?”

  He tilted his head and gave me one of those ‘are you kidding?’ looks.

  “It’s a private matter, dude. I don’t want to tell you.”

  “Are you asking for a lawyer to be present?”

  He didn’t know the half of it.

  “No, I just can’t tell you, not that I won’t tell you if you make me. I mean I don’t want to go to jail. God, give me a break. Poor Sal! This is hard enough on a good day, but it’s Dan, damn it.” I sniffed and wiped my nose with a corner of my shirt.

  “Okay. We’ll let that go for now,” he said, taking a deep breath as he reached over to the nightstand to hand me tissues. While I blew, and sniffed, he made notes. Then finally, after giving me enough time to regain composure, he asked, “If she was not at home, how did you get inside?”

  “The back door was open.”

  “You were invited in?” This question was asked as he fiddled with his notebook, not looking directly at me.

  “Well, no, but I was expected. I just figured she was in the back of the house and didn’t hear us, so I let us in.”

  “You did or Mr. Brown did?”

  Uh oh. Maybe a little white lie was in order.

  “Don’t remember who pushed the door, dude. It was open, okay? When she didn’t answer the front door, we started snooping around, looking for her. I mean, she’s…um…something I can’t talk about with you. It’s a legal thing. I don’t need a lawyer, but a lawyer is involved.”

  Was that me? Was I truly babbling like that?

  “You need to call James Adams of Adams, Butler, and Cook. It’s his case,” I added with a loud sniff.

  He stopped writing, set his pen aside, and pinched the bridge of his nose before venturing another look at me. “Detective Ramirez sort of said you might be like this.”

  I grimaced.

  “Can this Adams person vouch for you because this is technically B and E, ma’am.”

  “B and E? Breaking and entering? No way. James Adams asked me to come over and talk to the lady who lives here.” My voice sounded petulant and I hated it when that happened. He was getting on my last nerve. “I’m supposed to film her. I didn’t B and E anything. Look in my bag over there and there will be a manila folder with a form for her to sign giving me consent. I’m totally legit, dude.”

  “Where is she then?”

  “I don’t know.” And what was worse, I didn’t care anymore. I wanted to go
to Sal, or Dwayne, or both. And better yet, I wanted my aunties.

  “Will Adams know?”

  “He might. It’s his case. It’s all a big mystery to me.” No point in trying to make him understand how Jimmy didn’t know her whereabouts either

  He sighed, tucked his pad and pen in his shirt pocket, rose from his seat, and strode over to where my tote bag sat. His mother must have trained him well, because he lifted it with one finger and brought it to me. “Get that folder for me, would you?”

  I complied.

  He glanced over it, tucked it under his arm, and gave me a look that reminded me of Sal. “That’ll be all for now, I guess. We’ve got to get this Adams guy on the phone.”

  I remained mute.

  “You need to leave the camera contents with us, as a part of this investigation. In fact, we’ll just keep the camera too, just in case. We’ll get it back to you as soon as possible.”

  “We never got around to even turning it on,” I told him as I handed the camera over. He stood, tucked his notebook under his arm, and got a better grip on the camcorder before disappearing amidst the depths of the house.

  Dwayne would be livid. He loved that camera, in particular. If anything happened to it, he would sue the city as fast as a judge’s gavel could slam. I wandered back to the window. When I lifted the curtain to see what the activity outside looked like now, the most obvious thing was Sal’s absence. His friends had taken him away, promising him they would handle it fine without his presence. I was equally sure he was not very happy to go. I sure wouldn’t be.

  Crowds had gathered on the sidewalk. Gawkers, my aunt called them. Those people who are drawn by police light bars and crime scene vans. Drawn to tragedy like flies to a piece of pecan pie. They stood behind a barrier the cops had erected, arms crossed, talking quietly to one another, supposing what they thought might have happened. It was obviously a death. The forensics people had arrived. And there were a lot of cops. I figured Dan being the victim, a lot of his friends wanted to be in on getting the person responsible for killing him.

  But then again, cops were a special brotherhood. They always came to the aid of a fallen officer. It was like an unforgivable sin to not respond to the officer down call.

  The wandering about of police personnel and the crowd sent my thoughts to recent events in my own sordid life over the last year. Sal had been the epitome of kindness and concern over my recovery from a shoulder injury back in the spring when I’d encountered danger.

  These days he made no secret about wanting to date me, but the problem with dating a cop was more than simple scheduling. It was a matter of my freedom and how it would be somewhat curtailed if we were in a relationship. Right now, we were friends, and in this time in space, I really wanted to go to him.

  Freedom be damned.

  But the thought of how to handle someone else’s tragedy again so soon after Dwayne’s friend, Bubba, had been killed filled me with dread. I hated my life.

  ###

  When Dwayne and I finally left the Denaldo residence, our shoulders were slumped in exhaustion. Flashes erupted from cameras pointed our way as we walked down the driveway. Someone called out, “Is the head dead yet?” from a Don Henley song, and a chill stroked my neck at the meaning. There is nothing like a cold-hearted public who cares nothing about the victim, only the sensational aspect of a murder. If whoever had said it had an inkling of a clue as to what they were scoffing at, they would shut up tighter than one of my aunts’ plastic food containers.

  At the edge of the police’s perimeter were some of the Denaldo’s neighbors, including Jerry Alexander. Jerry had graduated with Katie and me, but looked a lot older and more tired. He still had slicked back blond hair, and a thin model’s body. He wore a long-sleeved tee shirt rolled up to his elbows.

  “Hey Shannon,” he said, voice soft as a feather over the noise of the crowd around us. “You okay?”

  I nodded as Dwayne took my elbow, and led me away. Safely inside his car, I asked if he knew Jerry.

  “Not me. Why?”

  “Just wondered. I think he’s gay.”

  Dwayne waved his hand to indicate Jerry was of little consequence. “That’s the last thing I want to think about. My brain may never be the same. I need a cold beer, and a hot plate.” He pulled away from the crowd and took off.

  “And I’d like a side of some answers,” I snarled, whipping out my cell phone to dial Jim’s number. After barely allowing him to say hello, I blathered on about confidentially, murder, and filming a teacher I desperately wanted to avoid. That last was a low blow but I was excited and angry.

  “Shannon? Shannon, slow down,” he finally managed to get in. “Start again. What happened?”

  “D-e-a-d,” I spelled out. “We found a body in her house, Jim.”

  “A body? Who was it? Thelma?”

  “For crying out loud. No! Didn’t you hear anything I said?”

  “Very little. You sound hysterical. How did you get in the Denaldo house? Was Thelma there after all?”

  “No. No sign of her.”

  He paused before saying, “What the hell?”

  I glanced over at Dwayne, whose ears positively swiveled to listen in. “We, um, the back door was open, and we let ourselves in.”

  Dwayne settled back against the driver’s door. I went on. “We got concerned when we found the door open. We wanted to make sure nothing was amiss. I figured if she wasn’t in there, then we could film the contents and beat feet, nothing lost. But when we got in, we found a dead guy, a cop, on the floor in the family room.” I took a deep breath. “We made a call to the PD, and they kept us forever, asking questions.”

  “A cop? Oh, wow. Who was it?”

  Quickly, I answered. “I don’t think I should say anymore. I couldn’t tell them about you, and now I can’t tell you about the investigation. But you’ll be hearing from them soon. God, what a day!”

  Adams paused, turning the information over. “No Thelma and no video I guess, huh?”

  “Well, duh. The only footage would have been of the bathroom while I was in there being sick,” I answered. “But I might as well tell you now, the cops took the camera and the contents and your permission form and all the papers.”

  Dwayne shot me an angry glare, and I mouthed “sorry” at him. He looked forward, but the unmistakable jut of his lower lip spoke volumes.

  A bell sounded in the background on Jimmy’s end. “What? Oh wow. Guess that’s the cops at my door now. I’ll call you back.”

  He disconnected, and I did my best to sink deep into the car seat. An eruption from Dwayne was forthcoming, and I imagined it would rival a volcano with lava spew.

  When he finally spoke, his voice surprised me. He sounded more incredulous than angry. “They took it? How could you let them take my camera?”

  Well, technically, it was our camera, but I couldn’t point that out just yet. “Yep, they sure did. Officer Whatsit said he’d try to get it back to us as soon as possible. It’s evidence if there’s anything on the digital media that they need, which there won’t be because I didn’t shoot anything. But they weren’t much for listening to what I had to say on that matter. They were all about going by the book.”

  He softened at that revelation. “Yeah. I guess so. But still, damn it, that’s a good camera. I hope they take care of it. I ain’t sued nobody lately.”

  Mentally buttoning my lips, I thought back on the whole affair we’d just endured. It occurred to me that we could have taped the house interior while we waited for the cops to arrive. It wasn’t necessary to have Mrs. Denaldo’s permission in my opinion, but then again, if we had done such a thing, the cops would have gotten their paws on the camera, and thereby the tape, effectively cutting us out of the use of it.

  “Ah, hell,” I said out loud.

  “What now?” Dwayne asked, giving me a quizzical look.

  “I was just thinking we could have taped the house while we waited on the cops to show up. How sick am I?
How could I even think such a thing? Dan Justice was a good man. Now, he’s gone.” Tears welled up again. I wasn’t thinking clearly.

  “Yeah, we’re a society that ignores everything that occurs around us. A man’s lost life means nothing. No horror factor. But damn, Wall-ass, you never think like that. You’re the fount of generosity.”

  “Not today, I guess.” I sniffed loudly. “You got any tissues in this rust bucket?”

  He pointed down at the console box between us. “There.”

  I pulled out a couple of tissues from a soft pack and blew my nose. My head had begun to pound in earnest.

  “Where to, Miss Daisy?” Dwayne asked.

  “Home, I guess.”

  “What you got to eat over there?”

  “Not much.”

  “How ‘bout Wangs and Thangs?” He rubbed his belly like such culinary delights appeased some beast within as he mentioned the little grocery he frequented.

  Wangs and Thangs, aside from having cheap, watered-down gasoline, housed a small deli, usually overflowing with barbeque and fried chicken pieces. Occasionally, they would have baked beans and biscuits to round out the Styrofoam boats.

  “Sure, sounds good,” I agreed. He left me in the car, motor and air conditioning running. I struggled to recall the interior of the Denaldo house. Clues probably abounded there, but all I could think about at the time was the recently deceased remains sprawled in the vicinity with me.

  Poor Dan.

  What the hell was he doing at the Denaldo’s and who was dumb enough to kill a cop? And why? And why the hell did Thelma run off without her purse? It was bugging me. No matter what Dwayne said, I knew that purse held meaning. It was taken as evidence too. I wished I had thought to dig around in it. Not that old lady’s purses ever held much interest for anyone They probably held mints, tissues, and an old worn out wallet with pictures of someone else’s kids.

  The face of the little boy at the fence behind the Denaldo’s house returned to my mind. Had he seen the killer? That kid probably knew as much as anyone at this point. I decided to call Sal about the kid. If I forgot to mention it on the front end it would somehow come back to haunt me later. It’d be my luck that the kid would be the key to Dan’s murder.