With a Tilt of My Hat

by Mary Matuskey

  Tilting my fedora, I inhaled deeply and strummed my guitar. The cello played in soft two four-counts. The instruments flowed well together. John stopped playing. He began composing notes quietly in his head, attempting to create the perfect cello blend with my guitar chords. Attentively, he listened as the whisk brushed the drumheads and the rhythm took on a new direction.

  Bo Bo and I continued. Eventually John had his notes composed and lifted his bow, signaling to me that he was ready to perform. I nodded in agreement and started the song from the beginning.

  Time moved on and we found ourselves mesmerized when the finished collaboration had been tweaked for each instrument. I was so proud of myself for what was unfolding here. I sensed the accomplishment within. The vibes between the three of us were ecstatic when we completely played the melancholy song.

  John rested against his cello. “I find it amazing how this song draws me into a place far beyond where we stand. This is huge. I know for a fact this may be the one song that will define you, Steven. Seriously, we need to have it professionally recorded.”

  A light airy breeze floated through the room. Sensing its touch, they felt it, too, and I believed it without question. This song would soon be recorded for the public.

  Thursday night’s venue brought indecision. Should the new song be played at the start of our session, or at the closing? We agreed to perform it twice: ease into the crowd as an opener, and then wind down with it as the closer, it’ll work both ways. John’s theory was, “A person’s acceptance of music is not only what moves them, but where their mindset is at that moment.” I liked John’s explanation.

  He continued, saying, “Performing this song when people first come in may enhance their day, while others may still be in the negatives of that day, not clearly taking in the sound. Hopefully, by the end of the night, they’ve quieted their minds through our music, making them ready to accept this slower beat of a jazz song.”

  By Saturday evening, the word had spread about Thursday’s performance. Chatter amongst our patrons lit up like a burning bush, regarding the new song being played at the Bygone Era Club. The doors remained open, so the twenty plus people who stood outside could fully grasp the volume. Street lamps beamed low over the sidewalk, glowing with mystified auras when the chanting began. “Gypsy jazz man, gypsy jazz man, more, play more!”

  The bouncer at the door tried to quiet the crowd, they were in such an uproar regarding my new song. “Keep it down or I will be forced to close the doors,” the bouncer shouted. “The last thing the club owner needs tonight is a riot.”

  Melancholy music filled the club, and sound waves flooded through the street. A divine sense of harmony had everyone standing still. Heads lowered reflecting prayer; people even held hands during the melancholy harmony. An amazing vibe filled their souls, for when the rain sprinkled down upon the shoulders of the people who stood outside it was later described to me as aromas that evoked memories of childhood.

  Unknown to me, a special guest of Ryan Bufet joined him in celebrating tonight’s entertainment. My mind burst with a surge of energy, which fed me from the crowd. This marks a magnificent gig, I told myself during our break backstage.

  “Hi Steven, John, Bo Bo this is Pat Murphy, he’s an agent with Columbia records,” Ryan introduced them.

  “I’m very pleased to meet you.” I shook his hand.

  “Listen, Steven, I am very interested in recording your music. Ryan invited me here tonight for one reason only, to listen to you perform. He sent me a few demos online that you guys made. However, I must say this new composition tonight was outstanding.”

  “See, I told you, buddy,” Bo Bo said to me his eyes shining with excitement.

  “Man, this is amazing, absolutely the best. Of course, we want to record,” I told Mr. Murphy.

  “How about you meet me tomorrow morning at ten to review a preliminary contract?” Pat offered.

  “Wow, that pleases me, I look forward to it. I don’t know what else to say except, I’ll be there.”

  I paused then nervously asked, “What about these guys—our band?” Then I felt a grip on my arm and turned toe to toe. Pat was in my face.

  “Rest assured, I definitely expect the entire band to record. I spoke with the guys yesterday, they kept quiet because they wanted you to make your own decision,” he said.

  “Incredible man, that’s just freaking incredible, thank you so much!”

  “Fantastic, I look forward to seeing all of you tomorrow,” Pat said.

  “Hey, Steven, Kari and Bryan wanted me to tell you that they are out front waiting to see you,” Ryan said when they left the back room.

  “Bravo man!” Bryan yelled, once I appeared at the front of the stage floor. “Thanks, glad you liked it, and you, too, Kari,” I told her with a wink of my eye.

  I glanced out to the crowd, and I noticed a familiar face cheering back at me. It was Bryan’s grandfather, Bill. “What an honor to have you here, Bill. I didn’t expect to see you tonight.”

  “Well, I’ll tell you something, son, I really wanted to go fishing today. You know how it is, but my grandson insisted I be here tonight at this nightclub. Bryan said it was important to hear some gypsy jazz fella perform,” he teased.

  “I’m so glad he did!” I embraced him.

  “Truth is, I heard about your new song and wanted to be one of the first patrons to premier it. I have to tell you, Steven, it warms my soul. I absolutely love it.”

  “Thank you, sir, I appreciate that.”

  Kari ground her body on mine, put her arms around my neck, and with lust in her eyes, she passionately kissed me. I hugged her wanting more, sensing the curves of her body, then rested my head on her shoulder, and inhaled the reality of the night.

  “Are you ready to go? Shall we all gather at your house and order pizza?” Kari asked.

  “Obviously, you guys have decided to spend the night with me.”

  “Yeah, that was the secret plan, we figured it would be a late night so Grandpa packed his things and is ready for a boy’s sleepover,” Bryan replied.

  “That sounds fantastic to me. Let’s roll guys.”

  It was a cool evening, with just a light breeze. Grandpa Bill sat in my yard enjoying a good cigar. Bill inhaled a puff then shared a few of his life stories while we waited for the pizza to be delivered.

  “I’m hearing tapping noises,” he interrupted himself. “Sounds kind of like a woodpecker.”

  I described my first night’s stay in the house when I heard the tapping sounds. “Just a second, Bill, I’ll be right back, I’m going inside to get my flashlight. Soon you will see what that noise is.” I shined my flashlight at the base of the tree, there sat a woodpecker working his beak against the bark.

  “Well, I’ll be,” Grandpa said. “She sure is a beauty.”

  The doorbell rang just as he was nearing the end of his second fishing story.

  “I’ll get it,” Kari shouted. “You guys continue listening to Bill.”

  “Like I said, the boat was rocking so hard that day, high waves bounced off the lighthouse planks. I thought for sure I was a goner. I felt a heavy tug pull my line downward and my reel screeched tight and loud. I took hold of my pole, removed it from the boat tie-down, and reeled that line. Hell of a fish, it took me nearly twenty minutes to pull him aboard. My buddy, Jim, manned the boat and held on to my waist belt so I wouldn’t fall overboard. Patience, I waited most of the day to catch that salmon—patience and perseverance. Remember that Steven, when going after what you want. Don’t let anybody take the joy out of your passions, and your life dreams.”

  “I’ll remember, but mostly I’ll remember the tone in which you told that fishing story, Bill.”

  Chapter 37

  His cell phone rang. Irritated, Fike flipped it open. He recognized the number, and said, “Hello, Captain Clark. Are you serious—more evidence for us already?”

  “More than you’d think,” Clark said in a rushed tone. “I just rec
eived information of a body lying naked in the woods with her hands tied together at the wrists with a blue cloth. The woman lay there undisturbed. No one had touched it. The medical examiner is on his way. I should be there in twenty minutes. I’d like for you and Detective Jones to join us. I’ll hold off on moving the body until you arrive.”

  “We’ll be on the next flight out. Please have one of your officers available to escort us from the airport to the site,” Fike replied.

  Captain Clark and his officers did a fine job inspecting the crime scene. When Fike arrived in Portland, a detailed report was given to them by the officer who drove them to the wooded area.

  Jones, too, was impressed with their thoroughness.

  “The victim was a twenty-nine year old female named Julie McDermin, who was last seen at a nearby bar. Her friend stated she was having a bad day because her husband and son left the state after she lost her custody battle.

  “The ladies stated they took the victim out for drinks and conversation at the local bar located about a hundred yards from here. However, when they went outside for a smoke, Julie decided to stay on the patio once the others finished their cigarette. She wanted some alone time, to relax in hopes that the night air would give her peace of mind.

  “But she never came back in. About fifteen minutes later they went outside to get her and she was nowhere in sight. The ladies figured she must have just walked home.

  “My officers found a medium size rock below the patio steps of the bar where we presume the victim was last seen. Cracks in the rock show a few dark areas of possible blood, we should be able to obtain some DNA. The rock has been bagged and is ready to deliver to our forensics team.”

  The victim’s body was much more mutilated than Fike expected. Jones walked around the scene several times before she finally spoke. “Definitely the same MO as we found in the other killings. Notice the eye stabbed, just like our victim on the boat, only this lady was blindfolded,” Jones said.

  Pacing the area, Jones saw a pile of leaves by a tree where it appeared something had once lain. There was a small site at the base of the trunk where the ground was slightly hilly approximate the size of a two by two foot area. That led her to believe the suspect formed this hill and set something upon it in hope to prevent it from getting muddy. “Officer, was there an item here that was discovered that’s already been bagged?”

  “Nothing found on those leaves, however there was a jacket found next to it. The clothing tag read size Large. It seemed too big for our victim, so I checked her shirt tag and it was a medium.”

  “Thanks,” she said.

  Detective Clark was in a heated conversation with an officer when Fike approached him. “That’ll be all for now.” He waved off the young man. “Hello, Fike, look what we have here sprawled in the mud. Appears to be similar to our other victim, wouldn’t you say?”

  “I pretty much agree with you, except for the fact that her skull had been bashed in and her wrists are bound with blue cloth. Looks like the same blue material we found at the previous two murders,” Fike added.

  “M.E. states she’s been dead less than twenty-four hours,” Clark continued his report. “Due to the heavy rain the body sank in the mud a couple inches. The ground around her is mashed down with debris scattered in disarray. It appeared to be a partial shoe print. All the evidence found thus far has been bagged and tagged by the medical examiner’s team, and have already been sent to forensic lab for DNA comparisons. Doc couldn’t give cause of death at this time. He did state that the wound at the victim’s head was severe, even though it was likely she died from the stab wound to the heart.”

  Jones ever so gently peeled off the victim’s jeans. She started at the lower legs, and bent them up towards the woman’s waist. Jones was intrigued by the skin cuts along the sides of each of the victim’s legs. “Our killer seemed to have enjoyed torturing this woman. Slowly and methodically, he squatted here cutting the jeans near the seam line. He sliced an almost a perfect cut on both sides.”

  “You may remove the pants now, Detective Jones, the M.E. is through here. We thought we’d keep her covered up, give the lady a little respect, you know,” Clark said.

  With care, she rolled up the jeans, which exposed the victim’s bruised vaginal area. Dried blood, skin scrapes from the dirt and rocks, purple color tones. It appears he hit her or sat on her for a prolonged time. Jones placed the jeans into a plastic evidence bag while several officers turned, assessing the ground.

  Jones sensed their discomfort and disgust at this battered woman. Surprised by their reaction, she thought, most men, especially Michaels, would never respond like that towards such brutality of a dead woman. She thanked them for recognizing her uneasiness in viewing this horror. “Our suspect’s behavior proves that he liked this woman, not only for his sexual acts, but I believe he had a familiar bond. The blindfold is significant here. It proves he felt remorse; he didn’t want the victim to witness his final act of rage. Even though it’s most likely she may have already been dead at the time. Another important fact is the jeans, the way he replaced them on her body, respecting the victim in his own perverse way. Perhaps with his weird way of thinking our killer believed he could justify his abusiveness by blocking it out with the blindfold,” Jones added.

  Both men agreed with her analysis. They further stated this victim may have resembled the person who loved him, or the person he had lost. Perhaps the one true person he desperately needed to replace. These acts of violence the suspect displayed had now become his rituals.

  “We are ready to review the other evidence bags,” Fike told Clark. “I’ll have an officer get the car for you and Jones. It’ll just take a few minutes longer. He’s helping the M.E. transfer the body into the van.”

  Clark waited for them in the lobby. Together they moved into the elevator and pushed the button to the basement floor.

  Clark introduced them. “This is our forensics technician, Susan Bee.”

  “It’s very nice to meet all of you. Please come in further,” she said while walking towards a cluttered table. “Here we have the victim’s jacket, or at least the jacket found at the scene. Inside the right hand pocket, we discovered a scrap piece of paper. Written on it with a blue pen was a name and phone number. Although the moisture from the rain smudged several letters and numbers, the name appeared to read Rick. Six numbers were readable out of the ten written there. I have a tech analyzing the paper as we speak. He should be able to decipher it soon. The jacket itself was in excellent condition—there are no tears. It’s a men’s size large with an expensive name brand logo sewn at the inside collar.”

  “I hesitate to believe it was the victim’s. I speculate the jacket belonged to the killer,” Jones said.

  “Maybe not even the killer’s—perhaps a previous victim, or his lover’s jacket,” Fike interrupted.

  “That’s certainly possible.” Susan continued with her report, “Now this other bag contained a medium sized rock, which is blood stained. It is a match to the markings noted on her head. I definitely believe it’s the rock used to strike the victim on the left area of her skull. Although it wasn’t the cause of death; the stab wound to the heart was determined to be the fatal wound. The samples just arrived a few minutes prior to you entering the lab. I have yet to assess them. However, if you put on gloves, you’re more than welcome to take a closer inspection of each item,” Susan finished.

  Curious, Jones put on a pair of gloves, and then opened one of the bags. She removed a wallet. Her eyes focused on a picture of a man and a boy standing together in front of a camping tent. It appears to be the victim’s ex-husband and her son. They all seem happy. Continuing on to the next bag, she observed a muddy baseball cap with Oregon embroidered on the front and waterfalls embroidered on the sides. From what prior witnesses stated, he had worn a Mariners baseball cap. The same cap found with the bag of clothes that floated in the ocean by Radcliffe’s boat. They’d know for sure if it were the same man once D
NA was analyzed.

  Fike moved closer to Susan. “I’d like all your documentation and photographs faxed to our forensics lab in Washington, attention it to Myrna Reynolds.”

  “Yes, Detective, the captain already gave me those orders. I think Myrna and I are going to become good friends by the time this investigation is over.”

  Clark nodded to Susan. “Thank you, we’ll be waiting downstairs at the street café. Call as soon as you have that phone number.”

  After ordering sandwiches and drinks, they sat at a table with an umbrella and ate while contemplating their next move.

  Fike stood up and excused himself from the table, leaving Jones and Clark to continue with their conversation. He walked around the café building to the far wall. Opened his cell phone, hit the keypad and placed a call to Myrna. “Good afternoon, this is Detective Fike.”

  “Hello, how is the work going in Portland?” Myrna asked, trembling with loving emotion when she heard his voice.

  “It’s going really well, the M.E. is efficient and easy to work with.” Warm emotions took him off course for a moment while he enjoyed his fantasies of being with her. He longed to hold her, take her to dinner and go dancing together…

  “Fike, are you still there—can you hear me?” Myrna raised her voice.

  “Yes, I am sorry about that, I got preoccupied watching some kids on bicycles.” He quickly made up a story. “I called to inform you about some new evidence regarding the third murder victim: all materials will be faxed to your lab soon. Please cross check the specimens, then call me directly when you have the results.”

  “Of course I will. I understand that it takes precedence over all other cases at this time. Thank you for the personal phone call.” She hung up.

  Clark got up when he saw Fike return to the café table. “We have a location and phone number on this Rick guy. There was no answer when I placed the call to him just a few seconds ago. His full name is Rick Wilkons. He lives in a condominium complex about thirty minutes from here, close to where our recent victim was discovered. He’s lived there for the past six years, and has no criminal record.”