Jasmine (A Lt. Kate Gazzara Novel Book 1)

by Blair Howard

  Judging by his demeanor, and how upset he was by his daughter’s death, I was reasonably sure he wasn’t a suspect, or even a person of interest. Even so, I had to go through the motions, and I knew the first question was going to piss him off big time.

  “Okay then,” I said. “Let’s begin with where you were when your daughter was abducted. That would have been between the hours of seven o’clock on July 15th and eight the following morning.”

  Well, he didn’t blow up, as I had expected him to. Instead, he just nodded. “I was here all night, from just after five when I got in until I left for work at six the next morning. Ask Arlis. I was with her the whole time.”

  I nodded. It was what I expected, and I believed him. And anyway, it wasn’t him I was interested in, or any other member of the family. I wanted to know about Russell Hawkins. So, I asked all the usual questions, heard nothing that set my teeth on edge, made a couple of notes, then leaned back in my chair. I looked him in the eye and dived right in.

  “Tell me about Russell Hawkins.” And he did. And the more he said, the angrier he became.

  “The son of a bitch has been after her for more’n a year,” he began. “It begun with him ‘bumping into her’ in Starbucks, so she said, but that’s not how I see it. Bastard was after her. He bought her a coffee an’ they sat an’ talked for, she said, about an hour. She said they had the same interests. She likes… liked to take pitchers. She has a nice camera, a Nikon with lots o’ fiddly bits on it. Never did unnerstand it m’self. Bought it with her tips. She worked part time at Juno’s, that’s a little restaurant on McCauley, serves country food, biscuits’n gravy an’ such…”

  He was beginning to ramble. “And Hawkins?” I asked.

  “Oh, yeah. Next thing is he’s askin’ her out. She told him no, but he didn’t quit. Wasn’t a week went by he wasn’t askin’. I caught him watchin’ the house, more’n once. An’ he was always ‘bumpin’ into her’ in weird places.” He made the quote with his fingers. “Like in Penney’s, or that Victoria’s place, you know. They sells women’s underwear. He even approached her in there one time. Said he was lookin’ for a present for his sister, only he ain’t got no sister, not to my knowledge. Son of a bitch.”

  “None of that means he killed her,” Tracy said. “Just that he’s persistent.”

  “Persistent? You don’t know the half of it. He was callin’ her all hours of the day an’ night, textin’ ten, fifteen times a day. She kept sayin’ no, but the son of a bitch wouldn’t quit.”

  “And this has been going on for…?” Tracy asked, making a note on his iPad.

  “A year. No, more’n a year. It started back in May last year.”

  “We didn’t find a phone, iPad, or laptop in her room,” Tracy said, staring him in the eye. “Nor did we find a journal.”

  “So?”

  “So, you’re telling me she didn’t have any of those things, not even a laptop?”

  “Well, she had a phone… she didn’t keep no journal, not that I know of. Maybe her mother—”

  “So where’s her laptop, her iPad?” Tracy persisted.

  “She didn’t have an iPad, just this.” He turned, pulled open a drawer in a filing cabinet, took out a Dell laptop, and laid it on the table in front of him.

  “Why do you have it, Mr. Thomas?” I asked. “Did you remove it from her room?”

  He shrugged, nodded, then looked up at me, defiantly.

  “I just wanted to make sure there was no… crap on it. You know.”

  “No, I don’t know. Tell me.”

  “I looked through her emails, Facebook, an’ such. That’s all.”

  “Why?”

  “She’s my daughter, for Christ’s sake. She was missing. What would you have done? I was just trying find out if… if she was seeing anyone.”

  “And was she?”

  “No. Not that I could tell. There’s a bunch of emails from him up the lane, an’ a whole lot of messages on Facebook, some from him, most from girlfriends. I couldn’t understand most of it. They speak another language, them kids. Jesus. I dunno. Maybe you can figure it all out. I can’t.”

  “I’ll need to take it with me,” I said.

  “Sure. Her phone… it ain’t here. I called it. Nothin’.”

  “Tell me about her,” I said.

  “What’s to tell? She was a decent kid, never no trouble. Did as she was told, mostly. Home by ten. Late sometimes, but no more’n fifteen or twenty minutes. She was a good girl…”

  He was a hard man, I could tell, but at that moment there were tears in his eyes, and I knew I’d get little more from him. It was time to let him go.

  “Okay, Mr. Thomas. That’ll do for today. If I need you, I’ll call.”

  “Now just you wait a goddamn minute, Missy. What about Hawkins? You gonna arrest him or what?”

  “Arrest him? No. Not without cause. I am going to talk to him. Right after I leave here, if he’s home.”

  “I wanna know what he has to say. You’ll tell me, right?”

  I sucked in my breath and shook my head, “No. I can’t do that, Mr. Thomas. But as soon as I have any results, you’ll be the first to know. That’s a promise. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to talk to Mrs. Thomas. Would you send her in, please?”

  Reluctantly, he rose from behind the table and made his way to the door, which he opened.

  “Arlis. They wanna talk to you.” And without a backward look, he walked through the living room and out the front door.

  “What do you think?” I asked Tracy as we waited.

  “About that guy? Nothing. He’s clean. Better watch him, though. I’ve seen that look before; he’s about to snap. I wouldn’t put it past him to go after Hawkins.”

  I nodded. He was right. The man was wound tight.

  Arlis Thomas’ eyes were red from crying, but she held herself erect, obviously trying to hold it together.

  “Please sit down, Mrs. Thomas.” She did. “I’d like to know about Jasmine—”

  “She was a good girl,” she interrupted me.

  “Yes, I know that; your husband told me. But you’re her mother. Girls talk to their mothers. How did she seem in the days before she was…? Did she seem to have anything on her mind?”

  “No. Nothin’ but her job. She liked that, waitin’ tables. She liked the money, the tips, liked to shop. She was happy.”

  “Did she say where she was going that night?”

  She nodded, sniffed, then said, “Just to the mall, to meet friends. She didn’t say who and I didn’t ask her. I trusted her. She was a good girl.”

  “Did she seem to be worried about anything? Was she depressed, happy, excited, what?”

  She thought for a moment, then said, “Happy and excited, both.”

  “Why would she have been excited, do you think?”

  “No,” she said. “I know where you’re going. She didn’t have a boyfriend. I would have known. She would have told me.”

  “Are you sure? She was a pretty girl, beautiful, even. Most girls her age are interested in boys… if they don’t have one, they want one, have to have one, no matter what. She was dressed…” I had to be careful, “provocatively that night. I think maybe she was dressed to attract attention.

  “No. She wasn’t like that.”

  “How do you know? How do you know what she was like when she was with her ‘friends?’” I emphasized the word, trying to get my point across.

  She sat there, twisting her fingers together, but said nothing.

  “Look, Mrs. Thomas. I see it all the time. A boy, maybe even a man, offers a girl a little attention, tells her the things she wants to hear, then one of two things happen: either she goes with him, or she tells him to shove off and he gets mad. Neither one is good. So, I’ll ask you again, was she involved with anyone?”

  “No! No. If she was, I didn’t know about it, but I would have. She talked to me all the time. We were best friends. She told me everything.”

  “Did s
he talk to you about Russell Hawkins?”

  She didn’t answer, not right away. She seemed to be gathering her thoughts, then she looked at me and said, “Yes, she did. There was nothing going on between them.”

  She stared at me and I had the weirdest feeling she was lying to me. I looked sideways at Tracy. A waste of time, that was.

  Damn, I wish Harry was here. He can read people like no one else.

  “Your husband seems to think otherwise,” I said. “He’s of the opinion that Hawkins was stalking Jasmine. Do you think he was?”

  “No. I don’t. I think he liked her, and that she liked him, but they weren’t… you know.”

  Yes, I did know, but now I didn’t know what to think. Cletus was so sure Hawkins was guilty he was ready to kill him, and might even do it. Arlis, well, I had no idea what she was thinking. I kept waiting for Tracy to jump in, but he didn’t.

  “Mrs. Thomas. Arlis. Your husband believes that Russell Hawkins killed Jasmine. You obviously don’t. Why does your husband think he killed her?”

  She sniffed, “They never did get along. Cletus can be… well, you know, obnoxious, when he wants to be. Jasmine was only fifteen when Russell first asked her out. He was thirty-four. Cletus went crazy when he found out. He went up there and threatened to shoot Russell if he so much as spoke to her again. But they’re friends, just friends. I asked her if she was… you know, but she said she wasn’t. I believed her.”

  I sighed, looked at Tracy—nothing—then got up, “Can I use your bathroom, please?”

  “Of course. There’s one next door to this room.”

  I nodded, “Thank you, Mrs. Thomas. That’s all for now. I’ll talk to Michael next… Oh, wait. One more question: did Jasmine ever go without… underwear?”

  She looked at me, her eyes wide with shock. “No, of course not, she wouldn’t! Why do you ask?”

  “No reason,” I said, with my fingers crossed. “It was just a thought.”

  She didn’t look too convinced, but she nodded, rose from her seat, and exited the room, a broken woman.

  I went next door, sat down on the commode, set my elbows on my knees, and put my head in my hands. I felt so out of my depth, so frustrated. I just couldn’t read these people, and Tracy… well, he was turning out to be a total waste of skin.

  When I got back to the room, Michael Thomas was already seated. I asked him to give us a minute and then I sat and turned to Tracy.

  “John, this is not going well. I’m floundering around here by myself. I was hoping for some input from you, but it’s not happening, is it?”

  “I’m listening, Sergeant, but so far nothing grabs my attention. It’s all routine stuff. This is a family in pain. I don’t know what else to say, except that this Russell Hawkins intrigues me.”

  He was right. Maybe I was expecting too much, from him, and from the family.

  “Hawkins?” I asked. “Talk to me.”

  “Jasmine was fourteen when he asked her out. The man was thirty-four. Doesn’t that sicken you?”

  “Me? Yes. But it’s not unusual around here. I know girls who were married at fourteen.” I took a breath. “We’ll get to Hawkins soon enough. Let’s just concentrate on the family for now, ok?”

  He nodded.

  “Let’s get Michael back in here.”

  Michael Thomas was nineteen and he didn’t look like either of his parents, or his sisters. He was more like his uncle in build and demeanor: big, bold, and brash.

  I waited until he was seated then said, “Tell me about your sister, Michael.”

  He cocked his head to one side, narrowed his eyes, frowned. “I dunno what to tell you. I don’t know nothin’ much. She was three years younger’n me. I didn’t hang out with her, not at school nor anywhere’s else. She was a good kid, though.” He lowered his head and looked away.

  “How about boyfriends?”

  “Not any that I knows of.”

  “Were you here the night she went missing?”

  He looked up at me, his face was pale, eyes bloodshot, “Yes.”

  I waited for more. It didn’t come.

  “And?”

  “I was here. She went out, in her car. That’s it.”

  I was slowly shaking my head, frustrated.

  “What kind of mood was she in? Worried? Depressed? What?”

  He shrugged, “I dunno. I didn’t take no notice. I told you. I didn’t hang with her. She did what she wanted. I… I didn’t talk to her much. We had nothin’ in common.”

  “How about your friends?”

  “My friends? What?” He narrowed his eyes to slits, frowned, looked confused.

  “How did she get along with them?”

  He slowly shook his head. “She didn’t. They didn’t… What d’you mean?”

  “Did any of them… like her, express an interest in her?”

  “Hell, no. She was just a kid, an’ my sister. Why would they?”

  “You know why, Michael. She was a pretty girl, very pretty, nice figure. You were aware of that, yes?” I watched for a reaction. His head came up and his eyes met mine. He was angry.

  “What? What d’ya mean? She was my sister, for God’s sake!”

  Ah, he knows what I’m getting at. Maybe I hit a nerve.

  “Are you telling us that you’ve never looked at your sister and said to yourself, ‘Wow. I’d like to get me some of that?’” Tracy said, sitting up and leaning forward.

  Michael stared at him. I watched what was left of the color in his face drain away.

  Suddenly, he jumped to his feet. I thought for a minute he was going to take a swing at Tracy, but he didn’t.

  “You sorry piece o’ shit!” he yelled. “She was my sister, an’ now she’s friggin’ dead! What the hell d’you think I am? I oughta knock your friggin’ teeth out, is what. Screw you. I’m outta here!” He almost ran from the room, slamming the door behind him.

  “Well,” Tracy said, grinning widely, “that was informative.”

  “It was also using a sledgehammer for a thumbtack. Bit much, don’t you think?”

  He grinned and shrugged. “Hey. You asked for input. In Narcotics—”

  “You’re no longer in Narcotics,” I said, “but I’m not complaining. That was the first real, from-the-heart reaction we’ve gotten from any of them. Let’s get Sophia in here, but take it easy with her; she’s still a child.”

  He nodded and settled back in his seat. I shook my head, got up, and went to get Sophia.

  Sophia was a petite little thing. Fifteen years old, though she looked older. From a family photograph on the wall, I could see she was very much like her sister.

  I asked all the usual questions, especially about Jasmine’s state of mind, but all I got from Sophia was that Jasmine seemed to be happy and almost always in a good mood. They were friends, spent time together in their rooms, did homework together, all of the usual stuff sisters close together in age do—they were just eighteen months apart.

  When I asked her if Jasmine had any boyfriends, she said no, and she was quite emphatic about it. Suddenly I had a thought. It seemed to me that everyone we’d talked to so far had said that she wasn’t interested in boys… ah, not in so many words, but talking to Sophia….

  “Sophia,” I said, quietly. “Was Jasmine interested in boys at all?”

  “Yes, yes, of course she was. She just didn’t have a regular boyfriend.”

  The answer came quickly. Too quickly. I leaned back in my chair and watched her fidget with her fingers. She looked quickly away, dropped her chin, glanced up at me, then looked away again.

  “Sophia, did Jasmine like girls?”

  Her head came up, as if she’d been startled, and maybe she had.

  “What do you mean? Of course she liked girls. She had lots of friends.” And she looked away again.

  Jeez. How do I put this?

  “Come on, Sophia. You know what I mean. Did she like girls more than boys? Did she like… one girl in particular?”

&
nbsp; Sophia looked down at her knees, put her hands to her face, and began to sob.

  I waited for her to calm down, then said, gently, “Sophia?”

  She looked up, wiped the tears from her eyes with the back of her hand, a defiant look on her face. “Was she a lesbian? Is that what you’re asking me? No, she friggin’ wasn’t!” And with that, she jumped to her feet and flounced out.

  “Well, now,” Tracy said. “That was a learning experience. So, what are you thinking, Sarge?”

  “Don’t call me that,” I snapped. “I’m thinking that if Jasmine was gay, that adds a whole new dimension to the case. We could be looking for a woman. But that’s not something I want to think about right now. I want to talk to Uncle Joe.”

  Big Joe looked even bigger inside the tiny room. He didn’t say a word. He sat down in his brother’s chair behind the table, leaned forward, clasped his hands together on the tabletop, and stared at me.

  I decided to dive right in. “Last time we talked, Joe, you said,” I looked at the note in my iPad, “‘She’s a wild one, likes to be out, with friends, or whatever.’ That’s a strange thing to say. What did you mean by it?”

  “I told you. Jasmine didn’t like being told what to do, and she did pretty much as she pleased. That’s all.”

  “Where were you the night of the eleventh—the night she was abducted—between the hours of seven and midnight?”

  He stared at me, a stunned look on his face.

  “Am I a suspect?” he asked, slowly shaking his head. “You can’t think… Jesus. You can’t think I had anything to do with this.”

  “Where were you, Mr. Thomas?”

  He shook his head, “I dunno. I need to think.”

  He put his head in his hands, then looked up, “I was here until at least seven, I think, then I went out, to Becky’s on 153 in Hixson. I needed a new pair of work boots.”

  “And Jasmine left at… what time?”

  He shrugged. “I dunno, six-thirty, six-forty-five. I wasn’t payin’ no attention.”

  “So, you arrived at Becky’s at, what? It’s about fifteen minutes from here, so…?”

  “Jeez… seven fifteen?”

  “I don’t know. You tell me. Did you buy a pair of boots?”