“No, other than the booze, I haven’t taken anything. I have enough trouble with the liquor. I’ve never even heard of Sodium Amytal. Who can we ask?”
“I don’t have any close friends who are doctors, and we need to be careful. I don’t want to give us away. If this thing is rare, my asking questions in the wrong place could cause unwanted attention. Let me see what I can find.”
Four o’clock that afternoon, Deacon found Star waiting in a busy parking lot. It had been more than thirty hours since he slept. Exhausted, he rode the back roads, struggling, with every mile, to stay awake. He had only two things on his mind, keep Star safe and a quiet place to lie down.
SEVENTEEN
The motel appeared out of nowhere fifty miles southwest of St. Louis on a county road, a nondescript blue line on the map. Ancient oak trees nearly hid the weathered building. The parking area, accented by weeds growing from every crack, was behind the structure. Deacon cut the engine. They silently coasted to a stop a safe distance from the office.
Star smiled. Pleased with herself, she signed the register, Bridget Luna. Bridget’s still upset and doesn’t want to come out, Star thought. I’ll use her name anyway.
Without uttering a word, Deacon, fully clothed, fell fast asleep on the bed.
*****
After twenty tortured hours, he awoke, bombarded by a desperate need to cleanse his soul. He told Star every detail of what had happened over the last few days. He opened his pocket notebook and read his meticulous notes aloud.
When he finally finished, she took charge. “Let’s make storyboards,” she commanded.
“What?”
“Storyboards,” she repeated agitated. “A schematic of what has happened. Something we can visualize and discuss.”
“I know what they are. How are we going to do it here?”
She moved gracefully around the small room, spoke dramatically, and punctuated her words graphically with delicate head and hand movements. “Let’s find some cardboard, tape it to the walls, and lay out everything in chronological order with a magic marker.”
Doc was obviously wrong, he thought impressed with her willingness to make sense of his dilemma.
Even her printing is elegant. From the edge of the bed, Deacon admired his love as she neatly printed a list of events and facts on the fetid cardboard, which smelled like the dumpster where he found it. She’s incredible. He was fascinated by her every movement. The fat colorfast marker looked out of place in her delicate hand. Thick black lines soaked into the brown paper as she drew them, and swelled like a snake swallowing its prey.
April - Black man cut in half behind bar - The Landing
A. Known pimp - Garvin Brown
B. No connection to D
C. D drunk - no memory
D. Unknown woman - long dark hair - large facial scar - ugly
Star stepped back and admired her work. “Okay, that’s what we know about the first murder.”
“I didn’t say she was ugly.”
“What?” Star asked surprised.
“The bartender said she was pretty, but she had an ugly scar.”
“It’s the same fucking thing. An ugly scar makes a girl ugly.” Star snapped. “Now let’s move on.”
“There was some other stuff about the pimp, remember?” Deacon added.
“Look, Deacon, I know there’s a certain amount of information that I haven’t written down. It isn’t all pertinent.” Star said impatiently. “If we’re going to solve anything, we’re going to have to focus on facts, verified facts. You know a lot of that info is just so much useless background dribble. We can cover our walls, clutter our minds, and not help this process at all. Or, we can just fucking move on.”
“I suppose you’re right.” Deacon responded apologetically. “It’s just that, well—it’s just that, when we first discovered a lot of those facts, Doc thought, and I agreed, they might lead to somethin’. That’s all.” He was tired and discouraged. He did not want to alienate his lover.
*****
“Doc’s not here, is he? It’s you and me doin’ the work. At the end of the day, it’s just you and me.” She shot back. “Besides, I told you a couple a days ago. You need to evaluate your friendship. I know some things that’ll shock you.”
“What kind of things?” Deacon was riveted. “What’re you talkin’ about?”
“Nothin’, never mind.” Star feigned despair for her slip. “Let’s get back to work.”
“You know this kind of shit drives me crazy. Never give me a hint about somethin’ and not finish.”
“I wasn’t hinting. It was nothing. I assure you.”
“I’d like to be the judge of that. If you love me, you’ll tell me.” He implored.
“Since you put it that way, first, I want to go on the record. When you use my love as a way of getting what you want, it’s emotional blackmail—period. Anyway, two days ago, I was dusting the house. I wasn’t intentionally looking at your papers, but there was a document on top of your desk and it jumped out at me. It’s your partnership agreement with Doc and Kat.”
“That, it’s no big deal. We had it drawn up years ago.”
“Exactly my point, only the agreement I read was written and signed one month ago.”
“That’s not possible. I haven’t signed anything.”
“It’s definitely your signature, and it was on your desk. Here’s the real kicker. It stipulates that if either you or Doc are institutionalized, imprisoned, or die, the business immediately reverts to the other partner. Seems to me, the likelihood of Doc ending up in prison, committed, or killed is slim. If that isn’t motive enough for him to frame you, I don’t know what is.”
“There has to be some logical explanation.” Deacon argued. “Doc wouldn’t do anything to hurt me.”
“People always say money can ruin families and friendships. It looks like he wants your half of the business.”
“Doc’ll clear this up. Until then, I don’t even want to think about it.”
“Fine, I won’t mention it again; I won’t say I told you so, but you’ll see. If you’re looking for someone with motive,” she said the words slowly, dramatically, and one at a time, “he’s—your—man. What better incentive than cold—hard—cash?”
*****
Deacon stretched out on the hard bed and closed his eyes. Disassociated thoughts whirled through the darkness of his mind. All of the tenants of fairness and clarity, in which he believed, were crumbling around him. He doubted himself. Doc doubted Star and his parents. Star doubted Doc. There were too many unanswered questions. His world was cloistered and suffocating.
Uncomfortably, he slept. The nightmare came with all the familiar faces, the serpent, the cross, and a resounding cry of absolute hopelessness.
Deacon awoke to Star’s sensuous, reassuring voice as she kneaded his taut muscles. “It’s okay, doll, I’m here. I’ll take care of you. I’ll make sure we put an end to this.” She gently pressed the arches of her warm feet against his soles.
Throughout the night, he slept for short periods and awoke often. Daybreak was a welcome sight. He took a hot soaking shower and endeavored to collect his thoughts. Too many details left out of the outline. They have to be resolved.
Star sat on the edge of the bed. She counted each stroke as she lovingly pulled the big comb through the thick blonde strands.
Tentatively, Deacon began. “I know you want only the best for me.”
She answered automatically. “Of course I do. I always have.”
“There are a few things about the Brown murder I think we should talk about.” He said testing the water.
“Look, doll, I’m sorry about last night. We were both exhausted, and I got a little cross. We can talk about anything you want. Just one thing, let’s not write anything down until we agree that it has a definite connection. Okay?”
“Deal. Star, do you know how wonderful you are? Have I told you today how much I adore you?”
“N
o, silly, you haven’t. If you want to tell me, now is good.”
“I adore you.” He sat next to her, wrapped her in his arms, and nuzzled her neck. “I love you. I’m crazy about you.”
She twisted, ever so slightly, just enough to move her hair from his touch and pushed him away. “What’s on your mind?”
“A couple a things, the pimp, Brown, was charged in Los Angeles with his brother’s murder, and…”
She cut him off. “That has no connection to this murder. Besides, you said yourself he was released; the charge was dropped.”
“What about what the bartender? He saw Brown arguing with the scar-faced woman. That might relate to the investigation of his brother’s murder. Brown told them the real murderer was a hooker. It could be more than a coincidence.
“Then, there’s the black van,” he continued. “The bartender told Doc he saw it at the edge of the parking lot on several occasions. I saw it there, too. There was one just like it in the vacant lot, next to my parent’s house.”
“The van thing is a little strange.” She commented as she wrote, black van, on the cardboard. “I’ll give you that.”
She systematically dismissed the rest of his concerns. “The bartender also said the place was packed. We can’t be sure of what he really saw across a crowded room. Maybe Brown was talking to the woman, maybe not. It could be he was hitting on her or even tryin’ to recruit her. After all, he was a pimp. If they were arguing, it could have been about anything. It’s all circumstantial, and hearsay is not a viable connection.
“Let’s be pragmatic. Imagine a pimp saying that a hooker in East LA killed his brother. Can you fathom just how many hookers and pimps there are in LA, especially on the East Side? They kill each other all the time.
“You were in the bar at the same time. I’ll give you that, but that’s all. The second and third murders were both young females. Nothing about them resembles what happened in the first murder. I only put it on the board because you were there. It marks the beginning of a series of events.”
“You’re probably right,” he reluctantly conceded. “Let’s move on.”
Star poised the marker in front of the cardboard. “Okay, what was the second vic’s name, Candy Thompson?”
“Her name was Cynthia Ann Thomas.”
“Yeah, right; she lived at 1956 Sidney.”
“How’d you know that?” Deacon asked surprised.
Star rolled her eyes. “I read it in your notebook,” she answered hesitantly.
“I didn’t write it in my notebook.”
“You must have told me,” she insisted.
“I don’t remember talking about the address. Only that it was in Soulard.”
Star stepped back, pivoted, and glared at Deacon. “Listen, enough already, quit pickin’ at the little shit!” She exploded. “You can barely remember who you are. Maybe the booze has pickled your brain. How can you remember something so specific, and say that I can’t. I think not.”
Deacon hung his head. “Maybe you’re right. I’m in no condition to question anyone, especially not you. Sorry.”
“All right, never mind. Let’s just keep goin’. I’m getting tired of tryin’ to help you and fighting over every fucking detail. I’m not the one who got us into this fucking mess. If you want me to stick it out, just back the fuck off.”
“I won’t do it again.” Deacon whimpered. “I won’t question you any more. Sweetie, I need your help.”
*****
Star looked down upon her forlorn doll, her beaten puppy. Success opened the floodgates; dopamine surged to her brain. Giddy, she discretely took a small dark chocolate from the side pocket of her purse. With her back to Deacon, she unwrapped the morsel and slipped it under her tongue. Ecstasy stimulated by dual stimuli washed over her. She bit her lip and trembled. The silent orgasm captured her breath.
They continued making their list. Deacon read the facts from his notebook. They discussed each one. Star wrote, or didn’t write, the particular clue on the makeshift boards.
“She was a twenty-four year old secretary working at the brewery.” Deacon said spelling her name, “C y n t h i a A n n T h o m a s.”
Star wrote the girl’s initials in bold letters across the top of a large blank piece of dirty cardboard, C–A –T, and ceremoniously drew a line beneath. “Is that right?” she asked waiting for Deacon’s reaction. There was none. Below the line, she started an outline with age and place of employment.
“Doc said he found some really kinky stuff in a drawer in her bedroom.” Deacon consulted his notebook. “You know, like sex toys, provocative lingerie, and something he described as a ‘double-dicked dildo,’ whatever that is.”
“Sex toys may be interesting to you and Doc, but I truly doubt that they have anything to do with the poor woman’s murder. In fact, I think you are a couple of shits. The very idea of gettin’ your rocks off by going through someone’s private things, and then laughing about them is sick. I’m disappointed in you, Deacon. I thought you were different.”
“We weren’t laughing,” he said defensively. “Well, maybe a little, but we didn’t mean anything by it. How else are we supposed to deal with this horrendous shit?”
“You can start by sticking to the facts related to the poor girl’s murder, and by having a little respect for the dead. She was only twenty-four goddamn years old. She will never know the joy of marriage or find the love of her life. Experiences that people like Doc take for granted.”
“As far as the joy of marriage goes, I doubt it.”
“You can’t know that. She was a very pretty girl. Her picture was on the news.”
“I didn’t say she wasn’t good lookin’. I said she would probably never get married. Her neighbor told Doc that Cynthia was a lesbian and had a lover. Doc even found a diamond tennis bracelet with a love note from B. The woman next door said the lover’s name was Bridget.”
Star turned her back to hide the look of shock and surprise on her face. “Show me,” she said as she regained her composure. She reached for the notebook.
“It’s not in here. We were outside talkin’, and I didn’t write it down.”
“I need to pee.” She said and abruptly left the room.
Hunched over the stained porcelain sink, she splashed cool water on her face. An imperfect countenance looked back from the mirror. Bridget sadly caressed her long blonde hair. Star angrily twisted the strands in her fingers. Get it together; go away. Star told Bridget. You’re in mourning. Remember, you didn’t want to be out. You’re sad. I get that, but I’m on mission. Either help me or stay out of my fucking way. There’s no time for this shit.
“You okay? I thought I heard you talking.” Deacon said his gaze transfixed on the wall.
She ignored the question and picked up the marker. “Now, let’s see,” she spoke with practiced nonchalance, “her head was found on a plate in the kitchen. Right?”
“Right, but, Star, don’t you want to note that she was a lesbian? We even know her lover’s first name. It could turn out to mean something or if we can find this Bridget maybe she can help.”
“Think about what you’re sayin’, Deacon. The killer raped the woman. They found sperm in her vagina.” Star added the two facts to the outline as she spoke. “Even if she was gay, which by the way is hearsay, her female lover could not have been the murderer. Those details have no relevance here. The murderer is a man. The facts are incontrovertible, now, what else?” Star ended her tirade as abruptly as she had begun.
“The police found a straight razor at the scene.”
Star added razor to the outline. “See, a straight razor is a man thing.” She said noting that the victim was found bound to the bedposts, and there was no sign of forced entry.
“Murder reported to 911, anonymously.” Deacon read verbatim from his notebook, “female caller with Hispanic accent.”
“Fucking racial profiling, I doubt that the ethnicity of the caller has anything to do with the murder.”
Star said indignantly. “Your information is great, but let’s limit the storyboards to relevant facts. Is that all we know about this one?” She asked as she went down the list and made a check mark by each item.
*****
Deacon breathed in a deep sigh and slowly let it out. “Yeah, I guess so.” He said glumly.
“What’s that supposed to mean? Is there something else you haven’t told me?”
He answered guardedly. “There’s nothing else on my list.”
“Deacon, who are you tryin’ to kid. I know you. I feel you. When you suffer, so do I. When you succeed, I feel the joy. There’ something you’re not telling me. It may not be on your list, but it’s on your mind. You trust me, don’t you?” She said dejectedly.
“Of course, I trust you. That has never been a question.”
“If you trust me, you’ll tell me everything. No secrets, we promised.”
“There is something, but it’s so horrible. I’ve been afraid to tell you.” His bloodshot eyes filled with tears. “It’s because I love you so much I haven’t mentioned it. I was afraid if you knew, you would stop—I was scared you wouldn’t love me anymore. Star, you are the one absolute certainty in my life. I can’t bear to lose you. Telling you isn’t worth the risk.”
Star wrapped her arms around him, and pulled him close, burying his face between her breasts. “Don’t worry, doll. I’ll love you for the rest of your life. Some day soon, I will show you the ultimate love, an experience that man has speculated about since the beginning of time.”
“What kind of experience?” Her blouse muffled his words.
“A surprise, lover, one for which you must wait. Be patient. I promise. Once we have resolved all of your questions about your current situation, you’ll understand. When you have all the answers, then and only then, will I be prepared to give you the greatest gift of all.
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