A Cincinnati Cold Case

by R. W. Nichols

 

  Chapter 22

  Those few short blocks seemed to take forever. Jimmy was sure he’d hit every red light. The only good thing was he had ample time to think. One decision he made was that Purdue’s interview would have to be put off, at least for a couple of days. In fact, he might have to put everything off for a couple of days. That left the phone. Not that he could do much with that, other than set up appointments. It wasn’t much to fall back on.

  Which brought to mind a thought he’d had while speaking with Mrs. Lorenzo. There had been no mention of her husband. Most women would bring up his name when they were nervous, when they wanted it to appear that protection was close by. The file said she had one. He needed to do more digging into her background to see what came up. Maybe a casual call to one of the other tenants about free magazines would do the trick. Jimmy knew that most people were happy to talk about their neighbors. In fact, they remained happy as long as the questioning didn’t get around to them and as long as they thought they got something free out of the deal.

  Another thought he’d had was whether or not the boy belonged to Wurtsmith. Everything pointed to no, but when things seemed certain Jimmy always questioned them. It was a habit he’d gotten into while on the force. Taking the way less traveled was sometimes the way to go. He would call the company that had done the DNA testing using Avis Clough’s name to get another copy of the results, ostensibly for the file. He’d say it was to button it up. Yeah, that would work. Although no expert in reading DNA results, he could get the gist of it and if he needed to understand more he would see an old friend, an expert in forensics often used by local law enforcement. She was speedy obtaining results and, when necessary, effective on the stand. He and Michelle Miller had always gotten along. He hoped she wouldn’t hold it against him that he was working now in a private capacity and not with the force. He mind was on this when he turned the key in the lock and opened the door to his office.

  A rough hand grabbed his shirtfront, pulling hard and choking him, as he was spun around to bang into the wall. A second hand (he got a close up look at spiky hair bristling on pudgy, puffy fingers) was clenched into a fist that swung and stopped inches from his face. It happened so fast he didn’t have time to think. If he had, he would have recognized his error, which was to never, ever, enter his office as if he was the one that paid the rent. He really needed to change the lock. This was becoming a habit.

  “Whatz happen to you?” Thug Two asked. “Somebody beat you up bad?” He uncocked his arm, pulling back his fist. Jimmy wondered if he hadn’t been clobbered because the brute felt sorry for him or if it was because the man was afraid he’d get blood on his knuckles.

  “No, it was a cat,” Jimmy sputtered, angrily pulling the other man’s hand loose from his shirt. He knew after he’d said it that his excuse sounded ridiculous. Nothing like giving the boys more fodder to mock him with. As if they needed more. Today was a worthless, thoroughly exhausting day and he wished he’d never gotten out of bed.

  “We’re here for our seester’s money. You could have wired her some, but no – you like us to come veesit you,” said Thug One from his familiar position behind Jimmy’s desk.

  “She’s out of money already?” Jimmy yelled. He was mad. Enough was enough. He was tired of being a nice guy.

  “Careful, Meester High-and-Mighty,” Thug Two hissed. “She ees your responsibility. You know how she ees when you marry to her.”

  “Yes,” Thug One added, sympathetic for some unknown reason. “We understand zee problem. She ees a demanding woman, but isn’t every womans?”

  Jimmy’s nose throbbed and to say he wasn’t happy with the situation was an understatement. Trying his best to look threatening he placed the rag back up in place and glared over the hot pink scrap of cloth at both men.

  Thug One smiled and then giggled, “You not so tough today Jimmy. I sorry about you luck, but thees is the way it ees, until zee divorce.”

  “And when will that be?” Jimmy questioned, sarcasm creeping into his tone. He was beginning to feel he would never be free of Ada and her family of shady characters.

  “Soon. Papa wants her marry thees guy soon as possible.”

  Jimmy puzzled over the man’s comment, until it suddenly hit him like a ton of bricks. He felt like he’d been slugged in the gut and couldn’t catch his breath. After all those years, Ada must be pregnant. Now, she was expecting. For a few seconds, he was filled with angry jealousy, betrayal, and even a felt as if he’d been robbed. Jimmy had always wanted children, had always expected they’d eventually get around to it. As the years went by, he’d become resigned that Ada didn’t want any. It seemed he was wrong about that too. He’d been such a fool.

  Could it be his? Was there a chance? Hope flared, but just as quickly faded. No, no way possible. He and Ada hadn’t been together for six months. Her daddy wouldn’t let them divorce if she had Jimmy’s bun in the oven. He was too good a Catholic. In fact, he would want her married to the baby’s daddy quickly. It belonged to the other man. And she couldn’t be very far along. Good old Papa would speed the divorce along; he wanted her safely married and his grandchild legal. A different hope flared and this time didn’t fade. The divorce would be final soon. He would be free of Ada and her unrelenting money grabbing ways.

  “When’s she due, Alphonzo?” he asked Thug One casually, as he walked toward the desk for his checkbook.

  “What you say?” Thug One asked, pretending not to understand, his face carefully expressionless.

  “Careful,” Thug Two hissed, threat plain in his voice. This was his sister they were discussing. The family honor was at stake.

  Jimmy knew to change the subject. “I can give you twelve hundred, Ada’s share. I got a new case and a small retainer just yesterday.” He lied, hoping they wouldn’t be able to find out about the nice cushion that resided in his bank account.

  “You weel do better,” Thug One said. “We take fifteen hundred this day. Make it worth our while for thees trip.”

  “Okay, but if I starve, she won’t get another dime.”

  “You no starve. You funny, Jimmy,” Thug One said, smiling. Of the two, Jimmy liked him best. Not because he wasn’t as violent as his sibling, because he was, more so probably. As the smart one, he was the one to decide the particular brand of cruelty to inflict. But he had a sense of humor.

  Sometimes it’s the little things.

  Jimmy wrote the check for fifteen-hundred dollars payable to Ada Warren and passed it over, his face wearing a carefully contrived expression of pain that said, ‘What was he going to do? How could he pay his rent? Oh, worry, worry.’

  “You smart guy. You do fine,” Thug One said, in his way attempting to comfort, as he patted his shoulder. “We are back once, twice more. Then zee divorce, she is final.”

  Jimmy nodded, showed the brothers out, and firmly locked the deadbolt. He wondered why they’d returned to Cincinnati so soon. Surely not for the few hundred they were shaking him down for. There had to be something else. What were they up to? He knew he wasn’t his brothers-in-law’s keeper, but if they were into something illegal it would, somehow, fall back on him. He’d be guilty by association and his hope to be rehired by the Cincinnati post was just a pipedream.

  Thinking this, he went straight to the bathroom and grabbed the bottle of ibuprofen off the cabinet shelf. As he swallowed two extra-strength pills, he heard a knock on the door. Now what? Jimmy was in no mood to listen to a new client and a quick look in the mirror told him that they wouldn’t be impressed with him either. He hesitated, considering staying hidden in the bathroom, hoping whoever was there would leave.

  Two more series of raps on the door told him that wasn’t going to work.

  “Go away!” he yelled out.

  “No. Let me in,” came back a female voice. “I want to talk to you.”

  Hopeful th
at it was Patricia Lorenzo, he gave in and went to the door. He unlocked the deadbolt, pulled the door open, and was dismayed to see Izzy standing there. By the look on her face, she was as surprised as he was with what waited on the other side. For some reason the strains that accompanied the children’s movie, Beauty and the Beast’, entered his head.

  “You poor man,” she sympathized. And then in the next breath added, “What the hell happened to you? Another door?”

  He opened his mouth to admit that it had indeed been a door, when he felt a trickle of blood begin again. Tipping his head back, he scurried back to the bathroom with Izzy following closely behind.

  She grabbed a paper towel and thrust it at him and then picked up the hot pink washcloth he’d left lying in the vanity’s sink. Her eyebrows went up as she rinsed it out.

  “Pretty color,” she teased. “Although it won’t be if you let blood dry on it.”

  Jimmy waved his hand around, irritably dismissing her comment. When she motioned to exchange the paper towel for the freshened rag he did as she urged. Then he allowed her to help him out of his Polo shirt and watched her rinse out the spot of blood that had fallen on the shirt’s front. And when she told him to sit on the couch and tilt his head back, he obediently obeyed. She brought along another paper towel, dampened, and without asking permission, began cleaning him up. There was a smear on his chin and one on his neck that he hadn’t noticed. Apparently, today, women were determined to minister to his needs. His opinion of himself was dropping fast; he felt as pathetic as they seemed to think he was.

  But he was still a man. Jimmy was torn between feeling like a troublesome child and wanting to wrap his arms around the woman and crush her to him. He must have been easy to read, because Izzy soon stopped her efforts, threw the blood-spotted paper in the trash, and sat in the chair across and away from him.

  “How’s the case going?” she asked, letting him know why she was there.

  It took a second for his mind to shift from the pleasant picture it had painted, back to reality.

  “I haven’t heard from Paul yet. I can’t do anything until he and I talk. I’m sure he’s busy, but I hope to hear from him by the end of the week.”

  “You need a cadaver dog, right? We can pressure him into getting one out there. Is there anything else we can do?”

  “We won’t push too hard,” Jimmy said, assuming she had meant him and her, not understanding her slip about her and her sister. “He’ll get around to it, I’m sure.” He was also sure Paul wouldn’t want her involved, and surely wouldn’t want her hooked up with him. He wouldn’t if the situation were reversed.

  “I’d like to be there when it happens. I could help keep Ruth calm.”

  Jimmy thought about it. It was tempting and always nice to have Izzy around, but decided it wasn’t a good idea.

  “Sorry. You have to stay away. I shouldn’t have taken you out there Saturday. It was stupid of me.”

  “Why?”

  Jimmy stared at her, thinking it had to be obvious. And thinking how cute she was with that indignant expression on her face.

  “You were the last one we know of to see Janet Hilton alive. Even though it sounds stupid to anyone that knows you, you’re still a suspect. You can’t be there in case we find her remains. Forensics wouldn’t like the risk of having their crime scene contaminated.”

  “Oh,” Izzy said, stunned. She hadn’t given that a thought. She’d had nothing to do with Janet’s going missing and probable murder. But because of the murder she had been involved with, it would be for the best if she steered clear. It wouldn’t do to raise anyone’s suspicions. Especially this detective’s. The smart thing to do would be to walk away and not be anywhere near him again. But, and this shocked her, she wasn’t going to do the smart thing. She liked the man. And when he was vulnerable, like now, sitting on the couch in his t-shirt, his face a swollen mess, she found him the most appealing.

  Chapter 23

  Daisy cleared her throat nervously. What were the odds? Here was the same cop she’d spoken to before. The patch on his uniform read Cpl. Jason Adel. The name even sounded familiar. He was involved in paperwork and hadn’t looked up when she’d stepped up to the desk. He hadn’t heard her approach. Or was pretending not to.

  She cleared her throat again. This time it had the desired effect. Cpl. Adel glanced up, his expression changing from irritation at being bothered to one of recognition. He remembered her. She was positive of it.

  “Yes, miss. Can I help you?” he questioned as if he didn’t.

  “I’ve come back to see if you still want me to sit with a police artist,” Daisy said, jumping right in before she lost her nerve. She didn’t want to waste time. She wanted to be in and out as quickly as possible, hoping not to be recognized for who she really was. Already, she regretted coming. She held out her hand, but the policeman merely waved at the chair beside his desk. She flushed at his rudeness, but sat down, crossing long legs clad in sheer black nylons, her feet encased in dramatic four-inch pumps that must have cost three hundred dollars if they cost a penny. She was creating a stir among the uniformed cops milling about with her fashionable good looks and expensive clothing. Without being aware of it, she was hopelessly overdressed for a police precinct in downtown Cincinnati.

  “And you are?” Jason glanced behind him, hoping Det. Paul Lewinski was in. He seemed to be; his office door was open. Jason needed to get her into that office as quickly as possible and turn her over to the detective. He didn’t relish the possibility of going through what he had the last time. He’d been the laughing stock of the precinct.

  “Just call me Daisy. As I told you previously, I’m not filing a report and you’re not getting my real name.”

  “I remember,” Jason said soothingly, not wanting her to run again. The flack he’d caught from the rest of the guys when she’d high-tailed it was brutal. Losing a witness, especially a pretty one with nice legs, was the eleventh sin. “Just relax, miss. First I’d like you to speak with the homicide detective in charge of the case. He has a few questions.”

  Daisy nodded that this would be agreeable and he let out a stress-filled breath he’d hadn’t been aware he’d been holding.

  Jason stood up and then hesitated. This is when she’d run away the last time. He considered handcuffing her to the chair, but regretfully ruled that out. It would just antagonize her. And then he’d have to sanitize his cuffs again; a task that always proved difficult because of the sheer number of links. He hated germs and dealing with the public, let alone criminals, was a dirty, dirty business.

  “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

  “Okay.”

  Without taking his eyes off the young woman he made his way to the detective’s door and was relieved when he saw him seated at his desk.

  “Paul? That woman’s back that calls herself Daisy. The one that thinks the Bathtub Girls’ killer attacked her. She said she’d be willing to do a sketch now.”

  Paul’s heart pounded in his chest. She was here. The one that had gotten away.

  “Paul? What do you want to do?” Jason asked anxiously. He glanced back at the woman who was acting antsy; she was getting ready to run.

  “Umm, unfortunately I’m busy right now. Get a phone number, address, anything that she’ll give you. Call up Jeff and have him come in right away to do the sketch. I’ve got to run out on another case; you’ll have to handle it. That case is pretty much closed anyway, but just to say we’ve done everything we can, we’ll get a sketch done. Got it?”

  “Yes, sir.” Jason was surprised. He hadn’t known the detective to turn a witness over to anyone else. Of course, the Bathtub Girls’ murders were basically solved. They just needed Mason’s arrest and conviction to clear them from the books. Still the fact that Paul was assigning him the task meant he thought him capable of handling the situation. His chest puffed up a little, Jason tur
ned, went back to his desk, and sat down with the witness.

  ***

  Paul waited until his heart stopped beating erratically and his thoughts were less chaotic. Then, sticking a pair of sunglasses on his face, he casually walked out his door and turned left. After taking the hallway at the back of the building, he turned back toward the front walking past the offices on that side and stopped at the entrance to the lobby. Jason’s back was turned to him as he interviewed the witness. Paul studied the unsuspecting woman seated beside the corporal’s desk. Expensive clothes, stylish hairdo, and the way she carried herself told him she was educated and had money behind her. The young woman must be well known to Cincinnati’s high society. Someone knew who she was. His fear waned, knowing she wouldn’t be difficult to find.

  With nothing now to be afraid of, he relaxed and allowed himself the pleasure of reminiscing. Although not consciously trying to pull up the memory, the thrill of the hunt returned as if it had just happened that morning. Raw, animalistic excitement caused his heartbeat to quicken and his breathing to become rapid and loud to his ears. It dawned on him that anyone walking by would notice and think he was having a heart attack. Regretfully, Paul turned and walked back the way he’d come, toward the building’s back door, knowing he had to get away before he aroused suspicion.

  An exhilarating vision of the woman filled his thoughts to the exclusion of everything else. Lovely, with beautiful legs and a long, slim neck, there was much more to her appeal than just raw physical attraction. And though he understood this in some far corner of his mind, Paul would have been hard pressed to explain it. He only knew he wanted her. And that he would have her.

  And now, because she had felt the need to do her civic duty and come in and report a crime that she should have let lie; she had sealed her fate. It was plain to see it was her fault. Paul couldn’t let anything happen to change his comfortable world. There was too much to lose. He had a good life, a good job, and a good woman at home. No, he would not run, would not slip away to hide leaving everything he cared about behind. Not now, not when he was finally content. Paul relaxed even further. It was such a simple thing, but would take careful planning. He was confident that he could work out all the details and that this threat would be easily eliminated. And at the same time, he would get to play again and satisfy those urges. Climbing into his car, he smiled. This woman, the only one to have ever gotten away, wouldn’t be free long. He would catch her and she would soon remember him.