by J. J. Franck
Don motioned up to Fred. “Bag this,” he said, handing Fred the butt.
Fred quickly bagged it, while Don got up and started walking over to a streetlight near an alley where the gas can was discovered. He glanced around. He had a clear view of the Mustang. When he glanced into the alley, he noticed a few more cigarette butts on the ground.
“Hey Fred, you got to bag these also. And hurry, it’s going to rain soon.”
Don walked back to O’Reilly. “Have you run an ID on the car yet?” he asked.
“Yeah, it’s registered to a Raven VanBuren. Don’t know if that’s her in the car yet. But it doesn’t look good.”
“Let me know when you get a positive ID on her. For now, we’ll have to assume it’s her.”
O’Reilly smiled. “Sure looks like overkill to me, though.”
“Somebody must have really had it in for the woman,” Fred added.
Don turned to O’Reilly. “Do you have an address on the broad?”
O’Reilly nodded and then flipped his notebook. He ripped out a page and handed it to Don.
Don glanced at the address and then whistled. “Nice part of town,” was all he said, with raised eyebrows.
Don put the note in his little notebook and walked away. Fred followed close behind.
Don turned to him. “I thought I told you to be quiet.”
“I never got too close for him to smell my breath.”
“You’re lucky this time. When I tell you to do something, you do it. You understand?”
Don quickly got into the squad. Fred took one last look at the Mustang and then got into the passenger side. He was having a hard time reading Don. It seemed the harder he tried, the worse their relationship was becoming.
It didn’t take long before sheets of rain pelted the windshield. The wipers were almost hypnotic as Don fought the urge to shut his eyes, aware it would be a few hours before he would be able to call it a night. When he saw the Golden Arches he quickly made a pit stop, knowing full well he would need a jolt of caffeine to keep his engines going. It was times like this he hated being a homicide detective. Most crimes he investigated happened in the dead of night, a time when most regular folks are snuggled in for the night.
Chapter 3
Don feared it was going to be one of those all-nighters through no fault of his own. He should never have taken Fred up on going out drinking for the night. Granted, he only drank non-alcoholic beers, but his body still required a few hours of shut-eye to regenerate from a busy day fighting crime. Fred was fortunate and took the opportunity to catch a little shut-eye during the forty-five minute drive it took to get to Hillier Street in Falls Church, Virginia.
As Don pulled onto the dead-end street he was struck by the houses in the neighborhood, certainly not something he could afford on his cop’s salary. The street was dark and deserted. The house lights were all off, as everyone was hunkered down for the night. The storm had long since gone and was a distant memory, but the streets were still wet from the torrential rain that fell.
Don pulled up to the nicely maintained two-story house with an attached three-car garage, more than what a single, working girl needed. It was dark inside, but that was to be expected at that time of night, and if she were indeed their victim, that would explain her absence. Don poked Fred and, when he got no response, he slapped him on the side of the head. At that hour of the night he was beyond being nice to someone who’d kept him out longer than he ever wanted.
“Wake up, we’re here,” Don snapped.
Fred slowly opened his eyes and then stretched. It wasn’t enough to rejuvenate his body, but it would have to do for now. Fred found it difficult not to yawn and was having a hard time shaking away the urge to crawl in a corner and continue sleeping.
“I was hoping it was all a bad dream,” Fred said, looking over at Don with helpless eyes. But it was a look that got no sympathy from his partner.
“Come on, duty calls,” Don said as he got out of the car and walked up the path to the front door.
“Can’t I just sit here and wait for you?”
Don just turned to Fred with one of his looks that implied it was a stupid question and didn’t require an answer. Don motioned with his hand for Fred to get moving.
Fred hadn’t been with Don long, but it was long enough to understand what the look meant. He quickly opened the door and followed Don up the path to the front of the house.
“Nice place for a single working girl,” Don said as he looked up. Even in the dark of night he still could make out the structure and know it looked even nicer in the daylight.
Fred took a deep breath. “Maybe the rent is cheap,” he said, knowing full well it was a dumb remark.
“You can bet they don’t rent in this neighborhood. This house must go for half a million easy,” Don snapped and then quickly added, “I wonder what line of work our girl was into.”
“Certainly not a shoe clerk,” Fred laughed.
Don just looked at him and wondered what was wrong with him, and then he figured it must be lack of sleep that was making him slap-happy.
“She wasn’t a cop either, not with a nest like this.”
Don walked up to the porch and peeked through the side window. It was too dark to make out anything.
Fred turned to Don. “You sure this is her address?” he asked with raised eyebrows.
Don glanced at Fred with one of his scowls, a little irritated with him that he would question him on the address. But the fact remained he really wasn’t sure, and he trusted O’Reilly to get it right. He didn’t need a home invasion on his record right now. Don hesitated for a moment and then turned to the mailbox. He opened the lid and was thankful for mail. He took out the stack of mail in the box, reached in his pocket for a penlight and shined it on the envelope, and then turned to Fred.
“Raven O.M. VanBuren, we got the right place,” was all he said, with a smirk that meant “I told you so.”
“I wonder what the OM stands for, maybe old money,” Fred said, and was about to laugh, but the look on Don’s face told him not to.
“Now, this is the kind of broad I need to find for myself,” Don whispered to himself without thinking, but he said it loud enough for Fred to hear.
“Think she’d take a second look at you?” Fred asked.
Don handed Fred the stack of mail while he just shook his head. He had only known his new partner for less than a month, but Fred seemed to know Don better than Don knew himself. It was scary at times, but Don never let Fred know how close he came to having him pegged right.
“And what’s wrong with me?” Don asked, curious what Fred would have to say, and then quickly added in his own defense, “I haven’t been written up once this month.
Fred glanced over at Don and shook his head. “My point exactly.”
Don looked around and seemed to think for a moment. Then he bent down and flipped the mat up. “Bingo,” he said. Don looked up at Fred with a smile on his face as he picked up the key that was hidden there. People never learned that under the mat was the first place a burglar looked, that and a pot nearby.
“You are good,” is all Fred could muster up to say. “It beats breaking down the door.”
“Who said anything about breaking the door down?”
Fred laughed. “You had that look in your eye again.”
Don unlocked the door and then slowly walked through without a comeback for Fred. He quickly reached in his pocket and put on latex gloves and then handed Fred a pair.
Fred followed Don in and set the stack of mail on the table next to another stack sitting there. He then turned and reached for the light switch. Don whistled when the light went on.
He stepped onto the royal-blue carpeting. Don could feel the carpet give with his weight as he sank in with every step he took. He detected the faint scent of cinnamon as he entered the room and looked around. It was then he saw the reed diffusers placed strategically around the room. The pale-cream couch and chair were b
eautifully accented with throw pillows that matched the carpeting. The vases of silk flowers in hues of yellow, blue, and green accented the pillows on the couch. The brass bird ornaments set around the room added a touch of class so as not to appear too ornate.
Don walked into the center of the room and stood in front of the mantel. His breath stalled in his throat as he stared up at the portrait above the fireplace. His forehead perspired and for some reason he had goose bumps running up his arms as the image of the woman stared back at him. The woman’s hair was jet black and her green eyes stared back at him with all the intensity of a real breathing person. Chills went down Don’s spine. The olive complexion was flawless. Don was taken aback at the sight, and for the longest time he couldn’t take his eyes off the vision.
“What a waste, if that is Ms. VanBuren,” was all he could muster up to say.
Fred walked up behind Don. He, too, was impressed by the image of the woman staring back at them. He glanced at the signature in the bottom right-hand corner.
“Paulo,” Fred said with an impressive grin. “You’re talking big bucks here. He doesn’t paint just anybody.”
Don turned to Fred and frowned. “What do you know about art?”
“Don’t you read the paper?”
Don shrugged. “Sports section.”
Fred shook his head. He liked Don, but he really was a narrow-minded, old school cop who didn’t venture out of his comfort zone much. Fred had always liked the finer things in life. Even though he was a cop, he went to museums, he liked the Met on a Saturday night when he used to live in the Big Apple, and he read the society page of the Washington Post. Fred finally turned back to Don.
“You have to be somebody for him to even put you on a waiting list,” he said and then paused for a moment before continuing. “And that doesn’t even guarantee you a sitting.”
Don didn’t even turn to look at Fred, just stared up at the portrait that had mesmerized him. “Then our girl was somebody,” he said. He finally turned to look at Fred and quickly added, “But who?”
“Sure didn’t help her in the end.”
Don walked over to the pile of mail on the table near the door. He picked up the stack and flipped through it quickly.
“Federal offense to open any,” Fred quickly added.
“Does it look like I’m opening any?”
Fred shrugged. “Just saying.”
“Looks like almost a week’s worth here,” Don said and then glanced over at Fred.
“Maybe she didn’t like being bothered.”
Don was busy reading a note that was stuck between two envelopes. He held it up and then quickly read it. “If you don’t leave him alone, you’re dead.”
Fred raised his eyebrows, realizing they had a motive now.
“Someone wasn’t a happy camper. Looks like we found our first suspect as soon as we figure out who her love interest was.”
Fred walked over to a breakfront that filled the better part of the one wall. He looked at the display of figurines along with porcelain cups and saucers. The woman had good taste, and everything was displayed meticulously. Fred pulled open a few drawers. He looked through the neatly arranged table linens and then closed it and opened up another. Everything was neat and orderly, but there was nothing incriminating to identify a suitor. There were no pictures around the room giving any hint, and there were no pile of love letters hidden in the back of crevices of any of the drawers in the breakfront.
“In the world of technology do you honestly think you’ll find anything in writing?” Don said, looking at Fred while shaking his head.
Fred looked over at Don. “You never know.”
Don turned and walked down the hall to the kitchen. He turned on the light and was impressed by what he saw. The butcher block-island cabinet near the sink and stove broke up the spacious room. The large table with benches on either side gave a homey feel to the room, unlike the elegant arrangement of the formal living room. Don walked over to the fridge and opened the door. He reached in and took out the carton of milk. It was already outdated by a week.
Fred walked in and glanced at Don, who just glanced over at him and pointed to the date. Fred shrugged as he walked over to the sink and reached for the glass that was sitting there. He picked it up and looked at the bright red lipstick on the rim.
Don walked over and sniffed the contents and then turned to the bottle sitting near the sink.
“Looks like our girl likes to tip a few,” he said and then continued, “Looks fresh, too.”
“It almost seemed like she’s been gone.” Fred commented.
“Maybe someone was watching the place, bringing in the mail.”
Fred nodded. “Explains the pile of mail on the table by the door.”
Don glanced around the room and then bent down and opened the doors under the sink. He pulled out the garbage bucket and looked inside. It was empty. Then he turned and walked over to the back door. He unlocked it and walked out. He saw the cans near the gate. He quickly walked off the small porch and hurried down the path to where the cans sat and opened the lid. They too, were empty. He turned to Fred, who’d followed him outside and stood on the back porch.
“Check when garbage pickup is in this neighborhood.”
Fred took out his little notebook and quickly made a notation. It was a habit of his to write things down, as he was fearful of forgetting. And the fact was, he was getting tired, and being sleep-deprived was not going to be helpful in the morning. Fred wondered how Don did it. Keep going after all these years of long hours. But then, given his history at the station house, Fred knew Don was never married. He also knew he now lived with his mother, and it was a fact that Don’s personal life had definitely suffered because of his career choice.
Fred glanced up at Don. “What time is it?”
Don glanced at his watch. “Three.”
Don walked past Fred on the porch. He quickly walked through the kitchen back into the living room and over to the phone near the front door. There was an answering machine that was hooked up to it. Don punched the answering machine. It showed there were new messages there. Don ejected the little tape and put it in his pocket. He opened the drawer of the table the machine was sitting on and took the tape out that was there. He looked at it to make sure it was rewound and put it in the machine.
Fred turned to him. “How did you know there would be one there?”
Don just shrugged. “I didn’t, it just made sense if she had one of these old machines, she would have an extra tape, and the drawer seemed like the logical place for it.” Don then turned and walked up the stairs, followed closely behind by Fred. At the head of the stairs to his left was a bathroom. Don looked in but then just walked down the hall. There was a bedroom to his left that was a nice size. It had double beds with a chest of drawers and a dresser near the window. There was a desk with a computer and a bunch of papers scattered on the desk. It looked like this was where she did her work. Straight ahead was another bedroom. This one had a trundle bed with a small dresser. It was the one to his right that he was most interested in.
The far wall was covered with door mirrors the full expanse of the room that Don guessed hid closets. The California king-size bed filled most of the inside wall. A large dresser sat on the right wall. The distinct scent of cinnamon hanging in the air reminded Don of his mother’s homemade apple pie in the fall. And at the far end was a door that led to a bathroom with a steam shower that Don could only dream of ever having.
Don walked over to the dresser and glanced at the tray of lipstick tubes and perfumes. He picked up a few tubes. They all appeared pastel or pale in color, none of the bright red that was on the glass in the kitchen.
“Interesting,” was all Don mustered up to say as Fred sniffed the perfume bottles.
“She has expensive taste,” Don said, looking at his watch. “Shit we’re back on duty in three hours. I got to get some sleep.”
Don didn’t really feel up to going throu
gh the bedroom thoroughly. He planned to come back later once it was confirmed that it was Raven VanBuren in the burnt-out Mustang. He walked out of the bedroom down the hall to the stairs. Once he was back in the living room he walked up to the portrait and stared at it again for the longest time. It was hard for him to remember the vision of her slumped over the steering wheel no longer having a face, given how beautiful she once was. What could she have possibly have done to warrant such a violent end?
Fred walked up behind Don and poked him in the ribs, startling Don for a moment.
“You ready to go?” Fred asked.
“In a minute.”
“She’s dead, remember?”
Don just shrugged. “What a waste!”
Don had thought back to all the girls he’d known through the years. None of them came close to the vision he was looking at in front of him. He couldn’t remember ever being angry enough with any one of the women he dated to do what someone did to Raven that night. Even Jackie cheating on him like she did wasn’t cause for murder. He just cut his losses and moved back in with his mother.
But through the years, he had seen enough senseless killing where nothing made sense. In the heat of an argument the most docile of men could do horrendous deeds. He once saw a man who was a pillar of his church but who, in the heat of an argument with his wife of twenty-five years, killed her because of a burnt steak. He then, to hide his deed, proceeded to dismember her and throw her remains out with yesterday’s garbage. To hide the act from his grown children, he came up with a lie that she ran off with some man she met on the Internet. It all unraveled when body parts started turning up, and in his haste to clean things up, he’d forgotten to remove a ring he gave her on their twentieth anniversary.
He’d had the diamond registered and it was tied back to him. Once the house was investigated they sprayed Luminol on the walls. It lit up like a candle. Because of a burnt steak, he was spending the rest of his life in prison.
Chapter 4
The forty-five minutes of shut-eye that Don finally snatched once he got home was not enough to revive his body. His consciousness couldn’t get beyond the first stages of sleep because of visions of Raven VanBuren both in life and in death. She haunted his very existence and he couldn’t shake her image, even in sleep.