by Alex P. Berg
I paused at the edge of one of the trailers as I considered the yarn I’d spun. It was a good story, but the evidence suggested it was just that. For one thing, an encounter such as the one I’d pieced together in my head would be violent, unplanned, and almost certainly loud. There would be shouting and yelling, not to mention blows aimed at one another before Stella’s murder. The trailers were only parked a half-dozen paces away from each other, and the walls couldn’t have been more than a single board thick. People would’ve heard the shouts and cries, and based on the testimonies collected thus far, none had. More importantly, it would be hard to hide such a relationship in the first place. If a young, handsome carny was having an affair with the boss’s wife, the rumor would’ve spread to every corner of the circus within days. It was possible the carnival folk would band together and refuse to tell us about the affair in hopes of protecting whomever was involved, but would they do the same with a murder on the line? Folks were less willing to protect each other from a felony than a marital indiscretion.
Not to mention, the hobo’s testimony still didn’t fit. According to him, Stella had run from the lot to the circus. If she feared for her life and was fleeing attack, wouldn’t she have run the other way? Certainly she would’ve if she’d had her car keys. Maybe that’s why she returned. She’d forgotten them in a rush to get away, and her return to the circus had been in an unsuccessful attempt to retrieve them.
I shook my head as I kept walking. No, that didn’t quite work either. If she’d been stark naked, she would’ve known she didn’t have her keys on her. She must’ve run to the car for some other reason. Or perhaps I was barking up the wrong tree. Maybe there was another naked woman. Perhaps Stella had been involved in a love triangle. Maybe she’d found her paramour in the arms of another woman. Maybe she ran her off and attacked her lover, but while trying to protect himself he accidentally killed her. Maybe then, in a panic, the paramour enlisted the help of his new side-piece, loaded Stella in her car, and cremated her remains to hide everything.
But then why leave the remains in the bird enclosure where they were sure to be found? I snorted in frustration, but I didn’t expect anyone to hear me.
“Rough morning, Officer?”
I looked up from the ground at my feet to find I’d made it back to the aviary. Not far outside it was the same brown-haired zookeeper I’d interviewed yesterday morning, Krzysztof Radoslaw. He stood outside the entrance to the enclosure, broom in hand, wearing the same tattered canvas jacket I’d seen him in the day before. If anything, the circles underneath his eyes were even darker than I remembered them.
I shrugged as I closed the last of the distance between us. “Just trying to wrap my head around things, Mr. Radoslaw. Precious little about this investigation makes sense.”
Radoslaw looked at the aviary, his skin waxy in the midday sun. “Not every day you encounter a dead man’s remains in an animal pen, that is for certain.”
“Dead woman,” I corrected.
One of Radoslaw’s eyebrows inched up. “You know who died, then?”
I figured it would only be a matter of time before the entire circus knew given Dean was speaking with the foreman. “Stella Vernon. Mr. Vernon’s wife.”
Radoslaw shook his head, his eyes downturned. I got the impression there was something he wanted to share, but he broke into a violent fit of coughing, causing him cram his mouth into the crook of his elbow.
I gave him a moment before pushing forth. “I don’t suppose you saw Mrs. Vernon the night of her death.”
Radoslaw wiped his mouth on his sleeve and cleared his throat. “No. The last time I saw her was maybe a week ago, while I was refilling the feeder for the cotingas. I said hello, and she responded. She was a nice woman, but not very talkative.”
“What are cotingas?” I asked.
“Small bird, brilliant blue plumage. They are easy to spot once you know what to look for. I can show you if you would like.” Radoslaw shot a thumb toward the aviary.
My brow furrowed. “You last saw Mrs. Vernon in the aviary?”
Radoslaw nodded. “She liked to spend time with all the animals, but it is easier to be alone and unsupervised there than with the tigers. I think she found a special bond with the birds, though. She was particularly fond of our scarlet aracanga. It is a beautiful bird, with feathers like the setting sun. Sadly, it escaped the night of the murder. I have not been able to find it.”
“So Stella spent time in the aviary often?”
Radoslaw started coughing again, but he nodded his assent.
I mulled that over as I allowed the man to gain his breath. “Do you know if Mrs. Vernon was… seeing anyone at the circus? Romantically-speaking, I mean.”
Radoslaw shook his head as he took a deep breath. “If she was, I did not know about it.”
“Did you hear any screams or shouting the night before you discovered the remains? Not necessarily from the aviary but inside the circus in general?”
“I did not,” said Radoslaw. “I am sorry.”
“Did you see a naked woman running loose?”
The man surprised me by not saying anything lewd. “No. Was there a nude woman here that night?”
“There might’ve been,” I said. “We have an unreliable witness who says he spotted one.”
Radoslaw’s brow scrunched in thought, but before he could say anything the coughs overtook him again. His body shook from the force of his coughing, and he doubled over, hanging onto his broom for support. I gave him another moment to recover, but this time he just kept going and going.
I started to get concerned. “Are you okay, Mr. Radoslaw? Should I find a medic?”
Perhaps the mention of medical attention was anathema, as it was enough to slow the coughing enough for him to get a few words out. “No. … I do not need a doctor. … It is chronic. Cannot be helped.”
“Are you sure?” The man still hadn’t straightened.
Radoslaw nodded as he pushed himself up using the broom. He took a few deep breaths before speaking. “It is what it is. I am sorry, Officer, but I really should get back to work. It takes me longer to finish my tasks these days, and I am already behind.”
There were things I still wanted to ask him—how the recovery of his animals was going, for one—but none of it was critical to the case. I couldn’t justify taking more of his time for smalltalk, or any talk given his propensity to coughing.
I thanked the man for his time as he hobbled off before heading out in search of Dean.
Chapter Twenty-Three
I was sitting at my desk eating a corned beef reuben with coleslaw in place of the sauerkraut when I heard Moss’s chipper voice behind me. “See. She got lunch. Don’t paint me as the villain.”
I wiped thousand island dressing off my chin with one of the five hundred napkins the sandwich place had stuffed in my bag as I swiveled around. Moss and Justice were tossing their jackets onto their chairs. Moss had a mischievous look on her face, while Justice looked aggrieved.
The big ogre rolled his eyes. “No one’s attacking you, Ginger. Though I might accuse you of being a drama queen…”
I tossed the used napkin onto a pile of three or four others I’d already gone though. While I wouldn’t need the whole stack, the sandwich was one of the messier ones I’d eaten. Good thing I hadn’t taken a crack at it in Dean’s Viper. “What’s going on?”
Moss gave me a playful smirk. “Justice was whining because we didn’t pick you up anything when we stopped at Quickie Dogs on our way back from Vernon’s. I told him you’re a big girl and you could fend for yourself, but apparently he’s going soft on me, even if his exterior is rock hard.”
Moss followed that last bit with a mischievous grin, but if what I’d witnessed in the bank was any indication of Justice’s leanings, no amount of pouting lips and arched eyebrows would sway his interests, regardless of his professionalism.
Justice snorted. “In my defense, Dean often works through lunch. When he�
�s got a serious case on the brain, his bodily needs go totally ignored. You can’t fault me for thinking he might forget what time it is and that he’s got a flesh and blood human tagging along with him. Back me up, Dean.”
Dean didn’t turn from his chair, but he held up a finger. “He’s partially right. I do hyper focus. I don’t forget what time it is, though. I make conscious choices about how to allocate my time, including on meals. Sometimes I need them, other times I don’t. This time, I chose to eat, taking into consideration Phair’s needs as well.”
Dean hadn’t mentioned any of that while in the car. He’d simply driven to the nearest Loaders franchise outside the circus and asked what I wanted, ordering a grilled ham and cheese for himself. I hadn’t realized he might’ve skipped lunch if not for me. On the one hand, it bothered me that he might skip meals at all. As svelte as he was, there was no need for it, but it did bring a smile to my face to know he was thinking of me. I should thank him, but I figured I might keep that for a moment when we were alone. I didn’t want to come across as a doe-eyed fawn in front of the others.
Moss threw up her hands as she settled into her chair. “Fine. Apparently, I’m the jerk for not caring enough. Sorry, Phair.”
“Don’t apologize to me,” I said. “I got a sandwich. If anything, I was worried for you. It’s almost two. I figured you were still stuck at Vernon’s with CSU.”
“Well, we were stuck there for a long time. A lot longer than I wanted to be, if you catch my drift.”
I scrunched my face. “I don’t, actually.”
“Vernon,” said Moss. “Remember how you told me he gave you a weird vibe and you wanted me to see if I felt the same? Well, sound the alarm, girl. That guy’s a creep.”
Justice had sat down, but he hadn’t turned to his desk yet. “He is?”
“Absolutely,” said Moss. “I’m surprised you didn’t notice. Actually, I’m not. You’re a guy. You’re not attuned to that sort of thing. But he’s a grade-A creeper.”
Dean turned around, his brow bunched in concern. “Did he harass you?”
Moss shook her head. “He didn’t do anything illegal, or even say anything particularly crude or offensive. It’s just something about the way he behaved. His smiles were too toothy when he spoke to me, his tone of voice too fawning, and from the way he looked at me, I got the impression he wished he had x-ray vision, if you know what I mean. I don’t know. It’s hard to explain other than to say I wouldn’t want to be left alone with him, and I certainly wouldn’t drink any beverage I didn’t closely watch him make.”
“You think he’d drug you?” said Justice. “Because if you have evidence to suggest he might, that could be significant. We’re operating on the assumption Stella was drugged during that pornographic shoot, after all.”
“Just a turn of phrase, Ogden,” said Moss. “I’m saying I trust him as far as I can throw him.”
The half-eaten reuben on my desk called my name, but the case was niggling at my mind. Perhaps that was how Dean felt when he skipped meals in the name of criminal justice. “Speaking of Vernon, do you guys think he was telling the truth about his wife?”
“In what sense?” asked Dean.
“Well, he claimed she didn’t remember taking part in the nude photoshoot when he confronted her, and maybe that’s what she told him. But it seems odd to me that she wouldn’t remember any of it. It’s one thing to be drugged and pass out. It’s another to be drugged enough not to remember anything afterwards but still lucid enough to be able to follow directions and make an attempt to look sexually receptive.”
Justice rubbed his chin. “If she remembered the encounter, that suggests… what? That she was in on the blackmail attempt?”
“I suppose that’s one possibility,” I said. “From what we know about her, Stella was depressed. Potentially trapped in a loveless marriage. Maybe she wanted to get divorced but Vernon refused. The lewd photos could’ve been a roundabout way to force the issue. The other option is that she was in on the photos but not the blackmail. If she was having an affair, the photos could’ve been intended for her paramour who then used them to blackmail Vernon. Stella would’ve assuredly disavowed knowledge of the photos’ existence in that case. Easier to claim you’ve been drugged and exploited than to admit you’re having an affair.”
Dean nodded, his eyebrows furrowed in thought, as his phone rang. He turned to answer it while Moss leaned in.
The beautiful blonde lowered her voice. “You’re presuming that last part, I assume.”
I smirked. “My love life is not nearly as salacious as you seem to think it is, Detective.”
Dean sighed and spoke into the receiver. “Yes, sir. I’ll get right on it.”
“What was that about?” asked Justice as the phone clacked back onto the base.
“That was the captain,” said Dean as he stood. “Apparently, our operators received an anonymous tip about the third of the Tarot Card Killer murders.”
A cold ripple shot up my spine at the mention of it. That was the murder I’d been in close proximity to, after all.
Justice perked. “They did?”
Dean pulled his coat off his chair and shrugged into it. “Don’t get your hopes up. Based off what the captain told me, I’d wager there’s a ninety-five percent chance of this being a load of bull. Still, a five percent chance of a lead is better than none. Want to come with?”
“Sure.” Justice hopped up and grabbed his coat, too.
Dean gave the rest of us a nod. “Moss. Phair. Hold down the fort.”
Moss gave the men a wave as they headed out. “I’ll grab my spear.”
I turned back to my sandwich, trying to banish thoughts of the Tarot Card Killer from my mind as I took another bite of toasted bread and corned beef. I didn’t even have it halfway chewed before I heard Moss’s voice in my ear. “So… what’s next, champ?”
I swallowed and looked over my shoulder to find Moss hanging on the edge of our partition. “Champ?”
“Justice is big guy or handsome, for obvious reasons. Dean isn’t particularly fond of nicknames, but sometimes I call him boss, which he tolerates. I’m still working on your pet name. So as I said, what’s next?”
I took another bite and spoke around it. “You mean after I finish this sandwich?”
“With the case, Miss Literal.”
I swallowed another half-chewed chunk of slaw and meat. “Why are you asking me? Did Dean circulate a memo before I arrived instructing everyone to be as encouraging as possible as a means of building up my confidence?”
“Depends. Is it working?” Moss smiled.
“More than I’d like to admit.” I set my remaining sandwich back on its square of waxed paper, grabbed another couple napkins, and stood. “Are you and I in agreement that the blackmail attempt against JT Vernon is tied to his wife’s death?”
Moss didn’t get up. “I’d give it at least even odds that the blackmailer killed Stella or knows who did.”
I finished wiping my fingers and plucked the envelope with the pornographic images from Dean’s desk. “In that case, these nude photos are our best lead into solving her murder. How well did you look at them in Vernon’s study?”
Moss smiled. “You’re asking me how well I ogled the naked lady?”
I dropped the envelope into Moss’s lap. “I played more sports than I can remember growing up, and spent as much time in as many locker rooms. You’re not going to get a rise out of me by referencing nipples and pink bits. My point is, you’ve spent a fair amount of time in Vernon’s home. Do those pictures look like they were taken there?”
Moss emptied the photographs onto her desk. “I can answer that with an emphatic no. These were clearly taken in a seedy hotel.”
“That’s my guess, too,” I said as I came to a stop behind Moss’s chair. “If we can figure out which hotel, maybe we can figure out when Stella was there or even who took the photos.”
“That’s a big if,” said Moss. “Have you been
to many seedy hotels? They all look like this. They’re all shitholes with decades old mattresses that are as loaded down with dust mites as they are semen stains. Trying to pick one out from another based on the décor is a fool’s errand.”
“There’s got to be something we can glean from them.” I leaned over Moss and spread the images across her desk, focusing not on Stella Vernon’s nude form but on everything else. True to Moss’s description, there wasn’t much of note in the room around her. The sheets on the bed were plain and light in color, the headboard simply carved and worn smooth from age. The nightstand next to the bed could’ve come from any number of cheap mass producers. There was something, however…
I tapped the nearest photo. “There. Above the headboard. See that lens flare? It’s in all the photos. You know what that means, right?”
Moss’s eyebrows rose. “That there was a mirror above the bed.” She pulled open one of her desk drawers, rummaged around in it, and came up with a magnifying glass. She placed it over the nearest photo and leaned in close.
I couldn’t see much of anything over her shoulder. As she studied the second photo, I spoke. “See anything?”
“Not much,” she said as she moved onto the third. “There’s only a sliver of mirror captured in each of these. I can make out what looks to be a human form in the reflection, but its hard to tell. Based on the angle of the photographs, I’m guessing the photographer was tall and had the camera pointed downward toward the bed. That means none of these are going to show the photographer’s face.”
“Do they show any part of him?”
Moss wheeled her chair to the side. “I mean… a part.”
I squinted as I got close to the photo in question. In the reflection of the mirror over Stella’s head, I could just make out what looked to be a slice of forearm framed by a patterned shirt behind it.
I deflated. “That’s it? We’ve got a forearm?”