Murder In the Past Tense (A Giorgio Salvatori Mystery Book 2)

by Lynn Bohart

  He rushed back down the stairs and pushed the front door closed, making sure this time that it was latched and locked. Then he turned to study the mess on the floor.

  A scattering of leaves and twigs covered the area right in front of him. And sitting right in the middle of it all, was a copper coin.

  He bent down and picked it up.

  The coin was larger than a penny and had been stamped with the image of a shoreline on one side and the words “Big Bear Lake” on the other. It was a souvenir of some kind.

  A chill snaked its way down his back, and he turned back toward the front door.

  On the night Mallery Olsen was found hanging by her bra strap in a supply closet at the monastery, a burst of wind had blown a metal button down the walkway outside the theater, just as he and Rocky were about to leave for the crime scene. The button had bounced off the curb and landed at Giorgio’s feet. It had been stamped with a Latin cross. And that very same night, the large, wooden door at the monastery had blown open only moments before he’d seen the ghost of Christian Maynard for the first time.

  “Shit!” he murmured.

  He rushed to the front door and threw it open again, stepping onto the front steps.

  Outside, the wind seemed to thrash the neighborhood. Trees bent to the wind. A garbage can lid came rolling down the street. And the corner streetlight flashed off and on as if it had a short.

  The same thing had happened the night of the Olsen case.

  He glanced up at the streetlight, thinking the night was alive with the storm. Again.

  But there was no boy.

  He riveted his head back and forth, looking up and down the street, but there was no one about. Anywhere.

  Giorgio waited a full minute, his heart hammering in his chest. But the boy didn’t materialize.

  Still, he didn’t believe in coincidences.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  With the discovery of the skeleton, Giorgio decided to go back to work early.

  The next morning, he pulled around to the back of the Sierra Madre PD, where all the officers parked. The parking lot was populated with a small swarm of local press and TV news reporters. He spied Mia Santana standing near the back door of the building as he pulled into a parking space, her ever-present camera man lurking behind her.

  As soon as Giorgio killed the engine and stepped from the car, a young man shoved a microphone in his face.

  “Who’s the woman in the well?” the man blurted.

  Giorgio gently pushed the microphone away and sidestepped from in between the parked cars, giving himself time to think. While he had ignored pleas from the press for information during the Mallery Olsen investigation, this case was different. Whoever this woman was, she’d been dead a long time. Maybe the news reports would help.

  He stopped and turned to the man who still had his microphone extended. “We don’t know who the woman is yet. She’s a Jane Doe at this point.”

  “So what steps will you take to find out who she is?” the man asked.

  “The body has been sent to the county morgue,” he replied. “They’ll do the forensics work.”

  “Is there DNA evidence?” a female voice shouted above the rest.

  Giorgio turned to find Mia Santana pushing ahead of the other reporters, her microphone aimed directly at Giorgio.

  “We don’t know yet,” he said patiently. “The coroner will have to tell us. Now if you don’t mind,” he said, attempting to step past her.

  “Detective,” she persisted, blocking his path. “Does this have anything to do with the Mallery Olsen case?”

  He stopped, glaring down at the petite brunette. “I don’t see how it could. Excuse me.”

  He shouldered his way through the group of reporters and climbed the few steps to the back door of the police station.

  The rear hallway passed two small interrogation rooms and opened up into the squad room. A fake Christmas tree and some fake garland had been draped across the reception counter to give an air of holiday cheer. A few people greeted him as he entered, and he acknowledged them with a nod. He turned left and hurried to the far end of the hallway, where he shared an office with Detective Swan.

  “Damn!” he said to Swan when he walked into their office. “It’s a feeding frenzy out there.”

  He threw his jacket over the back of his chair and went to the coffee pot that sat in the corner.

  “Can’t blame ‘em,” Swan said, moving a chess piece on the game board set up by the back window. Swan was always in the middle of a chess game with someone, and they communicated through the internet. “They want to know if it’s connected to the Olsen case. After all, it’s only been six weeks or so,” he said, returning to his desk.

  “I know,” Giorgio replied, pouring a cup of coffee. “But it would be nice if just once they’d give us five minutes to do our job.”

  He sat behind his desk and came face to face with a stuffed Santa, secured to a metal base.

  “What the heck is this?” he snarled.

  Swan laughed. “Merry Christmas. I thought you might need some cheering up, especially since you had to come back early. Push the button.”

  Giorgio shot him a surly look and reached out to push a small button at the base of the stand. The doll began to wiggle its butt and sing All I Want for Christmas Is My Two Front Teeth.

  Swan burst into laughter, while Giorgio grimaced.

  “Gee, how can I ever thank you?” he said.

  He flicked the button off and pushed the Santa to one side.

  Swan was still chuckling and said in between laughs, “You know the captain is still looking for someone to play Santa at the kids’ breakfast next week. You’re the best actor we have in the department.”

  “I’m the only actor we have in the department,’” Giorgio said. “But I don’t play department store Santas.”

  Giorgio sat on the board of the community theater group and was one of their leading actors. In fact, he was scheduled to play Teddy Roosevelt in the upcoming production of Arsenic and Old Lace.

  Swan took a deep breath to keep his mirth in check. “Okay, so what’s the order of the day?”

  Giorgio took a swig of coffee and sighed.

  “There isn’t too much we can do until we get preliminary findings from the coroner’s office. But we can search cold cases going back ten or twenty years. I think I’ll also see if Drew can find out when that well was covered over at the monastery.”

  Drew McCready was their tech whiz and did most of their research.

  They got to work while the press milled about outside. By noon most of the reporters had drifted away. At 3:30, a tall, good-looking man with dark hair interrupted them. He was wearing jeans, cowboy boots and a chambray shirt.

  “Jeez, is this the famous crime-busting team of the Sierra Madre Police Department?”

  Both Giorgio and Swan looked up. Swan laughed, and Giorgio rolled back in his chair and got up. He strode over and gave the man a half hug and a solid pat on the arm.

  “Hey, little brother. I was just about to leave to pick you up.”

  The man smiled, exposing a perfect set of white teeth, his dark eyes dancing.

  “I couldn’t take it anymore. I decided to break out of that place and come get my paperwork done here.”

  “So you start tomorrow, Rocky?” Swan asked.

  “Yeah, if the captain will let me.”

  “Hell,” Swan said, rolling his eyes at the two of them. “Two Salvatoris working here at the same time. I might have to retire early.”

  “Don’t worry,” Rocky said. “I’m the easy-going brother. You’ll like working with me.”

  He and Swan chuckled, while Giorgio grimaced and returned to his chair.

  “Keep talking like that and I’ll see you get assigned to patrol.”

  Rocky laughed half-heartedly and shook his head. “Right now patrol looks pretty good to me.” He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Besides, I guess I’m gonna have to prov
e myself, anyway.”

  The mood in the room darkened momentarily as an awkward pause hung in the air.

  “Don’t worry,” Swan said, picking up the moment. “Your brother’s bark is far worse than his bite.” He got up and approached Rocky. “And most of the guys around here…they’ve got demons of their own.”

  He gave Rocky a reassuring pat on the arm and crossed out of the office into the hallway.

  “How do you feel?” Giorgio asked, once Swan was out of earshot.

  Rocky was over six feet tall with the kind of George Clooney good looks Giorgio could only dream about. They shared some family resemblance; Rocky took after their father, while Giorgio took after their mother. That meant Rocky was tall, with broad shoulders and a lanky physique, while Giorgio was three inches shorter and had a tendency to put on weight. According to his wife, Giorgio’s best features were his dark, brooding eyes, which she said were all he needed to get her in the mood.

  Rocky moved into the room and took the chair across the desk from his brother.

  “I feel okay,” he said, folding his hands into his lap. “They say you’re never cured, so I’ll always have to be careful, but I feel better than I did.”

  “That’s good. We missed you.”

  “Yeah? Well, I missed Angie’s fried chicken,” he said.

  Giorgio smiled. “I’ll tell her. How about tomorrow night? Six o’clock?”

  Rocky smiled. “Done. By the way, how’s she doing?”

  Giorgio paused and dropped his gaze to the desk for a moment, his fingers toying with a pen. “She’s okay. We’ve had our moments, but getting the house ready for the state inspection for the day care center has helped a lot. It’s not going to totally fix things, but you know Angie… Put a kid in her lap and she’s happy.”

  “That’s good,” Rocky said. “I’m glad. So, any news on your find up at the monastery?” Rocky asked, changing the subject.

  “No. We’re still waiting on the coroner. All we can do right now is search old cold cases.” Giorgio began clicking the end of a pen. “Your timing is perfect, though. Swan’s dad died a few weeks ago, and he’s scheduled to take some leave and help his mom clean out the house.”

  “Sounds good.” Rocky stopped. “I mean, not that his dad died, but…”

  Giorgio smiled. “I knew what you meant. It’s not too soon for you though, is it? To get back on another murder case?”

  Rocky glanced up at his brother.

  “Sorry,” Giorgio said, dropping his head. “That was stupid.”

  “No, it’s okay, Joe. One of the things my therapist told me is that I have to talk about it…about Rebecca and what happened to her. Let’s face it, the fact that her killer got away is one of the things that… drives me to drink. But I’ll have to accept that the bastard may never be caught. It’s the only way I’ll heal.”

  Giorgio sat back and took a deep breath. “How the hell do you talk about something like that,” he said quietly.

  “I don’t know. But I have to try,” Rocky replied. “And you’re going to have to listen.”

  The two brothers stared at each other. The moment drew out until Giorgio recognized the need for rescue.

  “Okay, but not here. Not in this environment,” he said, glancing around.

  “I know,” Rocky said with a wave of his hand. “Don’t worry. I’m not about to bare my soul around here. But I am a cop. Just like you. And I want to find the son of a bitch that killed her. And then, if I’m lucky, I’ll get to kill the mother fu…”

  “Well, that’s a wish I hope you get,” Giorgio interrupted him. “C’mon, let’s get you signed in.” He stood up. “I’ll walk you down to HR.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  It was late morning the next day. Rocky was taking part in orientation, while Giorgio and Swan continued to search the databases. Officer McCready, the twenty-nine-year-old, red-headed techie, came into the office with the coroner’s preliminary report and handed it to Giorgio.

  “Looks like the bones found in the well belonged to a teenage girl,” he said. “No more than sixteen or seventeen years old.”

  Giorgio skimmed the report, reading out loud for Swan’s benefit.

  “According to the M.E., she’s been in the hole for some forty to fifty years. Her neck was broken, but probably from the fall. Most of the fingers were broken and a couple of ribs, but he thinks that happened when the demolition guy found her and stepped all over her.” Giorgio stopped and rolled his eyes. “Anyway, he believes the most likely cause of death was the blow to the head. And, so far, the most reasonable culprit is the shovel.” Giorgio sighed and put the report down. “But after all this time, there isn’t enough of a blood trace on the shovel to get a DNA sample. Besides, DNA wasn’t even used to help solve crimes until the early ‘90s.”

  “Which means CODIS wouldn’t have anything in the database to match it against anyway,” Swan said.

  “Right. I suppose they can still get DNA from the bones, hair or teeth. But we still won’t have anything to match it with,” Giorgio mused. He leaned back in his chair and tapped the report. “But since she had her teeth, why don’t you see if you can track down dentists from that time period?” he said to McCready. “Maybe we can match them to old dental records.”

  McCready grimaced. “That should be easy,” he said as he left the office.

  “What about the big zipper that was found with her?” Swan asked.

  “The M.E. thinks she may have been encased in a canvas bag.”

  Swans eyebrows arched.

  “So, like a duffle bag?”

  “Yeah,” Giorgio replied. “Just like that.”

  By that afternoon, McCready had found that only two dentists had practiced in town back then; both had long since died. Several other dentists from the surrounding area were possibilities, but they had retired or moved away, making accessing dental records almost impossible.

  Now that they had a more accurate time period, Giorgio and Swan started searching through old missing person’s cases, branching out to surrounding cities. They had a couple of good possibilities, but couldn’t pin down an ID without more information.

  So, when a tall man in his early seventies appeared at the office doorway that afternoon and said, “I know who that girl is,” Giorgio felt Providence had smiled on them.

  Their visitor had a deeply lined face, pale blue eyes and a scar that ran across his chin. He carried a cardboard box in his hands.

  “I’m Detective Salvatori,” Giorgio said, standing up and gesturing to the chair at the side of his desk. “Why don’t you sit down?”

  The man came forward and placed the box on the corner of the desk. He shook Giorgio’s hand and then lowered himself into the wooden arm chair. Swan came over and perched on the opposite end of Giorgio’s desk.

  “I’m Detective Swan,” he said, offering his hand.

  The man twisted around and grabbed it, gave it a good shake and then let it drop.

  “My name is Cal Birmingham,” he said. “Detective Cal Birmingham – retired,” he emphasized at the last second.

  Giorgio raised an eyebrow and gazed at the box. “I recognize your name. I’ve seen it on some of the old case files. Can we record you?”

  “Sure,” the older man said.

  Giorgio nodded to Swan, who pulled out a little handheld recorder. Swan spoke briefly into the device, identifying the case number and who was participating in the interview. He placed it on the desk in front of Detective Birmingham.

  “Tell us about it,” Giorgio said to the detective.

  “I was a young cop back then. Pretty new to the force. I’d only been here for a couple of years. It was May of 1967. Her name was Lisa Farmer, and she lived in a duplex up in the canyon with her mother…you know, Bailey Canyon. Anyway, she was a senior at Pasadena High School and had gone to the prom with her boyfriend, a guy named Ron Martinelli. After he dropped her off at home that night, no one ever saw her again. Until now, that is,” he said, bringing h
is hands together in his lap.

  “How do you know the bones we found are hers?” Giorgio asked, leaning forward.

  “I saw that female reporter on TV interview the guy who found her. He mentioned the rose headband and the necklace.”

  Birmingham reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out his wallet. From an inside sleeve, he withdrew a faded, creased picture and handed it across the desk to Giorgio.

  Giorgio took it and gazed down at the head shot of a young, dark-haired beauty with a broad smile. She was wearing a flowered headband and a heart necklace.

  “Pretty girl,” Giorgio mused, handing it over to Swan.

  “Yes,” the big man agreed. “She was. And from all accounts, she was really nice, too.”

  Birmingham leaned forward, removed the top of the cardboard box and pulled out a grainy 3x5 Polaroid picture of a boy wearing a tuxedo and the same girl dressed in a dark green dress. The boy was about to pin a corsage on her shoulder and grinned stupidly at the camera.

  “Her mother took that picture just before they left for the prom that night. You can see the headband and the necklace again.”

  Giorgio studied the old photo. The colors had faded, but the flower on the headband definitely looked like what they’d found with the skeleton. The girl in the photo was wearing high heels, a dark green prom dress, and encircling her neck was a thick chain necklace with a silver heart pendant. Giorgio felt a faint rush of adrenalin at a possible identification.

  “Can I get you a cup of coffee, Detective Birmingham?” Giorgio asked.

  He shook his head. “No, thanks. I just need to relate what I know and let you do your work. I kept these records in my basement all these years and I thought you might need them. I’m not sure what you’ll find in the department after forty plus years.”

  “Please, go ahead,” Swan said, pulling up a chair opposite their guest.

  The man took a deep sigh. He crossed one leg over the other, drawing attention to his well-worn jeans. A tuft of gray chest hair poked out of the collar of his blue denim shirt.