Murder at the PTA

by Lee Hollis

  “Corrupt?”

  Oscar flinched slightly but recovered quickly and shrugged. “I don’t know about that.”

  “You can’t hide anything from me, Oscar. We know each other intimately.”

  “If that was true, I would have already knocked that pizza box off the top of my desk and had you sprawled out as I—”

  “All right, you win. Thanks for that visual, which has now been permanently burned into my brain. Let’s just agree we’re really good friends. Good enough that I know when you’re not being straight with me.”

  Oscar cleared his throat. “I’ve heard some things. . . .”

  “What kind of things?”

  “Rumors. But that’s all they are. Rumors.”

  “Well, I heard Internal Affairs has been sniffing around here lately.”

  “Who told you that?”

  “I still have a few sources.”

  She wasn’t eager to tell him it was her incarcerated husband, who was the last person in the department to be sent up on corruption charges.

  Oscar nodded as he took a bite of the pizza and talked with his mouth full. “Yeah, they’ve been here a few times interviewing people. But they haven’t gotten to me yet. Doesn’t matter though. I don’t have anything useful to tell them.”

  “How’s the pizza?”

  “Not enough cheese. Luigi’s never puts on enough cheese. But I won’t hold that against you. So what can I do for you this fine evening since this obviously isn’t a bona fide date?”

  “Do you have access to Detective Reyes’s case reports?”

  “Is the pope Catholic?”

  “I don’t know, is he?”

  “Now you’re just playing with me. Of course he is. I think. Pope Francis is kind of a rebel, so who really knows?” Oscar tapped a few keys with his greasy fingers. “Which report do you want to look at?”

  “Maisie Portman.”

  Within seconds, the official report was on Oscar’s computer screen.

  Maya read the file as Oscar scrolled down. One thing immediately jumped out to her. “Wait!”

  Oscar, startled, stopped scrolling.

  Maya pointed at a section of the file. “According to Detective Reyes, the crime scene investigators reported a V-shaped bruise on Maisie’s neck, which was indicative of a self-hanging. That’s a lie right there. I distinctly remember seeing a straight line bruise across her neck.”

  “That may be true, but he has crime scene photos to back him up. Look.”

  Oscar opened an attached photo with a close-up of Maisie’s neck shortly after her body was discovered. The bruise was clearly in a V shape, which corroborated the report.

  Maya studied the photo. “Is there any way he could have photoshopped this?”

  “Sure, anything’s possible, I guess. But why?”

  Maya nudged Oscar out of his chair and took his place behind the desk, scrolling down farther. She stopped on another section, this one describing the suicide note. “It says here a handwriting expert confirmed that the suicide note was written by Maisie. But he doesn’t give the name of the expert.”

  “Charlie Littlefield. He’s the one we use for cases like this. Cool guy. We play paintball together a couple of times a year.”

  “Can you call him?”

  “What for?”

  “I want to confirm he did an analysis of the suicide note.”

  Oscar shrugged again and reached for his cell phone.

  Maya continued reading the report as Oscar wandered out into the hall and chatted with his buddy Charlie. After a few minutes, Oscar ended the call and returned to hover over Maya.

  “He was never called in for the Maisie Portman case,” Oscar said.

  “Which means unless there is another handwriting expert out there, Mateo is lying in his report.”

  Oscar reached for a large slice of pizza but Maya grabbed his wrist, stopping him.

  “Oscar, is there any way you can get a hold of the original autopsy report?”

  “Is the pope—?”

  “Been there, done that. Just do it,” Maya ordered as she stood up, allowing him to slide back into his chair and start typing.

  “Don’t eat that big slice. It has my name on it,” Oscar said while tapping the keys on his computer.

  Maya squeezed Oscar’s shoulder. “It’s all yours.”

  After a few seconds, Oscar pulled up another file, and his eyes widened. “Well, color me surprised.”

  Maya leaned in for a closer look. “What?”

  “CSI reported a straight-line bruise on Maisie Portman’s neck. There is no mention of any V-shape. Hold on.”

  Oscar opened an attached photo.

  Maya gasped.

  It was clear as day.

  A straight-line bruise across Maisie Portman’s neck.

  “He doctored the photo,” Maya whispered.

  Oscar sat back in his chair. “Unbelievable.”

  Then, remembering the big slice of pizza awaiting him, Oscar reached over, grabbed it by the crust, folded it, and shoved half of it into his mouth.

  “But I don’t understand. Once homicide ruled the death a suicide, wouldn’t the crime scene investigator have come out to refute the findings based on his own observations?” Maya asked.

  “Not necessarily. Most of them just come in and do their job. Cops are in charge of closing the case. I’m sure there are inconsistencies all the time. They’re usually already focused on the next case.”

  “Maybe, but there is also the possibility that the crime scene guy is corrupt too and has Mateo’s back.”

  “I doubt it,” Oscar argued. “If he was corrupt, he probably would’ve gotten rid of the original report. It’s clear to me Mateo revised the report on his own. Once it is officially submitted, the crime scene investigators rarely ask to read a closed-case report.”

  “Sandra was right. Mateo wanted to ensure that Maisie Portman’s death would be officially ruled a suicide. But why? What was the connection?”

  “I’m not a detective here, Maya, I’m just the lovelorn tech guy, waiting for you to wake up one day and realize I am the man of your dreams, here right in front of you, all this time.”

  Maya cracked a smile. Then she reached down and kissed Oscar on the cheek. “I appreciate all you do for me.”

  She headed for the door.

  “Wait, we haven’t finished our first date. There are still five slices of pizza left.”

  “I’ll be back. I’m going to check out the locker room.”

  “What for?”

  “I’m going to try to find Mateo’s locker.”

  “There must be seventy-five lockers there.”

  “You wouldn’t happen to know which one belongs to him, do you?”

  “I’m dying to resort to the ‘pope is Catholic’ line, but I don’t want you to yell at me again.”

  “Let’s go,” Maya said.

  Oscar stuffed the remaining crust into his mouth and followed her out.

  The precinct was relatively empty except for a couple of desk officers working late and an officer manning the reception desk. Maya and Oscar quietly crossed the bullpen and went into the men’s locker room. One officer was taking a shower but was out of their view. Maya knew that as long as she heard the water running, they would be safe.

  Oscar pointed to a locker at the end of a row numbered sixty-five. “That’s Reyes’s locker.” There was a padlock on it.

  Maya turned to Oscar and folded her arms. “You know everything about hacking into a computer, what do you know about breaking into a locker?”

  “I got this,” Oscar said, racing out of the room and returning a few minutes later with a bolt cutter.

  Maya arched an eyebrow. “Where did you get that?”

  “The trunk of my car. You never know when you might need one,” he answered matter-of-factly.

  “I’d like to see what else you have in the trunk of your car,” Maya said with a smile.

  “Maybe when we’re engaged,” O
scar said. “In the meantime, I’ll remain a man of mystery.”

  Suddenly the water in the shower stopped.

  Maya grabbed Oscar by the shirtsleeve and pulled him around the corner just as they saw a glimpse of a man in a white towel round the corner, his feet padding on the tile floor as he left a small trail of water behind him. He twirled the lock on his own locker and opened it. Just as Maya peered around to see what he was doing, the officer, who was young and muscular, dropped his towel. Maya almost let out an audible gasp. She closed her eyes and turned away, thankful that she and Oscar had not busted open the lock on Mateo’s locker because this guy had the one right next to it and surely would have noticed.

  They waited for what seemed like an eternity for the officer to dress himself and then stand, staring at himself in the mirror, checking his nose hairs and spraying cologne on his thick neck. He obviously had a late date. Finally, when he was satisfied with how sexy he looked, he sauntered out of the locker room.

  Maya and Oscar came out of hiding and had Mateo’s locker opened within seconds.

  Maya crinkled her nose as she sifted through sweaty T-shirts and jock straps until finally, buried beneath a pile of dirty gym clothes, she found a cell phone. She pulled it out.

  “He left his phone here?” Oscar said, dumbfounded.

  “Look at the protective case. It has a floral print. I’m guessing, since Mateo is a macho guy, as you say, he wouldn’t have such a feminine-looking cell phone case. This isn’t his.”

  “Then whose is it?”

  “It has to be Maisie’s. He probably pocketed it at the crime scene.”

  Maya tapped the screen. The numbers and letters for the passcode popped up. Maya wracked her brain trying to come up with a password Maisie might plausibly use.

  “Do you know her birthday?” Oscar asked.

  Maya shook her head. “No.”

  She tried a few number combinations.

  None worked.

  “What’s your password?” Oscar asked.

  “VKVKVK,” Maya said. “My daughter’s initials three times.”

  “Maisie didn’t have kids.”

  “I know that, Oscar, but you asked me! What’s yours?”

  “I don’t want to say.”

  “Why not? I just told you mine, which I find very disturbing, because now you have access to my phone and you’re a borderline stalker.”

  Oscar struggled a bit and then relented. “Okay, it’s ODLVMK.”

  “Why wouldn’t you want to tell me that?”

  “Think about it.”

  “OD could be your initials.”

  Oscar nodded, embarrassed.

  “LV?”

  “Loves . . .” Oscar mumbled.

  Maya thought about it some more. “MK . . . Oh my god, Oscar! Oscar Dunford loves Maya Kendrick?”

  “You made me tell you!”

  “I want you to change that as soon as we’re done here.”

  “Did Maisie have a boyfriend?”

  “Yes, a guy named Spencer Jennings. Try his initials three times.”

  It didn’t work.

  “We’re never going to figure this out. It could be her grandmother or a cousin or her favorite pop star or just some random numbers strung together that make absolutely no sense. . . .”

  “Was there someone else besides her boyfriend she might have thought about all the time?”

  “No, she . . . ,” Maya stopped. “Wait a minute. Her sister was secretly dating a married man, Maisie’s boss, and Maisie wasn’t happy about it at all.... I thought it was because she was so uptight and moralistic, but maybe . . . maybe she was secretly in love with him and that’s the reason she didn’t approve of her sister seeing him!”

  Maya tried John, then Hicks, both to no avail.

  Oscar watched her curiously. “The password has to be six numbers or letters.”

  Maya kept trying different variations, even MPLVJH, Maisie Portman loves John Hicks, like Oscar’s password, but predictably she had no luck. Maybe it was Hicks’s birthday, but Maya had no idea when he was born. Finally, she was about to give up when something popped into her head. When she and Sandra were leaving the Hicks house, she remembered Sandra mentioning that Maisie called him Johnny. It was worth a shot.

  Maya typed in Johnny.

  Six letters.

  The home screen on the cell phone suddenly appeared.

  Oscar clapped his hands. “You did it!”

  Maya clicked on Maisie’s texts and quickly began scrolling down them. There were dozens, if not hundreds of back-and-forth texts between Maisie and her sister, Chelsea, the same ones Sandra had found on Chelsea’s phone in the hotel room. Maisie was threatening to expose Chelsea’s affair with Principal Hicks on her website, and Chelsea kept begging her not to destroy his marriage, which she feared, rightfully so, might ruin her own relationship with him. Maisie was pigheaded and unyielding and refused to abide by her sister’s pleas, mostly out of spite and jealousy. No wonder Chelsea was so single-minded in getting her hands on Maisie’s phone when she had first hired Maya. She didn’t want evidence of the affair leaking out if someone else came across their texts.

  Further down, Maya saw a phone number associated with another series of texts.

  Her heart sank.

  Her stomach churned.

  She suddenly felt like she was going to be physically ill.

  There were six of them.

  Each one more desperate than the last.

  Please listen to reason, Maisie. Think about what you’re doing.

  Why won’t you answer my texts? We need to talk about this!

  You will ruin lives if you do this, Maisie.

  I am warning you. Don’t do anything you will regret.

  If you go through with this, I will come after you.

  This is my last warning. If you do this, you are a dead woman.

  That was the last one.

  And then nothing.

  There was no name associated with the phone number from Maisie’s list of contacts.

  But it didn’t matter.

  Because Maya knew the number.

  She had been calling it for years.

  The number belonged to Frances Turner.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  Maya was in a fog as she drove back to her office from the police precinct. She had heartburn from the pepperoni and was feeling sick to her stomach, but not from the pizza. At a stoplight, she picked up her phone from the passenger’s seat and texted Sandra. She didn’t want to be alone right now and asked if Sandra would meet her at the office.

  Sandra quickly replied that she would be happy to come to her and asked for fifteen minutes to finish feeding her sons dinner.

  Fourteen minutes later, when Maya pulled up in front of the office building, she spotted Sandra’s Audi already parked out front. The woman sure was prompt. Maya got out of the car, entered the building, and took the stairs up to the second floor where she found Sandra waiting for her outside the door.

  “I got here as soon as I could,” Sandra said breathlessly. “Your text struck me as ominous, like something was wrong.”

  “That’s an understatement,” Maya mumbled as she unlocked the door and ushered Sandra inside and closed the door behind them. “Have a seat.”

  “Did I do something wrong . . . again?” Sandra asked tentatively.

  Maya couldn’t help but smile as she crossed behind her desk. “No, Sandra, you’re fine.”

  Sandra sat tentatively in the chair facing Maya’s desk that was reserved for clients.

  Maya didn’t offer her coffee or water. She just plopped down and dropped her head in her hands.

  Sandra slowly leaned forward. “Whatever it is, it must be really bad.”

  Maya nodded, her hands still pressed against her face. She took a deep breath, exhaled slowly, and then set her hands down on her desk. “It’s Frances.”

  “Is she in labor? Did you just come from the hospital?” Sandra gasped, quickly sitting
straight up in her chair. Worry lines suddenly appeared on her forehead. “Is she okay? Are there complications?”

  “This has nothing to do with the pregnancy. It’s something far more serious.”

  And with that, Maya started babbling about everything she had just learned.

  The doctored police report.

  Maisie Portman’s cell phone in Detective Reyes’s locker.

  The threatening texts from Frances.

  Sandra’s expression went from curious to surprise to utter shock all within a matter of seconds.

  When Maya finished, Sandra sat back in her chair, her head spinning. “Are you saying I was right? About Detective Reyes?”

  Maya nodded solemnly. “Pretty much.”

  “And Frances was in on it?”

  “Kind of looks that way.”

  It was hard saying it out loud.

  Maya still couldn’t get her head around the fact that Frances, her business partner, her best friend, who for years had had her back when they were police officers and when they opened their own shingle as private eyes, was a dirty cop too. Like Mateo. Like her husband, Max.

  “I don’t understand. How did Frances—?”

  “When she left the department and came to work with me, I remember she was decidedly vague about the reason. She told me she was tired of answering to sexist male superiors, tired of hitting the glass ceiling every time she put in for a promotion. I remember thinking at the time that it didn’t make sense to me. A lot of women advanced to sergeant and lieutenant. We even had a female captain at one point. The world’s changed. I thought maybe that was just an excuse, that she really wanted to focus on her relationship with Vinnie, maybe have a kid, get a job where she could make her own schedule, that’s what I let myself believe. . . .”

  “But your gut was telling you something else?”

  “It was just strange, how she left. It was such a quick decision and so out of the blue. She had worked so hard to rise up through the ranks and then she just threw it all away. I just had trouble buying it, and then, when she got pregnant earlier this year, I finally let go of my suspicions. I said to myself, ‘See, you were wrong. Frances wants a family, and working with me will allow her to devote more time to that, no more night shifts, no more working holidays, I can pick up the slack when she’s not here....’ But now I know I was right. I think she quit because she had gotten involved in the rampant corruption plaguing the department. I think the walls were starting to close in and she had to get out.... It was a self-preservation move.”