Thrills

by K. T. Tomb

  “Yeah, absolutely,” I replied coolly. “Only, this is pretty important,” I added.

  “Like really important?” she asked.

  “Yeah, it is really important,” Mark said. “We’re working on a case and we’re trying to help someone.”

  “Ooh,” she said excitedly, “are you guys, like, the cops or something?”

  “Or something,” I added with what I thought was a roguish grin.

  “Coool,” she breathed out. “Let me take a look at the schedule yesterday, and I’ll try to figure out if, like, someone totally bailed or whatever.”

  I looked over at Mark. He looked right back at me, barely able to hide his frustration. This was getting painful. At least she was more helpful than the person we had been dealing with before. Her fingers went clickety-clackety over the keys of her computer keyboard as she looked through the system.

  “So it doesn’t look like there were any incident reports or whatever from yesterday,” she said. “But it does look like the manager of our service department called in and asked for the next couple days off… like, did he do something like, really bad?”

  “How do you know he has the next couple of days off?” Mark asked her.

  “I’m a shift manager so I can like, see everyone’s personal stuff,” she said. “He has a ton of vacation racked up. He’s worked here for the last ten years and never asks for any time off. Like, never.”

  “So if you can see everyone’s personal information, do you think you can get us a name, address and phone number?” Mark inquired.

  “It would really help us out,” I added in the seductive voice I typically saved for the end of the night with clients.

  She giggled and replied, “I mean, I’m not really supposed to do stuff like that, but, I suppose you guys are like, trying to solve a crime or whatever, so yeah, I can do it. Just don’t tell anyone okay? I don’t want to lose this job…”

  “Your secret is safe with me,” I said, leaning over the counter and putting on my bedroom eyes.

  People think that men go soft at the attention of a good looking woman with a nice set of tits and a great ass. And it’s true. What they don’t acknowledge is that women, if you talk to them in just the right way, are worse than men. Men fantasize about the physical world, which allows them… us, I should say… to draw boundaries on what we would do for said good looking woman. Women fantasize on a more emotional, more mental plane than men; that makes it harder for them to draw hard boundaries. Thus, a woman seduced is much more likely to do something she absolutely should not do than a seduced man. That’s my two cents worth, anyway.

  She scribbled down a name, a phone number and an address.

  “Seriously though,” she said as she passed the scratch paper over to me, “don’t you dare tell anyone where you got that.”

  I couldn’t help but notice that she let her hand linger on mine for a second longer than necessary after I took the paper from her.

  “Thanks,” I said huskily. I could feel Mark glaring daggers into the back of my skull.

  We went back out into the parking lot.

  “So,” Mark said, “what do we get out of that?”

  “A name and an address and a phone number for us to check out,” I replied.

  “Are you sure you didn’t leave with a girlfriend? Or at the very least a date?” Mark asked, jokingly.

  “Yeah, I’m positive. And by the way, why haven’t you checked in with your wife yet? She finally let you off your leash?” I always tried to give as good as I got with Mark.

  “Matter of fact, I do check in with her. And she’s out of town visiting family. I was supposed to meet her after I finished up my case yesterday, and then all of a sudden, this happens.”

  “Yeah, I hear ya,” I replied. I had already lost interest. I felt like we are finally getting somewhere, and I wanted to wrap the case up so I could get some rest and go back to my own work.

  “I think we need to retrace what you did here yesterday,” Mark said.

  “That’s a good idea,” I replied, “especially since the truck is still parked here.” I sighed wistfully, imagining a day of not working at all, spending time writing and watching football on TV. It was a nice daydream while it lasted. Mark and I walked through the areas I’d spent time in yesterday. Finally, after exhausting the locale in the outside lot, we went to the parking garage to get my truck and head out.

  “What the hell?!” I exclaimed.

  “What?” Mark asked, the worry in his voice apparent.

  “You’re not going to believe this, Mark,” I replied back. “But I know where your gun is.”

  “What?” Mark finally caught up with me. The scene in front of us, and surrounding my truck was both terrifying and a major breakthrough in our case. The girl in Mark’s car had been murdered right underneath my truck. Mark’s gun was tossed in the bed of my old, reliable pick-up and there was a dark stain on the asphalt underneath.

  “Whoever did this to her clearly has it out for us. I think that, more than trying to kill this girl, more than trying to make a point, I think he’s trying to set us up to take the fall on this one.”

  “Jupe,” Mark said in a beleaguered tone, “I agree completely. Someone is working really hard to make sure that you and I both end up in prison.”

  “But why?” I asked. “Who do we both know that can want both of us to go away for a long time? D’you have any people out on parole now that has an old grudge against you?”

  “No, not that I can think of. I think the rule is that if an inmate gets paroled, and they’ve said anything in the past that could potentially put me or my wife in danger of physical harm, they have to call and inform me that the inmate is being released.”

  “Well then, what the hell man?” I asked. “Where are we supposed to start?”

  “I think,” Mark said thoughtfully, “that we start with this… Adam Church.”

  The finality in his tone made it clear to me that Adam Church was exactly where we were going to start. And honestly, we had nowhere else to start. There was blood under my truck and there was a murder weapon in the bed. I handed Mark the gun, and he casually slid it into the empty holster on his belt, under his shirt.

  “You can carry a gun? This is California, after all,” I admonished.

  “Yeah, well,” he replied nonchalantly, “I’m a former detective and a P.I. I have privileges.”

  I couldn’t argue with that. I climbed into the front seat of my Chevy, and ran my hands fondly over the steering wheel and over the dash. I loved driving my truck. It was almost a shame that most of the women I saw had such a taste for the high-life. To me, there was nothing better than cruising an open highway, the early morning stars shining brightly as I made my way to my favorite west-coast potholes for a morning of duck hunting. We were on the highway for about thirty minutes before Mark spoke again,

  “Why don’t you try calling that number?” Mark asked.

  “Why?” I asked, feeling skeptical. “Doesn’t it make more sense to try to surprise this guy? I mean, why tip him off that we are on to him?”

  “Well,” Mark replied, “normally, I would agree. But this guy is good. If this is the man we’re looking for, we want to know. So if you call, and pretend to be a telemarketer, then maybe you can get him on the line. If he picks up, put him on speaker. That way we can try to gauge what type of a person we’re dealing with.”

  “Good idea,” I said. “I’ll try calling him now.”

  Chapter Nine

  The man sat at his kitchen table.

  There was a picture to one side. Bills piling up. The life insurance policy he and his wife had taken out only a few short months ago was supposed to be his salvation from the whole stinking mess. He was well aware of what the insurance companies called a contestability period. They’d also insist on launching their own investigation in a case like this one. Then, of course, there was the fact that the body hadn’t turned up yet. What the hell was taking that half-wit P.I.
so long to go to the authorities? Apparently, things were not going the way the man had thought they would.

  He was at a loss for what to do. He thought things would be easier than this. But it seemed to have only gotten harder. The first time had been much easier. The first time he had no attachment to the person he had been with. Killing her had been simple. Why was this time so much harder then? He had thought that this wife would have been just as easy to get rid of. The last moments he’d had with his wife flashed through his mind. He remembered how peaceful she had looked in sleep.

  He remembered the look she gave him right before he had pulled the trigger. It was full of love, confusion, trust and fear. The images are crushing. He closed his eyes and rested his chin on a closed fist. The other hand he brought to his forehead and pinched his nose, and then kneaded his forehead. How was he going to live with himself from now on? Things should not be this hard. He should not be feeling remorse. And he was. He just sat there and stared at everything. Periodically, he closed his eyes and rolled his shoulders, trying to dispel the mounting tension. It felt to him like a vise was closing around his neck. Wait it out, he told himself. If I just wait it out, soon things will work out. I’ll get what’s due, he kept telling himself. Two hours later, he had hardly moved. He’d been going over the steps in his mind, convinced that he had forgotten something. Then it hit him. Of course, he’d forgotten something!

  His phone rang. It startled him out of his maudlin mood. He looked at the phone, and in the span of a few moments, his mind kicked back into gear. Local area code. Unknown number. Two rings already. He picked up.

  “Hello?” he said into the phone.

  “Yes, hello?” the voice on the other line said.

  “Yeah,” he replied, “I’m here. Who is this?”

  “Just a moment,” the voice on the other line said and he heard a click.

  “My name is Mike, is this Adam?” said the person who was apparently Mike.

  “Speaking,” he said and waited for a reply.

  “Yeah, I am calling on behalf of Prairie Federal Magazines,” Mike said. “Congratulations, because you have been approved for our premium membership.”

  “Okay, yeah, I’m not interested,” Adam said.

  “I think you might like what we have…” Adam hung up.

  Damn telemarketers, Adam thought to himself. I’ve really got to update my ‘Do not call’ status.

  Chapter Ten

  “Well, he picked up,” I told Mark.

  “Clearly,” Mark replied. “I could tell after you put him on speaker.”

  “Well, fine,” I said. “What do you make of that?”

  “That he isn’t interested in telemarketers trying to sell him magazines,” Mark replied tartly.

  “Well, it isn’t like you offered a whole lot of help as to what I should have said,” I told him.

  “Fine. At least we know he’s home,” Mark replied.

  “How do you know that?” I asked.

  “A couple of reasons,” he answered smugly. “First, there was no road noise. So we know he’s not in a car. Second, there was no background noise,” Mark said. I cut him off before he could continue.

  “That doesn’t tell us a whole lot though,” I said. “Can’t he be anywhere? A restaurant? A coffee shop? Parked in his car?”

  “If he is at a restaurant, we would have heard something. If he is at a coffee shop, we would have heard something—music, other people ordering, something. If he is parked in his car, we would have heard something too—the engine starting, a radio, the engine shutting off or something. No, this guy is at home,” Mark finished.

  “Okay, fine. You’re the detective after all,” I said. “Let’s say you’re right. What do we do now?” I asked. “What’s our next move?”

  “Well,” Mark said and then thought for a moment. “Why don’t we swing by the address your girlfriend gave us?” he asked with a smile, knowing he was going to get a rise out of me.

  “She’s not my girlfriend,” I reiterated. “And fine, we’ll swing by.” It might be an oh-seven, but I had really splurged on my truck. I have a navigation system in the center of the dash. I give Mark the sheet of paper we had gotten from the Enterprise girl. “Plug that in,” I said.

  Mark put in the address. At that moment, Dirt Road Anthem came on the radio, and I cranked it up. Mark and I immediately began singing along.

  Chapter Eleven

  “So, Alex,” her boss said. “What’s going on?”

  “What do you mean?” she asked. A cold chill started at the back of her neck quickly made its way down her spine.

  “You came in really late night last night,” he said. “And from what I can see, you never left. You’ve been here all night. You were here when I got in. I didn’t think you had anything that would merit that kind of… work,” he finished lamely.

  “I, uh…. had some paperwork to catch up on. Couldn’t sleep last night so I decided to come in early,” Alex said, hoping her boss would not notice her discomfort.

  “Paperwork, huh?” he said, thinking out loud. “Paperwork that couldn’t wait until this morning?” He trailed off, expectantly.

  “Well,” she said, “it’s like I said. Couldn’t sleep. The boys are with their dad. So I came in.” She hoped her answer would suffice. She didn't want her boss to know that she was freelancing, especially on what she was sure would eventually become a murder investigation.

  “Okay,” he said. “I’ll give you some leeway on this. But if things reach a point where you can’t handle it, I expect to be informed. Fully informed, Alex. Am I making myself clear?”

  “Yes,” she breathed out, hoping he did not notice the desperate note in her voice. “I read you, loud and clear,” she added. It was a cliché, but she didn’t know what else to say.

  “Good,” he said and left.

  Alex breathed a sigh of relief. That was close, she thought. I’m gonna have to work fast on this one. Hopefully, the guys are making headway.

  She pulled her phone out of her lab coat and dialed Mark’s number. The phone rang twice before Mark picked up.

  “Hello?” he said. “Alex? What’s up?”

  “What’s up is that my boss is up my ass on this one. Where are you guys?”

  Mark filled her in on what they had found so far.

  “Well, that’s promising,” she said eventually. “Are you guys gonna have time to bring that gun back to the lab so I can confirm that the bullet did come from your gun?”

  “Maybe,” Mark said. “If this proves to be a dead end, I don’t know where we’ll go from here. It’ll be back to the drawing board, I suppose.”

  “Well,” she replied, “let’s hope this is our guy. Then we can turn everything over to the authorities.”

  “Yeah,” Mark said. “I agree. I hope that he’s our guy too.”

  “Okay. Keep me posted,” she said.

  “Wait, before you go.” Mark stopped her.

  “What?” she asked shortly.

  “Did you find anything else out?” he asked.

  “Yeah,” she replied. “Or not, depending on how you look at it. She’s a healthy woman, nothing of note. Cause of death is the bullet wound for sure, and she definitely had consensual intercourse before she died, which we knew. I don’t have access to Federal databases anymore, so I can’t cross reference the semen against the existing database. I have a friend I can call though, if we hit dead ends. But that’ll be calling in more favors than I have, so I’d rather not. Also, did you guys find any ID on this girl at all?”

  “No,” Mark replied. “Like I said, I didn’t move her or touch her at all until we brought her to you,” he says.

  “Okay, well that’s kind of weird,” Alex replied. “I mean, in this day and age, who goes anywhere without a credit card, and an ID on them?”

  “Yeah,” Mark said. “That’s a really good question. I can’t think of a whole lot of people who go anywhere without at least that on their person. And what kind of a
girl goes somewhere without a purse on her? Or at least one of those… whatcha call ‘ems…”

  “A wristlet?” Alex said, the smile evident in her response.

  “Yeah,” Mark said. “One of those.”

  “All my girlfriends carry something on them. I mean, this chick doesn’t even have cash in her pockets,” Alex finished.

  “Good to know,” Mark replied. “Anything else?”

  “No, not right now. I’ll keep you posted. Just…” Alex trailed off.

  “Just what?” Mark asked.

  “Just… be careful, okay? I can tell something has you rattled. So just… be careful,” she finished.

  “Okay,” Mark replied, his voice gentle. “We’ll be careful. Thanks for the info. Bye.” He hung up. I waited a couple of minutes before I said anything.

  “What was that all about?” I asked. I had only heard Mark’s end of the conversation.

  “Alex’s boss is givin’ her a bit of a hard time about this,” Mark replied slowly. “And she noticed something I completely missed. This girl, she had no I.D. on her at all. No purse, no wristlet or whatever, no credit cards, no cash.”

  “That’s weird,” I said.

  “In nine-hundred feet, exit on the right. Then turn right,” the navigation system said, interrupting Mark and me. I followed the directions, exiting to the right and then turning right on a lucky green light. “In a quarter mile, turn left. The destination will be on your right,” the GPS says.

  “Well,” I asked Mark, “are you ready for this?”

  “Yup,” he said. “Let’s get this done.”

  Chapter Twelve

  I pulled the truck onto the street and parked along the curb, just in front of the mailbox.

  It was late enough in the day that the mail should have been delivered by now. At least that’s my hope. I didn’t really know what to expect. There wasn’t a car in the driveway, but that didn’t mean anything. The house had an attached two car garage. And we weren’t even sure if this was the guy we’re looking for. He could just have a really bad case of the flu. Maybe he called in sick because he wanted to play a round of golf. I know that, if I had sick days with what I did, and I had as much comp time as the blond told me this guy had, I would take time off to play a round of golf. We could end up ruining this guy’s day. All these doubts ran through my mind as I shut the truck off, and we exited the vehicle.