by G. K. Parks
“We could knock.”
Fennel scrolled through Gardner’s details one more time and handed back my phone. “Yeah, all right. For all we know, the guy could have a secret harem upstairs. Someone could be inside who knows why Gardner was killed.”
“We just left a harem of sorts. What did you make of Michael Tolliver and his roommate?”
“I’m going with potheads. Carter was so fidgety. I swear he went in the bedroom and took a hit because, when he came back, he was chill.”
“Yeah.” But something still bothered me about that.
“Hey,” Fennel nudged me, “do you think Michael Tolliver had something to do with Gardner’s murder?”
“No. He seemed genuinely shocked when he heard the news.”
“That might not have been shock.” Fennel let out a breath. “I spotted what was left of the after party. Half of them were passed out on the bathroom floor. I’ll put a call into the rideshare guy and make sure he picked them up and dropped them off at that address, but if he did, I’d say they have a solid alibi.”
“You said the killer could be working with a team.”
“Not an entire bachelor party. We’d have eyewitness accounts if that were the case.”
“True, but that apartment gave me a bad feeling.”
“Probably because they hoped you were a strippergram.” He handed back my phone. “I bet the pay’s nice. You could do it on the side. You wouldn’t need to buy any props, you already have a nightstick and handcuffs, and Mr. Lee would give you a discount on uniform cleanings.”
“Hey, now. Stripping is an equal opportunity business. You could just as easily shake it for some rolled up dollar bills.” I laughed, recalling my first encounter with Voletek.
“What? You don’t think women would be into this?” He gestured at his body.
“And some men too.”
He snickered. “Equal opportunities, huh?” He reached for the door handle.
We went up the steps and knocked on Gardner’s door. Not surprisingly, no one answered. So we did the next best thing. We knocked on his neighbors’ doors. No one remembered seeing anyone new dropping by for a visit. No suspicious vehicles had been parked outside, and no one recalled hearing arguments or fights coming from Gardner’s apartment. As far as his neighbors were concerned, Jonathan Gardner was a quiet guy who threw barbeques on the weekends during the summer and picked up groceries for the two old ladies who lived upstairs.
I called to check on the status of the warrant while my partner paced just outside the building. When he worked off the nervous energy, he took to leaning against the car. “How long?” he asked.
“It’s signed and on the way.”
He stared up at the looming apartment building. “I doubt we’ll find anything inside. I keep running over it in my head. The broken front door and the punched in security code at the rear, along with the disabled cameras, don’t make a lot of sense.” He checked his phone again. “According to Mr. Lee, the register was emptied but nothing else was taken.”
“Aside from the contents of our victim’s wallet.”
“What could Gardner even have had in there? I doubt he carried more than a hundred bucks, if he even had that much.” Fennel let out a sigh. “This is ridiculous. The only thing I can come up with is it was a robbery, possibly a stickup or mugging, gone wrong. Why kill a man over two hundred and fifty bucks? That’s insane.”
“It happens.”
“No shit, Liv.” He blew out a breath. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay. You’re mad. I am too.” I thought about Star Cleaners’ security system. “It’s a bad neighborhood, but still, the scene doesn’t make much sense.”
Fennel straightened and stepped away from the car. “Okay, let’s say I’m Jonathan Gardner. For some reason I went outside to check on something. I came back in at 4:12 and entered the code, but someone was casing the place and sprayed the cameras.”
“Do you think that’s why Gardner went outside?” I asked. “He noticed something weird on the camera feed or heard a noise out back? Maybe he spooked the shooter, so the guy went around the front and broke in.”
“Except there are two obvious problems with that theory.”
“What are they?”
“The killer fired from behind the counter.”
“So he emptied the register, then shot Gardner.”
“Except I don’t see why the security guard would let him do that. He had a gun. He’s trained to deal with trouble. Why didn’t he pull his piece?”
“It’s one thing to read a manual and go over instructions. It’s another when you’re in the middle of the action. You know that better than anyone.”
“Except I always pull my piece,” Fennel said, “and so do you.”
“We’re cops, not security guards.”
“All right, I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt. But that doesn’t explain the security system logs.”
“You checked them?”
“I did. And Chambliss said the log showed someone entered the disarm code at 4:12 a.m. from outside the dry cleaner’s. The sergeant assumed Gardner must have stepped out for a breath of fresh air and was coming back inside, but wouldn’t he have needed to disarm the system before opening the door in order to step outside?” He waited for the light bulb to flick on over my head. “There were two other men inside Star Cleaners besides Jonathan Gardner.”
“Unless the front door was broken after Gardner was already dead,” I suggested. “Maybe someone entered from the rear door, killed the guard, emptied the register, and retreated out the back. With the security system disengaged, we have no idea what doors were opened or when. And then someone else wanders by, notices the body peeking out from behind the counter, busts through the front door, and…”
“And what? Empties his wallet?” Fennel asked.
“Well, he was already dead.”
My partner rubbed his eyes. “We need to watch the surveillance footage.” But before he could say or do anything else, a police cruiser pulled up beside us.
Officer Roberts got out. “Did someone call for a search warrant?”
Fennel took the folded document from Roberts’ hand, checked the details to make sure everything was correct, and tucked it into his breast pocket. “All right. Let’s see what we find.”
We returned to Gardner’s apartment. Officer Roberts bumped the lock for us, and we pushed open the front door. Sunlight filtered in through the partially opened blinds. The living room looked as you’d expect a bachelor pad to look. Oversized leather couch, big screen TV, a pile of old pizza boxes and empty beer cans on the coffee table, and a video game system, headset, and a pile of games beside one of the two black gaming chairs that sat on the floor in front of the coffee table.
“Damn,” Fennel rubbed his mouth, “it looks like my place.”
“You’re neater than this,” I said.
He gave me a sideways look. “I pick up before you come over.”
“Bullshit. You’re a neat freak. Everything on your desk is organized in some weird system I still don’t understand. Living like this would make you crazy.” I headed for the kitchenette. A stack of unopened mail sat on one of the stools at the counter. Water bill, electric bill, credit card application, an advertisement for a new Chinese restaurant, a coupon for a free carwash, and a letter addressed to Richard Golden.
Frowning, I checked the address to see if our victim had gotten his neighbor’s mail. But the address matched. “Brad, check the bedroom. I don’t think we’re alone.”
Six
I cleared the rest of the apartment, checking everything, including the closets before following Fennel into the master bedroom. Crusty brownish-red streaks ran down the man’s yellow t-shirt. He remained prone on the bed, his eyes closed.
“Mr. Golden?” I kicked the corner of the mattress, but he didn’t stir. “Do you think that’s blood?”
Fennel sidestepped around a pile of clothes, glanced into the attached bath
room to make sure the assailant wasn’t hiding, and then approached the body on the bed. He reached out with a gloved hand to check for a pulse.
The man screamed, startling us. “Who the hell are you?” He scooted across the mattress and fell off the other side of the bed. Scrambling up, he grabbed a tennis racket and held it in both hands directly in front of his body. He looked like he was about to play Wimbledon.
“Whoa,” Fennel held up one palm while he reached for his badge with the other, “take it easy. We thought you were dead.”
“What?” Golden yelled.
“Sir, please. We’re the police.”
“What?” Golden cocked his head to the side, finally noticing the badge in my partner’s left hand. Shifting the tennis racket to one hand, he tugged an earbud out of his left ear.
“We thought you were dead,” I repeated, hearing an unrecognizable rock song coming from the displaced wireless earbud.
“Why would you think that?” he asked. “Did Johnny put you up to this? Is this some kind of prank?” He pointed the end of the tennis racket at Fennel’s badge. “Is that even real?”
Fennel’s hand shook for a moment before he hooked his badge to the side of his belt and made a fist. “It’s real.”
“Mr. Golden?” I asked.
He glanced at me, still unsure about my partner who hadn’t moved from the bedside. “Who wants to know?” He edged backward toward the bathroom door, and I wondered if he planned to lock himself inside. Or maybe he needed to change his pants.
“I’m Detective Liv DeMarco. That’s Brad Fennel. We knocked earlier. Didn’t you hear us?” We should have knocked again before we entered.
His gaze shifted from my partner to me. “No.” He gave us an odd look. “If Johnny didn’t send you, what are you doing in my apartment?”
“Your apartment?” Fennel let out an exhale. “The lease is in Jonathan Gardner’s name.”
Golden tucked the racket back beneath the bed and rubbed his eyes. “Yeah, so? I live here too. Is that a problem?”
“No, sir,” I said.
He nodded, unsure of what was happening. “So I’ll ask you one more time. What are you doing inside my apartment besides scaring the shit out of me?”
Fennel opened his mouth, but I beat him to the punch. “Mr. Golden, maybe you should sit down.”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “You got five seconds, lady. Make this good.”
“I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but your roommate’s dead.”
He snickered. “Uh-huh. Sure.” He scratched his left eyebrow. “Let me guess. You two work with him at Moonlight, and he thought it’d be fun to send you over here to scare me. But I’m not an idiot. Cops can’t just bust into someone’s home.”
“We didn’t.” Fennel removed the court order from his jacket. “We have a search warrant. We knocked, like Liv said, but you didn’t answer.”
Golden took the offered paperwork, the grin still plastered on his face. But as he read the details, the joy left his eyes. His lips drooped, and he stumbled backward, catching himself on the dresser. He held on to the paper but leaned heavily against the waist-high piece of furniture. Without it, he’d be on the floor.
“My condolences,” Fennel said.
“How did it happen? When?” Golden looked up from the paperwork. “I just saw him a few hours ago.”
“What time?” I asked.
Golden looked at the clock. “Shit. That was last night. I… oh god. I got home from work. And we played video games until he had to leave. That was 8:30. Somewhere around there.” He rubbed a hand down his face. “God, that was just last night. It doesn’t feel like it. I…”
“Where were you?” Fennel asked.
“Right here. Well, there.” Golden jerked his chin toward the living room. “I got caught up in a game. I didn’t go to bed until the sun came up.”
“Can anyone verify your whereabouts?” Fennel asked. Until now, I hadn’t thought of Golden as a suspect, but everyone was a potential person of interest at this stage, especially with possible blood spatter dripping down his t-shirt. “Was anyone else here?”
“The guys online know I was here. We just made it to level 17. We were talking the entire time.”
“Over the headsets?” Fennel asked.
Golden nodded. “And I ordered some pizza around one. I don’t remember who delivered it. I just grabbed it.”
“Are those the boxes on the coffee table?” I asked.
“Yeah.”
“Okay, we’ll need your friends’ names or handles in order to verify your whereabouts,” Fennel said. “Liv, why don’t you check with the pizza place?”
I gave Fennel an odd look. “Okay, boss.”
He squinted at me. I didn’t know what he was thinking, but I returned to the living room and left him alone with Richard Golden. I just hung up with the pizza joint, which verified a delivery had been made to the apartment and was paid for with Golden’s credit card and his signature was on the receipt, when Fennel stepped out of the bedroom.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
“I told him to get dressed since we have more questions. He’s in a state of shock, but I didn’t want to leave him alone until I knew for certain he couldn’t escape out the window or pull a gun.”
“Does he have any weapons?”
“Just the tennis racket.”
“What about the stains on his shirt?”
“Ketchup. He works at the Corndog Hut.” Fennel placed his palm against the game console. “It’s still warm. I don’t think he’s lying.” He peered into the other bedroom. “That must be Jonathan Gardner’s room. Do you want to get started in there?”
“Let’s wait and see what his roommate has to say before we do anything.”
Fennel nodded and took another deep breath. “He scared the shit out of me.”
“Me too.” I glanced down at Fennel’s hand, but it was no longer shaking. “I’m glad he’s not dead. Hopefully, he’ll be able to give us some answers.”
Fennel looked around the apartment. “That’d be nice, but I’m not holding my breath.” He went into the kitchen and opened the fridge. Then he checked the cabinets, closing each of the doors as he went.
“What are you looking for?” I knew my partner. He was always professional, but the small voice in the back of my mind that worried about him and could never quite shake the memory of that one time I found him passed out on the floor of his apartment couldn’t help but wonder if he was looking for a drink.
“Motive.” He came around the counter just as Golden emerged from the bedroom, dressed in a black t-shirt and sweatpants.
“Johnny’s really dead?” Golden licked his lips and looked uncertainly at the mess on the coffee table. “Like dead dead? Not like Halloween dead or like in a coma but he might still come out of it but doornail dead?”
“I’m sorry for your loss.” I nodded to the sofa. “Why don’t you sit down? Brad, get him a glass of water.”
Golden rubbed his face. “And you’re not with Moonlight?”
“No, sir.” I sat down beside him. My partner came around the couch and placed the glass on top of one of the pizza boxes. “What can you tell us about your roommate? Do you know anyone who would want to harm him?”
“No. Johnny was that guy. You know that guy.” He looked up at my partner. “The one you can always count on. The one who lets you crash on his couch when your girlfriend kicks you out. The guy who always invites everyone over for a barbeque or a party. He’s always so calm and chill. People gravitate toward him. He makes everyone feel better. He’s that guy. No one would hurt him. Are you sure he’s dead? Maybe I should call him.” Golden stood abruptly. “I’m gonna call him.”
“Mr. Golden,” I began.
“Liv,” Fennel shook his head, “let him be.”
We watched him dial and wait. When no one answered, he hung up. “You know, Johnny should be back by now.”
“What time does he usually ge
t back?” Fennel asked, deciding it was easier to play along than to pound reality into Golden’s head.
“A little after eight. He works ten to six. The dry cleaner’s opens at seven, and once Mr. Lee shows up, Johnny heads back to the office and clocks out or whatever.”
“Do you know why Mr. Lee hired a night watchman?” I asked.
“That was Moonlight Security’s brilliant idea. Anyone who upgraded to the deluxe package was assigned a guard for the first thirty days or six weeks or something. I don’t know. But that’s why Johnny started working there. He spends his nights watching TV and movies on his phone.” Golden glanced down at his cell phone. “Maybe his battery’s dead.”
I’d seen grief and denial but never to this extreme. “Does Johnny have any family or relatives close by?”
“Nah. He moved out here for college and never went back. His folks live out of state.”
Fennel handed him his notepad and pen. “Can you write down their names and a phone number, if you have it?”
Golden took the paper and reached for his phone. “Sure.” He scrolled through his contact information and copied the phone number and address into my partner’s notebook. At least we wouldn’t have to make the notification.
“When’s the last time they visited?” Fennel entered the details into his phone and shot off a text to someone at the precinct to get the ball rolling. We’d have to contact the local police, and they’d make the notification in person. It was only marginally better than us calling long distance to give Jonathan Gardner’s parents the bad news.
“Not since the summer. Johnny went home for the holidays to see them, but they only get together about twice a year. He’s busy, and they don’t like to travel. He always says he should visit them more often.” He swallowed as the facts sunk in, but he was determined for this to not be real. I couldn’t fault him for that, but it made our job more difficult. And watching him was heartbreaking enough, even more so than finding the body. At least then, Gardner was just another victim. Now he was a person with people who cared about him. “He wanted to go see them for his little sister’s birthday. She’s turning twenty-one at the end of next month.”