by G. K. Parks
“Or the killer and his accomplice entered the disarm code, then went around the front, and broke the glass, so it wouldn’t trigger the alarm.”
“That means the killer could be working solo,” Fennel said. “The system beeps when it’s accessed. So Jonathan Gardner heard the beep, went into the back room to check the panel, and the killer broke through the front door. Gardner heard the noise, ran back out front, and got himself killed.”
“Damn. That makes sense. It also makes this a random act of violence.” It’d be a lot harder to find the killer if he had no connection to the victim or Star Cleaners. “Where do we go from here?”
“Dammit.” He tried to think, but his stomach let out an audible growl. “Are you hungry?”
“I’m not sure. Is it possible to have no appetite and be starving at the same time?”
“I think so.” He checked the time. “Let’s pick up lunch and take it back to the precinct. We need to review the security feed from outside the shop and find out if the canvass turned up anything useful.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
By the time we got back to the station, Sgt. Chambliss had sent officers with Mr. Lee to take inventory. The sergeant left copies of Lee’s statement and the reports with us, but we’d already been over all of it.
I speared a carrot and popped it into my mouth. “I thought we agreed this was a random act of violence. Why are you still scouring the internet for sordid details on Jonathan Gardner?”
“Because it’s all I can do.” Fennel leaned back, holding the bowl beneath his mouth so he wouldn’t spill while he ate his salad. “Did Chambliss say anything to you about Mr. Lee?”
“He’s leaving it up to us since we’re the detectives.”
“That means he doesn’t think Lee’s the killer.” Fennel swallowed another bite and rocked forward, putting his lunch down on his desk. “According to patrol, Mr. Lee’s wife said he didn’t leave their house until 5:25. But since it’s his wife, she could be lying.”
“Or that’s the truth. CSU checked him for GSR and blood spatter. He didn’t shoot Gardner. At least that’s what the evidence indicates.” I recalled our early morning interview. Perhaps, if I’d been more awake and alert, I would have paid more attention. “Arthur Lee’s an odd one. He thinks drug addicts want his dry cleaning chemicals. And he wanted top of the line security for his dry cleaning business.”
“Do you think it’s a front for something?”
I shrugged and focused on the few remaining bits of hardboiled egg and avocado slices hidden beneath the spring mix. When I finished eating, I wiped my hands and entered a few searches into the database. No other department had Mr. Lee or Star Cleaners under surveillance. And I couldn’t find any reports of previous break-ins or crimes happening at that location.
“Hey,” Fennel swiveled his monitor around, “a month and a half ago, someone broke into Mr. Lee’s apartment.”
“Who filed the report?” I asked.
“His wife. Mr. Lee was attending a dry cleaning convention when the break-in occurred.” He scanned the report for additional details. “The stolen property was recovered three weeks later, along with property from half a dozen other break-ins in that neighborhood. That would explain why he insisted on topnotch security.”
“Did Moonlight install a system at his home too?”
It was Fennel’s turn to shrug. “Want to call and find out?”
I picked up the receiver and dialed the number on McFarland’s business card. Three rings later, he answered and I asked him the same question I just asked Fennel. After getting affirmation, I hung up, only to find Fennel on the phone asking Mr. Lee the same question.
He snickered and put down the phone. “Well, that explains it.”
“Let me guess, Mr. Lee got a discount on Star Cleaners’ security system after having had his home security system installed.”
“Something like that.” Fennel sifted through the documents again. “Is it just me or does Mr. Lee enjoy a discount a bit too much? I’m going to run his financials and check with his insurance company to see if that might be motive for the break-in and murder. He didn’t pull the trigger, but he might have had someone else do it for him.”
“Do contract killers have coupons?” I asked.
“I don’t know, Liv. The next time we arrest one, you should ask.”
I stuck my tongue out at him and picked up my notepad. A lump formed in my stomach, and I regretted eating. Reaching for the phone, I dialed an unfamiliar number and waited for verification that Jonathan Gardner’s next of kin had received notification. At the moment, they were making arrangements to fly in and claim the body. We’d have to question them once they arrived, but for now, I could let them grieve in peace.
Fennel quirked an eyebrow. “Are you okay?”
“Uh-huh.” I blew out a steady breath. “Gardner’s parents should be arriving on Monday.”
“Okay.” He reached for the baseball on his desk, palming it as he thought. “You know…I wonder…”
I stopped what I was doing and stared at my partner. “Go on. The suspense might kill me.”
He scowled. “Bad choice of words, Liv.” Opening his notepad, he double-checked some facts. “Michael Tolliver had the same gaming system and game as Jonathan Gardner.”
“So? Didn’t you say you played the same game?”
“It’s probably nothing, but we said we’d have Mac run down their online teammates and verify Richard Golden’s alibi. We might as well have her check to see if they ever played together.”
“They worked together, so it’s possible. Maybe Mr. Bachelor Party downplayed their relationship.” I reached for the phone and dialed Mac’s extension. After updating her on the situation, I handed the handset to Fennel so he could give her the pertinent details.
While he did that, I dug through our records for anything on Moonlight Security, but the company was too new. They had filed the proper forms and were adequately licensed. Their employees passed the required background checks and had no previous criminal records. Another dead end, I thought, snorting when my internal voice, which sounded suspiciously like Brad, chastised me for the play on words.
“I’m cracking up,” I mumbled.
“What?” Fennel raised an eyebrow. “They sell crack?”
“No. Maybe. I’m going to check with narcotics and see if they know anything.”
“All right. I’ll drop by gangs. It’s possible someone’s been charging shop owners a protection fee, and Mr. Lee doesn’t strike me as the type who’d pay. It could be something.” He got up from his desk and went up the stairs.
After giving my computer a dirty look, I went to see if the detectives in narcotics knew anything I didn’t. But aside from the usual drug traffic in that part of town, they hadn’t heard anything. And no one had been selling dry cleaning chemicals or huffable materials on the streets.
Reassured that I wasn’t crazy and Mr. Lee was paranoid, I decided to give the dry cleaner a call to check on the progress he made taking inventory and to ask about the employees who allegedly got high at work. Our conversation was brief. None of the chemicals had been stolen.
“Are you sure nothing else is missing?”
“Everything’s here. Oh no. Wait a minute,” Mr. Lee put the phone down, and I waited for him to get back on the line, “the thief took something else.”
“What?” I asked.
“My ticket pad. It has carbon copies of everyone’s order.”
“What else? Names? Addresses?”
“Yes.”
“Credit card numbers?” I asked.
“No.”
“What about checks?”
For a moment, he sounded offended. “I don’t accept checks.”
“Okay.” Could this be about identity theft? “Are you sure no one’s account numbers were listed?”
“No. Those are run through the machine. It only lists the last four digits. Nothing else.”
“What infor
mation do you record on your ticket pad?” I thought about dry cleaning tickets I’d had in the past. But they never contained private information.
“Name, address, items to be cleaned, and phone numbers. Nothing else.” He cleared his throat. “Why would someone want that?”
“I have no idea. Are you sure it’s gone?”
“Yes, it was right here, on the counter beside the register.” Mr. Lee sounded almost frantic.
“Thank you for your help, if you remember anything else, please give me a call.”
I disconnected and went to speak to the crime scene unit to find out if the ticket pad had been bagged for evidence collection. But they hadn’t seen it. I found Ellie hunched over a table, running a lighted wand over Gardner’s bloody shirt.
“Hey,” I hoped since I worked with Brown Eyes she’d offer me the same perks, “do you mind if I look through the photos you took of Star Cleaners?”
She pointed to a camera on the table behind her. “Knock yourself out.”
I scrolled through the snapshots, but I didn’t see any order pads or dry cleaning tickets. So the killer took something else besides the money in the register. I just didn’t know why.
“Hey, Ellie, did anyone check the exterior camera feed from Star Cleaners?”
She stopped what she was doing and spun around to face me. “I’m not sure. I know Mr. Lee didn’t have any cameras posted out front, and the ones in the back were too badly damaged to give us anything. But the sarge said he was going to pull nearby traffic cams. You might want to check with him.”
“Thanks.”
On my way back upstairs, I stopped to speak to the watch commander. Nearby CCTVs saw a silver sedan drive away from Star Cleaners at 4:37 a.m. The plates had been removed and every window had an illegal tint, making it impossible to see who was inside the vehicle.
“Did you get any visuals on the suspect?” I asked.
Chambliss shook his head. “We backtracked. The car appeared in the vicinity around 3:30 a.m., but the driver parked in one of the few blind spots. And since none of the shops to the west of Star Cleaners have exterior cameras on that block, we didn’t see anyone get in or out of the vehicle. A BOLO’s been issued, and patrol knows to keep their eyes peeled. I’ll let you know if it turns up.”
“I appreciate it.” But something told me even if we found it, it wouldn’t lead to anything.
Nine
“I finally figured it out,” I said triumphantly. “Actually, it makes a lot of sense now that I think about it.”
Brad glanced at me. “What does?”
“The reason you weren’t into the barista. You only date blondes.”
“What?”
“Ellie has black hair, and you said there was no chemistry. But you and Carrie have lasted a while, and she’s blonde. You have a thing for blondes.”
“I do not have a thing for blondes.” He glanced around to make sure no one was eavesdropping. “And you know Carrie and I aren’t a thing. We’re just having fun.”
“It’s okay. We all have a type.”
“Oh yeah?” Brad cocked an eyebrow at me. “What’s yours?”
“I know it when I see it.”
He snickered. “Fine, Liv. Don’t tell me.” He rubbed his eyes and leaned back in his chair, tossing the baseball up in the air and catching it. “Narcotics, gangs, vice, and intelligence all came up blank. Jonathan Gardner’s the most beloved guy in the entire world. His ex and her boyfriend are too far away to have done anything to him, not that they would. I’m sure when she broke his heart, she must have told him it was all her fault since he was perfect.” He glanced at me. “I bet he would have been your type. The all-American, straight white teeth, crooked smile, heart of gold type. Damn. A guy like that shouldn’t go out like this.”
“At least it was quick.” I couldn’t bring myself to look at the horrific crime scene photos of what little was left of Gardner’s face. “Based on what his boss at the security firm said, I think the reason Gardner didn’t draw on the killer was because he didn’t like guns.”
“It could be why he was killed. The thief might have asked for his wallet, thought Gardner was going for the gun, and shot him preemptively.”
“I don’t know, but based on what we’ve learned, I don’t think Gardner was involved in the break-in. I think he was just a victim.”
“Not the target?” Brad asked, playing devil’s advocate, as usual.
“Okay, smart guy, I’ll go along with that if you can tell me who wants him dead or what motive they have for killing him. It’s not like he had a life insurance policy for a few million. Or any life insurance at all. Unless you think this has something to do with a video game.”
“Nope,” Laura ‘Mac’ Mackenzie said, startling me. “I checked, but Gardner’s gaming buddies have their characters intact. If anything, they were quite the kick ass team.” She dragged a straight-back chair beside my desk and plopped down. “Damn, Fennel, you’re looking fine today.”
“Thank you. I’m glad somebody noticed.” He looked pointedly at me.
“Who are you kidding? Everybody noticed. I thought I was going to have to call for riot gear or an emergency evac. First, Ellie, then the barista, and don’t even get me started on Ava.”
“The receptionist from Moonlight Security?” he asked.
“You know damn well what her name is. She tattooed it on your wrist.” I grabbed Brad’s hand and held it up.
Mac laughed. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to start anything.”
“Too late.” Brad took the list of video game handles from her outstretched hand. “You got their real names and contact info. That’s great. You’re a goddess.”
“I can probably tell you where they’re logging in to play, if they’re online,” Mac offered.
“Even better.” Brad winked at her. “So, do you think I should stick with the dark dress shirt with my jacket? Or go back to the white shirt and tie?”
“Definitely dark dress shirt and no tie. At the risk of having to report for sensitivity training, I’d say you should lose another button.” She nudged me. “What do you think, Liv? He could drop a button, right? Show off those pecs. You work out enough. You ought to flaunt it.”
“Don’t get him started,” I warned.
“You’re no fun,” she said.
My partner beamed. “I’m glad someone notices all the hard work that goes into this.” He waved his hand down his body.
“All right, I have to get back to work. I’ll call you if any of those guys log-in and get you their locations. Do you think one of them is your killer?” Mac asked.
“It’s tough to say. We don’t have any real leads. Every avenue leads to nowhere. But it doesn’t hurt to gather as much information as possible,” Brad said.
“That sucks. If there’s anything you guys need, let me know.”
“Hey, Mac,” I said before she could walk away, “any idea why someone would steal the ticket pad from a dry cleaner’s?”
She chewed on her lip while she thought. “I got nothing.” That made three of us.
Brad continued to stare at me, even after Mac walked away. “What?” I asked, wondering if I had salad dressing on my shirt or spinach in my teeth.
“Did you ever consider maybe I dress nicely so you have something pretty to look at all day?”
I stifled a laugh, nearly choking in the process. “Who are you kidding?”
He shrugged and turned back to the report Mac had handed him. “She’s on the ball.” He held out the file for me to read.
“I’m guessing that means our vic spoke to these people regularly. That these are his friends.”
“Not necessarily, but there’s a good possibility. Gardner’s roommate would know his gaming habits the best. But Golden said Gardner only played with friends. Whether that means he knew them in the real world, I don’t know.”
I scanned the list of names. “Turns out our vic and Michael Tolliver had more than just the passing interaction at
work.” I handed the list back to Brad. “Do you want to run down the names, or do you want to delve deeper into Michael Tolliver’s alibi?”
“I’ll take one for the team and contact the strip club. I might even have to go down there and flash his photograph around to make sure the management remembers him.” Brad shuffled the papers on his desk. “We already verified the information with the rideshare guy, but it’s possible Michael booked the car and instead of riding home with his buddies, he detoured to Star Cleaners to rob the place. As far as we know, Michael Tolliver had no reason to want to kill Gardner, but that would explain why Gardner allowed his killer to get so close and why he didn’t try to shoot the guy.”
“It might even explain why Gardner was killed. After all, he could definitely ID the thief.”
Brad pushed away from the desk. “All right. I’ll check it out and ask around. Maybe someone at the club remembers Michael Tolliver becoming angry or belligerent.”
“Check with the girl who popped out of the cake. I’m sure she’d remember.”
“Why? Don’t you think all drunk, horny men look the same?”
“Yeah, they kind of do. But if he was angry or possibly dangerous, she would have caught on. From the photos I saw on Michael’s phone, the men were all over her. She would have known who to avoid.”
“All right. I’ll call you if I find something.”
“Be careful. With the way you’re dressed, the ladies may eat you alive.”
He licked his lips, the comeback obvious from the smirk on his face. But my partner was too classy to say it out loud.
After he left, I ran each of the names Mac had pulled. Aside from two counts of public intoxication and one for public urination, these guys had no records. I turned my search back to Jonathan Gardner’s social media profile. I found most of the names on his friends list. They were mainly his college buddies. They’d all been in the same fraternity house. That also explained the public intoxication and urination.
I checked every person’s social media page, including Michael Tolliver’s, but they were the basic this is what I ate for dinner, this is my hot girlfriend, and here’s a funny video of a cat. Why couldn’t this be simple?