by J. S. Marlo
Stupefied by the remark, Liliane gaped like Einstein, Ariana’s goldfish. These were the last words she would expect Amanda to utter. Sophie, yes. Jasmin, maybe. Amanda, no.
“What?” The recruitment officer slapped her hands down her tights and snarled. “Can’t a gal window-shop once in a while?”
Alarmed by Amanda’s atypical behavior, Liliane indicated the chair. She couldn’t afford to lose her recruitment officer over whatever sent her into a murderous frenzy. The woman was irreplaceable.
To pierce the tension warping the woman pacing her office, Liliane opted for a humoristic approach. “What’s wrong, Amanda? Did Jasmin show up in fuchsia push-up bra and matching thong?”
Stopped dead in her tracks, the older woman hiccupped a chuckle.
“I wish.” She plunked onto the chair, groaning. “I did Thomas’ bidding for years to keep my son on his payroll. He hasn’t been dead two days and his wife has already fired twenty employees. No warning, no notice, no compensation. My son devoted nine years to that company, Liliane. Nine years. That was cruel and nasty.” Her face hardened. “I never thought a woman who looked so innocent could be so callously ruthless. She’s a viper of the worst kind. She and Thomas belonged together. It’s too bad she didn’t follow him to his grave.” A low growl rumbled in her throat. “What is my son going to do now to feed his family?”
One could argue the widow learned from the master. Thomas often boasted his employees never unionized, still Liliane would have thought their contracts afforded them some sort of protection or benefits. The widow’s actions proved her wrong.
“Amanda, why don’t you hire him to work for us? You still have openings for Advance Polls and Election Day, don’t you? You could also ask him if he’d like to become a revising agent. Sophie could use someone reliable full-time.” While it didn’t compare to the job he lost, Liliane paid a decent wage to the election employees. “It would keep him afloat until a better opportunity arises.”
Amanda leapt to her feet. “Really? You don’t mind if I hire members of my family?”
“Yes. Really. The only family members causing problems were Thomas’.” Relieved a short-term solution had been found, Liliane gestured toward the door. “Go ahead. Call him. I’ll talk to Sophie.”
Following Amanda’s footsteps, Liliane exited her office to tour the different rooms within the building. No one occupied the revision supervisor’s desk or the training room, and no one had heard from either woman despite Gloria’s numerous attempts to reach them.
Liliane’s stomach growled. She recalled eating breakfast but had forgotten about lunch.
“Gloria, I’m going to check on Sophie and Jasmin, then I’ll go home to eat something.” Liliane’s regular route intersected both women’s streets. Checking on their welfare was neither a detour nor an imposition. “If someone needs me, give me a call.”
“Will do. Good luck and bon appétit.”
~ * ~
Jasper sat on a black leather loveseat in Janet Finch’s living room. The large screen television mounted on the wall above a gas fireplace aired a soap opera, which Finch’s widow muted after inviting him in. The woman sat in a wooden rocking chair similar to the one his late sister used to console Dillon when he was a baby.
The widow’s mascara had run down her cheeks, but she didn’t seem to care.
He didn’t understand why a woman would bother putting on makeup knowing her tears would ruin it, but then grieving widows sometimes behaved in aberrant and unpredictable ways. Her husband’s murder had also revealed the corrupt side of his personality. Even if she’d known or suspected his illicit activities, to be confronted with the truth couldn’t be easy to stomach or digest. While Jasper didn’t relish the task of questioning her about her husband, he couldn’t avoid it.
There were never any good ways to ask these private questions, so he chose the direct route. The feeling of having hit a brick wall deepened as the seconds stretched into minutes. The creaking of the chair as it rocked back and forth pierced the heavy silence without breaching it. On the screen, the soap opera ended and a new one began.
The widow stared at him with hollow eyes and a haggard expression. Then all of a sudden, she clasped her hands on her lap. “Once you reach my age, Detective, it becomes harder to compete with younger women. As long as Thomas remained discreet, I turned a blind eye to his occasional indiscretions. We may not have had the perfect marriage, but we had a good marriage. Can I think of anyone who would want to kill him? My husband was a shrewd businessman. He liked to use his friends and destroy his enemies. I suppose lots of people would have reasons to want him dead. To be honest, I wish he was alive so I could kill him for the public humiliation I’m suffering.”
An attractive woman in her fifties with an impeccable taste in clothes, Janet Finch didn’t strike him as the type to sell herself short.
As much as he wished otherwise, his job didn’t include shielding her from the hurtful truth. “Mrs. Finch, we believe we found your husband’s phone. You wouldn’t happen to know his password by any chance, would you? The content may shed some light on his murder.”
The rocking stopped.
“Most of his passwords combine the day and location of our wedding. February tenth in Vegas. He often joked that way he wouldn’t forget when he married me.” A low moan escaped her lips. “I wish I could forget I married him.”
That should help the guys at the lab. He noted the date and city. “What will happen to his company? Will one of your sons take over?”
“My two sons will stay in charge of the daily operations while I take the helm and steer it in the right direction.” Her gaze focused on him, sharper than his grandmother’s tongue. “Will that be all?”
Ignoring the obvious dismissal, he retrieved his phone to access his fingerprint app synced to the database at the lab. “Many prints were found inside your husband’s truck. It would expedite the investigation and rule out the members of your family faster if you could all provide a copy of your fingerprints. Would you like to be the first?”
~ * ~
Jasmin rented a townhouse near an elementary school, but when Liliane parked in front of the end unit, she was surprised to see a red House for Rent sign had replaced the blue Spirit Yoga sign in the upper window.
After checking twice to ascertain she’d reached the right address, Liliane knocked on the front door. A burly man who’d misplaced his shirt invited her to enter.
Leery of his appearance, she remained on the front veranda from where an elderly neighbor pruning his roses next door could see her—and hear her scream. “Who are you?”
The man eyed her. “I’m the owner, sugar pie, and I’m busy cleaning. If you’re not interested to rent, I—”
“What do you mean by rent?” When she drove by two days ago, she glimpsed Jasmin in the window. “Isn’t Jasmin living here?”
He crossed muscular arms over his hairy chest. “Not anymore. According to my neighbor, a moving van came last night and emptied the entire house. She took off without taking the trash out.”
While she attempted to wrap her mind around that latest development, Liliane glanced above the man’s shoulder. The living room looked empty.
The owner cleared his throat. “You want to see it or not?”
“No.” Jasmin’s hasty departure on the same day Thomas was murdered troubled Liliane. “She is—was—one of my employees. I’m also looking for her. She didn’t leave a forwarding address by any chance, did she?”
Daggers shot from his eyes. “What do you think, sugar pie?”
I’m no sugar pie. Her mood slipped down a slippery slope. “Thanks for your time. Please, don’t let me keep you away from your mop and bucket.”
Liliane walked away before her tongue overrode her reason. As she debated calling Jasper, the realization she’d lost her training officer punched her in the guts. A training session was scheduled for this evening. Workers would start showing up in less than five hours. At worst,
she could swing it, but Liliane would prefer not to spend three hours dissecting election materials in front of a bored audience.
I don’t have time to train a new trainer, so...
Slumped in the front seat of her car, she jiggled with her iPhone. Amanda used to be a trainer before Thomas replaced her by Jasmin.
Here goes nothing. She dialed Amanda and was transferred to her voicemail. “Hey, Amanda, it’s Liliane. To make a long story short, Jasmin quit. I’m offering you her job on top of yours, and if you need help with recruitment, feel free to hire your son as your assistant. Talk later.”
As she drove to Sophie’s house, a beep indicating an incoming message resounded in her car. She waited until after she parked into Sophie’s driveway to check it.
Did she quit to pole dance at Teasers? Yes, I’ll take her job. And I always wanted an assistant. Thank you! Amanda
Relieved she’d solved that problem, Liliane exited her vehicle. The large door of the double car garage was closed, but she could hear the mechanical sound of an engine. Thinking someone was busy fixing something in the garage, she approached the side door.
Smoke sifted around the edges, sparking panic and fear. As she twisted the knob and pushed, she squinted through the window. The door didn’t budge and a car was running.
Adrenaline rushed through her veins. She banged on the window with her purse. Again and again. The glass shattered and smoke escaped, irritating her eyes and her throat. She slipped her right arm through the window frame. The slivers of glass still attached to the edges slashed her forearm, unleashing scorching pain through her body. She unlatched the lock with trembling fingers, and heedless of the blood trickling down her skin, she pushed the door open. The gas choked her. Patting the wall, she stumbled onto the garage door opener and pressed the button. Chains rattled and a band of light pierced the dimness, widening by the second. Through the driver’s side window, Liliane peered at a silhouette inside the vehicle. She pulled on the car door.
A blonde woman she suspected to be Sophie was slumped over the steering wheel. Hacking and coughing, Liliane grabbed her by the armpits and dragged her outside onto the grass. She checked Sophie’s pulse and found none.
“Sophie, don’t dare die on me.” Liliane called 911 before starting CPR.
~ * ~
Though Jasper encountered reticence to obtain fingerprints, in the end, every member of Thomas’ immediate family pressed the pads of their ten digits on his phone, even the victim’s only grandchild, little Tommy.
A few hours later, he received a preliminary report from the lab along with a copy of the emails, texts, and photos that the technician had so far retrieved. The widow’s tip on his password had paid off.
Unlike the handle of the screwdriver or the key ring, which had been wiped clean, Thomas’ phone was smeared with prints and smudges. The technician at the lab isolated Thomas’ prints, his wife’s, and a partial that didn’t belong to any member of his immediate family. A database search for that partial print hadn’t revealed any match yet, but Jasper hadn’t lost hope of catching a lucky break in the days to come.
The texts and emails on his desk cemented the victim’s shady and ruthless reputation. A large proportion of the senders and recipients held motives—strong motives—to kill him, and a jury might not have blamed them for acting on them. Had Thomas screwed with him like he did some of these folks, Jasper would also have been tempted to get even. How the victim slept at night eluded him, though it appeared Thomas didn’t lack nocturnal activities either.
Jasper set aside some of the emails and texts showing no obvious relations with the election. As soon as Officer Morse returned from lunch, he would give them to the veteran officer to investigate while he turned his immediate attention to the racy photos and texts the victim exchanged in recent months with someone nicknamed Red Rose.
Had his personal phone contained such photos, Jasper would have concealed the device from his wife, though by doing so it might have raised more suspicion than hiding it in plain sight. Red Rose looked to be in her late teens or early twenties, and was listed in Thomas’ contacts.
Jasper questioned the veracity of Red as her first name or Rose as her last, but he liked the two phone numbers associated with her texts.
Let’s see if I can track them.
While he waited for the computer to provide him with a real name, he combed through the exchange. The torrid affair didn’t surprise Jasper as much as the location of their secret liaison. Aurora Inn. The motel where he found Thomas’ truck. One strange detail struck Jasper. The second phone number had only been used twice—four times if he counted Thomas’ replies—and all less than five hours prior to his death.
Red Rose texted Thomas from the second number at 1:57 a.m.
Next time you’re alone at work, can you send me a picture of your joystick at your election desk?
The victim replied at 2:03 a.m.
I’m meeting Lenny at 5:00 a.m. Why don’t you join me in my office after for a private viewing?
Between the victim’s work phone and private cell phone, a timeline emerged. These two texts were exchanged after Thomas agreed to meet his assistant at Tim Hortons but before he sent his last email to Headquarters at 4:39 a.m.
Thomas texted his mysterious Red Rose again at 4:57 a.m.
I’m waiting for Lenny at Tim’s. Meet me in my office in 30-40 minutes. I’ll leave the front door unlocked. Surprise me.
That screwdriver undoubtedly spoiled the surprise. Then Thomas received one last text at 5:31 a.m., after his meeting with Leonard ended.
Awake and naughty. Get that stick of yours ready and close your eyes. I’m coming.
No picture of any joystick was shared on the victim’s phone, but it had dangled out of his pants, ready for action. Jasper’s computer beeped. The two phone numbers belonging to Red Rose were registered to Thomas Finch.
That’s not helping me identify Rose. The victim had bought both phones and given them to his lover. Until Jasper located them, he could only speculate as to why Red Rose needed two phones unless the first one malfunctioned. Still, the timing remained suspicious.
Nothing indicated Thomas read that last text, but it denoted the intention on Rose’s part—the intention of meeting him after 5:31 a.m.
Well, Red Rose, you’re a person of considerable interest in this case. Finding her jumped to the top of Jasper’s list.
Officer Welsh showed great potential. Once the rookie returned from patrol, Jasper would delegate her the task of circulating a close-up picture of Rose’s face. He then concentrated his attention on a deleted email sent three months earlier from an AOL account. The sender, LotusSpirit, had attached a naked picture of Thomas. He read the caption.
You look good, Tom!
While not a yoga expert, Jasper recognized the lotus position. For a large fatty man, the victim proved more flexible than Jasper had given him credit for, but he wouldn’t go as far as to say Thomas looked good. Pants, shorts, boxers, or even a thong would have improved his appearance.
According to the notes Jasper took, one of the employees at the election office owned a yoga studio. Jasmin Couture, the training officer. He checked online for other studios.
Two were listed. Mind & Body Studio and Spirit Yoga. The first online site provided an address for Mind & Body Studio. A second online site provided only the name of the Yoga guru for Spirit Yoga, owner and operator Jasmin Couture.
Between the two studios, the odds of being associated with LotusSpirit @AOL.com favored the latter. Regardless, he intended to pay both of them a visit in the next hour.
When a further search didn’t yield an address for Spirit Yoga, Jasper focused his gaze on the last lustful photo found in the deleted folder of the victim’s phone. On it, a blonde in a sheer yellow negligee posed on a bed. Despite the hazy quality of the photo, the woman bore a striking resemblance to Sophie, the revision supervisor, and the color of the sexy negligee matched the one he retrieved from under the
bed at the motel.
The first time he talked to Sophie after the murder, he noticed her fidgety hands and furtive gaze while she answered his questions. He’d chalked up the nervous signs to the events unfolding at the election office. In light of that photo, he questioned his assumption. He couldn’t rule out Thomas blackmailing her, in which case the fear of having her affair exposed gave her a motive to kill him.
The victim didn’t lack enemies, which didn’t help Jasper to shrink his list of viable suspects.
Through the open door of his office, he spotted Morse and Welsh walking in the station. He grabbed the material related to the tasks he intended to delegate to them and approached their desks.
~ * ~
When the paramedics took over her efforts to save Sophie’s life, Liliane knew their attempts would prove fruitless. The woman had died before she pulled her out of the running car. Had she checked on her two employees in the reverse order, Liliane might have arrived in time. But she didn’t. She went to Jasmin’s house first, a decision that would haunt her for the rest of her life.
Seated on the concrete step of the front porch, Liliane stared in dismay as the paramedics loaded Sophie on a gurney, her whole body covered with a white sheet.
Lights were flashing around the firetruck and police cars blocking access to the street. The coroner’s van zigzagged through them and the same pretty coroner who showed up to take a look at Thomas’ body lifted the sheet to glance at her next case.