Chasing the Ghost

by Bob Mayer

  She finally had the decency to pull the shades away from her eyes. They were deep brown. "I'm somewhat surprised that you would come to see me, detective."

  No, I love hanging around the leisurely idle , Chase thought to himself. "Why?"

  "For one reason, I'm surprised that Jeffrey would give you my name, and most importantly, I was not Rachel's best friend." She took a sip of her drink and watched Chase swirl the ice in his.

  He couldn't decide which statement intrigued him more, she was pretty adamant about both. “Did he give me the wrong name?"

  She shook her head. "I'm just saying I didn't consider myself Rachel's best friend. At most, I would say we were good acquaintances. We saw each other at some of the same places, we played some tennis, sometimes golf; but there were usually other people there. They knew her as well as I."

  Chase was a little puzzled. "So you don't consider yourself a friend she could have confided in?"

  She shot Chase a no-shit look. "That's exactly what I'm saying. Rachel Stevens and I never spoke privately about anything."

  Chase shifted in his seat, giving his body the chance to squirm so his brain wouldn't since the sun was hitting him dead on. He noticed some man at the poolside bar watching them. Big guy, thick white hair combed straight back, wearing wrap-around shades. "Do you know who her best friend was?"

  Linda Watkins let loose a sarcastic little laugh. "What makes you so sure she had a best friend? And even if she did, what are you hoping to find out? Look around detective. Do any of these women look like the type to confide their innermost secrets to another woman? What do you think a shrink is for?"

  Score one for the tennis queen, Chase thought. Properly chastised, he had to admit to himself that it would probably be tough to find someone giving and caring enough to listen in this crowd. "Thank you for setting me straight, Mrs. Watkins. How about you just tell me what you do know about Rachel Stevens."

  She started to sputter that what she knew wouldn't be of help. With his best Joe Friday voice, Chase told her to let him be the judge of that.

  Finally figuring out that he wasn't leaving until he got something, no matter how small, out of her, Linda Watkins thought for a little bit, playing with her glass and watching the courts, but Chase sensed she was also making sure the guy at the bar was still there. Chase spent the time trying to figure out her accent. English wasn’t her first language that he could tell, having traveled to a lot of places around the globe. He sensed a European finishing school, but before that, he had no idea. Finally, she turned back to him.

  "Rachel was different. She didn't seem to fit in with everyone, but then she didn't seem to care. People can tell when you're not very interested in them and that's the way it was with Rachel. She wasn't interested in the women at the club. I always felt she was putting in time whenever she was at a meeting or a luncheon.”

  Chase was watching the guy at the bar. He was more than interested in the two of them. And he had that look, which Chase recognized. Former military or police.

  Linda Watkins continued. "If I give her the benefit of the doubt, which I suppose I should since she met with such a dreadful end, I would say she was smart, much smarter than the rest of the women here. The fact that she was going to school meant to me that she wasn't satisfied with the unexamined life. If I had to describe her, it would be as a woman who always wanted more. Maybe she found it."

  Chase was a little surprised at that last statement. "You knew she was going to school. Did she tell you that?"

  "Everybody knew that. It was quite a topic when she first went. Made the others look bad, you know. Rachel was quite a threat to some women. She had courage, not something many women have a tendency to admire in each other. At least not around here."

  "So you would say Rachel wasn't happy with her current life?"

  "My dear, show me someone who's happy with their life and I'll show you someone too dumb to realize there's more. Wanting something, more is a fact of human nature. The lucky ones just know what that something is and go for it. The rest live lives of quiet desperation as someone quotable once said."

  She stretched her arms over her head showing Chase a sliver of tanned midriff. He wondered if Sylvie was going to hold up this well. He looked for a moment too long and got the feeling Linda was storing that for future reference and decided it was time to go. "One last thing. How would you describe her relationship with her husband?"

  She dropped her arms and started to laugh, "Darling, you are just too cute. Her relationship with Jeffrey was just like everybody else's: profitable. Now why don't you be a good boy, and go back to the real world where people do bad things for bad reasons."

  Chase didn't like being dismissed. "Do you think Rachel might have been having an affair?"

  Linda put her sunglasses back on. "I just told you she was smart. So that means she would have been discreet." Linda pursed her lips. "I'm going to stick my neck out and say Rachel didn't seem like she needed an affair. Like I said, she had a mind of her own and I bet she would have considered an affair emotional garbage. She might have had some sort of plan, but I don't think it was centered around a man. It was centered around herself."

  Chase longed for people who knew the meaning of yes and no. "Do you have any idea what this plan might have been?"

  "Really, Detective!" Linda stood up and collected her racquet. "What Rachel Stevens did or didn't do, or whatever her plan was, I have no earthly idea. She did play a mean game of tennis, though. I will miss that."

  Chase was tired. This well had been pumped dry and he was tired of the abuse. Rachel Stevens was becoming more of an enigma and he’d hated those ever since one of his army commanders had used it years ago on one of his efficiency reports.

  “Who’s the guy?” Chase abruptly asked.

  “’The guy’?” Watkins blinked at him.

  “The man at the pool bar who’s been watching us.”

  “My husband,” Watkins said. “Now, are we done?”

  Chase’s departure was swift, but he knew it was going to take a while for the irritation of the afternoon to wash away.

  * * * * *

  It felt comfortable to get back to the office at least. Everybody there was miserable, but at least they had good reason: they had to work for a living.

  Chase had a few hours to kill before the end of the day. Porter wasn't in. There was one of those post-it's on the desk from his partner. He was out nosing around. Porter never stayed at his desk if he could help it. He figured if he poked his nose in enough crannies that sooner or later he'd find something. From what Chase had seen so far and by reputation, Porter had a good track record.

  Chase checked his cell phone, even though he knew it hadn’t received a call. There’d been no news from Fortin regarding the situation in Wyoming. Chase didn’t know where he stood with the Team. And he didn’t know what to do about it. So he focused on his job here for the time being.

  Chase got organized. Contrary to what he’d seen in the movies or on TV, he’d learned that being a detective required a lot of organizational skills. That's one trait of Rachel's that he respected. Chase spent the next thirty minutes labeling manila folders and filing away all the little pieces of paper the case had accumulated so far along with all his notes. He put the folders in separate pockets inside a large accordion envelope. On the front, he used a big black magic marker to label the whole thing: Rachel.

  Porter liked to joke that the accordion envelopes were Chase’s books. He'd call this one The Book of Rachel. Porter joked about it, but he also thought the books were a good idea: every detective had to have a system and he supported Chase doing it his own way. Porter had his little notepads and his brain and his years of experience.

  Chase stared at the Book of Rachel on his desk, letting his thoughts swirl for a while, reading the headings on the file folders. He pulled out the one-labeled Gavin-CU.

  Rachel had sat in the first row, left side. Chase checked out the names on either side of Rache
l. Sue Pollis and Jim York. He cross-referenced with the class roster and punched in Sue Pollis's number.

  No answer.

  He tried York's next. A machine. He left his name and office number and requested a call back.

  Just for the hell of it, Chase called four other members of the class; the next closest four to Rachel on the seating chart. One more machine on which he left the same message, two no answers and one answer.

  The student was most uninformative. She hadn't even known that someone in her class had been murdered.

  He shoved the folder back in the book. Chase called Hanson's office to see if the final autopsy report was completed. He was told it would be done Monday. Another good reason not to work weekends. No one else did.

  Chase called forensics. Right now, they had zip on the murder scene. No prints, no tire tracks, no nothing. Their report would also be done Monday. Right.

  It had been a frustrating day. Chase was looking forward to spending tomorrow afternoon with Sylvie before she went to work. She'd told Chase to meet her at Chautauqua Park at noon.

  Chase pulled out the folder marked Silver-CU and the Gavin one again. He cross-referenced the list of students. Three were the same, including Rachel Stevens. Chase called the other two: Susie Lynch and JoBeth Sullivan.

  Susie answered on the first ring.

  "Hello?"

  "Ms. Lynch this is Detective Chase. I'm with Boulder Police. I need to ask you some questions regarding a classmate of yours at CU: Mrs. Rachel Stevens."

  "Poor Rachel. It was terrible seeing that about her on the news yesterday. It's getting so you can't feel safe anywhere anymore."

  So what else was new? Chase thought. Boulder was ten times safer than New York yet that didn't matter to those who lived here. "Yes, Ma'am. You took two classes with Rachel didn't you?"

  Chase went through the routine. He wasn't sure what he was looking for. Rachel Stevens was turning into more and more of a puzzle. Nobody knew her. Not even her husband. Susie Lynch certainly didn't. The fact that Rachel had been a good student had already been impressed upon Chase.

  Susie Lynch couldn't really give Chase anything worthwhile. She also hadn't known Rachel was married. Her impression had been that Rachel worked the day shift in a hospital. She couldn’t quite say how she had gotten that idea. She couldn’t give Chase names of anyone that might have had more than a normal interest in Rachel. A waste of ten minutes.

  JoBeth Sullivan wasn't home. Where the hell was everyone at 5:00 on a Friday? Chase wondered. Well, he knew where he was going to be. It was Miller time. Just as he grabbed his coat, the phone rang. He debated answering or leaving.

  "Major Cases. Chase."

  "Detective Chase, this is Jim York returning your call."

  A cooperative citizen. Chase sat down and took out his pencil. "Mister York, I have some questions concerning a classmate of yours at CU. Rachel Stevens. Did you know her?"

  "She was in my Wednesday evening class. She sat next to me. But I really didn't know her." Join the crowd, Chase thought. "She seemed like a very nice person."

  Seemed. "What do you do for a living, Mister York?"

  "I'm a mailman." Another poor slob working for the federal government, Chase thought.

  "How well did you know Mrs. Stevens?"

  "I didn't know her at all except to say hi. Well, you know, we did talk a couple of times during break."

  "Did you talk to her at all this past Wednesday night?"

  "She wasn't in class Wednesday night."

  "Was she absent a lot?"

  "I didn't pay that much attention to it."

  "You just said you knew she wasn't in class this past Wednesday."

  The voice on the other end was a little abrupt. "Well, detective, that might have something to do with her being killed and it being all over the news the next day." So much for seemed.

  "Did you know where Mrs. Stevens was on those nights where she was absent from class?"

  "No."

  "Did you ever notice anyone else in the class that she talked to?"

  "Not really. I mean I really can't remember. It's been a long semester."

  "Did you know she was married?"

  "I never really thought about it."

  "What do you think she did for a living?"

  "I'm sorry I can't be of more help, but I'm working full time and taking nine credits this semester and I really can't take the time to try and figure out all my fellow students."

  Chase wasn't in the mood for a sob story and it was late and it was Friday. TGIF and all that. "Well, thank you for returning the call, Mister York. If you can think of anything that might help in the investigation, please give me a call."

  "I'll do that."

  Chase hung up. Definitely time for a cold one. The phone rang again. He looked at the machine long and hard through six rings and then picked it up. It was Porter. He should have known better than to call after five on a Friday, but he had good news. Or at least he thought it was good news. For Chase it just muddied an already murky picture.

  "I found her clothes."

  "Where?"

  "Inside a dumpster at the car wash on Canyon."

  "What’s the condition?"

  "Clean. No tears or cuts. They were taken off. Not torn off. I'm going to drop them at the lab on the way home."

  "OK. Sounds good. Anything other than clothes?"

  "That's the interesting thing. I found a remote opener for the BMW in a pocket in the dress."

  Great. Chase didn't have the brain energy after dealing with the Linda Watkins of the world to figure out what the significance of that might be. At least they now knew how the doors had been locked.

  "Anything else?"

  "Some cash."

  "How much?"

  "Six dollars and change."

  "What about the location?"

  "Nothing. Someone could have pulled up and just tossed them out the window. The top on the dumpster was open. You have anything new?"

  "Not really. Talked to her supposed best friend at the country club this afternoon. Smart move not coming with me."

  "Why don't you meet me at the Wagon Wheel and we'll talk about it over a cold one?"

  Chase stared at the phone. That offer was the most surprising thing that had happened today. "What about Mary and the kids?"

  "She's taking them to the movies. Harry Potter Six or some crap. I can live without that."

  "Sounds good. I'll see you there in about twenty minutes."

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The Wagon Wheel was a quasi-dive. Once upon a time, it had been a country and western bar, but that hadn't panned out. Now a bunch of cops sat at a bar with a big set of horns looming over it. Occasionally some yo-ho's with cowboy hats would wander in and punch up some songs on the jukebox. But mostly the cops had it to themselves. It did a brisk business in well brands.

  It was a good place to go because all different jurisdictions were represented. Besides Boulder City cops, there were Boulder County sheriffs, along with Broomfield, Longmont and Lafayette PD. There were even some Denver cops who lived in this neck of the woods. And some State Troopers. Chase didn’t feel like such a weird duck sitting among all these different guys, although they all knew he was a Fed, and because of that there was always a certain distance.

  Chase waved at the few people he recognized and grabbed a stool at the end of the bar. The bartender got Chase a draft without asking. The TV was on and the second installment of the evening news would be up shortly and Chase wanted to see what the media had to say about the case. He was on his third swallow before Porter came in. He stopped at a table of robbery detectives and chatted for a few moments before finally arriving.

  "Sylvie working tonight?"

  Chase waved at the bartender for another draft. "Yeah, but I'm meeting her tomorrow at Chautauqua Park."

  "Why don't you two come over tomorrow for a barbecue? Mary's potato salad is getting better. I got her to cut back on the celery seed."
<
br />   Chase shook his head. "Sylvie's got to go to work early on Saturday evenings and we won’t have much time."

  "Sounds like you have your afternoon already planned."

  Chase nodded. "We don't get much time together between our two jobs and we have to make the most of it."

  "That's the nice thing about having someone to come home to at night. You get more time together."

  Chase laughed. "Like you and Mary have a lot of time alone together with three kids screaming around you."

  "That's why they invented videos." Porter took a deep drink. "So what's going on over at the Boulder Country Club? I haven't been there in a while."

  "Shit. You've never been there. Lots of rich women lolling around. This woman, Linda Watkins, was supposed to be our victim's best friend according to Doctor Stevens. I got the impression she didn't know her at all. Hell, I'm getting the impression no one knew who she was. The people at CU didn't even know she was married."

  "She never wore her rings to class?"

  "Nope."

  "At least we know the night she was killed, that it wasn't so unusual.” Porter gave Chase some of what he had found out that afternoon. "I think Stevens probably had a thing going with his secretary, but he was in surgery 'til almost seven that evening and then he went home. The people at the hospital and the maid back that up.

  "They had no outstanding debts other than the house mortgage which is paid up to date. His reported income was over two million last year according to the IRS. I've got some more checking to do on him next week."

  "What about insurance on Rachel?"

  "Two hundred and fifty thousand. I don't think he needed the insurance money, but if there was a hint of divorce and he wanted the secretary instead of his wife—then it makes some sense. Rich guys don’t want to go fifty-fifty with no fault divorce."

  "I suppose,” Chase said, wondering for a moment about his own pending divorce, realizing that other than the furniture, there wasn’t much of a pie to split fifty-fifty. “What about a drug habit or gambling?"