Chasing the Ghost

by Bob Mayer

  Porter and Chase trudged out, their enthusiasm having ebbed with Donnelly's words. Porter left to arrange the surveillance on Hatcher, and Chase started checking him out through the computer.

  Chase spent the rest of the morning working the Hatcher angle. Swingers, adult bookstores, hooking and Stevens' affair he quickly forgot about. Along with Wyoming and the Patriots.

  He was so absorbed that he didn't even notice Sylvie standing by his desk until she cleared her throat. He should have known something was up because all work in the squad room had ceased. She had become the focus of everyone's attention, but if it bothered her, she was kind enough not to show it.

  She did look wonderful, though , Chase thought, her hair was pulled back by a headband and it gave her face a youthful, innocent quality. She was wearing a dress, which looked great because of what was in it. Chase took a moment to bask in the hormonal glow of his coworkers' envy. After the crappy days he'd been having it felt good.

  "You look like shit, Chase."

  He rubbed the stubble on his face, looked down at his slept-in clothing and had to agree. "I didn't go home last night. We had a break in the case."

  "That's nice. I came to take you to lunch as we agreed. A picnic. Up in the mountains." She reached forward and slid a concerned hand across his forehead. "You look a little worse for wear. We don't have to do anything if you don't want to." Chase’s headache seemed to have disappeared with her touch.

  Chase assured her that with a clean shirt and a shave with an electric razor he wouldn't embarrass her too much. She looked a little less sure than he would have liked.

  As he started to leave to get cleaned up, he remembered the magazines. He went back to his desk and reached deep into the drawer where they were stashed. He tossed them to Sylvie and told her she might find them amusing. She took one look at the naked couple on the cover and shoved them into her oversized leather bag.

  Chase thought he looked OK when they hit the outside. It was a nice day and he had the top down on the Jeep. Chase pulled out and drove over to Mapleton and then up Sunshine, past the site where they’d found Rachel’s body and headed west, into the mountains. They drove uphill, following the twists and turns until Chase turned off onto a barely visible dirt trail, pushing through some brush and following the old mule trail up a ridgeline. He glanced over at Sylvie. She smiled at they negotiated the narrow trail further into the forest.

  Chase was watching the trail and spotted an opening to the left. He pulled into it and stopped the Jeep. They were looking west, down Sunshine Canyon, toward Boulder and the Great Plains.

  Sylvie slithered between the seats to the rear of the Jeep, where there was no rear seat. She stood, hands on the sound bar.

  “Turn the mirrors,” she ordered.

  Chase adjusted both large side mirrors so that Sylvie could see herself in them.

  Sylvie leaned forward. Chase climbed in the cargo bay, behind her. He slid his hands down her body. Over her breasts, to her hips, to her thighs. He reached the hem of her dress slowly lifted it. She wore nothing underneath. He reached around and felt between her legs. She moaned and he stroked her. She pressed her ass back against him as he continued.

  After several minutes, she hoarsely whispered, “Now.”

  Chase unzipped his pants. He slid his cock between her legs and she reached down with one hand guiding him into her. He gasped as he felt her moist warmness. He put his hands on her hips, pulling her back toward him.

  Sylvie put both hands back on the sound bar. “Don’t move,” she ordered.

  Chase froze in place and removed his hands as Sylvie shoved herself back tight against him, then pulled forward. Chase could tell she was watching herself in the mirrors, alternating looking right and left ever so slightly.

  He looked past her, down the canyon toward the crime scene even as Sylvie increased her speed, slamming back into him, rocking him, causing him to grab the roll bar to hold on.

  Chase realized someone would have had excellent coverage of the crime scene from up here. It’s where he would have gone to have surveillance on it. He remembered his feeling the morning he and Porter had been down there.

  His thoughts were interrupted as Sylvie suddenly straightened and turned. “What the fuck are you doing?”

  Chase was startled. “What?”

  She stared him. Chase grabbed his pants, zipped, and buckled up.

  “Where was your mind?” Sylvie asked. “You weren’t here. I could feel it.”

  “I’m sorry,” Chase said. He nodded toward the canyon. “I was--” He stopped, not sure what to say.

  Sylvie looked in that direction. “Is that where she was killed?”

  “That’s where her body was found. We don’t know where she was killed.”

  “Why’d you take me here? Of all places?”

  Chase blinked. “I don’t know.” He searched for a reason. “When I was out there, the first morning. When we found her body. I had a feeling that someone was watching from up here.”

  “So you figured you’d take care of me and do your job at the same time?” Sylvie didn’t wait for an answer. She climbed between the seats and sat down. Chase took the hint and got in the driver’s seat. He started the engine and backed them out of the opening, onto the trail. He drove back to Boulder and pulled up in front of Sylvie’s apartment building, not a word spoken between them the entire trip.

  Sylvie seemed to have calmed down during the drive. She turned to Chase when he cut the engine, pulling one of the magazines out of her bag and putting it on the console between them. A black and white photo of a young couple, naked of course, was on the cover. They were standing and the woman had the man's penis in her hand. Very subtle. He had a tattoo on his arm. Surprisingly, she was quite pretty. Sylvie opened to the first page.

  The entire page was filled with disclaimers, warnings and a welcome letter from the publisher. Chase liked the endorsement for safe sex. Nice touch.

  "Chase, what do you think of these people?" She quickly flipped through, giving Chase a few seconds on each page. There were numerous ads with about every third one having a black and white photo. Chase was amazed at the variety of people who would put an ad in such a magazine. He was even more amazed at the people who allowed their faces to be shown. There were quite a few weird looking folks. There was one woman who had a full-page spread of her in action with both men and women. She didn't appear to be practicing safe sex to Chase.

  "I don't know, Sylvie." Chase turned the pages back to an ad for the Swing Club, Denver Chapter. It listed a bunch of parties for the year, one a month, at an unnamed local hotel. There was a number to call for more information. It was strange to think that a phone call was all that stood between the normal monogamous life style most people pretended to live and this. Of course, Chase had to wonder, what was normal? Was what he had done in Afghanistan and Iraq, been normal? He knew what he did with Sylvie would not be considered normal by most people.

  Sylvie turned the page and pointed at a few pictures. "Do you think there's something wrong with these people?"

  Chase grew wary. He sensed a Sylvie logic trap. "No," He said. "Maybe they're just different."

  Sylvie rewarded Chase with a smile. He'd escaped that pit.

  "Good answer. I don't think I could do this with relative strangers, but some of the girls at the club understand it. I dance for the money. You know that, right, Chase?"

  He nodded.

  "Some of the girls dance because they really like it. I mean they get off on it. Taking their clothes off. The audience. The power they feel they have over the men sitting there. Some of them are really angry at men. Most of them actually. Plus, they’re into the money. A few are really into the sex scene where they control the entire thing. That's how I knew about swinger's clubs. One of the girls, let's call her Melanie, goes to them."

  Chase started to wonder which one of Sylvie's co-workers was Melanie. "Why does she go?"

  "For the sex and the atmosphere.
"

  "But she could get sex pretty much anywhere she wanted to." Any of the dancers at the Silver Satyr could have damn near any man she wanted.

  "Don't forget, I said atmosphere. Think about it Chase. They have social organizations for just about anything you can think of. If a woman loves to garden she joins a garden club so she can spend time around other people who feel the same way. The other people in that club have a level of expertise and understanding that she couldn't get just talking to anyone about flowers."

  Chase thought he understood what Sylvie was saying. "Or people who are gourmets meet to have really fancy meals and spend their time talking about twenty ways to make gravy?"

  Sylvie looked very pleased. Chase felt like the dog bringing back the Frisbee. "That's a much better analogy, Chase. Not everybody gardens, but everybody eats and most everybody has sex. My friend Melanie goes for the sex. She doesn't want to put up with the bullshit most people associate with sex. The emotional baggage."

  Sylvie paused, lost in thought for a few seconds. "You know, I never really spent that much time thinking about it, but imagine going someplace where there aren't any games being played. You go to a nightclub and it's a damn meat market for a woman. I bet more women than men go to swingers clubs."

  "I don't believe that." Chase hadn't met that many women really into sex. Most had treated it like a battlefield or had engaged in sex for many other reasons having nothing to do with the physical act. They had a goal that sex was only a path to.

  Sylvie was adamant. "Men can go to a regular nightclub, pick some woman up, take her home, fuck her and then dump her. A woman can't do that. She can try, but the odds are greatly stacked against her. She does it too many times and then she gets a reputation. Think about it, Chase. Is there any equivalent of the word slut for men? Men are studs. Women are sluts."

  Chase wasn’t surprised at Sylvie's renewed anger. He knew it wasn't all directed at him, but still it was intense. "Hey. Are you all right?"

  Sylvie jabbed a finger in his chest. "Let me tell you something about your dead woman, Chase. From everything you've told me I would say she was trying for it all. She wanted to get a degree, start a career, get a life.

  "She liked sex. You said her husband told you that. The only way-- other than her husband who probably had three-quarters of his mind back in the office when he was screwing her or thinking of his bimbo secretary-- she could get sex relatively safely was to go to one of these clubs.

  "And hell, Chase, sex with her husband wasn't very safe, was it? He was screwing Lisa Plunkett behind her back and who knows what Lisa Plunkett was doing that Doctor Stevens didn't know about." She tapped the magazine. "At least these people are honest. You can't say that about anybody else you've met in this case."

  Chase rolled that around his brain. Except Rachel got killed right after one evening at whatever swinger’s club she went to. If she went. How safe was that?

  Was Hatcher tied into the swinging scene? Was there a connection there? Maybe the surveillance would pick something up. Even better, maybe they might get something incriminating if Donnelly would allow the goddamn warrant and let them toss his place or the van.

  Sylvie abruptly changed the subject. "Last night you said you wanted to talk about us. What about?"

  All of his great revelations at three in the morning seemed kind of stupid now. "I don't know, Sylvie. I just had some thoughts."

  "What thoughts?"

  "You know. About men and women and how they interact."

  "Yes? And?"

  Chase looked at his watch. "Listen, I really can't get into it right now. I've got to get back to work."

  The edge in Sylvie's voice was cold. "You could call me at three in the morning to talk about your case, but you can't give me ten minutes worth of conversation today?" Sylvie opened the Jeep door and got out.

  She walked into the building. Chase thought about following and apologizing, but he was tired of being the catcher's mitt in the great shit-ball game of life. He closed his eyes for a minute and tried to refocus his mind. He couldn't handle all this turmoil in his life. One thing at a time.

  As he started the Jeep up, he noted the date display on the radio. Today was Wednesday. Tonight was one week since Rachel had died. They had a suspect. Chase wanted to close it. Then he could concentrate on other things.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  With Porter supervising the surveillance of Hatcher at CU, Chase went back to the computer screen and finished off that search. Nothing new or startling. Then he sat at his desk and pulled out the Book of Rachel, trying to fit the new suspect in.

  Chase’s earlier enthusiasm for Porter's lead dimmed. It was a shaky path from anonymous tip, partial license plate and a vehicle description, to having Hatcher cutting Rachel Stevens’ throat.

  Sylvie had had a point. He had to get back to Rachel. Chase had to see if there was a connection between her and Joseph Hatcher. Chase had to-- the phone interrupted his litany of "had to's.”

  "Detective Chase. Major Cases."

  "Chase, do you have a current AIDS test?"

  He figured that was Sylvie's way of saying hello. Chase was surprised to hear from her after the way she had left after their ‘picnic’. "What does current mean? I've got the one you made me get when we first started going together. That's about two and a half months old." He thought for a second. "Why? Are you worried, because I haven’t--"

  Sylvie cut him off. "I think I found the club Rachel Stevens went to. It's only three blocks from the corner you told me the cab dropped her off and picked her up at."

  Chase digested that for a second. "What do I need the AIDS test for?"

  "To get in. We're going tonight. They want one current within the month for new members, but I think I can at least get us in the door with the ones we have."

  "Why?"

  "So you can learn who Rachel Stevens was and so you can find out where she really was the night she was killed."

  "How did you find this place?"

  "I looked through these magazines you bought and called all the numbers that were listed for clubs. I think this is the one Rachel went to, not only because of the location and timing, but because they require an AIDS test to even get in. It's for couples and select female singles only. It's called the North Denver Social Club. They meet on Wednesday and Saturday evenings."

  Chase thought about it. His first concern was whether going there with Sylvie would screw up the case. Taking a girlfriend to a swingers club was not exactly routine police procedure. As far as he knew about police procedure and he couldn’t recall this situation being covered in the short course he’d had. On the other hand, Chase knew he’d get laughed out of the office if he went to Donnelly with this. If he could establish that Rachel was at the North Denver Social Club the night she was killed, that would open up several new lines of investigation and also might close out some of the loose ends that might have nothing to do with the case.

  "Are you there, Chase?"

  "Yeah. I'm here. I thought you had to work tonight?"

  "I told Tai I needed the night off."

  "Why do you want to go to this place, Sylvie?"

  "I'm interested. I want to see what it's like. I want to see what Rachel Stevens was doing."

  "All right. What time do you want to meet?"

  "Pick me up at seven. And dress nicely, Chase."

  "As if I don't--" he was speaking into a dead phone.

  It was now almost three. Chase decided to get the hell away from the office. The encounters with Fortin and the guys in the parking lot at the Silver Satyr were nagging at Chase, urging him to try to figure out what the hell was going on. At the same time his common sense was telling him to do exactly as they had advised. He also knew his anger was going to over-rule his common sense.

  He grabbed his stuff and headed out. He drove to the CU campus.

  * * * * *

  Porter was over by Folsom Field where the Colorado Buffaloes played. He was in his car in
a parking lot outside the stadium. Chase got in and sat down next to Porter. "Where's the man?"

  "Painting seats in the stadium. Gotleib is keeping an eye on him."

  Chase had seen Hatcher's DMV picture. "What do you think?"

  Porter pursed his lips. "Well . . . I tell you, it's kind of hard to figure. He looks bad. Mean. But so do the other guys in there working minimum wage. He doesn't have killer stamped on his forehead."

  Looking mean wasn't a crime. "What about the night of the murder? You do any checking?"

  Porter nodded. "I talked to the supervisor. Told him to keep it under wraps. Hatcher got off at four that afternoon. Showed up for work at seven the next morning. He says Hatcher's a good worker. Always on time. Doesn't appear to drink or do drugs during work. He also works days so he wasn't here when Rachel was coming to class. At least not working."

  The timing meant Mister Hatcher was going to have to cover for where he was at the time of Rachel's death. “This looks like a waste of manpower,” Chase said.

  Porter shrugged. “It’s the best lead we have. I’ve been waiting for you to go look for the van. We picked him up on surveillance here at work. The van should be in one of the lots around the campus. There are specific areas set aside for university workers. I want to look through the window and check if there's a carpet on the floor inside."

  "Can I see Hatcher first?” Chase asked.

  “Sure.” Porter led Chase through one of the tunnels into the stadium. He spotted Gotleib, poorly disguised as a worker, wandering around the playing field. Porter pointed. "He's there."

  Chase looked, staying as far back out of sight as he could. Five men wearing coveralls were painting bleachers. It looked like a long, boring job. He spotted Hatcher right away, about a hundred feet in front of them.

  Porter was right. He looked mean. He'd grown a beard since the license photo. He was about six foot and lean. His dark hair was in tangles and Chase was willing to bet he drank most of his pay.