Mellow Yellow, Dead Red

by Sylvia Rochester

  The chief shook his head. “This won’t help you find that guy, but it might help you identify your Jane Doe. We had a call this morning from Jerry Banyon, owner of the Rusty Nail. Seems one of his waitresses has been missing for a couple of days. The time line and her description match the coroner’s findings.”

  A surge of adrenaline coursed through Wesley’s body. Like a cat ready to pounce, every muscle in his body quivered. It was all he could do not to yank the paper from Chief Smith’s hands.

  “So, what are you waiting on?” Chief Smith asked, holding out the form to Wesley.

  Exercising as much restraint as he could, Wesley took the report from the chief. “We’re on it. Come on, Charlie.”

  Wesley stopped at his desk long enough to place a call to the Rusty Nail. He talked to the owner and let him know they were on their way. On the way out, he made another quick call to Susan to make sure she was okay. She assured him she was fine and ready to leave for work.

  “I’ll drive,” Wesley said, climbing behind the wheel of the Crown Victoria. “I have a good feeling this is the break we’ve been waiting for,” Wesley said as they drove down the highway.

  “You really think the missing waitress might be our victim?” Charlie asked.

  Wesley turned right off the main highway and onto the road that led to the marina. “Like the chief said, she fits the description. We’ll know more soon enough.”

  At nine o’clock in the morning, the marina’s parking lot was packed with empty boat trailers. “I heard last week the sac-au-lait were biting. Guess everyone else did, too. I wouldn’t mind a bag of filets. You fish?” Wesley asked.

  “Doesn’t everyone in Louisiana?”

  At such an early hour, Wesley didn’t expect the Rusty Nail to be crowded. He was right. The place was as quiet as a church on Monday morning. He had his pick of parking places at the front door.

  Inside was about the same. He counted four people.

  Two old men sat at a table nursing their beers. Wesley was willing to bet they were there most mornings. Their ruddy complexions and bloodshot eyes suggested they were permanent fixtures.

  A young man in a tank top was doing a half-assed job of sweeping the floor, his stringy, blond hair swaying with each stroke. Tattoos covered his arms. The kid seemed oblivious to everything except the iPod plugged into his ears. Too bad he couldn’t sweep out the smell of the place. Booze, cheap perfume, and stale cigarette smoke hung in the air.

  The only other person was a skinny man with gold-rimmed glasses and an acne-scarred complexion. He was swabbing the bar with a yellow disinfectant. From the looks of things, that was one job Mr. Clean wasn’t going to win. The man stopped his scrubbing and gave Wesley a hard stare. “You from the sheriff’s office?” he asked.

  Wesley nodded. “I’m Detective Wesley Grissom and this is my partner, Charlie Morgan. We’re here about the missing person.”

  The man washed his hands in the sink water and dried them on a dishtowel. “I’m Jerry Banyon, owner of the Rusty Nail.” He glared at the two old men who seemed more than a little interested in what he had to say. “Follow me,” he said to Wesley. He hobbled toward the rear of the establishment and unlocked a door.

  Wesley and Charlie entered a room filled with crates of liquor and cases of beer. Stacked against a side wall were several folding chairs. Jerry unfolded one and handed it to Charlie. “Grab a chair,” he said to Wesley.

  A wooden desk and chair occupied the back wall. Invoices covered the top, along with an electric adding machine with a spool of paper tape. An overhead, bare bulb provided the only source of light. Jerry pulled the chain, illuminating the room. After closing the door, he took a seat at the desk and swiveled to face them.

  When the owner didn’t say anything, Wesley initiated the conversation. “I’ve been in Rusty Nail a few times and don’t remember seeing you behind the bar.”

  “And you won’t.” He slapped the thigh of his gimp leg. “No way could I control a rowdy crowd. I pay a bartender and bouncer to do that. I come in early to make sure the books balance and that I’m not getting ripped off.”

  Wesley pulled the missing person report from his pocket. “So, tell me about Ms. Hasting.”

  “I couldn’t ask for a better employee. Nina’s always on time and loves her job. Everybody likes her. Something bad must have happened, or she would have called.”

  “How long has she been missing?”

  “A couple of shifts.”

  “Did anything unusual happen the last time she worked?”

  The owner shook his head. “I talked to all the employees, and they said everything seemed normal. In fact, the last time she worked, she pulled the day shift and got off about three.”

  Wesley scanned the report again. “It says here you tried to contact her.”

  “That’s right. I called her cell yesterday. When she didn’t answer, I sent another waitress to check on her. She said Nina’s car was at her apartment, but she wouldn’t answer the door. That’s when I decided to call you guys.”

  “What does Nina drive?”

  “A white, 2001 Ford Focus.”

  “You got an address?

  “Riverside Apartments, number twenty-two.”

  Wesley was familiar with that complex. It was on a side road before the main highway. While not fancy, the rent was reasonable. That it was only a few minutes from her work made it convenient. At one time, most of the apartments were rented to off-shore workers from out of state. But that was a while back. Things could have changed by now.

  Wesley asked Charlie if he had any questions. He shook his head that he didn’t.

  “Was she seeing anyone special?” Wesley asked.

  “Not according to the girls. Nina wasn’t one to talk about her personal life.”

  “Well, we’ll check out her place and get back with you. If you think of anything else, here’s my card. ”

  The men shook hands, and Wesley and Charlie took their leave.

  “You okay?” Wesley asked as they drove away from the marina and toward the main highway. Charlie hadn’t said two words since they left headquarters, and that wasn’t like him. “You still look a little green around the gills. Can’t get that autopsy out of your mind?”

  Charlie gave a grunt. “Don’t think I’ll ever forget that sight.”

  When they were about a half mile from the highway, Wesley slowed and turned right onto a narrow side road. “If you blink, you’ll miss this turn.” About a quarter of a mile farther, the complex came into view. “Looks like the apartments have had a new coat of paint since I last saw them. The structure consisted of one long building that housed about twenty-five units. Painted white, it gave the appearance of being larger than it really was.

  Wesley crept past the units and checked the room numbers. “There’s twenty-two, and a Ford Focus is parked out front. I’ll see if I can get a response. You check out the car.”

  Wesley pounded on the door and called Nina’s name, but no one answered. He was about to knock on a neighbor’s door when Charlie joined him.

  “The car’s locked but nothing seems out of the ordinary.”

  “Then let’s go talk with the manager,” Wesley said.

  The office was located in the last unit. A heavy-set woman who looked to be in her sixties met them at the door. “I have two places available,” she said. “Rent’s three-hundred and fifty.”

  “We’re not in the market for an apartment,” Wesley said. He and Charlie showed their badges. “We’re investigating a missing person, possibly one of your tenants. Name’s Nina Hasting. Could you let us in to make sure she’s not incapacitated in some way?”

  A worried look crossed the manager’s face. “I do hope nothing has happened to her. She’s such a sweet thing. By the way, I’m Mrs. McCutcheon.”

  “Nice to meet you, ma’am,” Wesley said.

  After the manager unlocked the door to Nina’s apartment, Wesley asked Mrs. McCutcheon to remain outside while they c
hecked out the dwelling. Wearing gloves, they entered the apartment and discovered no one was there. An examination of the door jamb indicated no forced entry. Neither did the back door or any of the windows seem to have been forced open. And there was no evidence of a struggle in any of the rooms.

  On their way out, Wesley noticed a soiled spot just inside the front door, as if someone had cleaned their shoes on the carpet. “Okay, that doesn’t fit. Since everything else is spotless, why would Nina neglect this? I’m guessing she didn’t have a chance. I’m going to call for a deputy to secure the car and apartment while we get a warrant. Maybe the crime scene unit can lift some prints or find some trace evidence that can help us.”

  Wesley and Charlie exited the apartment and joined Mrs. McCutcheon who was waiting on the sidewalk.

  Mrs. McCutcheon was wringing her hands. “Is she—”

  “She’s not there, ma’am. The department is sending a deputy to guard the apartment. We’re going for a warrant so our crime unit can go over the apartment. It would be best if you waited in your office. I’ll let you know when our investigators are finished.”

  The deputy arrived within minutes, and Wesley and Charlie left to draw up a warrant. On the way to headquarters, they notified the crime unit. By the time they found a judge to sign the warrant and returned to the scene, the crime unit was waiting on them. Yellow tape crossed the door and surrounded the car. Wesley waved the warrant. “It’s all yours, boys.” He turned to Charlie. “We might as well question the tenants while they do their thing.”

  Wesley and Charlie talked to several renters, and as usual, no one saw or heard anything.

  The wrecker arrived and was loading Nina’s car when the head crime technician exited the apartment. “Okay, fellows,” he said to his team, “let’s wrap it up. Sorry, Wesley, outside of a few prints and hair samples, there wasn’t much to find. Maybe we’ll have better luck with the car.”

  “Keep me in the loop.”

  “Sure thing.”

  “Guess that’s all we can do here,” Charlie said.

  “Mind if I have another look?” Wesley pulled on another pair of gloves.

  “What do you expect to find that the crime scene guys couldn’t?”

  “You never know. I especially want a closer look at her bedroom. Jewelry, makeup, and clothes can tell a lot about a person.”

  “Whatever,” Charlie said, slipping on gloves and following Wesley back into the apartment. After several minutes he tapped Wesley on the shoulder. “This isn’t going anywhere. You about ready to go?”

  Charlie’s tone of voice irritated Wesley. Was he so anxious to meet another hot babe that he couldn’t concentrate on his job? “Give me a few more minutes.” Wesley ran his gloved hand across her dresser. “Look around. Through her clothes and the décor, Nina is telling me about herself. I find it helps to get to know the victim.”

  Wesley picked up a bottle of perfume and took a deep whiff. He inhaled a clean, floral scent. There were no ash trays, and he found a well-worn Bible in her nightstand. A photograph of an elderly couple with a young woman sat to one side of her dresser.

  Charlie shuffled his feet and heaved a heavy sigh. He pointed to the photograph and said, “That’s Nina.”

  “I’m guessing it is, too. Mrs. McCutcheon can confirm that for us.”

  “I’m not guessing. I know it’s her.”

  Wesley hiked an eyebrow. “How’s that?” Something told him he didn’t want to hear what was coming next.

  “Remember that hot looking chick I told you about the other day in the woods?” Charlie bit down on his bottom lip. “No doubt they’ll find my fingerprints here.”

  Talk about getting sucker punched. Wesley took a deep breath and held it, not wanting to believe what he had just heard. Then through clenched teeth, he exploded. “Damn!”

  “You gotta believe me. I didn’t do anything to her.” Charlie lowered his head. “You’re gonna want this, too.” He pulled a photo from his wallet and handed it to Wesley. “I took this a couple of nights ago with my cell phone. She’s wearing that yellow blouse. Recognize the earring?”

  A sour taste rose in Wesley’s throat. The earring matched the one Vince found on the victim. “Why the hell didn’t you say something before now?”

  “I didn’t want to believe it was her, not even when I saw part of that yellow blouse. Anyone could have a yellow blouse, but when the coroner showed you the earring, I knew for sure. That’s when I lost it. How could anyone do something so horrible to that beautiful creature?

  “Then it hit me. I was the last person, besides the killer, to see her alive. That scared the hell out of me. I panicked.” Charlie raked his hand through his hair. “I swear I didn’t do it. I could never do that.”

  Wesley glared, tight lipped, at Charlie. “You ready to face the chief?”

  “Guess I don’t have a choice.” Charlie wiped his eyes. “I really screwed up by not saying anything, didn’t I?”

  “You sure in hell did. You know the chief does things by the book. He’s not going to cut you any slack.” Wesley’s hands knotted into fists. He was still having a hard time coping with this latest revelation. Right now, it would feel good to use Charlie as a punching bag, but that would only complicate things. “Get out of here,” he growled. “Wait for me in the car.”

  Perspiration coated Wesley’s face and forearms as anger roiled in his gut. He still couldn’t believe Charlie had kept his involvement from him. Partners were supposed to confide in one another. He took one last look around before tucking Charlie’s photo into his pocket.

  Stepping to his vehicle, he popped the trunk and retrieved a roll of crime scene tape. After locking the apartment door, he secured several more strips of yellow tape across the entrance then strode to the manager’s office.

  “Here’s the key, Mrs. McCutcheon. I’ve blocked the door with more tape, but you might want to keep an eye on it. Anyone tries to mess with it, just give me a call.” He handed her his card. “You’ve been a big help. We’ll free up the apartment as soon as we can. As soon as I know something, I’ll give you a call.” Before leaving, he showed the manager the picture Charlie had given him. “Is this Nina?”

  Tears welled in her eyes. Mrs. McCutcheon nodded.

  By the time Wesley returned to his car, he had managed to quell his anger somewhat. If he was going to help Charlie, he had to keep a level head and find evidence that would clear him. That wasn’t going to be easy. He slid behind the wheel and drew a deep breath. Looking straight ahead, he said, “Okay, tell me everything. How’d you meet her? How long have you been dating? When was the last time you were with her? Where did you go? What time did you leave? Can anyone vouch for you?”

  “I...I...uh....”

  “Get it together, son. I’m asking nicely. The chief’s gonna come down on you like a hammer.”

  “I had visited her several times at the bar, and we hit it off. Then one night we wound up at her place. She wanted me to stay the night, but I knew I had to meet you in the morning, so I left. She was fine when I drove out of the parking lot around two-thirty.

  “I went straight home, but since I live alone, I have no witnesses. Good thing I left though. I wound up hugging the porcelain throne till daybreak. That would have been embarrassing. The next morning I had a hard time getting it together. I was late meeting you, remember?

  “Nina and I were supposed to meet again the next night, the night of the fun run, but when I got there, she didn’t answer the door. I called her cell, and it went to voice mail. Since her car was parked outside, I figured she’d stood me up.”

  Wesley grunted.

  “Do you believe me?”

  Wesley cranked the motor. “It’s not me you have to convince.”

  Chapter 9

  Most of the day Susan had a hard time staying awake. More than once, she dozed off at her desk. If eyelids made a sound, hers would sound like a screeching garage door. A couple of nightmares had left her exhausted...so muc
h for a good night’s sleep. She yawned, stretched her arms over her head, and recalled the dreams.

  In the first one, she relived the wreck. Even now, she could feel the mud ooze between her fingers as she clung to roots dangling from the slippery bank. But as with most nightmares, everything was distorted. Instead of the chugging sound of the truck backing down the highway, she heard the clash of swords. Kara and the strange man parried and thrust their way across the road toward her. Wesley appeared and rushed to intervene but fell victim to the razor sharp blades. Bloody streaks crisscrossed his shirt, and he dropped to his knees. Susan had awakened, screaming his name.

  Another dream followed. In this one, she found herself in the woods alongside the disturbed area. Her heart hammered against her chest in fear the burly man might appear and grab her. Instead, the Indian came into view. Seeing him calmed her jangled nerves. She knew she would be safe with him. But when he motioned for her to follow him, she couldn’t move. It was as if her feet had been cemented to the ground. She had awakened from that nightmare, kicking at the covers, struggling to get free.

  Further attempts at sleeping seemed futile. By five o’clock, she had showered and dressed. Now, the clock on the office wall showed noon. The day had never seemed so long.

  “Time for lunch,” Melanie said, entering the office and opening the refrigerator. “I brought some chicken salad. Care to join me, or are you going out?”

  Susan’s phone rang.

  “You have time for lunch?” Wesley asked.

  Susan covered the phone and mouthed to Melanie that she was going out. “Sure. I’ll drive,” she said to Wesley. “It’ll give me a chance to show you my new ride.”

  “See you in a few minutes.”

  When Wesley arrived at the boutique, he gave Susan’s vehicle a once-over then climbed into the passenger seat. A grin crossed his lips as Susan navigated the SUV out of the parking lot and onto the highway.

  “Well, what do you think?” she asked.

  Wesley shook his head. “This is so not you.”