Mimicry of Banshees

by G. K. Parks

  “No. I honestly don’t know what happened.” I relayed everything Tate said while Heathcliff did his best to listen without staring down my top. I wasn’t making his life any easier since I was leaning down to take off my shoes. I had packed a change of clothes and put a sweatshirt on over my low-cut top so he could concentrate on the case instead of worrying about not looking at me. After all of Tate’s vicious comments, I wanted to change out of my Lola Peters get-up, but we were in the middle of a conversation. The next best thing was to layer up since taking off my clothes in the middle of the precinct wasn’t professional.

  “Sanderson sent her an e-mail,” he repeated. He searched his desk until he found the incorporation documents for Tate’s agency. It was frightening how much information was considered public record. “Apparently, he not only has some input on who she hires, but he’s also a partner in the business.”

  “Really?” I picked up the paper and read it myself. “Doesn’t it seem odd that a model’s personal representative also owns part of a modeling agency? Is it just me or is that double-dipping?”

  “It might be, but I don’t think it’ll bring us any closer to finding Skolnick’s killer.”

  I left him to update the board while I dragged my bag into the women’s locker room and finished changing into a pair of jeans, a sweatshirt, and tennis shoes. Even though it was Monday, I was all set for casual Friday. When I went back to the bullpen, Moretti was standing next to Heathcliff, admiring our updated handiwork. I stood on the other side, waiting for brilliance to strike.

  “Assuming you don’t get the job,” Moretti turned to me, “are there any other sources that can provide solid information? Maybe your pal, Martin, might be of some use?”

  “Not in the least.” I shook my head for added emphasis. “His ties to this world are incredibly limited. He couldn’t even ensure an agent for Lola.” Moretti sighed and went back to his office.

  “Maybe we’ll get eyes on Alvarez tonight,” Heathcliff said, flicking the note I left about Patty’s pub with his forefinger.

  “Hopefully.” Sitting at the empty desk across from Heathcliff’s, I pulled out my notepad. “You haven’t been very forthcoming, Detective,” I criticized. He looked confused, so I soldiered on, reading from my list. “Did you ever determine where the knife originated?”

  “It was one of the knives the caterers brought for the event. It was used to slice and dice the fruit. The mold taken from the wound track matched the knives stocked by the catering company, but the actual weapon was never recovered. Forensics checked all of them for blood, but we didn’t get any hits.” He opened the crime scene report. “The stabbing didn’t kill her, but we’ve been through this a few times by now. She was suffocated.”

  “I know. It’s just nice to have all the pieces in front of me. Since she was suffocated, did you ever ascertain where the murder weapon came from?”

  He was getting frustrated with my twenty questions, but we were almost at a dead end, so the only thing to do was reassess everything. “CSU ran it down. It’s a generic pillow. There’s nothing fancy about it, so it could have come from anywhere. The only trace on it was Caterina’s DNA and some makeup transfer. The pillow and linens were brand new. It was never slept on or used, and it won’t lead to our killer.”

  “He’s going to get away with it, isn’t he?” I steepled my fingers and leaned my chin against them, trying to weave the unconnected strands into a tangible thought.

  “Prayer won’t change anything. Let me see if I can get a printout of the report we made concerning the surveillance feed. You remember, that was the night you left me high and dry.” Who replaced no-nonsense, tight-lipped Heathcliff with this talkative guy?

  “Forget it. I need to watch the damn thing again to follow my own leads. It’s just how I work.” He ushered me into the same small, cramped room from before, flipped on the monitors, and entered something into the computer. “Care to join me?” I asked, and he checked the time and pulled up a chair.

  After four hours of watching the footage on fast forward, I noticed a few important things. Namely, Jake Spencer never ordered a drink, even though he spent a good portion of the night at the bar, waiting for Caterina. I rewound the tape and watched Spencer mingle throughout the course of the evening, talking to a few different women while he wasted time. An hour into the event, he took a seat at the end of the bar and spoke briefly with Alvarez.

  “Freeze it,” I exclaimed.

  Heathcliff hit pause and assessed each of the four monitors. From the grainy footage, it appeared Spencer was in the midst of a clandestine hand-off with Alvarez. Either that or they were just shaking hands for the hell of it.

  “I see it,” he remarked. “I don’t know what it is, but I see it.” He made a note of the monitor number and timestamp, so the IT team could print an enlargement. “Do you think he gave Alvarez the drugs to slip to Caterina?”

  “Maybe.”

  I reached over and hit play. Even though I watched the footage repeatedly, I didn’t see any other strange behavior from anyone near or around Alvarez. The bartender never acted suspicious with anyone else or at any other time, except when Martin placed the order for two cosmopolitans.

  “Isn’t it weird that no one else ordered a martini all evening?” he asked. “We’ve seen this over and over again. Shit, I can probably tell you every drink ordered based on the glasses used. Wine, champagne, whiskey, shots, beer, but no martinis, except for Caterina.”

  “Are you sure?” I looked at him skeptically. It made no sense why that would be the case.

  “Watch. We’ll do it on fast forward, but see where the martini glasses are stacked?” He pointed to the screen. “Keep count.” The party progressed at ten times normal speed, and he was right. Only Caterina’s drinks were served in martini glasses.

  “What are you thinking? The glasses were laced?”

  “I didn’t consider that, but I doubt it. She had how many before she was drugged? Three?” He did some quick rewinding. “Three. She would have been on the floor if the drugs were already on the glasses.” The wheels were spinning, but I wasn’t sure what he was thinking. Finally, he spoke. “If no one else was drinking martinis, they must have known what was going to happen. Maybe the order for two cosmos was what signaled the dosing.”

  “But there were tons of guests at the party. It was a charity event, not some all-inclusive modeling gala.”

  “Then Alvarez came up with some excuse not to use the glasses or serve martinis.”

  “The Rohypnol must have come from the lime wedges that were pre-skewered behind the bar,” I reiterated.

  It would have been possible for Spencer to give the drugs to Alvarez. Then Alvarez could have slipped the packet into his pocket, and once the timing was right, poured it onto the limes and dropped them into the glasses so no one would be the wiser. It was a hard sell to prove without substantiation by one of the guilty parties.

  We went back to viewing the surveillance for anyone who left the party early, and Heathcliff went to get the surveillance tapes from the marina cameras to use as cross-reference. While I waited for him to return, I gave my eyes a reprieve from staring at the monitors. We were getting closer, but we weren’t there yet.

  After another hour, we had created a list of guests who left the event prior to Skolnick and Martin’s departure and had made enough phone calls to verify our list was reasonably accurate. The good thing about dealing with affluent people and pseudo-celebrities was they were easy to identify. There were only two names I recognized on the list, Yolanda Tate and Richard Sanderson.

  Twenty-two

  “Okay.” I was trying desperately to rub the kink out of my neck. “We have a list of fifteen or twenty people who left the party prior to Caterina’s departure which took place at 12:11 a.m., according to the timestamp.”

  Heathcliff wrote numbers next to the names, perhaps to simplify things or because he couldn’t count in his head. I wasn’t sure which was more likely at th
is point. “Now the fun of cross-referencing begins.” Sarcasm bled from his words as he pulled up the marina surveillance footage, and we stared at the screen.

  It was a little easier identifying and crossing out individuals this way because we could just match up timestamps and see who left the premises and headed for the parking lot. We had knocked out about half the list in twenty minutes when my phone rang.

  “Yours or Lola’s?” he asked, not tearing his eyes away from the screen.

  “Mine,” I replied, fishing out my phone. The caller ID read L. Smidel. “Sorry, this might be important.” I left the room before answering with, “Parker.”

  “I thought you said this issue was resolved,” she shrieked. “Roger came home today with a black eye, went to his room for a few minutes, and took off again. I have no idea where he went or what caused it.” Shit.

  “Have you tried to call him?” I asked, grabbing my purse and keys.

  “Of course, but he won’t answer. I hired you to watch my son and make sure he’s okay. Do you think any of this is okay?” She was back to screeching.

  I shook my keys at Heathcliff’s back until he turned around, and then I gestured that I was taking off. He nodded, unenthused by my sudden need to depart. “Do you have any idea where he went?” More screaming ensued. “Did he take his car?”

  “Yes.” Her worry and irritation were barely held in check.

  “Are you at home?” I got in my car and headed for the Smidel residence.

  “Of course. Where else would I be with my son missing?” I chose to believe that was rhetorical.

  “I’ll be there in a few minutes. Luxury cars have anti-theft tracking systems, so we’ll call the company and locate Roger.” She needed a clearly thought out, simple plan. I hung up and drove at breakneck speed to her house. Luckily, I didn’t get stopped.

  “How could you let this happen?” Her barrage of questions and accusations resumed as I entered her house.

  “Ma’am,” I was using my respectful, calm, federal agent voice, “I need you to get the phone and call the company, so we can locate Roger’s Lexus. Can you do that?”

  She obeyed and retrieved the number. After dialing and being shuffled around, I handed her the receiver, so she could give the pertinent security information to the woman on the line. Then I fudged on a few of the details and got the GPS coordinates for Roger’s vehicle. I wrote them down and thanked the woman for her assistance.

  “I will find Roger and bring him home,” I promised, “but first, may I look around his room?” My tone was commanding but respectful. There should be an award for professionalism when dealing with shrieking, hysterical mothers.

  “I don’t see what wasting time snooping through his private life is going to accomplish.” She was irate, but I stared unyieldingly until she gestured up the stairs to his bedroom.

  Going inside, I made some quick observations. Roger had recently been in his room, but there weren’t any helpful hints to discover what he retrieved. His room was meticulous with the exception of his dresser. One of the drawers was open, and his clothing was shoved to the side. Maybe he retrieved a gun, a stash of drugs, or some cash. Then again, it was possible he just wanted to pick up a clean pair of socks. Since there was no way to know for sure, I’d be walking into the situation blind. Roger always struck me as a good kid, but those jerks at the park were not. Back down the stairs, I went out the door, yelling over my shoulder, “I’ll bring him home.”

  After entering the coordinates into my GPS, I hurried to Roger’s location. I wasn’t surprised to end up at the park. Finding a spot next to his car, I pulled my nine millimeter out of the glove box and grabbed an extra clip. I hooked it into my shoulder holster and threw my jacket on.

  Slowly, I inspected the blue Lexus. There were no signs of anything awry. His car was just a car with no visible drugs, weapons, or paraphernalia for either. The doors were locked, and the windows weren’t broken. I took the lack of blood and damage as a good sign. Obviously, he must have come to the park willingly. Could this be nothing more than teenage rebellion blown out of proportion?

  My eyes darted around as I meandered past the picnic tables, checking for any sign of Roger. He wasn’t at his usual table with his mancala board, and I asked a few of the chess players if they had seen the kid. They shrugged, annoyed by my interruption.

  Following the trail that wound through the park, my eyes roamed the area, and I listened for any sound that might lead to him. After I circled back to the picnic tables without discovering his whereabouts, I was running low on options. Either he was picked up from the park and wasn’t here, or I’d have to venture away from the path to find him. Wherever he was, did he go willingly? Dammit, Parker, one step at a time.

  I was making my way through the trees and shrubs when I heard a girl crying. Placing my hand inside my jacket, I followed the sound to a clearing. The two assailants were back, and I ducked behind a tree in order to assess the situation. If they were armed and holding Roger or the girl hostage, then surprising them would only cause matters to escalate.

  The two brutes from Friday were standing to the side. One of them was holding a baseball bat, and the other was yelling at Roger. Roger was cowering on the ground, attempting to plead his case while the girl from the diner crouched near a tree trunk next to the boy I had seen her kissing that morning.

  “I told you to stay away from here,” the thug with the bat bellowed. “But you can’t follow simple directions, can you?” He hit the ground for emphasis.

  “I brought you the money,” Roger insisted. “I’m not going to say anything. None of us will say anything.” The girl nodded between sobs. “Why won’t you just leave us alone?”

  “You should have thought about that before you ruined our business,” the weaponless brute threatened. “Not only did you fuck with something that you know nothing about, but you brought some chick cop down here too.” My bad, I thought. “That stupid bitch must have reported us because two days later we’re getting hassled by a few lowlifes. They claimed to be dealers, but I’ve seen one of them before. They’re the goddamn po-po.” He stalked the ground in front of Roger. “You’ve ruined everything, you sniveling piece of shit. Now we have to figure out what to do with you.” He looked to the batter to reinforce his threat.

  “I promise we won’t say anything,” the girl cried. “Just leave us alone. You can take your business somewhere else. No harm done.”

  “No,” he growled, “we were set up here for a reason. And since we have to deal with the consequences,” he sneered viciously, “so do the three of you.”

  Analyzing the situation, I spotted two hostiles. One was armed with a baseball bat, and the other appeared to be weaponless. The actual clearing was an open area with no cover. However, its surroundings were heavily forested with numerous trees and shrubs. I had to move to a more practical vantage point since I could only reasonably grab one of the thugs, and it would make more sense to take down the batter.

  Quietly, I unzipped my purse and pulled out the few plastic zip-ties I always kept with me and slipped them into my back pocket. Dropping my bag on the ground, I circled around the clearing, searching for the perfect position. The two ruffians were still talking amongst themselves, trying to determine what to do with Roger and his two friends.

  Moving from tree to tree, I got behind the unarmed hooligan. By all accounts, he was the ringleader. I pressed my back against the trunk, hoping to remain undetected while I searched for my next cover position. Unfortunately, the boy from the diner spotted me and stared wide-eyed in my direction. Thanks a lot, kid.

  One of the two brutes would eventually notice the kid’s gaze, so it was time to move to plan B. Take down the leader and hope his minion didn’t bash my skull in. Running out of time, I took a deep breath, exhaled, and broke cover. I dove onto the weaponless brute and pinned him to the ground, using surprise and a carefully placed knee.

  “You don’t want to fuck with me today,” I warned.
My gun was in my hand, and I pressed it against the kid’s temple. The batter took a couple of steps forward, and I shifted my aim to him and used my forearm to apply direct pressure to my hostage’s neck. “Drop the goddamn bat before I drop you.” Wow, I was amazed at how menacing I could be. Dieting really did make me a bitch. The guy dropped the bat and considered running. “I wouldn’t,” I threatened, jerking the gun and indicating he should kneel on the ground. He crouched low, unsure of what to do.

  Flipping the leader onto his stomach, I zip-tied his wrists and ankles in case he decided to make a run for it. He cursed and bucked but didn’t get off the ground. Carefully, I approached his buddy. The batter was in the throes of fight or flight. His eyes darted back and forth as he bounced on the balls of his feet. Either he was going to make a break for it, or he was going to make a move for the bat. I steadied my aim on him, and he focused on my eyes. Whatever he saw reflected in them must have frightened him because he raised his hands above his head. I shoved him face first to the ground and bound his wrists and ankles too.

  “Y’know, I asked you guys to leave this kid alone, but you just couldn’t listen. Didn’t your parents ever teach you to respect authority? Or your elders? Jeez.” I was annoyed but thankful they complied. The last thing I wanted was to fight or chase the punks through the park. This was easier. I took a deep breath and holstered my gun. Roger’s friends, the girl and boy, were considering escaping this little soiree, so I focused on them. “Don’t even think about it.” And they slumped back on the ground. Now what was I supposed to do with five teenagers?

  “Who the hell are you? We have rights,” one of the two brutes insisted.

  “Yes, you do, but I’m not a cop. So we’re calling this a citizen’s arrest. And when the actual police arrest you, they can worry about your rights because I don’t give a shit. You think dragging some kids into the middle of nowhere and threatening them with bodily harm makes you the victim of some deranged vigilante?” I snorted. “Wow. You’re seriously delusional. Are you using the crap your selling?” Leaving my two subdued hostages on the ground, I crossed the expanse and retrieved my phone, dialing 911. I relayed the information to dispatch, which was sending some patrol cars to deal with the situation. “While we wait for the actual police to arrive, we’re going to play a little game. It’s called whoever tells the truth gets to go home without being arrested.” I looked at Roger. “You go first.”