Send Out The Clowns (Frank River Series)

by Harry Hoge

  She followed Frank when he took the Westheimer exit and continued south on Post Oak. When he pulled into the coffee shop’s parking lot and swerved into the first spot, she had to cruise past and turn behind the building to find a place for the patrol car. When she pushed through the door, Frank was sitting at a table near the window. "I've already ordered coffee," he told her. "Do you want something else?"

  Gerry shook her head.

  Frank was staring at the Formica table top, leaning forward with his arms intertwined on the table, his hands resting on his elbows. He looked pensive. Gerry doubted he was fretting about the murder.

  "Never been here before," Gerry remarked, looking around the cafe.

  "One of my favorite hangouts," Frank answered without looking at her. "I feel comfortable here, especially after leaving a crime scene, so I can get my thoughts in order while everything is still fresh."

  A waitress brought a carafe of coffee and two mugs.

  Frank looked up, leaving his arms in place. "This is Thelma, an old friend and good buddy."

  "Don't make me too old," Thelma joked.

  "Thelma, meet my new partner, Detective Geraldine Gardner."

  "Hi, Thelma. Call me Gerry."

  "Pleased to meet ya, Gerry. It's good there's someone to keep this old pirate sane." She smiled. "You two look busy. If I can get you anything, just whistle."

  "Seems nice," Gerry offered after Thelma had left. Frank nodded. "Want to talk about the new body."

  "Pisses me off. If I'd been more professional, we might have prevented this one."

  "Yeah, right. Like you shouldn't have taken a half a day off. You've been on this round the clock since early Friday."

  Frank nodded, but Gerry knew she hadn't helped him feel any better.

  "Same MO?" he asked

  "Shuman indicated it's the same."

  "That means we won't have any new breakthroughs from the evidence. In the morning, the lieutenant will want an update."

  "I can do that."

  "Okay. Then do a workup on the new victim. Run down anything you can. I'll go by the comedy club and interview the personnel. We'll pool our ideas at lunch - say, Charlie's in the Village?"

  "Charlie's doesn't serve anything on my menu right now. Why not Jason's Deli?"

  Frank smiled for the first time. "Good God, Gerry, what are you trying to do? Turn me into a friggin' rabbit?"

  "They've got food other than salad at Jason's."

  "Okay, Jason's." He poured another cup of coffee and looked at his watch. "It's too early to make any calls."

  "Would you like to see my new digs? It's not far from here by Houston standards."

  "You got it, partner. Let's go."

  Chapter 11

  Frank followed Gerry to the Heights. He locked the car and walked to where Gerry waited for him in front of a block of townhouses, each with different facades - rococo, Tudor, stucco and what not. He could hear the sounds from the Katy Freeway as commuters rushed downtown to work early, before the snarl of traffic became too heavy. The noise sounded like a waterfall far in the distance.

  The townhouse Gerry had rented sported the trim of a Victorian Chalet white, with dark gray cornices.

  "Nice place," Frank remarked.

  "I like it. Not fond of the antique decorations, but it's a good location. Not too far from headquarters or your place, and across town from where I grew up. Come on in."

  They entered into an area designated for a family room and kitchen running from front to back. Cartons and a clutter of furniture filled the space. "It'll look bigger when I get things where I want them," she added.

  She led him to a narrow wooden stairway leading to the second level and two bedrooms—one small, with a shower and cramped lavatory area, the second spacious with a larger bathroom and a walk-in closet. There were two doors in the hall that Frank assumed were closets. Another stairway led to the third level that looked like a loft.

  Gerry kept watching Frank scrutinize. It reminded her of his method of investigating a crime, taking in every detail.

  "Are you plotting where I should hang pictures and place chairs, or are you expecting to find blood spots and such evidence?"

  Frank smiled and looked down at the floor. "This top floor has all sorts of possibilities. I really like the layout, and the steps should help you work off those few pounds you've been telling me about." His eyes changed from those of a cop to one that made her aware of her sexuality. Frank was an attractive man. If the situation were different, she would be moved to think of him as other than her superior law enforcement partner.

  "This area is what sold me on the place. I can set it up with different sections dedicated to my varied interests. Over there in that dark corner, I'm going to locate my work area. You know, files and a work table, computer and such." She turned and swept her hand toward the window. "There, I plan to have a reading area and a ghetto blaster for long quiet evenings at home, if there ever are such times." She turned to the rest of the room. "I haven't decided about this area yet. What do you think?"

  "I don't know. It should be special. A place where you can feel safe and enjoy yourself." He waited a beat as if thinking. "Do you want some help unpacking or moving your furniture around?"

  "No. Roger Harrington helped me move, and I want to do all the arranging. It's a personal thing. Hey, it's too early to go to work and I have a couple of chairs cleaned off on the first level. How about I make some coffee and we chat until the sun comes up?"

  Frank nodded and headed for the stairs.

  While the coffee brewed, Gerry dug in a carton and found a portable sound system and a box of tapes. She selected a CD and inserted it, turning the volume low so it wouldn't interfere with their conversation.

  "Interesting sounds," Frank remarked. "What is it?"

  "The title is 'Contrasts' by the Andean Nation. Two guys from New Mexico, Andrew Taher and William Urena play all the instruments. Later, in an arrangement of Ave Maria, there's a Celtic Harp played by Melissa Henrie. I love it. It makes me think of all the civilizations other than this hectic, power driven society we live in."

  They both sat quietly for a while, enjoying the haunting strains and technique of the artists. Gerry was the first to break the silence.

  "Frank, tell me to mind my own business if you want, but if we're going to be partners, I want to understand everything about you."

  Frank looked at her but said nothing.

  "You seem distant, like you're worried about something."

  "I'm worried about getting the perp identified and arrested before the SOB kills again."

  "Yeah, there's that, but I know that mood. This is something else."

  A breathy flute sounded with the guitar, portraying the musical vision of high foggy mountains covered with rain forests, and Indians dressed in colorful scrapes walking slowly toward a village. Frank closed his eyes and swayed with the rhythm—deciding.

  "It's Pauley," he admitted in a barely audible voice.

  "I thought as much. She driftin'?"

  Frank looked at her. "Very astute of you. Yes. Either that or my paranoia."

  "Paranoia? You don't strike me as the paranoid type."

  "Everyone has a chink in his or her confidence. Mine's Pauley. She's never liked me being a policeman. It all came to a head a few years ago, and we split up for over a year. When we got back together, I think we both tried too hard. Now she has this opportunity to expand her business in a big way, and the situation is edgy."

  "Do you resent her enthusiasm for her work?"

  Frank thought a moment. "I don't think so. I'm happy for her. Like I said, I'm paranoid that she'll lose her time for me, us."

  "Have you considered getting out of the job? Maybe something else, like say, a business of your own?"

  "Go to work for her is what you're saying. I've considered several options, but I know the only way for me is being what I am. If I did something else for the sake of the relationship, that would doom it for certai
n."

  "I can't speak for Pauley, but women enjoy a man who knows when to be sensitive and when to leave them alone. If you can walk that tight rope, maybe things will smooth out."

  "I've decided all I can do is be me. If I lose her, I'll feel like part of me is gone, but I have no intentions of reinventing myself. That wouldn't be fair to either of us."

  Gerry and Frank had just finished updating the file on the Nguyen case and started the work on Laurie Lowe, when the phone rang. Gerry answered. "Okay, Lieutenant. Frank's out of the office right now." She winked at Frank. "I'll be there as soon as I can."

  "Thanks, Gerry," Frank grinned when she hung up the phone. "I can do without Sumbitch this morning."

  "I'll fill her in. See you this afternoon?"

  "Right." He headed for the door.

  "Hey, Frank. If you could get the information on where Laurie Lowe spent her nights while she was in Houston, it would save me some time."

  Frank stopped with his hand on the doorknob. "I can do that. I'll give you a call in about an hour." He winked and scooted out the door.

  Gerry went to the window and watched until Frank emerged from the front door of the building. Rain was falling in a slant from west to east. Her partner hurried through the wetness to a patrol car and climbed in without looking up. When the car disappeared from the parking lot, she turned and went back to the desk. She checked the time, patted her pocket to assure herself she had her phone, and copied several addresses she had looked up into her notebook before heading for Lieutenant Barker's office

  Gerry had her hand on the door to the homicide division when it opened from the inside. Captain Charlie Holloman came out and nearly knocked her down. Lieutenant Barker served as Holloman's assistant and the captain answered to the Executive Assistant Chief (EAC) and Coordinator of Operations who had a direct line to the Chief of Police C. J. Bradley. EAC’s of Administration and Support, as well as Professional Standards, also advised Chief Bradley. Gerry seldom had contact with any of the hierarchy of the organization and backed away from Captain Holloman in respect and awe.

  "Good Morning," Holloman nodded as he brushed by her and headed down the hall toward Criminal Investigations Command. Gerry watched him for a few strides before she entered the lieutenant's office

  "Good morning, Officer Gardner," Sheridan Barker offered without looking up from an open file folder on her desk.

  "Mornin' Loo."

  "Understand we had another murder last night."

  "That's right. Another comedian. A woman this time, same MO. No immediate trace evidence, and the lab isn't expecting to learn much this time either,"

  Barker looked up. "Another comedian?"

  "Yes. An out-of-towner, not a regular."

  The door opened, and a clerk brought in the early edition of the Chronicle. Barker grabbed it and scanned the front page. She held it up so Gerry could see, and pointed to an entry along the left side that indicated a story on the inside of Section A. "Another Clown Found Slaughtered." "Not front page headline, yet," she commented. Gerry waited for the Lieutenant to find the article and give it a quick read.

  "They don't have anything but the fundamentals, but I'd be surprised if reporters didn't start sniffing around for more info. The clown suit shtick is too lurid to be hidden much longer."

  "I'm surprised we haven't been getting calls already," Gerry agreed, more to fill in the conversation than to make a point.

  "Bring me up to date, Detective."

  Gerry told the Lieutenant about the investigation. Barker stared at her intensely, giving the story her full attention.

  When Gerry finished, she asked, "Are you two still convinced it's a serial killer?"

  "I can't say how Frank is looking at it now. We haven't had a chance to see all the lab work and talk it through, but I'm thinking no."

  "Why not?"

  "None of the usual trademarks. The victims have little in common other than the connection to the comedy clubs. Gender is different. One was a star, the other a flop. The first had a drug stash planted on him, the girl was decked out with a bag full of juggling stuff. I think that's a message."

  "What message?"

  "I don't know yet."

  "Message for whom?"

  "For Frank is my guess."

  Barker looked down at the desk, apparently considering Gerry's suggestions. When she looked up, she changed the subject from the investigation to Frank.

  "What are your impressions of Detective Rivers so far?"

  Gerry didn't like the line of questioning. She had sensed earlier that Sumbitch either didn't trust Frank or wanted to hang something on him.

  "He's a first-rate investigator with dedication to his job."

  "I've heard he lets his personal life interfere. That true?"

  "I don't think so. Lieutenant, are you trying to turn me as your FA?"

  Barker suddenly decided she needed to rearrange the newspaper on her desk, caught herself and glared at Gerry.

  "No, Detective. If I needed a field associate to spy on anybody, I'd tell him or her, his or her job up front. I didn't assign you as a spy, but I did hope that you'd help me assess your partner and one of my detectives."

  "He's top drawer. Period."

  The two women stared at each other, probing for the other's thoughts. Barker broke the face off first.

  "Okay, Detective Gardner. Thank you for coming by."

  Chapter 12

  Gerry went back to the Squad Room to organize her schedule for the day, pondering what Sumbitch had said during the morning briefing. The Lieutenant seemed more concerned about what Frank was doing than she was about the murders. She'd seen women act like that before, nervous, as though they were afraid of losing something. Was Barker afraid for her job?

  Her cell phone chirped. It was Frank. "Yo, Frank."

  "Rankin wasn't at home. I'm headed for the lab to talk with Al Shuman. How'd it go with Barker?"

  "She knows all we know about last night's murder, probably more. There's an article in the morning paper, page four of the front section. Just facts. Like a mail-in report."

  "I saw that. Anything else?"

  "She asked me all about you. Seems a bit paranoid. Make any sense?"

  There was a pause and she could hear traffic noises. She figured Frank was entering the freeway. Maybe he was mulling over what she'd said.

  "When the department was filling that job, they asked me if I wanted it. I said I didn't. She's been leery of me ever since."

  "Why'd you turn it down? More money and all."

  "I'm a street type. Don't want administrative duties."

  "Yeah, but as whip of the downtown precinct, you could do both. Most whips don't sit around in the office as much as Sumbitch does."

  "Maybe you're right. If it comes open again, I might opt for it. Listen, I found out where Laurie Lowe stayed while she was in town. The Allen's Way Motel on Allen Parkway."

  "You want to toss it?"

  "Yeah. I'll get a team and go over there as soon as we're done here. Anything else?"

  "I've had some second thoughts about this being a serial killing. We'll talk about that this afternoon. Still want to meet at Jason's about twelve."

  Gerry smiled. She was pleased to realize that Frank wasn't so distracted as to have missed the variance in the second murder. "Let's not do Jason's, Frank. I feel bad putting you through that. Meet you at Charlie's in the Village."

  "Let's make it La Madeline's. Happy medium. I can get onion soup and a sandwich, and you can do the salad bit."

  "You got it, partner. See you there."

  Gerry called Al Shuman and asked for a CSI team. He promised to have one waiting. She called Dispatch and requested a patrol unit to assist, hoping that Roger Harrington would tag the call. A last quick scan and she headed out.

  It took less than fifteen minutes to reach the Allen's Way Motel. She found a parking place in the front overlooking the highway and saw both a squad car and the CSI van approaching. She waited
for the team before approaching the front desk. A tall, skinny young man looked up as they entered. He wore a black vest over a white shirt and black pants. His acne and scraggly facial hair told Gerry he was most likely a college student working nights.

  She showed him a picture of Laurie Lowe. "This woman was one of your guests recently. Do you recognize her?"

  The boy took the picture for a close look. His hands shook as he tried to keep his poise. "Yes, Officer, I was on the desk when she checked in, but I don't know her status at the moment." He handed the photo back. "Let me check." He turned to the computer. "Let's see. She was in room 249. She paid in advance for three nights. The room was vacant when the maid came by this morning. I'm assuming she left town."

  "Has the room been cleaned?"

  "Not yet. I don't imagine the crew will get to it for another hour or so. What's the problem?"

  "Your guest didn't leave town. She was murdered last night. We need to secure the room and run it for evidence. Which way?"

  The shaking hands consumed the entire body of the clerk. He pointed a trembling finger across the lobby to a sliding glass door that led to the pool. "A-across the veranda and up one flight," he managed to say. "I'm going to have to call the manager."

  "Relax, young man. You're not in any trouble. Go ahead and call your boss. We'll get started while you explain the situation." Gerry motioned the other officers toward the area where the clerk had indicated Room 249 was located. Everyone headed that way, leaving the student punching numbers into the phone with shaking fingers.

  Gerry found the door open. She directed the two uniforms to stand guard outside and let the lab techs enter ahead of her.

  Phyllis Aquilla smiled as she passed Gerry. "The maid can save some time today," she commented as she cast a glance around the apartment. "This room is cleaner than most of the rooms I've ever checked in to."

  "It doesn't look like anyone was ever here," Gerry said. "Go ahead and give it a good examination. I'm thinking you won't find anything, but pump the drains and I'll smell the carpet." They both laughed.

  Gerry found a parking space in front of the Half-Priced Book Store, across University Boulevard from the shopping area and La Madeline's. Frank stood in front of the main entrance with his hands in his pockets, watching the traffic creep by, each driver looking frustrated at the lack of adequate parking.