by Tyan Wyss
Lea shrugged, watching the busy proceedings in the vacant field. My, but he was touchy. She knew damn good and well that if a male colleague had stated what she just had, he would have been slapped on the back with all-encompassing camaraderie. It didn’t bother her much, since she was used to being the odd woman out, and left his tall, handsome form to shoot the breeze with the officers. She paused before 614 Chester Street, surveying the sharp spikes jutting from the tall white fence. Such a peculiar house with its vast cast iron gate and menacing appearance; a house full of secrets.
Upon impulse, she rang the intercom buzzer again. The loud peal of the bell rang through the house, but again no answer. Lea was about to turn away when she heard the slight crackle of underbrush.
She leaned against the fence, her keen ears picking out the rustle of leaves. Could this be the elusive Bouncer Philemon had reported? As if in answer, a ginger cat sprang to the fence and hissed at her.
“Jeez,” she said, sorely disappointed. She meandered around the fence, searching for something, anything that could have been missed. The neighbor’s house to the left had a wide expanse of yard with jasmine bordering a well-maintained lawn. Lea wandered into the Crawford’s’ yard, and using her foot, lifted the heaving foliage up from the drooping bottom leaves of the fragrant plant, searching for anything unusual. Suddenly, she spied a small red rubber ball nestled against the wall, halfway into the yard. Jubilant, Lea picked it up, hurrying back to 614 as quickly as her limping gait would allow. Philemon hadn’t lied. The ball existed. Now, if she could just find its owner.
Lea leaned once more to the intercom and rang the buzzer again and again, to no avail. She spoke into the metal mouthpiece.
“I found your ball. Why don’t you open up the gate and let me in so I can return it to you.” Silence dictated its staunch refusal.
She tried repeatedly until finally giving up in defeat. When Thayne’s voice called out to her, Lea immediately thrust the red rubber ball into the wide pocket of her tweed blazer. One thing was for certain, while no one answered the bell at 614 Chester Street, someone or something definitely lived there. They needed to gain access.
A voice drifted across the empty lot from under the magnolia tree. “Hey, Fox! Could you open my trunk and bring me the small flashlight in the crate next to the first aid kit? We may have found something!”
Fox headed to the driver’s side and flipped the trunk opener.
“What an appallingly small trunk,” she said to no one in particular. A small crate, 18 inches square, was squirreled up into the left of the tiny trunk and in no time, Lea found the flashlight. An artist’s sketchbook leaned against the opposite side and without an ounce of remorse, she opened it. She only managed to flip through three of the sketches before Thayne’s voice rang out again.
“Fox! Bring the flashlight!”
She slammed the lid and headed towards the big tree. “What is it?” she asked.
Thayne peered up into a branch about seven feet above the earth at the rear of the magnolia. “Give me,” he ordered. Flipping on the powerful beam, he pinpointed some thin scratches at right above his head. “Look.”
The single word Phile was freshly carved into the aged trunk.
“Jeez,” said Fox.
They stood beside the curb, waiting for the chief. Within minutes, his metallic blue sedan slid to a stop by them. Chief Rollins rolled down the Ford’s electric window exposing his florid face. It was obvious he wasn’t thrilled to be called out on a Saturday afternoon, murder or no murder.
“What is it?” he barked.
Nick handed him the Polaroid of the tree carving.
“Phile?” he said. “Philly Cheesecake? Philadelphia?”
“Or perhaps a nickname,” returned Thayne quietly. “It had been freshly carved at the rear of the tree. In the first flurry of activity, we were all focused at the base of the tree.”
“Hmm,” pondered the Chief. “I’ll have Dwayne run this through the system. Maybe he’ll come up with something. Oh, finally managed to get through to Collins’ office. Collins is in New York, but his secretary says you can search the entire premises. Apparently, no one lives in the house; it’s kept as a training and conference retreat for some of the high-ups in his company. I don’t want to hear from either of you until Monday unless something else important breaks or you’ve solved this case. If I don’t attend my wife’s high school reunion this evening, I’m dead meat. You can reach me on my cell if it’s an emergency, but at no other time.” The chief’s mobile tinkled. “Rollins,” he barked. “Oh hi, Hon.”
“Hell hath no fury like a woman’s scorn,” quoted Nick smoothly.
“Oh, pleez,” grumbled Lea. “If you’re going to quote something at least get it right!”
“That’s not right?”
“No. It states Nor Hell a fury, like a Woman scorn’d. William Congreve. My father was a quote-aholic as well. Between him and being an English minor in college . . . I sense a fraud at work.”
“And did it work on the women? Your father’s quotes?”
“Well, my mother still married him.”
“Probably impressed by his wit and intelligence.”
“Knocked up with my brother. And I think the more appropriate word is tolerate,” said Lea icily.
Chief Rollins flipped shut his phone and rolled his eyes wearily before handing them a file with a post-it on top indicating the house’s security codes. “And another present for you from the good doctor with some interesting tidbits.”
“Such as?” asked Nick.
“An analysis of the paint particles found under Thad Fisher’s fingers. It makes damn good reading, but it’s the other stuff that I’m sure would fascinate the likes of a pair of world-class private investigators such as yourselves. After you read it, you’ll understand how close we are to making an arrest!”
He snickered and drove off without uttering one word to Lea, pulling his vehicle around the bulb end of the cul-de-sac without so much as a goodbye.
“And a good day to you as well,” she stated to the rear end of the blue Ford. “What does he mean, an arrest?”
“You’re right, Fox. He wants this wrapped up and pronto. So, what do you want to do first?” asked Nick handing her the code. “Read the addendum to the report or enter the premises now?”
Lea said idly. “How did you know where to find the word carved into the magnolia?”
Thayne’s eyes flicked to hers before languidly studying the liquid amber trees swaying gently before the beautiful, gabled, charcoal-slate roof of Mrs. Simms’ house.
“I didn’t know anything, Fox. I just thought the crew might have missed something.”
“Definitely not partners,” mumbled Lea and turned abruptly towards the Collins house. “Now that we’ve got the warrant, let’s see what delights it has to show us. We’ll check out Steven’s report later.”
Nick’s eyes narrowed. “Okay. Could you wait just a moment while I return my flashlight?” He strode briskly to the Mustang and popped its trunk, remaining a long moment behind the shielding hood before slamming it down harder than it warranted.
“Been nosy, Fox? Why do I feel like my privacy’s been compromised?”
“I’m a P.I., Thayne. That stands for Privacy invaded. You coming or do you plan on glaring at me all day?”
The heavy black gate swung open with a mighty echoing creak. Thayne had called Officer Phelps to join them, not because he felt Randy’s assistance was necessary, but to serve as a buffer between him and Fox. He seethed inside, and it wasn’t until a putrid smell assailed their nostrils that he came out of his preoccupation.
The smell reminded Lea of unclean toilets and rarely used campgrounds where repulsive deeds were inflicted upon the innocent in the dark. Fox saw Thayne’s mahogany eyes crinkle in disgust.
“Good God, that’s rank,” hissed Nick, searching his pocket for a wadded-up handkerchief.
He held it to his nose as they headed up the concrete walk
way edged in red brick to match the house. The beautifully designed house reminded Lea of houses constructed during the colonial days, the bright red brick indicating a stout but classily built house. Cascading gables and a charming balcony jutted off two of the upper story windows. A huge, sheltered entryway led to a two-story foyer where twin brick chimneys thrust from the sharply slanted roof.
“Nice looking joint,” said Officer Phelps, who Lea noticed, was chewing gum. Trim, young, and energetic, though a bit on the stocky side, his pleasant face still possessed the eagerness 18 months on the force hadn’t yet dampened. “So where to now, Inspector Thayne?” he asked the tall detective.
“Let’s check the front yard out first.” The three wandered through the pleasing garden. “That’s interesting,” said Lea. “It’s a row of Prunus Laurocerasus.”
“And what’s that?” said Nick, barely polite.
“English Laurel. They’ve covered the entire length of the brick wall in the shrub. The typical English Laurel can reach at least ten feet high, but this has been trimmed down to only about four feet.” She hobbled over and plucked one of its purplish-black fruit. “Some people call this a Cherry Laurel. While not very common here on the West Coast, it makes a perfect shrub if well trained and watered as this has been. It’s strange, though; most people use Laurel as a fence, not a hedge planted against an already existing wall. Mostly used in English gardens. You can see it’s been severely pruned and mighty recently, at that.”
She touched one of the light green stalks devoid of leaves at the top. “It will be full of pretty cream-colored flowers in the spring.”
“You sure know a lot about plants, Inspector Fox,” said Officer Phelps.
“I do. It was my mother’s passion. You might say she was a frustrated landscape artist.”
In a very thin strip along the walkway, Weigela flowered in a pale white-pink. The rest of the yard was covered in rich green dichondra grass.
“This part of the yard is not used by children,” announced Fox. “Dichondra doesn’t take wear and tear well, and it’s a tough grass to keep nice in this climate.” Two huge eucalyptuses towered from the middle of the vast emerald green lawn
“Strange,” said Thayne at her shoulder. “It’s clear that the lawn has been mown quite recently and someone has to take care of that incredible hedge here as well as this little border of flowers, but everyone indicates no one is ever seen at house, that is, except for last Tuesday.”
“Maybe the gardener resides here,” suggested Lea. “But why wouldn’t they answer the door? Have you noticed, Thayne, the lack of trees close to the house?”
He merely grunted.
“Some nice rose bushes, though,” said Randy Phelps awkwardly, noticing the two detective’s tension.
“Yes, whoever’s the gardener here at least shares Mrs. Simms’ love of flowers. Ah, here’s one of my favorites!” Lea pointed to a brilliant pink flower. “This one’s called Duet. See its dusty color?” She moved a little closer. “A true rose lover designed this garden. Do you notice how they’ve alternated pink and red roses with white ones? All hybrid teas; there’s not a floribunda in the bunch.”
“Is that important?” asked Randy. Thayne continued staring at the roof, a frown upon his handsome face.
“They take a lot more work, so someone has to live here because the garden needs more than an occasional gardener. Dichondra is a tough lawn to take care of, since it’s subject to weeds. English Laurel must be constantly trimmed and the dead flowers removed so it continues to bloom. Roses need lots of fertilizer and are hard work to maintain at this standard. The dead blooms must be removed and constantly fed systemic to repel aphids and fungus. None of these roses have a trace of rust, and I haven’t spied an aphid anywhere. Here’s First Love, Electron, and one of my favorite roses, Honor, just to name a few. And nary a dead petal anywhere. So why is this house considered vacant?”
“Could just be the neighbors not noticing,” said Randy.
“What do you mean?” asked Nick, totally ignoring Fox.
“It’s like where I live. No one pays any attention to the neighbors unless they’re too loud or there’s a dog barking or something. Shoot, my neighbor works the night shift, so I’ve only met him once.”
“That’s a valid point. One side of the house borders the empty field, and the other has a good thirty feet before the side fence begins at the Crawford’s’.”
Lea punched their findings into the F & H before summarizing, “So, it’s obvious this garden is doted on and serviced often, perhaps even yesterday. That means someone likely was here when Philemon Jenkins found the body. And,” stated Lea, “remember how Philemon insisted a child played ball with him?” She reached into her pocket and pulled out the red rubber ball. “This was under some bushes along the outer fence in the Crawford’s yard.”
Thayne returned to her side and removed the ball from her thin hand. His face became shadowed, and he rubbed his forehead before handing back the ball. “Philemon was telling the truth. Let’s check out the backyard, then. The child has to be there.”
Two large Mexican pots of incredible circumference held enormous cycads near the entryway. Thayne knocked loudly upon the door, which echoed hollowly. Not a peep from the huge house.
“Just what I expected,” reflected Nick.
Officer Phelps and Fox followed his determined figure around the side of the house. The driveway curved abruptly, revealing a two-car garage angled discreetly along the side of the house. A narrow pathway, once again edged in red brick, led to a low gate separating the backyard from the front. A huge silver padlock hung from the black wrought iron gate. Nick wasted no time.
“Randy, I need you to head around the other side of the house and see if there’s another route into the backyard without us having to bust this lock.”
Randy returned in less than two minutes. “No. The other side is padlocked as well. I guess this means I’ve got to fetch my kit.” He grinned and trotted down the driveway.
Lea once again surveyed the yard as they waited, noting the well-trimmed eucalyptuses, which remain an on-going challenge since the huge trees are known to be rapid growers and constantly shed limbs and bark. Nothing crowded the house or the high, white fence. The fact somehow bothered her.
“I don’t like this house,” stated Thayne, suddenly lifting his head and sniffing. Once again, the putrid smell of sewage assaulted his nose.
“I know,” said Lea, “how could so beautiful a place seem so . . .”
“Vile?” Nick finished for her.
“Indeed.” She stood a long while in thought, rubbing her aching hip absently.
“A penny for your thoughts?” he asked finally.
“I visited a prison once with my father when he had to interview an inmate. They had trees centered inside the prison yard and far removed from any structures. Somehow, this house and yard reminds me of that prison with its steep slant of roof and low hedges making the wall inaccessible. And nothing, nothing grows close this house except for the rose bushes armed with thorns.” The lift of the wind brought the awful smell of the sewer back again, and she scrunched up her unattractive face.
Randy arrived at a dead run. Using heavy-duty metal cutters he hacked through the expensive padlock, and the now-useless pieces fell to the ground with a clang. The passageway down the south side of the house was narrow and the high wall felt too close. Between the house and this fence, only a mere four feet separated the prison-like wall from the dusty red brick of the colonial house. The stench gradually increased until Nick finally halted and grabbed his nose, his stomach churning.
The passage way widened out to open into a huge back yard and while the smell remained overwhelming, the backyard revealed a child’s paradise with a massive wooden play set equipped with slides, swing, and sandbox. A small hut had been built into the side of the swing set and opened onto an enormous sandbox, big enough for any school playground. Two large eucalyptus trees shaded the massive garden
, but once again, were centered directly away from the house and surrounding fence.
Lea followed her nose with Nick and Officer Phelps reluctantly following. A long distance away from the play set and near the back fence bordering the length of the vacant field, a huge pile of leaves lay undisturbed except for copious amount of dung drying in the shade. This area had clearly been used as an outdoor toilet, but by whom or what?
Chapter 11
Saturday Afternoon
“Jeez,” said Randy Phelps holding his nose and trying not to look disgusted. “You would think that a mansion like this could afford indoor plumbing.”
“Yes, you would,” agreed Nick softly. He backed away from the offensive pile and moved toward the well-built playground.
“No money has been spared here,” he observed.
He stooped to allow the small doorframe to accommodate his height and entered the child-sized hut. Lea didn’t follow, leaving Officer Phelps to examine the play area. She moved towards a large, round stake situated a distance away from the play set. Lea squatted and studied it. A rusty metal loop had been welded onto the top of the stake and the entire area around the driven wood, some ten feet in circumference, was trampled down.
No grass grew within the circular limits as if some animal had been tied to the stake and had run countless circles around it. The dung pile distantly bordered the beaten area, and nearby, a discarded ceramic water bowl, the kind used for a dog, sat empty, clumps of dirt clinging to its side. What kind of animal had paced impatiently here; perhaps a tame pig, or even a chimp or baboon? The latter would explain the humanlike feces.
“Officer Phelps,” called Lea rising. “Would you take a photo of this stake, the playground, and the dung pile? Also collect a sample of the feces. While a large dog makes sense, I suspect a more exotic type of animal was chained here; perhaps something rare or endangered.”
Randy grimaced. One thing remained certain about being the junior officer on the squad; you were always assigned the most disgusting jobs. He headed sourly to his baking squad car for some plastic bags. Lea moved to the hut, and unlike Nick, did not have to stoop to survey the inside. The simple square structure had a plank floor upon which rested a brimming wooden box piled high with rusty play cars and dump trucks. Tiny damaged miniature cars spread across the rough flooring as if the child had suddenly been jerked away in the midst of his game. Very few plants lined the back wall. In fact, except for an abundance of some reddish-orange bamboo cut low, the dichondra grass ran right up to the back fence.