by Susan Goslak
I walked with Ray into Lt. Donner’s office. He rose and came around his desk to give me a peck on my cheek. Hi! What brings you here, Beautiful?” he asked.
I motioned toward Ray with my thumb. “I followed him in.”
“If you ever want to dump this guy, you can follow me around,” Jim said with a chuckle.
Before any of us could make any more inane remarks Ray explained Father O’Shea’s idea while I wandered over to look at Jim’s murder board. I looked at the questions that he’d posted and the timeline. I tried not to look at the pictures of the dead bodies, but it was inevitable that I would look at them. I studied them even thought they were gory. I saw that he’d listed the things that the dead bodies had in common and I checked each one to see if the list was correct.
Ray walked over to me. “Ready to go?” he asked.
“I have one more thing to add to this list,” I said.
“Which list?” asked Jim.
“The list of the things that the dead men have in common,” I replied.
“What?” asked both Ray and Jim.
“Have you noticed that all of the men are wearing the same style of shoes?” I asked, pointing to the photos lined up on the board.
Ray and Jim looked at the photos, and then at each other, and then at me.
“How’d we miss that?” asked Jim.
“Is it important?” I asked.
“It might be. It’s another clue,” said Jim. “We’ll look into it.”
“You’re really good at picking up these difficult to see clues,” said Ray as we walked to his car.
I smiled at him. “I’m a girl. I look at clothes, especially shoes.”
We were almost back to our office when Ray said, “I remember Father O’Shea telling me something about the latest dead man getting his clothes from the parish used clothing give away. I wonder if they give away shoes. Let’s go over there and see.”
We were soon knocking on the door of the rectory. Father O’Shea opened the door. He was about to ask me who I was when he spotted Ray behind me. “Is this woman part of the case you’re working on?”
“She sure is. She’s my secretary. Father O’Shea, meet Lexi Taylor. She gave me the chain for the cross”
“Miss Taylor, it’s nice to meet you. May I offer you a cup of tea?”
“Ray has told me about your tea, Father.”
Father chuckled. “You know I can serve it without the Irish whiskey.”
“That would be very nice, Father”
Father took my arm and led me to a comfy chair. “You sit right here and I’ll be right back.” He returned in a few minutes with a tray containing a teapot, three mugs and a plate of cookies. “We’ll have a little snack and you’ll tell me why you’re here.”
Ray told how I’d recognized the fact that all the dead men
were wearing the same shoes.
“Were they white Nikes with blue laces, a blue swish and a blue sole?” asked Father.
“Yes,” said both of us.
Father rose. “Come with me,” he said.
He walked us to the church basement to show us the clothes that the ladies were getting ready. I saw tables with shirts neatly folded, others with pants and belts displayed, racks of dresses, a table with women’s shoes and purses and a table with men’s tennis shoes. There were dozens of pairs of shoes all the same. “Did the shoes look like these? They were donated because they have slight defects.”
I gasped.
Ray said, “Bingo!” He pulled out his cell phone to call Jim Donner. “Now we have to determine how these shoes are connected to the murderer,” he said.
« Chapter Twenty Five »
When we returned to the office Ray called Meg Anderson and Gil Carson to set our plan into motion. Saturday evening, after a
Game of Euchre with Pat and Jack we watched the six o’clock news. Jack was comfortably esconced in his easy chair, Pat was sitting on the couch working on her latest knitting project, a lacy scarf with small pearls worked into the pattern, Ray was sitting in a comfortable chair, and I was perched on the arm of that chair. Jack turned on the television. We sat through a set of commercials before the news began. Gil Carson came on screen.
Pat said, “I can’t believe that you know him personally, Ray. He is some nice eye candy.”
“Are you trying to make me jealous?” asked Jack with a chuckle.
Gil spoke, “A little while ago a friend of mine, Ray Jansen, who is a private investigator with the Woods Detective Agency here in L.A. asked for your help to find William Logan. Thanks to you viewers Mr. Logan has been reunited with his wife and is back in the loving arms of his family. Once again all the people involved in this
case thank all of you who helped.”
The camera moved in for a closer shot of Gil’s face. “Tonight
Mr. Jansen is asking for your help to find another man. We don’t know the name of this man, but we have a sketch of his face.”
The camera showed the sketch that Toon had drawn. While the sketch was on screen, Gil spoke, “Take a good look at this sketch. Study it. It‘s urgent that this man be located. If you have any information that will help Mr. Jansen to find this man please call.” As Gil said the phone number out loud the number appeared at the bottom of the screen.
The news program continued and at the end of the show the sketch and phone number appeared on screen again.
“Gil does a nice job,” I said.
“Looks like you’ll have all kinds of phone calls to deal with again,” said Ray.
“How about a night-cap?” asked Jack.
“Eye candy,” murmured Pat as she got up to get some glasses.
Sunday was uneventful, but our phone rang all day at the office on Monday. Unfortunately, none of the calls produced any useable information. While I was fielding phone calls Ray, Jim and some of his men were getting new Nikes compliments of Father O’Shea. They planned to be in the area on Wednesday dressed as homeless men and acting as decoys. The hope was that the murderer would attack one of them and they’d catch him.
On Wednesday I did my best to get through the day without reminding Ray how worried I was. I had dinner with Ray, and then
drove to Linda’s house. We were working on the details for the fund raiser Linda was hosting.
“What’s wrong Lexi? You’re miles away. Is something worrying you?” asked Linda.
“Yeah, I’m worried. Very worried, but it isn’t something I’m worried about. It’s someone-Ray.” I jumped up and started pacing. “Do you know what he’s doing?” I looked at Linda. She didn’t say anything. She just looked back. “No, of course you don’t.” My voice got louder. “He’s dressing as a homeless man and putting himself out there as a decoy.” I was really working myself into a frenzy. I was getting red in the face and my hands were balled into fists. I was practically shouting. “He’s out there right now hoping that a murderer will attack him!”
Linda rose and came over to me. She put her hands on my arms and guided me to the couch. “Oh, Lexi, you’ve got to calm down.”
“I’m scared, Linda. I lost David and I don’t want to lose Ray.” I started to cry.
Linda handed me a tissue. “Hey, come on. Ray’s a tough guy. He knows how to take care of himself. He’ll be all right.”
“You can’t say that. You can’t guarantee that he’ll be okay.”
Linda took my hands in hers. “Honey, there are no guarantees in life. When your fiancé went to war he had no guarantee that he’d return. Some men did return and some didn’t. We just have to take our chances and live our lives the best way we can. I know you’re worried and scared, but you can’t let those worries destroy you. You have to be brave.”
I dried my eyes and sniffed. “My sister said the same thing.
I’m just having trouble being brave.”
“Let’s hop in your Mustang and go for a ride. That will take your mind off of Ray,” she grabbed my hand and pulled me to the door.
/> We took a nice long ride stopping at a party that one of her friends was hosting. Meeting new people did take my mind off of my worries, at least for a while. I got home a little after midnight and fell asleep by the phone waiting for Ray to call. When he finally called to tell me that he was fine, and that he was heading home, I heaved a sigh of relief and went to bed.
I didn’t hear my alarm when it rang on Thursday morning so I was late getting to work. Ray didn’t come in until lunch time.
“Have they found a body yet?” I asked him.
“I haven’t heard from Jim yet,” was his response.
We didn’t hear from Jim all day. No dead body was found and we were confused. Why didn’t the murderer kill last night? Was he sick? Did he leave town? We had nothing but questions bumping around in our heads. After work Ray and I were meeting Pat, Jack and Diane at a club where Diane’s boyfriend, Mike was playing in a band. We planned to get a bite to eat there and clap our hands off for Mike’s band. Ray and I were driving separately. He walked me to my car and made sure that my engine started. He’d follow in his car.
“Honey, I forgot the file I wanted to work on at home tonight. It’s on my new beautiful desk in my beautiful new office,” he smiled and chuckled. “I’ll run up to get it and meet you in a few minutes at the club.”
“I’m glad you like your new office,” I shouted as I drove off. Ray walked quickly back to the elevator. He rode up to the sixth floor, walked up to the door to our office, took out his key and prepared to put the key in the lock. Suddenly he felt a gun in his back and heard a growl, “Open it.”
Ray opened the door and both men entered the reception area of our office. “Walk to your office, Mr. Jansen.”
Ray walked to his office.
“Unlock the door and go in.” He was told.
Ray unlocked the door and started to enter his office. He wasn’t even through the doorway when he was hit on the head with the gun. Ray stumbled and fell forward striking the side of his face on the edge of his desk.
Ray lost consciousness for only a few minutes. When he woke up he was lying face down on the floor and there was blood on his brand new carpet. He got to his knees. “What the hell?” The room was spinning and he felt nauseous. He put one hand on his client chair and the other on his desk and pulled himself up. The feeling of dizziness almost drove him to his knees again.
“Sit down, Mr. Jansen. I want to introduce myself.”
Ray fell into his client chair and closed his eyes.
“I’m the man you’re looking for.”
It took some effort for Ray to open his eyes and look at the man who was sitting at his desk pointing a gun at his face.
“You’re the man in the sketch.”
“That’s right. I am the man in your sketch.”
Ray became aware of the ache in his head, the blood running
down his face, and the gun in the man’s shaking hand. “Why are you killing homeless men?” he asked.
“I’m doing your job for you. It has been four years, four months, and twenty three days since Cissy was killed and you still haven’t found her killer, so I have to do your work for you.”
“Who was Cissy, your wife?”
The man jumped up, put both hands on Ray’s desk and leaned close to Ray. “Nooo, nooo, nooo!” he shouted. “She’s my sister. She was only seventeen when she was killed.” He put his hands on the sides of his head and shook his head from side to side.
Ray took the handkerchief from his pocket and pressed it to his face. His headache was getting worse, but he was thinking a little clearer now. “What’s your name?”
“My name is George and I have the same last name as Cissy, but you don’t even know Cissy’s last name do you? How are you going to find her killer if you don’t even know her name?”
“George, you have to help me. Was the killer a homeless man?”
“Yes! Yes! He was a homeless man. I saw him do it. Oh, God, I saw him do it and I couldn’t stop him. I couldn’t stop him.” He was crying and tearing at his clothes. He was breathing hard and his hands were shaking as he waved the gun around.
Ray was waiting for a chance to make a move to disarm George before the gun went off unintentionally. He thought that he needed to keep George calm, and that the best way to do that was to keep him talking “Describe the killer for me.”
George got up to pace. “I told you before he was tall and
skinny. He wore baggy jeans, a jacket and Nike shoes. He had straggly hair and a scar on his face.” He indicated on his own face where the scar was on the killer’s face.
Ray became aware that George thought that Ray was one of the officers who initially worked his sister’s case. “George, I think it would be better if you let me work this case. I promise you that I’ll work night and day to find Cissy’s killer. I won’t stop till I put him in jail.”
“Liar!” George screamed as he threw the gun on Ray’s desk and Jumped up. He ran around the desk and lunged forward to put his large hands around Ray’s neck. Ray wasn’t moving as fast as he usually did, but he was able to stand up and grab the first thing he could reach, a bronze statue of a horse that I’d placed on Ray’s new bookshelf. As George’s hands squeezed Ray’s throat, Ray swung the statue with all the force he could muster. He intended to hit George in the head, but the statue hit George’s shoulder instead. The blow caused George to let go of Ray with one hand. Ray brought both hands up between George’s hands and pushed outward to break his hold, then he twisted to one side and landed a karate chop on George’s neck. George staggered back and Ray reached for the gun that George had thrown on the desk, but George knocked Ray’s arm away from the gun and the gun slid onto the floor.
Before either man could make a move, Mike, the janitor, appeared in the doorway. “Mr. Jansen, I saw your light on. Is every-thing all ri . . . ?” Before he could finish his sentence George punched him in the stomach and ran out of the building.
Mike doubled over, fell on his knees and threw up on Ray’s
brand new carpet. Ray took a moment to catch his breath, then helped Mike to a chair and dialed 911. He had a little trouble talking
So Mike talked to the police and then he called Paul.
When the paramedics arrived Ray was still having trouble speaking so they took both Ray and Mike to the hospital.
Paul knew where Ray and I had planned to go, so he was able to call me. Pat, Jack, and Diane accompanied me to the hospital. By the time we got there Ray was being examined in the E.R. The doctor told me that he couldn’t talk yet, because his throat was damaged. She said that it would get better in a few days. I went up to the side of his bed and kissed him. “Don’t try to talk,” I admonished.
Jim walked in. “I talked to Mike. He didn’t know much. I need to hear from you.”
“He can’t talk,” I said.
“I know, but he can write. Here,” he said as he thrust a tablet and pen at Ray.
Ray grabbed them eagerly and quickly wrote down what happened using as few words as possible.
As Ray wrote we gasped in surprise. “You mean the murderer was in our office?” I asked.
Ray nodded.
Ray wrote: name = George last name = ?
Sister killed 4 yrs ago G. saw killing
Killer = tall, thin, scar on right side face Nikes
“This is something to go on. I’ll get on this right away. You take it easy,” Jim said and he walked out.
I took Ray’s hand. This is outrageous. I was afraid that the
killer would attack you in the park and here he does it in your office.
I’m just glad you’re okay. The doctor says you’ll be just fine in a couple of days.
Even though the doctor wanted Ray to spend the night there, he refused to stay.
I drove him home, made sure he took the medicine that the doctor gave him and tucked him into bed. “Now you see why I worry about you. Your poor face! There’s a big cut on your face and it’s going to be a
lovely shade of purple tomorrow.”
He wrote me a note that said, “Don’t worry. I’m fine. I need to work off this excess adrenaline. Care to help?”
I laughed. “Is that all you ever think about?” I asked.
He nodded, grabbed my hand and pulled me on top of him. I leaned down to kiss him. I ran my fingers through his hair. He ran his hands down my back. It felt good. He pointed to my clothes and mimed taking them off, so I did, and then I crawled into bed with Ray and found how nice it was to fit together so perfectly. What a blessing it was to fall asleep together feeling so complete.
« Chapter Twenty Six »
The man (George Miller) ran from Ray’s office and down the stairs to the first floor. He ran down the hallway on the first floor and out the service entrance in the back of the building. His car was parked there. He jumped in and took off as fast as he could. His breathing was labored, and his heart was pounding. While he drove he tried to calm down. I need a drink, he thought. He went into a crowded bar that he’d never been in before. The place was teeming with people, mostly young. He walked up to the bar and ordered a whiskey. A man got up from his seat at the bar and George quickly grabbed it. He slugged down his drink and ordered another. George ran his hands through his hair and wiped the sweat from his brow. I’ve got to think. It’s been over four years and the cops still haven’t found Cissy’s killer. They make promises, but don’t keep them. I don’t know if they are lying or not. Are they really trying to find Cissy’s killer or have they given up? He gulped his second drink down and put money on the bar. The bartender asked him if he wanted another drink. “No. I’ve got to keep a clear head,” was
George’s response as he rose to leave.
George left the bar and drove directly to his apartment. He
parked and walked as calmly as possible into the building. Once in his apartment he took his suitcase out of the closet and quickly packed a few things. Before closing it, he went into his living room, took the cash that he kept in his desk and put it in his wallet, and then he looked around. There was only one thing he couldn’t leave behind, the picture of Cissy that he kept on his desk. He picked it up and hugged it to his chest, then walked into the bedroom and put the picture in his suitcase. He took the suitcase with him into the elevator and down to the ground floor where he calmly walked out the door explaining to the doorman that he was going on a short business trip and asking him to hold his mail at the front desk.