Kindred Killers: A Stanford Carter Murder Mystery

by Gary Starta

  “Yes. There is. I was just thinking how I could break the news to you gently. It’s about Lucy.”

  “God. Is she alright?” He slammed the cup on the table.

  “She’s fine.”

  “And how did you know about . . . ” His voice trailed off.

  “That rat bastard.” Jay’s head drooped. Carter attempted to ascertain if Jay’s reaction toward Sid was authentic. The man’s boyish features made it difficult for Carter to make a definitive judgment. “She is in fear for her life,” Carter said. “We have her in protective custody right now. And my experience tells me she’s about to spill everything about your relationship.”

  “So I banged a hooker. Sid says a lot of the guys have done it.”

  “It’s not about solicitation. And you know it.”

  “What else could it be about?” Jay scratched his chin with his right thumb.

  “It is about the strange nature of your relationships, Mr. Fishburne. You apparently kissed and told all to Sgt. Auerbach, betraying the confidentiality of your clients. And then, Sid told us, you made repeated and very passionate requests to make Lucy your wife. And we all know what happens when you get very personal with people, don’t we, Jay?”

  “You have nothing on me. I didn’t do those murders. I can walk out of here anytime I please. I’m only staying . . . ”

  Carter interrupted.

  “You’re only staying so you can keep tabs on Lucy. What’s the matter, afraid she’s not under your thumb anymore?”

  “It’s not like that. It was never like that. I want to help that kid. Jesus H. Christ, you’ve got to believe me.”

  “Why didn’t you confess to your friend?” Carter said, maintaining the intensity level. The lights overhead bore down on Jay, unmercifully.

  “Because I DIDN’T HAVE anything to confess! That’s why!”

  “I don’t believe you because I don’t believe in coincidences. You were connected to both victims. Don’t you know how this looks?”

  Carter stopped shuffling; he glared at Jay, hands on hips.

  Jay slammed a fist upon the table.

  “Look, bring Sgt. Auerbach in here to confirm this bullshit or I walk, NOW!”

  “Oh, but Jay. Where’s your concern for Lucy?”

  “I want Auerbach in here now, I swear, I’ll . . . ” He stammered but nothing came out of his mouth but spittle.

  “Finish your thought, Jay. Tell me how you managed to turn Dan Collins into a human pincushion. Tell me why you all but crucified Cheryl Thomas?” Carter wiped sweat gathering from underneath his nose. He was not only angry at Jay, but at himself. He was not comfortable with his vocabulary. A few days ago he all but damned a fellow cop for trivializing Collins’ murder in a similar fashion. He took a breath, reminding himself to utilize a technique that led to Pratyahara—a kind of sensory withdrawal that would allow him to tune out visual stimuli before him. It would allow him to stop judging Fishburne on external appearances. Just because Jay Fishburne appeared unsavory dressed in department store attire, he might still be an honorable man. Just because the PI had retained a boyish face for a man in his mid-thirties didn’t make him unfit to be a detective; and just because Jay squirmed like a jellyfish, his actions didn’t necessarily make him a weasel. Carter breathed in and out heavily. Carter wanted to hear the truth with no physical distractions. Carter perceived his noise making was distracting Fishburne, the PI’s body bristled. Jay’s eyes were distant. Jay’s apprehension must be coming from a faraway place, as if from a distant voice calling out over an endless field. Carter continued breathing exercises until he was sure he was focused, ready and willing to hear Fishburne’s story without a jaundiced eye.

  “Okay, Jay. Then explain your side of things.”

  Jay let out a breath in relief. He really thought I was going to strike him.

  “I will, Detective Carter. I will assist your investigation in any way possible.”

  “Okay.” Carter’s voice was now monolithic, nonjudgmental.

  Jay’s body relaxed and he allowed his hands to rest on the table.

  Carter suggested Jay explain why he waited to contact the Thomas’s—a full day after he discovered Cheryl’s whereabouts. “We have an eyewitness who places you in the bar Cheryl worked at the night before she was murdered. Can you explain the delay?”

  “Look, Mr. Thomas was very adamant about not involving police in the investigation.”

  “And you didn’t interpret this as a warning signal?” Carter asked with indifference as if he was just requesting Jay to finish a story rather than admit to possible collusion in a murder.

  “I just respect my client’s wishes. He wanted privacy.”

  Carter forced his hands into his suit pockets. He wanted to accuse Fishburne of betraying that trust with Sid Auerbach but he refrained. Instead, Carter motioned with his eyes for Jay to continue.

  “I wasn’t even sure I should approach Cheryl. The parents expressly stated that I should contact them before I make any attempt at approaching her. And I sort of agreed to a point. I think if the parents confronted Cheryl or staged any kind of intervention she would just run again. But I thought it might be better if I tried to talk some sense into her. Maybe convince her to return home on her own accord. So I left some messages on the Thomas’ answering machine requesting they advise me on my next move. Give me permission to contact her. But they never called me back.”

  “And,” Carter said, “will phone records substantiate your claim?”

  “Of course. I agree to give you full access if you’ll just stop accusing me and go after the real killer.”

  “You know Jay, another cop might suspect you waited further instructions from the parents because you were hired to do a hit. Maybe they needed to pay you some money to finish the job. But, me, I’m not that cop. I’m focused on gathering evidence to shed light on the truth. Tell me why I shouldn’t suspect you of making a hit. And remember Jay, just because someone is murder for hire, it doesn’t absolve that person of any guilt whatsoever, not even if they saw it as a mercy killing.”

  “Oh God. I could never. That poor girl was in trouble. Although Lucy didn’t . . . ”

  Jay broke off, realizing his folly.

  “Lucy didn’t . . . ?”

  “I mean Lucy wouldn’t condone me helping a girl like that. I think Lucy would have saw lot of herself in that girl.”

  “Remember, Jay, we’re channeling the truth. No lies.”

  “Alright, I told Lucy about Cheryl.”

  “Jay, our lab is working right now to analyze a hair sample we believe was found at the primary crime scene. And that hair looks an awful lot like your friend’s. So what would you say if we had evidence placing Lucy at that murder scene?”

  “Uh . . . ”

  “Wait. Stop and think carefully about your answer, Jay. If Lucy has been a dear friend—someone you want to protect—I would think you would have a very good explanation as to why we found her hair there. A lonely single strand—something another officer might interpret as a plant.”

  “I’m not trying to play this off on Lucy. Really, I’m just telling you the truth. I told her about Cheryl. I’m not fucking implicating her.”

  “What else would you think a trained detective might think? You yourself are one. I heard you even applied to the police academy.”

  “I’m not trying to pin this on Lucy. Besides it wouldn’t explain Dan Collins’ death, would it?”

  Carter smiled. “Exactly.”

  “Do you think Lucy might cop to the murder? I could be on my way to interrogate her next.”

  “Look Carter. As I requested before, I want to see Sgt. Auerbach. He’ll tell you I only wanted the best for Lucy.”

  “I can’t honor that request, Jay. But Sid is the one who told me he feared for Lucy’s safety. He thought you might go vigilante for some odd reason and hurt her when she rejected your offer.”

  “What do you mean by vigilante?”

  “Come on, f
rom one detective to another. It happens to good men and women on the force. They see evil prevail day after day. Eventually, they want to do something about it, something the justice system has failed to do. Maybe they feel they are even helping their victim by ending their life, absolving their sins.”

  “I think we’re done here, Detective Carter. Charge me or I’m leaving.”

  “Leave, but don’t go far.”

  Jay paused before reaching the door.

  “Maybe you should question Sid again, Detective Carter. He nearly beat me the other night. I think maybe he went a little over the edge. Could be a drinking problem, some kind of addiction? Will you promise you’ll look into this? Shit, we’ve been friends since school. I’m afraid for him.”

  Carter nodded.

  “And about that fender bender, I’m willing to overlook it.”

  “Mighty big of you,” Carter said, a sinister mocking tone crept back into his voice. He could only push his demons down for so long, to conceal them in boxes before they learned to break their chains. Maybe Jay suffered a similar malady, one that allowed him to murder and redirect the blame to his so-called friends.

  Carter watched a surveillance camera monitoring the crime lab’s parking lot a few minutes later. He observed Jay Fishburne navigate his car away through puddles of water when he overheard a commotion in the hallway.

  He ran to overhear. The lab’s secretary Amanda Parsons pointed a pen at a screen as Carter passed by. An anchorman spoke of a murder, a photo of Donnie Cinelli graced the back portion of the screen.

  “Shit!” Captain Eldridge yelled.

  “How the fuck did the media beat us to the scene?”

  “Probably followed an ambulance,” Carter muttered underneath his breath, too low for anybody but Parsons to hear.

  Eldridge yelled, “When it rains it pours.”

  Carter moved to intersect Eldridge who was huffing down the hallway in the opposite direction.

  “I’ll take the investigation, sir.”

  “No way, Carter. You’re already knee deep in shit. And you’re not pulling a triple shift. I’m sending the swing team to investigate.”

  “Who will oversee?”

  “Detective Sajak. You have a problem with that?”

  “Only that he’s inexperienced and he’s already up against the wall. The media, not to mention a flash flood probably washed away most evidence.”

  “That’s why I’m sending a fresh team to investigate. Sajak can handle this Carter, go home and get some sleep.”

  ***

  He felt her supple young body in his hands. When they first became physical he often wondered if a younger woman could really come to love an older man.

  He rolled over and she mounted him. She pushed away her long hair with one hand, and inserted his cock into her with the other. She moaned with pleasure—an intangible element he had always strived to give her. But lately, he feared their union had only served to hinder that pleasure.

  He felt the steady rhythm of her thrusts. He was glad she was able to block out the troubles of the past few days. Her eyes were closed and her mouth was open, resembling the shape of an O.

  She continued making a guttural sound in her throat.

  And in that instant, Carter felt he was indeed at one with his love.

  He did not feel an age barrier existed, nor did he give credence to the bureau policy prohibiting married couples from working together. At this moment, he realized Jill and he were in a place free from restriction, free from the barriers of time and place. He perceived her as at one with herself, a contradiction of sorts, because they were physically intertwined. But Carter realized in this instant, one does not have to be physically alone to achieve an inner peace. He must learn to let Jill in, even if she had become privy to the darkness he tried to conceal from her. And then her thrusts had become too strong to ignore, too primal for Carter to remain in thought, his head felt light with drunkenness and he succumbed to her orgasm, releasing a part of himself in response to her joy. She opened her eyes and the joy he had missed in them so sorely just hours ago returned, unblemished from life’s circumstances, it was raw, real and natural. A dawn of a new day—a sunrise—the first blade of grass indicating Spring’s return; it was all reflected in her eyes if one only took the time to see it.

  She arched her back and brought her head down to shower him in kisses.

  “I hear makeup sex is the best,” Carter managed to murmur, still lip locked.

  “But someone has to makeup or at least attempt to apologize for that to happen,” she laughed, running her hand through his hair, her eyes beaming with light.

  “I apologize for my actions today,” Carter said. “For a second, I saw a gun in Fishburne’s hands.”

  “But silly, that was just a cutting edge pair of binoculars”

  “But wouldn’t Fishburne still be holding them up to his face?”

  “They have a digital readout screen. So instead of peering through two small holes an image is displayed much like a digital camera. You would have known about this if you bothered to read my requisition request report. I requested them for all field officers in last month’s wish list.”

  “Well, then you know all about budget cuts, too.”

  “Yeah, fucking Captain Eldridge is probably wishing pay cuts for all bureau personnel. But”, her voice trailed off,” he probably already achieved his goal with my transfer. You know he’s a real fuck.”

  “Such language.”

  “Well, what do you expect from the mouth of a sexually euphoric woman, anyways?”

  “I expect her to forgive me.”

  She looked into her eyes and paused a moment before planting a quick kiss on his lips.

  “I do.”

  “Will you be repeating those words at the ceremony?”

  “I hope so. Stanford, I want us to be married, more than anything, you’ve got to know that. I just wonder what effect my transfer might have upon us.”

  “In what way?”

  “We both live for our jobs. We are both dedicated, both stubborn in our ways. Will we have a life, will we have our love if we no longer share our loves—our jobs?”

  “We can always share our day.” Carter stroked Jill’s cheek.

  “I will miss working with you. I should have told you this before. My love for you will always be greater than love for job.”

  He wrapped both arms around her in a bear hug.

  “We are intertwined—karmically speaking of course.”

  “Did I hear Detective Carter, proper Bostonian, use slang?”

  “You know,” he began, his tone more serious, “I did feel like I had a Zen experience today.”

  “You mean a moment of Zen?”

  “Yes. I told you I feared for someone else’s safety. From a distance, I saw a clear picture of a young couple. They were as close as you are now, only perhaps I viewed them with my analog binoculars,” he pointed to his forehead. “My third eye. They were in trouble. At least in the way I interpreted it. I thought they might be killed with Fishburne’s car.”

  She urged him to continue, kissing his neck.

  “I also saw a sign. It said ‘Last Chance.’ It flashed over and over as I closed the distance between Fishburne and myself. I also heard the lyrics to a song, a man sang about a passage in time, about beginnings and endings. I felt trapped in the moment, as if I had been given a last warning, a message of some sort about how to proceed. And I think it might be about us.”

  “About us? How? Our marriage, our work?”

  “I have to think more about it, sweetheart. But for now, I suggest we both get some rest. We have another trying day ahead of us.”

  ***

  Jill tossed and turned more than a few times that night. She was not quite sure if Carter really needed time to interpret his karmic message.

  She took her place on the mattress, her back to Carter’s. She pretended to sleep, but her eyes were open. She felt Carter’s hand on the small
of her back but it didn’t provide the comfort he hoped. Instead she wondered about betrayal and if friends were really capable of knifing each other in the back.

  She began to think about Lucy, wondering if she was just some wayward girl in need, who just happened to catch the fancy of a private eye still green enough to believe she could be changed. Or was she a monster in disguise? She continued to think about the duality of the situation and realized to her horror, that Lucy had ample time to kill Donnie Cinelli. And if that was the case, perhaps the murders were not about motive at all.

  Chapter 18

  Jay Fishburne was still lightheaded after an induced night’s sleep. The interrogation had taken its toll. Especially the insinuation that he not only murdered two people but also had set up the love of his life—Lucy—to take the fall had been too much to bear. Add the fact that his best friend in the whole world—Sid—had accused him of murder and Jay Fishburne PI, wannabe cop, had been nothing short of a bundle of nerves after leaving the bureau despite the detective voice in his head that assured him everything would work out fine. But how the hell would it? Last night a sleeping pill gave him some peace but no answers. When he had awoke he recalled how he had foolishly text messaged Lucy several times over the course of the night. If Carter was indeed telling the truth, Lucy had spent the evening in a holding cell under guard by police, and if so, might not a cop be privy to his attempted messages, possibly interpreting it as a desperate attempt to contact her, possibly to threaten her to keep her mouth shut? Yes. That’s the way a cop would see things. He stared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror while shaving, quietly swearing how all cops were closed minded. Perhaps he wouldn’t have made a very good cop because he was more open-minded. Look at Carter. He all but salivated hoping to get a confession out of nothing more than circumstantial evidence. No. Jay Fishburne wouldn’t have lasted on the force. Thinking of himself in the third person, he didn’t even feel the water he was splashing onto his face. Cops would have confused Jay’s open mind with gullibility. They would have said Jay Fishburne’s leniency might keep a killer on the streets. But little did Jay Fishburne know, blotting his face with a towel, how much he had misread the lieutenant detective, and that his fantasy profile of himself was really a caricature—inaccurate and unjustified—because when he thought of himself he was really thinking of Boston’s most successful crime stopper who would be none other than Stanford Carter. Jay Fishburne would never admit this truth to anyone, not even himself.