2 Maid in the Shade

by Bridget Allison

  “I don’t think there is anything I can add.”

  “Think harder,” Harlan said gruffly.

  I closed my eyes. “Scuff marks in the closet and inside the door, diet cocktail, an earring in the loveseat cushion and a fingernail,” I shuddered, “under the closet rod.”

  “You do clean a room.”

  “Indeed.”

  “So what would your guess be?”

  “My wild guess?”

  “Why not?”

  “If you’re certain it wasn’t suicide I would guess the murderer got himself invited up for a drink, maybe they had sex or he raped her on the loveseat maybe he put her in the closet while he ran the bath, then slit her wrists, perhaps he put something in her drink earlier so he thought she would be sufficiently weakened, and he left taking his glass with him. It’s a lot of guessing.” I said apologetically, “and it doesn’t allow for her not using the phone if she came to alone. Did you find her cell?”

  “It’s not listed in the effects.”

  “A girl that age, that driven, interviewing in a new city. I don’t know if you realize for her that would be like losing a hand. She would have replaced it immediately.”

  “Maybe she was saying goodbye to that girl she was and tossed it. You know, good-bye to that life?”

  “And yet she was still a creature of habit with the low calorie drink.”

  “So what would you do next?”

  “I have no idea; check the closet rod for prints? Get the earring from the manager? The torn fingernail? Maybe she broke it trying to get the rod loose to use as a weapon? I gave the nail to the manager in a baggie with the earring, but he seemed pretty squeamish about it. He may have tossed them.”

  “I’ll send somebody over, damn little pipsqueak he should have brought that over here. Actually, step out here a minute would ya?”

  I followed him out to the squad room. No one looked terribly busy except in a feeble attempt to look terribly busy.

  “Listen up,” Harlan rubbed his forehead in weariness and disgust.

  “This gal Gretchen here, you know who she is right?” There were a couple of nods among the otherwise blank faces. “She was taking care of the room at the Dunbarton and noticed some things that support our idea that this kid…Valerie Hickman? Anyway, that the Dunbarton suicide maybe isn’t a suicide; which falls into place with some other discrepancies we’ve been discovering as we look at possible other assaults in the area. This Valerie is a young professional woman visiting town like the girls we questioned, or tried to.”

  “Now I want you to all look over the case file, and determine to my satisfaction whether it was in fact, a suicide. Hank, you go over to the hotel. Ask the manager if he happens to have left out any details and find out why. Ask him what Gretchen found; see if he gives you a baggie with an earring and a fingernail in it right off the bat. Also call down to the coroner and see if there is a fingernail missing on the body and why the Medical Examiners report isn’t in this damn file yet. Make sure it’s checked for any DNA if it’s hers.

  Hank, take Davis. And men, women, we need to do a full court press on this BEFORE it comes to light that we got too many things happening to the young ladies visiting this town. The press is already digging and hinted something to that effect this morning. We need to get in front of this.”

  He lowered his voice as he leaned towards me, “You got a few minutes?”

  I nodded, anxious to hear the rest of the story he had alluded to in that impromptu meeting.

  “Let’s go get us a real cup of coffee.”

  “I didn’t picture you as a Starbucks man.”

  “That’s good, ‘cause we’re going to “The Coffee Cup.”

  We strolled down a couple of blocks to a little isolated rectangle which was a classic dive with a sign right out of the 1950’s in the shape of a coffee cup and a line of patrons out the door. Harlan was beckoned forward by a manager and we settled into a worn orange vinyl booth. I had heard of the place of course, but never thought about spending a single billable moment hunting it down when the coffee was fairly decent and available around the clock at Goldberg, Helms and Micheaux.

  Two white mugs of coffee appeared before us as I removed my handbag from my shoulder. The waitress spun back around, dug in her apron and flung packs of sugar and cream on the table like a croupier hurling dice.

  “I’m glad to finally see this place,” I said, “but I don’t know what I could add to what I told you about the room. I am interested in hearing about the other girls.”

  “Well,” Harlan answered, “I hope from now on to hear about your impressions from any other deaths you clean up after, you’re a bright gal and you notice things.” He handed me his card and waved his hand toward me in a gesture indicating he wanted another of mine.

  He cleared his throat as I handed a card over. “Dallas called back and said you may or may not want to share something else.”

  “Can’t think of a thing,” I demurred, gulping down the hot bold brew.

  “He said something happened to you.”

  “Excuse me,” I said quickly “the ladies’ room?”

  “Over there child, but I won’t be gone when you get back,” he said mildly.

  As soon as the door swung behind me I walked to the sink and ran my wrists under the cold tap for a moment then wiped them dry. I turned in a half circle in a moment of panic as though looking for a second exit. But it was just your typical ladies’ room, no secret escape hatch.

  I pressed my forehead against the cold tile wall for a moment willing myself to calm down. Today was a symphony of emotional overload and there wasn’t a note in my psyche which hadn’t been hit.

  I heard women approaching the door, their voices carrying me back to the present and I drew in a quick breath, and pulled the handle open, startling them. As promised, Harlan was waiting patiently with two fresh mugs as I slid back over the bench. “Glad you didn’t try to make a run for it,” I quipped.

  He smiled a little, saying nothing.

  “You would have done well in sales,” I said idly. “You don’t talk; so naturally I will just sally into the conversation.”

  He tipped his mug, took a sip and set it down again.

  “I don’t actually have to tell you a thing, Dallas knows I don’t want to talk about it.”

  He considered my words carefully then tugged at his tie absentmindedly. “Dallas is a smart man, Lord knows I’m smarter than him and you might be as smart as me.” He let a ghost of a grin slide across his mouth. “So just tell it right here and then we can get it over with.”

  “Fine,” I said as succinctly as possible “I was making a big acquisition/merger deal for Dallas’s team. It was something I brought in myself with the contract signed, so it was my baby, my credit, and I was nervous. A partner came by and sat with me and gave me his Xanax. I took one, then another and had a drink with the partners. I can’t drink, “Friend of Bill’s” sort of thing.”

  He nodded.

  “Several partners offered me a lift home but I chose to walk. Poor judgment; someone rushed me, pushed me onto the pavement and raped me. I didn’t see his face. That’s about it.”

  “Can I ask why you didn’t report it?”

  “I was assaulted as a child and my dad made sure I got justice. He also made sure I would know good men. It almost worked too well, I went to camp once and the administrators called my parents to express concern that I preferred the company of the elderly Scottish caretaker to my peers.” I smiled.

  “But in this situation, look, I didn’t see the guy; I had a drink and Xanax. I’m an addictive personality so except for that night, I’m careful. Anyway, I would have been destroyed by the defense. If he had been caught he would have ended up scot free, it would have reflected poorly on my firm, and I was trying to hide the fact that it triggered my addiction. So, I just thought if I kept numb awhile and kept working, it would, or I would, be okay.”

  “How’s that working out for you?
”

  “Obviously I had to start over, I lost my job, and I feel terrible that I would be less convincing as a witness at twenty-five than I was at five. I feel culpable as far as him still being out there, but I can’t help you.”

  “You didn’t get a rape kit, didn’t keep the clothes?”

  “God, no.”

  “Did he say anything?”

  “Yes. He said if I turned over, got up, even looked at him he would make sure “the last thing my right eye took in was my left one rolling away.”

  Harlan slapped his hands on the table. “That is pretty close to what the girl who was almost abducted last month said her assailant threatened. It’s why I asked if he spoke to you. I wondered if it could be the same man.”

  “But the other girl got away. Also, I’m not a stranger here. Why do you think she may have been a victim of the same man who raped me?”

  “The threat, it comes from a cult film, maybe it’s Tarrentino, it’s called “Dog Day” Or some such.”

  “That would have to be “Reservoir Dogs” unless it’s “Dog Day Afternoon,” I don’t remember that line from either movie, but who doesn't like a good Tarrentino film?” I asked offhandedly.

  Harlan ignored that and continued, “As far as the suicide goes, I’m not saying there is a strong connection but the rape victim had also stayed at the Dunbarton.”

  I leaned across the Formica table. “Harlan, all the best firms use the Dunbarton; it is to Charlotte what the Algonquin is to New York. Anyone staying in uptown during interview season is going to be there. That place is probably chock full of newly minted finance wizards right now,”

  He nodded “I hear ya. And maybe this Valerie who killed herself has no other things in common with this gal who was almost raped except she was a stranger in town on an interview staying at the same hotel. He ticked off each of his three “coincidences” in a decisive tone. “You’re telling me I have an apple and orange and a mango and I think they all came offa the same tree?”

  “The girl who was assaulted and I may have been victimized by the same man; the quote kind of seals it, but the suicide? I can’t buy that one yet.”

  He leaned over to grab another packet of sugar on the tiny table sloshing his coffee with the force of his bulk.

  I pulled some napkins for him but he was already using his tie to absorb the liquid while I tried to hide a grin. He straightened back up and I saw a brown stain start to spread across his shirt.

  “I bet the minute you get home you peel off that tie like it’s a boa constrictor.”

  “You got that right; it’s the second worst thing about this job.”

  “And the first?”

  Harlan smiled, “Use that formidable brain of yours to figure it out on your own. But how about this? About the time we have the man we caught on camera? The boy on the front desk heard someone going out the side exit, which by the way was supposed to have an alarm on it, but it was cut off that night. So, that’s some fluke right? Anyway, I don’t think it is: I think that manager turned off the alarm. And I think he’s done it before for the same guy.”

  “Why?”

  “We’re trying to figure that out, we put pressure on him, he left just before you stopped by and he's getting pretty sweaty, called a lawyer, didn’t hand over that baggie I just found out about from you and he already had it about noon right? Not much we can do now unless we establish she didn’t kill herself. We’ll see what an autopsy shows. But I was going to tell you something else that a maid reported, hmm, something about a song? Hell I forgot. I'll look it up; that about what the maid heard.” He looked at his phone. “Hey, I gotta get back, damnit, somebody has already leaked to the press that we are looking for a serial rapist. And that, Miss, is the other thing I hate about the job. These young detectives text our leads to newspaper buddies before we’re even sure we know a thing.” He placed a five on the table and made a move to get up.

  “Can I ask you something?”

  He nodded.

  “I thought serial criminals had patterns and rituals. Doesn’t that rule out the Hickman girl?”

  “Not rapists, not to the degree serial killers have. Just like pedophiles, it doesn’t always conclude in murder unless they are afraid they’re gonna get caught. Also, two other girls over the past four months have stayed at the Dunbarton, one checked out in the middle of the night, another called the police and said a man followed her for three blocks. She ducked quickly into her hotel lobby. He stopped at the revolving doors stepped back sorta into the shadows, and waited awhile and walked on. She didn’t go up to her room until a big crowd came through the lobby and headed to the elevators. She was smart; and both those gals were in town for job interviews.”

  “I hope you aren’t implying girls who get raped aren’t smart?”

  Harlan looked heavenward in exasperation. “I’m not going to dignify that with an answer.”

  He continued, “She didn’t get the job by the way, the other girl did get an offer and declined.”

  “Who were they interviewing with?”

  “Good question, the girl who didn’t get the job interviewed at Micheaux, the girl who declined her offer and left in the middle of the night? She had come in for a second interview at IIG.”

  “Impressive. That’s a very coveted firm; I guess she got JP Morgan in New York or something?”

  “Nope, she won’t talk to us anymore but we did track her down. Yale educated gal, living with her parents and working at her hometown bank as an assistant manager.”

  “Are we drawing a conclusion that she was raped?”

  “I think it isn’t a stretch. She isn’t exactly living up to her potential.”

  “I could posit some other reasons, but to tell you the truth if I think about this anymore right now my brain cells are going to start popping like cheap light bulbs.”

  “Understandable, but let’s get back to what happened to you. You got a boyfriend, family, somebody helping you through your ah, issues?”

  “Issues?” I smiled sardonically, “I’m not a girl who has “issues” and you don’t seem like the kind of man who would use that word. Wife making you watch Dr. Phil or something?”

  “Sensitivity training,” he mumbled, “everybody in law enforcement has to have it once a year now. But from what I recollect; a girl like you, with what’s happened to you? That would generally be a girl with issues.”

  I shook my head. “I have stuff that happened to me. I reacted to it; it changed my view on things. I hate to use a cliché that is possibly more overworked than “issue” but that’s life.

  I have friends, and if you are delicately asking if I am able to have an intimate relationship…” I grinned as he winced. “I THINK so. All signs point to “Yes” probably because I had great parents who made sure I grew up with a healthy perspective on the difference between sex and assault.”

  “I’m not saying that’s easy,” I admitted quickly.

  “Um hmm,” he said, his dark face glowing with perspiration and embarrassment. “I just wanted you to know there are people I can set you up to talk with.”

  “I appreciate that,” I said in a voice that was raspy. Suddenly there was a great lump in my throat. “I’m okay, will be okay: Mostly because I don’t have any other way to be.”

  “Well,” he said gruffly, your dad sounds like a hellofa guy.”

  “Yes,” I said, “he is. But I don’t want him knowing about this.”

  “He got you through it before when you were little.”

  I stood up my height exaggerating the point I was about to make. “I’m not little anymore. I think he would be devastated to find he couldn’t help me this time, and he can’t. His work is done. But I’m better equipped than most women because of his early support. I’m all grown up.”

  Harlan grinned, “You are some gal you know that?”

  “I know I’m lucky to have had the parents I had. That overcomes a lot of bad.”

  He smiled, “Walk you to y
our car?”

  “You know, that’s nice, but I walk alone, plenty. No need. I’ll check in with you if anything else comes to mind.”

  “You shouldn’t walk alone if you don’t have to,” he said gruffly.

  I touched him lightly on the shoulder. “It’s something I do. Whoever that man was, I’m not letting him steal who I am, what I enjoy, even if it’s a bit tougher to enjoy now, I’m more careful but I’m not going to live a life cringing in fear. Right now I’ve got to get to the dry cleaners and put a rush on the Dunbarton order. So I’ll be back downtown soon if you need me.

  “By rush, you don’t mean you’re going to be speeding do you?”

  “Have you seen what I drive?” I smiled. “She’s built more for journeys than for speed.”

  “I’m going to let that go but I didn’t miss the fact that you didn’t actually answer my question. Be safe child.”

  He grinned and patted me awkwardly on the arm and we parted at the door.

  Facebook post: New neighbor: “If you feel that strongly about not being buried in a cemetery I could always drop you from my airplane over the ocean. Obviously AFTER you’re dead of course.” Me: “Wait, almost dead would be better. Unplug me from whatever and spirit me away. I can be like a small time Hoffa, “Where the hell did she go?”

  Chapter 6

  I just made it to the cleaners and they agreed to put a rush on the drapery panel. They handle everything on site, which is pretty much unheard of nowadays. They are Korean and speak very little English; nevertheless I always expressed my deep appreciation, whereupon they expressed theirs, I expressed mine again and getting out of there took awhile.

  When I got home it was almost dark. I immediately grabbed Mosey’s leash, not noticing at first that the door wasn’t locked. Bridle Springs is so safe no one thinks to lock up all the time, and between my large schnauzer and modest cabin, there are better targets for theft.

  Suddenly, I became aware of the fact the light in the kitchen was on. I grabbed the antique Celtic Shillelagh from a hook on the hearth and I walked quietly on the hardwood floor, moving closer to the room as I heard a murmur of voices.