Look the Other Way

by Leigh Jones

  Chapter 3

  As soon as the meeting ended, Kate fled the newsroom and headed to the police station, steeled for a fight.

  “I’d like to talk to Detective Johnson,” she barked into the speaker box that connected the receptionist’s bullet-proof glass bubble to the lobby. “Please,” she added when the woman’s raised eyebrows creased her forehead with incredulous furrows.

  “The detective asked me to buzz you back as soon as you got here,” she said.

  Kate just stared at her, dumbfounded. The receptionist chuckled as she hit the big red button that unlocked the door leading to the back offices.

  “Guess it’s your lucky day.”

  “Yeah, I guess so. Thanks.”

  Kate found Johnson leaning back in the chair behind his desk, elbows on the armrests, fingers spread, tips touching. His thinking pose. She sat down across the desk without speaking and waited. His hazel eyes narrowed in concentration as he focused on a watercolor painting hanging on the far wall. A muddy brown river wound between lush green hills. It exuded a sense of peace, but today it didn’t seem to offer Johnson any.

  Kate once had a veteran reporter tell her cops were a lot like criminals. They craved power and considered themselves superior to “normal” people. They chose badges over ski masks only because their egos demanded public praise. But something else drove Johnson—a genuine belief in right and wrong. He could have stepped straight out of one of the cheesy 1950s Westerns her dad loved so much, white cowboy hat in hand.

  After several minutes, he let out a deep sigh and leaned forward. Kate slid her pen from the top spirals of the notebook balanced on her knees.

  “She didn’t have an ID on her, so we’re looking at a Jane Doe until someone comes to claim her,” he said without any introduction. “I know all the Houston TV stations will be at the press conference. If you promise not to post a story until after it’s over, I’ll give you a preview. I would hate for the big city guys to beat you on the details, especially since you were first on the scene and all.”

  Kate’s exultant and grateful smile froze when Johnson held up one cautionary hand.

  “Things could change between now and then. We have officers canvassing the neighborhoods to see if anyone has an idea of who she is. If we hear anything, I’ll let you know, but it might not be until the press conference. So you have to be there.”

  “I wouldn’t miss it,” Kate said, all traces of the grin gone. “Thank you.”

  “Mmmmm...” Johnson said, eyeing her through narrowed lids, like he was trying to figure out whether he had made a good decision.

  Kate didn’t break his gaze, hoping that made her look trustworthy.

  Johnson gave her a more detailed description of the girl than she had gotten that morning. He also told her about the girl’s dying words.

  “That’s a juicy detail to release so soon,” Kate said.

  “It is. We’re hoping it might lead someone to come forward. If they knew she died with an apology on her lips, maybe they’ll be willing to offer forgiveness.”

  “Assuming she did something wrong,” Kate said, instinctively jumping to the dead girl’s defense.

  “I’m not saying she did. But her last thought in this life prompted her to apologize for something. We just want the people who love her to know that. Maybe it will encourage them to tell us what she had going on in her life that led to this.”

  Johnson leaned back in his chair and glanced again at the painting. “Guilt can be a powerful motivator,” he concluded with a sigh.

  Kate winced. She knew that all too well. On her last day in college, her newspaper adviser had urged her to set aside the only driving force she’d known since high school. They’d just learned the Texas Rangers were opening an investigation into Templeton Mental Hospital, based on her stories. “You’ve done your part. Stop chasing ghosts and move on,” he’d told her. Guilt eventually gave way to an almost manic desire for justice. It didn’t feel much different.

  Shaking off the memory, Kate stood up to go as Johnson tucked his notepad back into the top drawer of his desk.

  “Thanks again,” she said, turning back at the door to his office. “And don’t worry. I know you’ll figure out who did this.”

  Johnson gave her a slight smile and nodded. As she walked back down the hall, Kate took a deep breath. A satisfying sense of accomplishment settled over her, easing the tension lodged between her shoulder blades. For the first time in six months she felt like she’d broken through the husk of Johnson’s professional shell.

  She stopped for a celebratory burrito on her way back to the office. While she ate, she looked through all her notes one more time, mopping grease from her lips every few pages. When Lewis got back from lunch, she caught him up with what she knew. Only one headline made sense. Lewis agreed and promised to take it to Mattingly while she wrote.

  By 4:30 p.m., the story was written, edited and on the page, with a shorter version prepped for the web. Kate would call after the press conference if anything changed. Mattingly hadn’t taken a swig from his Maalox bottle all afternoon. He even told her she’d done a good job persuading Johnson to spill his guts early. She didn’t bother telling him the detective volunteered. It had been a good day.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  When Kate pulled up in front of the police station fifteen minutes later, she counted six satellite vans in the parking lot. Reporters and camera men already clogged the lobby, chatting guardedly to see whether anyone knew something the others didn’t. Kate nodded to the Houston Chronicle reporter standing at the back of the room, ready to break for the door as soon as the press conference ended. He would have to bang out a story at a nearby coffee shop and email it to his editor within 30 to 45 minutes. Kate couldn’t help but smile as she thought about her carefully written, well-vetted story already cozy on the front page.

  The police department’s PR flak stepped up to the microphone a few minutes after 5 p.m. He thanked them for coming, gave them the spelling of Johnson’s name and asked them to hold questions until the end.

  Kate felt a flutter of excitement as Johnson took his place behind the podium. He wasn’t what anyone would call photogenic. Tall to the point of being gangly, with sandy tan hair and unremarkable features, Johnson didn’t look the part of a crusading crime-fighter. But he exuded a calm assurance that compelled people’s trust. Anticipation that justice would soon be served spread warmth from Kate’s heart all the way to her toes. Johnson would not let whoever did this get away with it.

  When Johnson recalled the victim’s last words, his voice caught just slightly in his throat. Camera shutters exploded in machine gun bursts and reporters scribbled furiously into notebooks. Goosebumps spread down Kate’s arms.

  “The officers who spent the afternoon knocking on doors and talking to community leaders haven’t found any leads on the girl’s identity,” Johnson said as he wrapped up his presentation. “The Galveston Police Department encourages anyone who has any information to come forward.”

  After twice repeating the number to a hotline set up to take tips, Johnson opened the floor for questions. Kate listened carefully to her competitors’ queries, to make sure she hadn’t missed anything. She had to admit the investigation wasn’t off to a promising start. Maybe she would have to write a few more update stories than she first expected.

  But Johnson seemed equally confident the killer would soon be in custody.

  “We will find out who did this and why,” he said. “We will find someone to take this girl home.”

  ‘Lo siento’

  Unidentified victim’s dying words stump investigators

  By Kate Bennett

  The woman who died early Monday in the front yard of a Fish Village home uttered an apology with her last breath, giving police their only clue to her identity and who might have killed her.

  As the pink rays of first light streaked over the island’s East End, someone shot the unidentified woman in the stomach and escaped without be
ing seen. Frank Harper, who lives in the 200 block of Barracuda Drive, heard a single gunshot as he made coffee at about 6:15 a.m. When he came out to investigate, he found the woman on his front lawn, gasping for air and bleeding to death.

  Although she didn’t acknowledge Harper’s presence or appear to speak to him, he clearly heard her say “Lo siento” just before she died, according to Galveston Police Det. Peter Johnson. The phrase is Spanish for “I’m sorry,” and police hope it will encourage someone who knows her to come forward.

  Harper, who is not a suspect in the case, did not know the victim, nor did any of his neighbors. Officers who spent the afternoon interviewing community members and talking to area residents found no further clues about who she is or why she was in Fish Village at that hour.

  “We are just beginning this investigation, and we are confident that we will find whoever did this,” Johnson said Monday afternoon. “But the first step is to find out who this girl is.”

  Johnson described the victim as a Hispanic woman in her late teens or early 20s with long black hair and brown eyes. She was wearing jeans, a white polo shirt and well-worn tennis shoes. She didn’t have a bag or purse with her and her pockets were empty. Although she could be a Galveston resident, she might also be a visitor, making it even harder to find someone who knows her.

  Fish Village residents who gathered just outside the yellow crime scene tape shortly after the shooting said they couldn’t remember the last time anyone had been murdered in the neighborhood.

  “It’s just so shocking,” said Melanie Hurst, who lives two houses away from where the victim died. “I had just turned on ‘Good Morning America’ when I heard a loud popping noise and then the sound of tires screeching. But when I looked outside, I didn’t see anything. I thought it might have been someone’s car backfiring.”

  Hurst, a surveyor for the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers, was the only neighbor who heard a vehicle. But several people heard the gunshot.

  “I would recognize that sound anywhere,” said Paul Gaines, a former U.S. Army medic who now works for the University of Texas Medical Branch and lives across the street from the crime scene. “It was definitely a single gunshot, probably from a semi-automatic pistol.”

  Police declined to say what kind of weapon the killer used.

  Mayor Matthew Hanes, who has asked for regular updates on the investigation from Police Chief Sam Lugar, said he had complete confidence in investigators’ ability to find the woman’s identity and her killer. He also urged islanders and visitors to remember violent crime happens rarely in the city.

  “Galveston is a safe place,” he said. “We know that such violence almost never happens between strangers. No one needs to worry that we have a crazed killer on the loose looking for another victim. Once we know who she is, what happened here will make much more sense.”

  Harper, who called 911 immediately after the victim spoke, still appeared visibly shaken as police officers tramped through his yard, peering behind azalea bushes and stomping on the red and white impatiens in his front flower beds.

  “I still can’t believe it,” he said. “Never in a million years would I expect to have something like this happen here, to me.”

  Harper, an engineer with the Corps, moved to Fish Village in 1987. Since then, he’s only called the police a few times. Once, vandals knocked over his mailbox. Another time, tourists wandering up from the beach stopped to urinate on his oak tree. But he never felt unsafe, until now.

  “It just makes you think,” he said. “If something like this could happen here, it could happen anywhere.”

  Chapter 4

  Two days later, Kate sat in front of Mattingly’s desk, squirming under a barrage of criticism.

  “It’s been two days, and you still have nothing new on the murder investigation? What the hell is going on here?” Mattingly yelled. “Everyone wants to know what happened and who this girl is. Do you really believe the police have nothing to tell us?”

  “I don’t know,” Kate said miserably. “I’ve worked every single source I have in the department. They all say the same thing—the case went cold right from the start.”

  “This is a disaster,” Mattingly growled, yanking open a desk drawer and pulling out a bottle of Maalox. “I pay you to get information, and I’ve got nothing. Better yet, the publisher thinks we dropped the ball. Everyone in his Rotary Club asked him about the case yesterday. He had to say he didn’t know anything. The head of the newspaper doesn’t know anything about the story everyone’s talking about! That’s not exactly good advertising.”

  Kate stared at her hands, knotted into a tight ball in her lap while Mattingly twisted off the cap on the Maalox bottle and took two noisy gulps.

  “I want you to go to the police department right now and tell Johnson he’d better spill his guts on this investigation or we’re running with a story about his complete incompetence. Put the screws to him.”

  “But I’ve got that warehouse ribbon cutting to cover in an hour,” Kate protested, her shoulders tensing into throbbing knots at the thought of confronting the detective.

  “I don’t care,” Mattingly barked. “Do both. No excuses. This is what it means to do more with less, as the publisher likes to remind me. In case you’ve forgotten, he’s gunning for someone’s job. It could be yours. Don’t give him any more reason to tell me we can run this newspaper with one less reporter. Go.”

  Kate stood up and walked back to her desk without saying a word. Her head had started to pound in rhythm with her heart. She understood Mattingly’s frustration and the pressure he was under, but he was being too harsh. Kate also expected the investigation to be further along by now, but it had only been two days. Was that really enough time to catch a killer when they didn’t even know the victim’s name?

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  Kate squared her shoulders and steeled herself for a confrontation as she walked into the police station. When the receptionist saw her, she smiled and then glanced around quickly before motioning Kate over to her glass enclosure.

  “They still don’t have any leads,” she whispered, her mouth pressed close to the microphone that projected her voice through the partition. “They’ve gotten tips on the hotline, but nothing’s panned out so far. The other officers say Johnson thinks the girl must have been involved in something really bad, something so bad her relatives are afraid to even claim her. The other theory is that she doesn’t have any relatives close enough to claim her, or to even know what happened. It’s possible her killer was the only one in the area who knew who she was.”

  “Thanks,” Kate said, her eyes darting around the foyer to make sure no one was watching, or listening. “I really appreciate it. Is that it? I mean, do you think Johnson knows more than he’s letting on?”

  “I doubt it, but I guess it’s possible. If you’re going to go talk to him, be careful. He’s already snapped at a few of the officers this morning. And I thought he was going to get into a shoving match with one of the other detectives in the break room. He’s wound up so tight I’m surprised his head hasn’t popped off.”

  Kate nodded and headed toward the door leading to the back offices. On the drive over, she’d considered how best to approach the detective—pleading, threatening, wheedling. She finally settled on indignant purveyor of public accountability.

  “Hey,” she said as she marched into his office and sat down in the chair in front of his desk. “Just thought I’d stop by and see if you had any news for me.”

  Johnson’s arched eyebrows and pursed lips suggested her abrupt entrance wasn’t welcome.

  “I told you yesterday I’d call you if I had anything,” he said curtly. “Haven’t you learned by now I’m gonna shoot straight with you?”

  “Sure, unless the chief orders you not to.”

  “Then I would tell you I couldn’t talk, not that I didn’t have any information. But at this point, I really don’t have any information.”

  “Look, Johnson, you’re one
of the best detectives in the department. I just can’t believe you really don’t have any leads. I know it’s only been two days, but earlier this year you had that gang banger’s killer arrested within 24 hours.”

  “That was a different case,” Johnson said slowly, every word punctuating his rising frustration. “Sometimes these things take time.”

  “The public has a right to know how this case is progressing,” Kate said, staring at him determinedly. “They are footing the bill, after all.”

  Johnson slapped his palm down on his desk so hard his card holder, coffee cup and keyboard jumped. So did Kate.

  “I told you I’d let you know when I have something worth sharing,” he barked. “I don’t have anything else to say.”

  “I think you’re holding out on me,” Kate said, her hands gripping the arms of her chair so tightly she could feel her nails sinking into the wood. “I need something for tomorrow’s paper.”

  “Out!” Johnson yelled, jumping to his feet and stabbing the air in the direction of his office door. “My job is to catch the killer, not keep your byline on the front page. Next time I do have something to share, don’t expect to be the first one to know.”

  Kate cringed. She’d pushed too far and hurt her chances of getting a scoop if there was one. She briefly thought about apologizing and telling Johnson about her rebuke from Mattingly. But the last thing she wanted to do was look weak, even if she was wrong.

  Without breaking eye contact, Kate rose slowly from her chair, spun on her heel and marched out the door. She hoped her raised chin made her look defiant.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  Fifteen minutes later, the adrenaline spike fueled by her confrontation with Johnson had almost subsided. Her heart settled back into its normal cadence as she pulled up outside a bright metal warehouse that looked out of place beside its rusted and vacant neighbors. The short parking lot radiated with new asphalt that still emitted a faint burning smell. Oleander bushes freshly planted on either side of the driveway swayed gently in the clammy breeze. Two bunches of bright red balloons tethered to the shiny chain link fence surrounding the property bobbed and shuddered.