Look the Other Way

by Leigh Jones

  “Okay. Back on the record? Where do you think she came from?”

  “It’s hard to say. With the currents around here, it could be the mainland. She might also have been dropped off the causeway, or dumped somewhere in West Bay. If we don’t get a hit from missing persons reports or on the necklace, we’ll probably have the National Weather Service do some current models to find the most likely point of origin.”

  Kate looked up and out across the water. A pelican swooped and wheeled just above the white caps, finally plunging beneath the surface. When he rocketed out of the water a few seconds later, a fish tail wriggled wildly from the side of his long beak. Kate shuddered.

  “Do you think there’s any chance there’s a connection between this girl and the one from Fish Village?”

  “I have no idea,” Johnson said evenly, eyeing her notebook.

  Kate closed the cover and tucked it into the back pocket of her jeans. “Not for the story. For me.”

  “I really don’t know, Kate.” Johnson sighed. For a minute, the shadows that had haunted his eyes all summer returned. “I would love for them to be related. But who knows? People get killed all the time. We could be dealing with something entirely different here.”

  Kate nodded. She searched his face for any sign he had more hope than he was letting on. He returned her stare with a look she couldn’t decipher. Then he smiled.

  “On the other hand, maybe this is the break we’ve been hoping for.”

  Kate grinned at him. “Call me when you have something, okay?”

  “I will.”

  She turned to go and then suddenly remembered what she’d been waiting all week to ask him. “Oh! What about that lead you were going to follow up on in the Julian Costa case?”

  Frustration furrowed Johnson’s brow. “I’ve left a few messages but haven’t heard back. Looks like I’m going to have to follow up in person.”

  Kate wrinkled her nose in disappointment. But he hadn’t given up. That was a good sign.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  The next morning, Kate’s cell phone rang just as she was taking the first sip of her first cup of coffee. The sight of Johnson’s number on the screen made her catch her breath. She was still stinging from the berating Mattingly had given her when he found out she knew about a major clue in the case but couldn’t use it in yesterday’s story. He had already jumped to the conclusion that the body in the sheet was connected to the girl from Fish Village. And he was determined the Gazette would be the one to break the news. Kate fervently hoped Johnson had something to tell her on the record as she picked up the phone.

  “Your patience has been rewarded,” Johnson said, without even saying hello. “And I persuaded the chief to give you an exclusive.”

  Kate sloshed hot coffee onto her hand as she slammed down her mug and rummaged in her messenger bag for her notebook and a pen.

  “That’s no small miracle,” she said, flipping to a clean page. “I thought he would never forgive us for all the stories about the prostitution ring.”

  “He’s a practical man. He knows we need you guys almost as much as you need us. Plus, Ben might have smoothed things over with his glowing profile of the neighborhood policing plan.”

  Kate snorted. She had meant to write that story herself before she got so wrapped up in the prostitution ring saga.

  “So what do you have for me?”

  “We’re going public with the necklace today. Press conference at 3 p.m. But I’ll give you the details now so you can put up a web story before then. Just make sure you have a photographer there so you can get pictures of this thing. We’re hoping someone will recognize it and call the tip line.”

  “How much of a long shot is this?”

  “Hopefully it’s not. This thing is pretty unusual. It’s definitely handmade, but the craftsmanship is good. I’m sure it wasn’t cheap.”

  “Have you talked to the local jewelers?”

  “Yeah, none of them recognizes it. And it’s not on any of the pawn shop registries either.”

  “So, someone brought it onto the island. You just have to figure out whether it was the dead girl or whoever gave it to her. I guess you didn’t find any missing persons reports that matched her description?”

  “Not yet. We’ll be releasing a sketch this afternoon. Hopefully, between the sketch and the necklace, someone will recognize her.”

  “What about a connection between this dead girl and the other one?”

  “It’s nothing but speculation at this point. The only similarities are their age and the fact that they’re both Hispanic. That’s not much of a connection. This girl was well-dressed and groomed. She looked like she’d been to some high-end party.”

  “Did the coroner find any signs of drugs or alcohol in her system?”

  “Not a trace.”

  “What about signs of sexual assault?”

  Johnson sighed. “He said it was hard to tell. There was definitely some bruising and signs of recent trauma. But she had no defensive wounds. In fact she didn’t have a mark on her, other than the bruising around her neck. If she was assaulted, she didn’t put up much of a fight. It’s possible the sex was consensual.”

  Kate winced. What had this girl been involved with? Whatever it was, she’d bet it wasn’t consensual, since it ended with her being wrapped in a sheet and dumped in the bay. But until the police figured out who she was, they’d never know for sure.

  “Well, I’d better get going so I can get this story up as soon as possible. Thanks for giving me the exclusive. Mattingly was pretty pissed we couldn’t print anything about the necklace yesterday.”

  Johnson laughed. “Hopefully this will get you out of the doghouse.”

  “Hopefully.” When Johnson didn’t say anything in response, an awkward silence hung between them. “Well, thanks again. I guess I’ll see you this afternoon.”

  “Wait. Kate?” Johnson’s voice sounded a little strained. “I saw Brian last night. He acted kind of weird when I asked where you were.”

  Kate’s chest tightened and she squeezed her temples with her free hand.

  “Yeah ... we’re kind of taking a break. It’s complicated.”

  “It usually is,” Johnson said.

  Kate didn’t know what to say. She never expected Johnson to ask about her love life. And she had no intention of trying to explain it to him.

  “Yeah. Look, I gotta go.”

  “Hey, I didn’t mean to butt in. It’s none of my business. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

  “I’m fine,” Kate said tersely. She sighed and willed some of the tension out of her voice. “I mean, I’m fine. Thanks.”

  After they hung up, Kate picked up her coffee cup and took a long draw of the lukewarm brew. Her pulse had started to pound at the top of her head. She rarely got personal with anyone. Even after dating Brian for six months, she didn’t talk much about her family or her feelings. But when Johnson asked, explanations, excuses, and questions almost tumbled out like junk from an overstuffed closet. He could probably sort out her confusion in half the time it would take her to describe it. The urge to call him back tingled like a deep itch at the back of her neck. The downside to perpetual isolation was that at some point, the human craving for connection shouted down every rational line of self-defense. It bubbled up deep in her soul, a longing to know and be known. She’d been fighting it for years. Was the protracted war winding down? When she finally surrendered, would anyone be left to witness it?

  The dead girl’s necklace

  A heart-shaped pendant could hold the clue to solving the island’s latest homicide

  By Kate Bennett

  The young woman who washed up near Channelview Drive yesterday morning was wearing a heart-shaped pendant police say could hold the key to catching her killer.

  During an afternoon press conference, investigators unveiled the necklace and asked anyone who recognized it to call the tip line.

  “This is a unique piece of jewelry,”
Det. Peter Johnson said. “It’s not something you could just pick up at any run-of-the-mill jewelers. We’re sure someone out there will recognize it.”

  The 18 karat gold pendant is made of a vine of what look like daisies, twined into a heart shape. At the top, a tiny bird perches, its beak open as if in song.

  Before showing the necklace publicly, police took it to all the island jewelers. None of them recognized it.

  Investigators believe someone brought the necklace to the island, either the dead girl herself or the person who gave it to her. Although anyone who recognizes the necklace might hesitate to reach out to the police, Johnson insisted investigators would not equate knowledge about the pendant with involvement in the murder.

  “Someone knows who this girl is and has probably seen her wearing this necklace,” he said. “That doesn’t mean they know anything about how she died. Of course, if they do, we definitely want to hear that. But at this point, we’d like to start with her name and try to find out where she came from. Someone’s got to be missing her.”

  Once they know her name, investigators hope to retrace her steps and find out where she was and who she was with in the last few weeks.

  Like the summer’s first murder, the girl found shot to death in Fish Village, the latest murder victim remains unidentified. She did not have any ID on her body and she does not match the description of anyone reported missing in the area. The necklace offers the best hope of finding out who she is. Twenty-four hours after releasing a sketch of the young woman, investigators have no solid leads on her identity.

  Although the two murder victims share some similarities—both were young and Hispanic—investigators say they do not have enough information to know whether they’re connected.

  “At this point, it’s all speculation,” Johnson said. “If they are connected, we’ll do everything we can to find out how.”

  Galveston police have one other unsolved murder on the books—longshoreman Julian Costa. But investigators never found any connection between Costa’s death and the woman in Fish Village. They have no reason to believe this girl’s murder is connected to Costa’s either, Johnson said.

  Chapter 28

  Johnson woke up at five a.m. the next morning and arrived at the station an hour later. After the previous night’s newscasts, the tip line rang nonstop for hours. A few of the tips were credible enough to send an officer to follow up, but Johnson didn’t believe any of them held the key to solving the murder. At least, not yet. One of the secretaries was taking a call when he walked in, but she shook her head at his raised eyebrow of inquiry.

  “Yes, sir, it’s entirely possible that the aliens left the necklace when they dropped this young woman off in the Bay,” she said, rolling her eyes as she tugged on her headset. “We’ll be careful. Thank you for the warning.”

  Johnson shook his head and walked to the break room to get a cup of coffee. He expected this morning would yield another round of tips as the early newscasts rolled and newspapers hit driveways. When he walked back into the conference room where the bank of phones had been set up to take calls, two more secretaries had arrived. All three of the women were now on the phone. Johnson leaned in a corner, sipping his coffee and listening to them quiz callers to gauge their credibility. After about 15 minutes, he was ready to give up and go back to his office to look over the case file again when one of the secretaries waved at him. Eyes narrowed, pen poised over her notepad, she listened intently to the person on the other end of the line.

  Johnson’s chest tightened. He rocked forward on the balls of his feet.

  “Let me transfer you to the detective who’s heading up the case,” she said. “He’s going to want to talk to you.”

  Johnson didn’t wait for an explanation. Pointing in the direction of his office, he jogged out the door. The phone on his desk was ringing when he burst in and snatched up the handset.

  “This is Detective Johnson,” he said, perching on his chair and pulling a notepad and pen out of his top drawer.

  “Detective, my name is Ephraim Getz. I own a jewelry story in Rice Village, in Houston. I understand you’re looking for one of my necklaces.”

  “What makes you so sure you sold this necklace?” Johnson gripped the edge of his desk as he struggled to keep his voice steady so he didn’t betray his rising excitement.

  “I didn’t just sell it, detective. I made it.”

  Johnson shot out of his chair, knocking it over. It took every ounce of self-control not to shout. “You made this necklace? How can you be sure.”

  “I’m looking at a copy of the Houston Chronicle, and the photo is very detailed. This is one of a series I made this spring. Each one is unique, but they’re all similar. Variation on a theme, if you like. If you bring it to me, I can tell you for sure.”

  “Would you be able to tell me who bought it?”

  “Of course. I keep detailed records for all of my pieces. They are little works of art.”

  “I’ll be there in an hour,” Johnson said, jotting down the address before he slammed down the phone.

  His heart pounded so hard he could feel it pulsing through the vein in his forehead. This was the only lead he’d had in months. He was one step closer to catching a murderer. He silently prayed this was the break he’d been waiting for.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  It was too early for shoppers when Johnson pulled into the parking lot of Getz’s shop. It sat conspicuously on a corner, where shoppers could catch a glimpse of his glittering merchandise from the street. He had to knock on the glass door to catch the sales woman’s attention. While he waited for her to come out from behind the counter to let him in, he glanced at the display on his right. Nestled in a bed of black velvet, surrounded by diamond bracelets, Rolex watches, and engagement rings, sat three heart pendants very similar to the one in his pocket.

  “You must be Detective Johnson. Please come in,” said a young woman with auburn curls that bounced as she swung the door open wide and ushered him inside. “Mr. Getz will be out in just a moment.”

  Johnson followed her toward the back of the store, glancing at the expensive trinkets glowing under soft lights behind heavy glass. Everything about the store exuded an understated and effortless opulence. If the dead girl belonged to this world of privilege, surely someone would have missed her by now. If she didn’t belong, how did one of Getz’s necklaces find its way around her neck?

  “Detective Johnson, I’m sorry to keep you waiting,” said a short, stocky man with a shock of dark hair and a bushy mustache. He set down a thick, three-ring binder on the counter in front of Johnson, pulled off his horn-rimmed glasses and began rubbing them vigorously with a white handkerchief. “This has been quite an unwelcome surprise.”

  “I’m sure,” Johnson said, taking a small, plastic zip-lock bag from his pocket. “I don’t suppose any of your jewelry has ever shown up at a crime scene before.”

  “Hardly,” Getz said, unfolding a piece of black velvet and spreading it on the glass between them. Johnson opened the bag and slid the gold pendant onto the cloth. He held his breath while the jeweler picked it up lovingly and squinted at it for several minutes. He took out a magnifying glass and inspected the back.

  “Well, I didn’t have any doubt this was my necklace, but now that I’ve seen my stamp, I’m positive.” He handed Johnson the magnifying glass and pointed to the tip of the heart. With the help of the curved lens, Johnson could just make out a tiny “EG” etched into the gold.

  “If, by chance, someone decided to copy my design, they would hardly bother to include my stamp,” Getz said.

  “So, can you tell me who bought it?”

  “Of course. I’ve got the records right here, although I don’t need to look it up. I just sold this a few weeks ago, to one of my regular customers.”

  A shiver of excitement danced between Johnson’s shoulder blades as Getz opened the binder and flipped to a page toward the back. Under a grid of photos, the jeweler had penned names a
nd dates. He pointed to a photo of the pendant between them.

  “James Finney. October 26. I believe he said it was for his daughter.”

  “How old is she?”

  “Ten, I believe.”

  “She’s definitely not our victim then,” Johnson said, more to himself than to Getz.

  “No, and I doubt seriously Mr. Finney had anything to do with a murder. He and his wife are well-respected members of the community.”

  Johnson’s eyes narrowed. He looked hard at the jeweler. “You haven’t called him, have you?”

  “No, detective. But I assume he’s seen the news reports, just like everyone else. I’m surprised he didn’t call you himself. I’m sure there’s some very logical explanation for this.”

  “Mmmmmmm,” Johnson said, scooping the pendant back into the bag. “Until we get this cleared up, please don’t discuss it with anyone.”

  “Of course.” Getz bristled with offense. “I’m hardly interested in advertising this. It’s not exactly good for business.”

  “Can you tell me where Mr. Finney works?”

  “Hemphill and Associates. It’s a small oil company. He’s the chief financial officer. Their office is in the Galleria.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Getz. I appreciate your cooperation. If you can just get me a photocopy of that page, I’ll let you get back to your morning.”

  While the jeweler stepped behind the heavy blue curtain that separated the store from his private workspace, Johnson considered his options. If he went to Finney’s office and he wasn’t there, he would have wasted the trip. But if he called ahead of time, he would lose the element of surprise. He only had one chance at a first interview, his best shot at catching a potential suspect off guard. By the time Getz emerged from behind the curtain, Johnson had made up his mind.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  Quivers of unease vibrated through Johnson’s stomach as he rode the glass elevator from the parking garage to the fifth floor. He did not expect Finney to confess to a murder, but he hoped the man’s reactions to his questions, especially if they came as a surprise, would reveal whether he had anything to hide. The offices of Hemphill and Associates sat behind thick wood doors with discreet brass letters proclaiming the company’s name. Johnson paused and took a deep breath before swinging open one of the heavy panels and walking inside. Plush green carpet swallowed the sound of his footsteps as he walked past leather sofas and a mahogany coffee table to the receptionist’s desk. The young woman sitting behind it glanced over him quickly, taking in his battered boots, serviceable khakis and plain white, buttoned down shirt. She smiled, somewhat dismissively. Johnson belatedly wished he’d thought to put on one of his three ties.