The Suitcase

by T V Scribner

  As a rule, many workers were in and out of the refrigeration area, and it never posed a problem, but now there was a reason to replace the existing door, with one having an inside handle, as a safety measure. He also considered calling a company to install video cameras outside…maybe it was time to do that, too? But first, he needed to handle freezer safety issue. Before making the call to the refrigeration company, he checked the front dining area, making sure his assistant manager, had things under control.

  Boy, I hope the murder doesn't have a detrimental effect on my bottom line, he thought. Second-guessing himself, he wondered if he’d made a mistake hiring Gregore—and I even gave him a second chance! He was strange from the get-go…I should’ve listened to my wife. I'll listen next time, he vowed to himself. Ruminating on this, he remembered it was almost time to go to police headquarters, to see Detective Boone.

  “Now where is Gregore's personnel file?” he muttered to himself. Detective Boone wanted him to bring it along, so he began a search of his office for the file. Drawers were opened and closed, but he found nothing. This mess needs straightening, he realized, and began rifling through papers. That's when he noticed the employee files scattered on the desktop, mixed with some packing slips, which also needed filing.

  However, as the employee files caught his attention, he also noticed a locked drawer in his desk, which appeared to have been pried open, and carefully closed again. A tug on the handle, and sure enough, it was not locked anymore, and he could make out tiny scratches on the metal lock. This drawer held spare keys for the various entrance doors, registers, etc., but all the keys seemed to be present and accounted for. How odd, he thought?

  Why would anyone be looking through these drawers, when nothing was missing? Turning his attention to the rest of the office, he methodically searched through other drawers, in a small corner desk, then the large filing cabinet, located in the corner of the office. He was satisfied nothing else had been taken. Whoever did this, obviously was looking for something, but what? The office had been searched by someone, who left it just as messy, as he found it.

  However, Ben returned to the personnel files on his desktop. Ben could tell they were out of place, and for this reason, he knew someone really had been in his office! Ben scanned the files, found Gregore's and put it next to his jacket, until time to leave for the precinct. Ben resumed another search—that one for the refrigeration company's business card. He finally located it, and called.

  "Hello? May I please speak to someone regarding a replacement door for my commercial freezer?” Several minutes later, a salesman came to the phone. “Yes, this is Ben Wister, owner of Ben's Burgers, in Pinecrest. How soon can someone come out to replace the door, of my walk-in refrigeration unit? A new door is needed...a new one with an inside handle." He waited on line for a few minutes, then said, "Model number? Let me see," and he looked through a few invoices. "The unit is a CC5-54."

  Paisley arrived at the precinct at the appointed time, and noticed Detective Boone, standing outside, on the entrance steps of the station. The station itself, was a two-story building, taking up almost the entire block of Euclid Street, with replicas of antique, three-globe, Victorian light posts lining the parkway. The precinct was located opposite a two-story courthouse and jail, and was situated next to a law building on the left, and a large parking lot flanked by an office complex, on the right.

  Seedy little bail bond store-fronts, were down the street and around the corner, for those unlucky enough to need them. The cement feel of the precinct's structure was softened with parkway trees and small shrubs planted strategically in front of the building. A bronze statue of a police officer stood near the steps, ringed by a flower bed filled with colorful spring tulips. After parking in the police lot, Paisley climbed out of her Jeep, and walked the rest of the way.

  Nearing the steps, the colorful flowers beginning to bloom attracted her attention for a moment, then she looked up, at Detective Boone, waiting on the top step. As she neared, he seemed taller than she remembered from their brief encounter, at Ben's Burgers. Her attention had been on many other things at the time, but looking at him now, she guessed him to be six-feet plus, and with his tan face, he looked like he'd just returned from a vacation in a warmer climate.

  By the time she stood in front of him, she thought OMG, there they were! His blue-denim eyes sparkling in the sunlight! The toes of his boots peeked out from the bottom of his jeans, as he stood, leaning against a pillar, arms crossed over his chest, one foot crossed over the other. Paisley couldn’t help but silently congratulate herself, for being right about the cowboy boots! His smile widened when he greeted her, which of course, displayed his beautiful white teeth…and she tried hard to ignore his good looks.

  “C’mon, let's go in.” He motioned her to follow, ushering her inside the double doors of the precinct, and into the building. She took her sunglasses off her nose, and pushed them up on her head, as they both approached the front desk.

  "May I help you?" the receptionist said to Paisley, while buzzing Boone through. Paisley didn't recognize this girl, and wondered where Jane, the regular receptionist was, who would have recognized her and waved her through also!

  Before she could answer, Detective Boone spoke to the receptionist saying, "She's with me...she works here too...we're having a meeting."

  While the receptionist was batting her eyes at Boone, she buzzed Paisley through, who now had to pick up her pace to catch up to Detective Boone, with his long stride. Slightly miffed by the exchange at the receptionist's desk, she felt like an underling, which of course she was, but that was beside the point! Where was the respect? She decided to set her irritation aside, for the time being.

  Boone made an abrupt turn to the right, down a putty-colored hallway, lined with pictures of old police cars from the 1950s, and of the precinct itself, before it was expanded and remodeled. There were portraits of past officials handing out achievement medals, and before turning left, they passed portraits of previous Police Captains, with brass nameplates, on the mahogany frames, encasing their portraits. The hallway continued past rooms and offices, and at the end of the hall, there stood an open door.

  This was the room he had garnered, and they entered. An espresso-colored, rectangular table and four matching, wooden office chairs, sat in the middle of the room, with papers and pens on one end, and a laptop sitting on the opposite end. A tall olive-drab filing cabinet with three or four reference books of some sort stacked on top, was positioned next to the only window in the room.

  "Please have a seat, Ms. Ingles," he said. "It is Ms., isn't it?"

  CHAPTER 7

  "Thanks. Yes, it's Ms." He's much too formal she mused, as she gracefully sat in an uncomfortable-looking, straight-backed chair, which would have been more appropriate in an interrogation room. She'd have to work on his formality, if their paths were going to be crossing.

  "I'm sorry to take up your time today, but since you were on the scene first, I'm looking forward to hearing what took place." His tone became serious. "This is a curious case. Right now, it's an open investigation because the actual cause of death has yet to be determined. There's going to be an autopsy, and in the meantime, we need to get all the facts we can, to determine how it happened, who did it and why."

  Paisley stared at him. He sat stiffly in his chair. She felt like saying, "Ya, I know!" But instead replied, "I'll give you all the information I have." It was Boone's turn to look at her without any distractions, and he found himself noticing how cat-like her amber-colored eyes seemed—and how they contrasted with the pale pink of her shirt, and…how different she looked from their meeting earlier, at Ben’s.

  She waited for him to continue, her long jeans-clad legs crossed and her arms jauntily resting on her knees, hands open to the floor, as they dangled on either side of her legs. She was ready and willing to offer up any facts that might be helpful.

  "This meeting is perfect, since I had to work this afternoon anyway, Dete
ctive Boone," she began.

  Staring at her for a second more, he caught himself, and quickly looked down at his notes, "Now if I could, I'd like to ask you a few routine questions, as to what occurred when you first arrived at Ben's Burgers this morning."

  "Of course," she answered demurely. She presumed he would want the events to be recounted, exactly as she remembered them, during which time, she assumed he'd make notes on the worn, yellow legal pad sitting on his desk, and then request an office employee to type his notes up later.

  "I'd been on an early morning run and arrived at Ben's a few minutes before it opened, at seven. When the doors were unlocked, I went inside to get a Diet Coke, when Jerry, one of the employees, came running out from the back of the kitchen, panicked and yelled something about the freezer.” Watching, as Detective Boone scratched down a few notes, she asked, "Am I talking too fast?"

  "No, no...you're doing fine," and he looked up at her adding, "please continue."

  "Well, I ran back to see what had happened, entered the cooler and noticed the freezer door was ajar, so I cautiously opened it. As I entered, I saw a boot sticking out from the recess between two shelving units at the back of the freezer, and stepping towards it, there he was—a dead man. I felt his neck. There was no pulse, so I had the front-end manager, who had followed me into the freezer, hurry up front, to call 911."

  "Did you see anything amiss? Did it look like there had been a struggle? Anything else you can tell me?"

  "Hmmm, I remember when I put my fingers on his neck to feel for a pulse, that I had to move his collar, because it was buttoned, and when I did, I saw reddish-purple marks on his throat. It appeared to me he might have been strangled. As for any other details, I think I’d like to sit down in a quiet place, and carefully go over the morning's events in my head...there was so much commotion around..." her voice trailed off and she thought for a moment, "...but, if you like," she perked up, "I'll write a detailed report, and this way it will give me a chance to think everything through, and I’ll have it ready for you in the morning."

  Detective Boone sat there with scribbles on his notepad, and contemplated what she offered. "A great idea, I'm sure you didn't expect your morning to turn out this way, but before I forget, were you talking to the owner of Ben's Burgers? Did he have access to information about the murder before I arrived?"

  "Not really," she said, "everyone was in a state of shock, and with so much confusion, I decided to say as little as possible to anyone, so as not to give out misinformation."

  "Good police procedure," he acknowledged, and nodded his head. She repositioned herself in the uncomfortable chair. Was his comment a pat on the head, she wondered? She continued, "Ben wanted to see who the dead employee was, for himself. I obtained permission from Officer Ryan to take him back to the freezer for a quick look, and Ben verified that the employee was indeed, Gregore Kamorov."

  Hesitantly, Paisley decided to ask for any information Boone had been able to ascertain from the employees, just to fill in the blanks for her, but he wasn't very forthcoming and the few answers he gave, were vague. She contemplated his demeanor for a moment, and decided not to pursue it any further.

  "Any more questions, Detective?" she asked. "

  "Nope! I'll be looking forward to your written report."

  "Then I'll start on it now, and detail everything I can recall." She stood up to leave, but on second thought, changed her mind, and said, "Before I go, I have a couple of questions."

  “Go ahead, I'll answer them if I can.” The Detective also stood up.

  "Well, I was wondering when we'd find out the actual cause of death, it seems awful to think Kamorov just sat there, you know what I mean? And then there're the red marks I saw on his neck…so, I'd like to be informed concerning the autopsy’s findings.”

  "The autopsy should tell the tale," he said. “It will be conducted in the next day or two, depending on how busy things are at the morgue. The body is at the Ramsey County Coroner’s Office, so hopefully we'll have the results soon."

  "Do you suppose...well...would you tell me when you find out the results?"

  “I’m sorry, only department people assigned to the case are allowed access to that information," he explained, "until it's released to the press." He observed a slight disappointment register in her cat-like eyes, just for a moment.

  Not liking this answer, she felt it was time to make a stand! In a defiant tone, she replied, "Well, I do have authority to view records, and if you check with Lieutenant Banks—he'll vouch for me, since my position falls under his jurisdiction. Also, I can show you my credentials!"

  Startled to see how defensive she became, he tried to assure her, "Oh, no...that won't be necessary..." he said, backpedaling, as he attempted to pacify her.

  Ignoring his comment, she continued, "Actually, I am a detective, hired part time at the moment, as a Computer Forensics Specialist. I'm also associated with Peter Higgins, the District Attorney, as I do some work for him, on occasion. A desk and computer are my tools of the trade…for the moment, anyway. When I'm here at the precinct, I share an office with one of the secretaries, Millie, on the other end of the building, and I also, go out in the field frequently, with different officers to analyze computers of various suspects, and many times they're collected and brought here to the computer lab for me to hack into, to discern their contents!”

  After her lengthy diatribe, Boone could do nothing, but stare at her. He was unable to hide the surprise on his face, at her reaction.

  Back-pedaling again, he explained he hadn't fully realized what her position was, at the department. "I'm fairly new here too.” he said. “And, I apologize, Ms. Ingles—Detective Ingles…” he corrected himself, and at that moment his phone rang.

  Boone answered and carried on a conversation, which consisted of perfunctory yeses and noes, which ended as abruptly as it began. Paisley decided they'd finished their conversation for the time being, and knew he had work to do.

  However, before she left, she said, "Okay, but one more thing, why did you give me the warning earlier, when I was leaving Ben's Burgers...the part when you said, I should be careful, as I left? Did you know something, which I should know?”

  The detective deftly side-stepped the question, by saying, “It’s just police procedure. I wanted to remind you, perpetrators can still be lurking at crime scenes, watching. It was only a precaution.”

  Accepting this explanation, she finally turned to leave. Detective Boone jumped up and came around the desk to shake her hand and assure her, he'd check with the lieutenant and keep her in the autopsy loop. He handed her his card, then she reached into her purse and handed him, hers! With that, Paisley left the room, and strode down the hallway.

  Boone went to the door and peered out. He watched her determined stride, as she hurried down the corridor. When he looked down, her card was still in his hand, a precinct-issued card, just like his, with the police shield logo, her name, and the number of her office phone.

  Back at his desk, he sat down and realized he'd been caught off guard, by this woman. Smiling to himself, and turning his attention to matters at hand, he managed to shuffle a few papers, before Ben Wister arrived. Boone hadn't interviewed him earlier, because Wister needed to get his establishment back to normal and running smoothly, following the morning's disruptions. He hoped Wister remembered Kamorov’s personnel file.

  Paisley was dying to look back, as she strode down the hall, to see if Detective Boone was watching, but pride prevented her from giving him the satisfaction. Hurriedly, she passed the front desk and turned right, into a different wing of the precinct, which led to a small office at the end of the corridor.

  Millie Adams, a department employee who handled the precinct's voluminous paperwork, shared the office with Paisley, but was't at her desk, when Paisley entered. She put her purse in her lower desk drawer, and sat down in a dark gray, Naugahyde rolling office chair, and scooted up to her standard issue, gun-metal gray, office desk, p
owered on her laptop, and waited for it to boot.

  As she gazed out the small office window into the precinct's back parking lot, her thoughts drifted to Detective Boone and the meeting which had just transpired. She wondered, who is Detective Boone…really? She had questions. Why didn't the department's lead detectives, Barnes or Ryan, who'd been on the force for years, interview her? And why had Boone been made the lead detective on this case, since he was as new to the force, as she was? It made no sense.

  Paisley turned her focus to her computer and began her report. After forty-five minutes of methodically chronicling everything which transpired earlier at Ben’s, she finally finished, and realized the report was longer than she’d intended. But, she included every detail, every movement, every conversation she could recall, to make the report accurate. This was her first opportunity to write a murder report, and she wanted it to be perfect! She couldn't help it—she was a hopeless perfectionist and over-achiever.

  CHAPTER 8

  As Paisley was about to print out her report, the door opened with a flourish, and Millie stood for a moment, before dragging herself into the office from her lunch break, and plopping down in her desk chair. Hers was black. In an exasperated voice, she declared the day a disaster. The black-rimmed, professor-style glasses, which usually slipped down on her nose, gave her round face the look of a stern librarian—or perhaps, a mad scientist? Paisley couldn’t decide. Millie’s sandy blond hair appeared a little mussed, and she was definitely out-of-sorts!

  "What's the matter?" Paisley asked, surprised to see her so frazzled.

  “For the entire time I've worked here, never have I typed this many interviews!" she snapped back. Then as soon as she'd uttered this, she said, "Oh...I'm sorry Paisley, I didn't mean to sound so cranky...and I certainly didn't mean to take it out on you!"