The Suitcase

by T V Scribner

  CHAPTER 11

  Pinecrest

  Paisley arrived at the Police Station a few minutes after nine, and rushed into the lobby, stopping at the receptionist's desk. Jane, fortunately, was back this morning, "Is the Captain in?" she asked.

  "I believe so, Detective Ingles," she replied.

  However, Jane’s answer was almost lost, as Paisley flew by, as she managed to turn and call back to Jane, "Good, would you please let him know I'd like to speak with him for a minute?" And without waiting for a reply, she continued down the hallway, turning around once more to call back, "Oh, and Jane, you can buzz me in my office, whenever you're able make an appointment.”

  "Okay," Jane said under her breath. Jane Goodman, a longtime receptionist for the department, shook her head at Paisley's quick fly-by. She peered over her glasses at the figure charging down the hallway, before picking up her phone to contact the Captain's office.

  As Paisley rushed down the corridor, she fumbled in her purse for her chap stick again, but came up with the flash drive, and made a "Dahhh,” noise, before throwing it back in her purse. She dug in again, and found the chap stick, just as she whipped around the corner and into her office.

  "Hi, Millie! How are things today?" Paisley said, trying to catch her breath before continuing, “According to the news reports on the radio, I guess everyone at the station is working on the murder! Anything new?"

  "Whoa! Slow down a minute. What's your hurry?" Millie held up two hands, palms out.

  Paisley dropped her purse on her desk, pulled out her chair and plopped down. "I'm sorry Millie, I guess I'm just excited about the murder, and I'm ready and rare’n to go, to help investigate it!”

  "Wow! I haven't heard that expression since the last re-run of some old Western I happened to see on TV—and only because it was late at night, and I was too tired to turn it off," Millie added.

  "Really? Well, I think my Dad used to say it to us when we were little—sorry, it just popped out,” she laughed, then booted up her computer.

  Millie looked at her, and folding her arms across her chest, she leaned back in her chair. "Well, anyway, nothing big yet. The autopsy report won't be here for a day or two from what I hear, but once we get it, there'll be something to work with."

  Paisley rolled her somewhat squeaky chair up to her desk, and spied a message on a sticky note, which indicated Ben had called. She reached into her purse, retrieved the flash drive, and set it front and center, on the desk pad. Grabbing the phone, she dialed the number for Ben's Burger's. When someone finally answered she asked to speak to Ben, and he immediately came on the line.

  "Ben, this is Paisley, what's up?"

  "I thought you'd like to know, I’ve asked my employees about the little drive and no one claimed it. However, right after you left, this fellow came in, whom I'd never seen before, claiming to be a friend of Gregore. He wanted to know if I had Gregore's belongings, and if so, would I check to see if a 'thumb drive' was among his things—a thumb drive?"

  "Yes, a flash drive is sometimes called a thumb drive—it's the same thing," she said.

  "Oh, okay, I didn't know. He said Gregore borrowed it and he wanted it back. I told him that Gregore's things could not be disturbed, because of the investigation. He seemed irritated, and acted nervous. I told him a flash drive had been found by you, and that was the only drive I was aware of...I told him maybe he should go to the precinct, to see if it was what he was looking for, and gave him your name, and your number, in case he preferred calling.”

  "Well, that's peculiar? Did he give you his name?"

  "No," Ben said. “…I didn't think to ask him, and he didn't say...."

  Paisley interrupted Ben, "Can you describe him?"

  "I only remember he was Caucasian, average height and weight and was wearing a camo ball cap and camo hoodie. Maybe brown eyes, I dunno, but for sure he had a scraggily, unshaven face."

  "Good to know," she said.

  "Also," Ben continued," it was hard to tell, but I guessed him to be in his mid-thirties... didn't seem like someone who would be a friend of Gregore's. Sorry I didn't pay more attention!"

  "It's OK, you did great, and I appreciate the information. Hopefully, he'll get in touch with me, and if it is his flash drive, it'll be returned it to him. Maybe he can tell us more about Kamorov? Thanks for contacting me. Anyway, have things settled down in your place today?"

  "Quite the contrary! After we talked yesterday, word got around from all the publicity, and more people than ever, flooded in—probably out of curiosity—it was great for business! And, our regular customers offered their condolences, they’re all very supportive," Ben said.

  At least there was a happy tone in his voice. She was glad to hear things were going well, and informed Ben she'd stop by in a couple of days. As she put down the receiver, the intercom buzzed and a light began to blink.

  She depressed the speak button, and said, "Yes, Jane?"

  "The Captain said he would be happy to meet with you in fifteen minutes."

  When Paisley put the phone down, Millie, who couldn't stand it any longer, finally said, "Aren't you going to look at the Pinecrest Gazzette?" She looked at Paisley with expectation in her eyes.

  "Oh!" Paisley looked on top of the file cabinet next to her desk, then reached over to pick up the newspaper. "Oh, no!" she muttered. Right there on the front page, was a picture of her in her old hoodie, with a ball cap on, talking to a police officer.

  The headlines read: “BODY DISCOVERED IN FREEZER AT BEN'S BURGERS”, followed by the sub-headline: “GREGORE KAMOROV FOUND EARLY MONDAY MORNING AT BEN’S BURGER BY EMPLOYEE AND OFF-DUTY DETECTIVE, PAISLEY INGLES”. The caption under her picture said: "Local police detective, Paisley Ingles, declares employee dead at the scene, after the Assistant Manager takes her to the freezer to see the body he'd discovered".

  The article proceeded to recount the rest of the events following the discovery, with a vivid description of the body, and the rest of the procedures that took place after the body was removed that morning, including the description of the forensic investigation process, and several media interviews with a few of the employees who were present at the time.

  "I don't need this!" she moaned, tossing the paper to the side.

  “But it's exciting, Pais! Just think—you're famous now!" Millie said excitedly, "I've been waiting for you to come in and see it all morning!”

  "Wouldn't you know, I was dressed all scruffy for my big debut? Nooo...!" She drew out the no, moaning, "Why, couldn't I have had my hair styled and a cute outfit on—it had to be with my raggedy running clothes—my hair a mess, and an old ball cap on my head!"

  Both began laughing at the absurdity of Paisley caring more about her coiffure and couture, instead of the fact that she just pronounced someone, deceased. “Oh well,” Paisley said, and kept an eye on the clock, waiting until it was time to visit the Captain. At the fifteen-minute mark, she was up and out the door.

  Captain Bower's office was on the second floor, at the far end of the building, and around a corner at the end of a short hallway. Reaching his office in record time, she entered the outer office and gave his receptionist her name, adding, "I have an appointment." She took a seat in a guest chair.

  The phone on the desk buzzed, his receptionist answered, and informed the Captain, "Ms. Ingles is here." She listened, then told Paisley, "Captain Bowers will see you now," and smiled.

  The Captain's door stood slightly ajar, so knocking gently, Paisley said, "Captain Bower?"

  "Come in, come in," he said in a jovial tone. Haltingly, she pushed the door open and stepped into an office, with a large, highly polished, oak desk placed in front of an oak paneled wall displaying various awards and commendations. An American flag hung from a flag pole anchored in a circular brass stand, in the corner of the room, while a medium-sized artificial potted fern (at least she thought it was artificial), sat in the opposite corner.

  Behind the desk, sitting in a cordovan leath
er office chair, Captain Bower, with a kindly look on his face, and twinkling brown eyes, smiled as she entered. Neatly combed white hair, highlighted a receding hairline, and his face was like tanned leather. Despite crow's-feet, and generous laugh lines, a touch of youth was still visible in his welcoming smile.

  "Take a seat," he said, as he gestured towards one of the chairs. "What can I do for you?"

  "Well, sir," she said, after sitting down and attempting to control her nerves, "I know I'm fairly new here..." she hesitated.

  "What is your department and position?"

  "Presently, I'm a Computer Forensics Specialist."

  "Ah, yes," he leaned back in his chair, "very good. How long have you been with us? I do recall your transfer—you came from California, is that right?"

  "Yes, sir, I did—about three months ago." Did he remember that? Or did someone tell him this morning…she wondered?

  "Well, what can I do for you?" He leaned forward with both arms on his desk, fingers entwined and a hint of amusement in his kind eyes.

  With all the confidence she could muster, she cleared her throat and said, "I was wondering if I might specifically, be assigned to help with the Ben's Burgers homicide case. I'm friends with Ben, the owner, and I was the first on the scene to locate the body. I want to assist in bringing the person who committed this crime, to justice! I definitely want to participate in this investigation."

  There! She said it! The Captain sat back in his chair again, his elbows on the chair arms, then put his hands together, tenting his fingers. He looked at her for a minute or two, as he rocked slightly, back and forth in his chair, pondering her curious request. Finally, he leaned forward, looked Paisley directly in her eyes, and said, "Ms. Ingles, your expertise is in computer forensics and...well, I don't know how you'd be able to help on this case?"

  "Sir," she began, and leaned forward, ”I can help in several ways—I can do research on the victim, or any suspects or perpetrators we find, by using my computer skills. I can coordinate information with other sources, check computers or other media belonging to the victim for pertinent information, track down acquaintances and family...it would mean a lot to me!" The Captain listened to her with interest as he swiveled slightly in his chair. She barely took a breath and continued, "Besides, although I was hired as a liaison to the department as a CFS, I am also a detective. I graduated from the Carpenteria Police Academy, in California."

  Satisfied she'd made her case, she smiled cordially at Captain Bower, and relaxed her posture.

  "Yes," he said thoughtfully, amused by her chutzpah, “I suppose you could help track down leads with the victim's computer, which we'll soon have in our hands." There was something about her assertive attitude that he liked. "So, I'll tell you what, I'll assign you to Detective Boone, and the two of you can decide how to proceed with the investigation, and he can determine where you will be the most effective."

  "Thank you, sir." She smiled, stood and leaned over the desk and shook his hand vigorously. He rose, and walked around the desk to usher her out.

  "By the way," he grinned, "that was quite an article in the newspaper, about you at the crime scene!"

  Paisley reddened, "I had no idea my picture was being taken...there was so much going on..." she stammered.

  The Captain chuckled, "My secretary will let Detective Boone, know of your new assignment, and inform him to meet with you, as soon as possible."

  "Thank you, sir, thank you so much!"

  She hoped she hadn't sounded too gushy? Was that even a word? She tried to contain her excitement—she wanted to hi-five, jump up and down, and shout—instead, she smiled to herself all the way down the hallway, and back to her office.

  Once inside, Paisley was ebullient! "Guess what, Millie?" she said excitedly!

  Informing Millie of her new assignment, Paisley did a few raise-the-roof gestures, to indicate her enthusiasm for being included in the investigation. Millie congratulated her, all the while shaking her head from side to side, laughing at Paisley's antics, then returned to her typing.

  Paisley interrupted Millie again, by declaring, "Hey—this calls for a celebration!"

  Hurrying to the break room, Paisley grabbed a couple of sodas from the vending machine and hurried back.

  "Catch," she said as she tossed one to Millie.

  "Okay, Okay—Congrats! Pais," and she gave her a big smile and they both toasted to her new assignment.

  CHAPTER 12

  Boone's focus on the papers in front of him, was interrupted, by a call from Captain Bower's secretary. The call was to inform him he'd been assigned a partner, in the Kamorov murder, to help with the investigation.

  "Okay," he said, mildly surprised, then asked, "and who is my new partner?" He couldn't imagine who it might be?

  "Captain Bower has assigned Detective Paisley Ingles," Bower’s secretary said, “to assist in the investigation.” Before he could ask any questions, the call ended.

  It was unexpected. He wondered how and why this had come about? Remembering how adamant she had been about participating in the investigation, it wouldn't surprise him if she’d asked for this position. Annoyed, as he thought about partnering with her, he guessed the Captain had his reasons, so he’d make the best of it. He’d find things for her to do, and who knows, it might be fine, she could follow up on details, with her computer prowess!

  He was in the process of making a list of people he needed to contact, when he received the call from Bowers office. But instead, he decided his first call should be to Ms. Ingles. As luck would have it, according to the secretary, Millie, who shared the office with Ingles, said she’d just stepped out to go to the computer lab. “Could you please have her come to my office, when she returns?”

  While he waited, he studied his evidence board. There was the body found in the freezer, approximate time of death noted, but no suspects as yet, no murder weapon (other than the freezer and possibly an unknown intruder), autopsy report still pending, list of several witnesses who discovered the body (i.e., Jerry, Ms. Ingles), and no physical evidence, fingerprints or otherwise, back from the lab.

  There was no wallet found on the body, but Ben Wister, was able to provide an address and phone number for the deceased. The home address belonged to a man named, Pyotr Zolotov, who sponsored Kamorov and housed him, according to parole and Visa requirements, enabling him to stay in the United States, on his student visa.

  Boone called Detective Meade, in charge of accessing DMV records, and asked him to run Kamorov's name. It would help, Boone thought, to obtain information from Kamorov's driving record—tickets, DUIs, etc. Next, he was about to call the victim's parole officer to check on his rap sheet, when Ingles knocked softly, on the open door.

  He looked up, and re-cradled the receiver on the old-school phone, which the precinct provided. He stood up, "Please come in," he said, welcoming her into his office, "...and have a seat."

  He moved around the small desk and pulled out the austere wooden, arm chair for her. As she moved towards the chair, he proffered his hand, and she reached out and shook it.

  "The Captain called to inform me of your assignment, to the Kamorov case," he began amiably.

  She looked at him suspiciously, hoping she wasn't going to hear a ‘but’. "I didn't realize he was going to get in touch with you so soon!” She really was amazed at the alacrity, with which the Captain had handled her request.

  "I called you right away," he said as he settled in his chair, "because I wanted you to know I'm happy to have your assistance on this case, and I'm sure your computer expertise will be very helpful. I've heard a few officers mention how savvy you are with the technical stuff. Me? It isn't my forte, but I do admire anyone, who knows their way around a computer." He could have sworn she reddened a little? It was refreshing to see someone exhibit a genuine emotion, he thought.

  "Thanks," she said, feeling relieved, "I'm looking forward to helping, in any way I can," she answered politely, re-folding her hands in he
r lap. Did he mean all these nice words, or is he patronizing me? She’d ponder this later.

  He scooted his newly acquired, wheeled office chair, up to his gun-metal gray desk, and opened a drawer. He extracted a small, red-spiral notebook and pencil, and handed it to her, across the desk, like a teacher with supplies for pupils, on the first day of school. Sitting back in this chair, he folded his hands on his desk, waiting to see what she would do.

  She looked at him, noting the office-furniture upgrade, of the rolling chair, and also, the twinkle in his blue eyes. "OK, now I feel legit," she quipped, not knowing what else to say, and proceeded to open the notebook, then dab the pencil point on her tongue, before pretending to begin writing—like so many secretaries did with their pad and pencil, in the old movies.

  They both chuckled, and any leftover tension that may have been present disappeared, as the beginning of a new partnership formed.

  "While we're working together, perhaps it would be easier if you called me Boone—just to make it a little less formal,” Boone requested.

  "And you may call me Paisley, if you wish. I'm comfortable with using my first name, but I prefer Ingles when we're at the precinct, or on official business."

  "Works for me!" he said. He took the next few minutes to explain his evidence board—which at present didn't show much evidence. She’s particular about things, he noted, and suddenly, an idea occurred to him. He asked, "Would you happen to have any free time either the rest of this morning, or this afternoon?"

  Suspicious of the question, she answered, "Yes, there are routine tasks on my desk, but nothing urgent, just a few things which can be finished later, so I'm available now."

  "Good! I know it’s short notice, but I was wondering if you'd like to accompany me to the residence of the victim, to question his roommates?”

  "How did you get his address?"

  “From the personnel file given to me yesterday, by Ben”