MAD AS BELL

by Jeremy Waldron

  Allison swept her gaze off Bennett’s shoulders as he exited the room and was surprised to see seventeen-year-old Naomi Moss staring from the back wall. Her earbuds were jammed into her ears as Naomi gave Allison a deliberate smirk. It was clear the teen could read Allison’s feelings for Bennett. Without making a scene, Naomi went back to playing on her phone as Allison placed her fingers back to the keyboard.

  Several minutes passed and Bennett was still gone when Naomi surprised Allison. “You like him, don’t you?”

  Allison swept her gaze up and locked eyes with Naomi. Allison stared at Naomi’s heart-shaped face perfectly framed by her jet-black hair, deciding how best to respond. Naomi might have only been seventeen, but she looked much older. A fully formed body with the confidence to match. Which was what worried Allison. These high school girls appeared—and acted—much older than they actually were.

  “What’s not to like?” Allison responded. “He’s smart. Cares an awful lot about you kids. Of course I like him.”

  “No, I mean,” Naomi’s smile stretched, “you really like him.”

  Allison forgot how intuitive and bold teenagers were, but also how naïve they were, too.

  Naomi flipped her shiny hair and glanced to the door to see if Bennett was coming back. Then she turned back to Allison and said, “I see how you’re looking at him.”

  Allison glanced to the clock. It was nearly eight p.m. and time to close up shop. She dropped her feet to the floor and closed the lid on her laptop.

  “That’s okay,” Naomi said. “You don’t have to admit it. I like him, too. Mr. Bennett’s a hell of a lot cooler than some of the other teachers at this school.”

  “Is that why you’re here?” Allison asked.

  Naomi arched an eyebrow and held up her cellphone. “I’m here for the free internet.” Her device dinged with a message. “Speaking of which, that’s my ride.” Naomi skipped out the door. “Adios.”

  “That’s one girl you have to watch,” Bennett said as he entered the classroom, holding a pair of athletic shorts. “She’s as clever as a meat cleaver.”

  Allison laughed as she packed up her things, readying to leave for the night. “She’s got guts, all right.”

  With their work finished, Bennett turned off the lights and grabbed his own things. He’d promised he’d drive Allison home. “Naomi is one of those kids who will either make it big or die trying. She thinks she’s ready for what the world has to offer.”

  Allison stepped into the hall. “And you don’t?”

  Bennett gave her an arched look—the same as any educator would give. “I think she has a lot to learn.”

  Chapter Seven

  I didn’t bite at Archie’s attempt to pull me into believing Megan Hines was dead. Like Dawson said, I couldn’t give up on her. But Archie’s statement—however erroneous it may have been—did get me thinking.

  Leaving Archie at the bar, I followed the crowd to the exit to see what had stolen everyone’s attention. As I moved through the halls, I thought how the Prom Queen Killer hadn’t been in prison for more than a year, yet his known work dated back nearly ten. His victims were girls Megan’s age. Bright young women who had an incredible future ahead.

  It occurred to me that Archie could be the one to have sent me the strange message tonight. Archie would do something like that if it meant giving him an edge over his rival, which just so happened to be me.

  Stiff-arming my way through the glass double doors, I was immediately hit by a wall of obscenities. I stopped and gaped at the scene playing out in front of me.

  There was a mob of angry protestors gathered to descend upon us journalists—or as they called us, Public Enemy to the State. It was a far-fetched claim, but they made their point.

  I spun around and looked behind me. Keeping my eye out for Erin, I knew she would be in here somewhere, not one to live through secondhand stories. Instead, I found myself staring at Owen Daniels having a clear disagreement with Heidi Mitchell.

  Heidi’s expression was pinched; his arrogant. Could it be a qualm between lovers?

  A wave of roars erupted behind me. Turning my attention back to the protestors, I wedged my way to the front lines. My colleagues had their phones out recording the scene, posting it live to their various social media channels. A few of them were stupid enough to taunt the protestors, stooping to their level of insults.

  Where were the police? Why would the mayor, who I knew attended tonight’s event, want to be affiliated with this behavior? The anger grew between parties and I feared it would quickly escalate out of control if it weren’t stopped.

  Fake News! Propagandists! Liars! Communists! We were called it all.

  Somehow Erin found me in the maddening crowd. She said, “Can you believe this?”

  I palmed my own cellphone, recording a quick video of the faces yelling at me. “If they wanted to get their mug on evening news, I think they got it.”

  That’s when I got a call from my friend Allison who said I needed to come quick. There was a possible murder in Park Hill, and something told her the police didn’t want anyone to know about it.

  Chapter Eight

  When a friend called, I answered. Besides, I didn’t need to stay and report on the protests. I’d received enough daily harassment to last several lifetimes. Instead, Erin and I hit the road to see what Allison was witnessing.

  “Convenient night to sweep another crime statistic under the rug,” Erin said as she drove.

  I was thinking the same thing myself when I asked, “When was the last time you saw the mayor?”

  “Huh.” Erin pursed her lips as she thought about it. “Come to think of it, not since we first arrived to the party. Why?” She turned her head and looked at me. “You don’t think he orchestrated the protests, do you?”

  “I hope he’s more professional than that,” I said, but my suspicions were high.

  Erin gave me a skeptical look.

  We parked on the corner E. 26th Ave and Dahlia Street and met up with Allison who was wrapped up in a big man’s arms whom I didn’t recognize. She saw us and waved us over. Unwrapping herself, she introduced us to Nicholas Bennett. He was a tall, handsome man with a strong gaze and I remembered Allison saying she’d recently met someone. After our introductions, I asked to speak with her alone.

  “What happened?” I asked, listening to the crime scene tape flutter in the breeze.

  “Nicholas was taking me home when we caught sight of the crowd. We stopped to see what was happening and that’s when we started to hear rumors that it was a young girl’s body that was found.”

  “Megan?” Erin asked.

  Allison’s expression was blank. She didn’t know.

  I shifted my gaze between the far alleyway walls, looking for King. He wasn’t anywhere to be found. Nearby, there was talk of gang violence, a prostitute whacked, but my mind never drifted too far from thinking it could be Megan Hines who had been found.

  I locked eyes with Allison. This was her neighborhood, and chances were good she knew who the victim was. I asked, “But what did you see?”

  “That’s just it, Sam. I didn’t see much of anything.” Erin asked what she meant. “Exactly that,” Allison said.

  A warm breeze kicked up and I swiped my hair out of my face and looked in the direction of the neighborhood crowd, made up of mostly young men, staring behind white eyes and eavesdropping on our conversation. We were the first reporters on scene, working in a neighborhood that often got neglected by both police and the world. It was the exact recipe that made it easy to let a crime go without officially being documented, and was just what the mayor ordered.

  Allison continued, “EMS stood around looking agitated for a while before a single officer finally told them to load the body up on a gurney.”

  “Did you see the police collect any evidence?” Erin asked.

  Allison shook her head no and I felt my breathing shallow. I couldn’t believe it. First the protests, and now this? We were t
oo late. There wasn’t even a body to report.

  Chapter Nine

  “No wonder the mayor is struggling to convince the public his tough on crime policy is working.” King was the first to crack after driving most of the way to the hospital in silence.

  By the time they left the sergeant from CSI to document their Jane Doe’s crime scene, both men were heated over the lack of resources made available—even more frustrated when they were met by the same resistance from the upper brass who basically told them to do their best with what they had.

  “Apparently we don’t even have the budget to police.” Alvarez shook his head in frustration as King parked near the ER entrance at Denver Health Medical Center.

  They both knew the impossible task they were up against. King was a white cop who seemed to care about a historically black neighborhood plagued by high crime rates, and that was just half the battle he was waging. The other half was with his own department. But it was the way the girl was left to rot in the alleyway that haunted King most. Was she alive when she was dumped? He hoped not, but how long had she been there? And what kind of monster were they looking for?

  The detectives exited the vehicle and headed toward the entrance. The double doors automatically opened as they approached. They badged their way past the front desk and were quickly met by Detective Holly Gray who worked in the Major Crimes Division.

  “I’m a bit surprised LT granted my request,” she said. “But the moment I heard about the homicide in Park Hill I knew that I needed to speak with the lead detectives.”

  “This better be good.” King lifted his chin. “We were pulled off our Jane Doe before we were finished working the scene.”

  “What did you need to tell us?” Alvarez asked.

  “Follow me,” Detective Gray said. “Another girl has been found. And this one is alive.”

  Chapter Ten

  Detective Holly Gray led the men down the hospital corridor and into the Adult Emergency Department. King was already two steps ahead in knowing where she was leading them and why—the victim had been raped and forensics was collecting what evidence they could before it was too late.

  Gray said, “Currently, there are hundreds of missing persons cases that we know about.” She turned and met King’s leery gaze. “That number drops significantly when the victims are black or brown. Your Jane Doe, she was Latina, right?”

  “From what I could gather, I’d agree with that assessment.”

  “Same with mine.” Gray stared. “It’s the ones that go unreported that keep me up at night. Lucky for us, this one was found alive.” She handed the detectives a case file. “Her name is Eva Martin.”

  King took the report into his own hands and read the file Gray had put together. “Her birthday was today?”

  “That’s right,” Gray acknowledged.

  “Some birthday party,” Alvarez said.

  “So, what happened?”

  “Tough to say.” Gray shifted her gaze to Alvarez. “She was in pretty rough shape when she was found, but we believe she was kidnaped and held against her will.”

  “How long?”

  “Unsure at this time.” Gray gave a solemn look. “She’s being evaluated now. We’re not sure what happened because she’s not talking, but we do know she was picked up on the side of the road late last night.”

  “Have you contacted family?”

  “Like I said, she’s not talking. And even if we get her talking, it could be difficult getting answers about her family depending on their legal status.” Gray paused. “Tonight’s Jane Doe, was she a prostitute?”

  King wanted to say yes, but he didn’t know for sure. “Victim had bind marks, like she’d been tied up.”

  Gray exhaled. “Same with mine.”

  “Sorry to be blunt,” Alvarez said, “but if she’s not talking, what are we doing here?”

  Gray raised both her eyebrows and said, “Eva’s not talking, but the driver who picked her up is.”

  Chapter Eleven

  The driver’s name was Christopher Bowers, and he looked tired but alert. People were being paged over the intercom as the whooshing sounds of automatic doors opening between hospital wings kept King alert to his surroundings.

  Detective Holly Gray had King’s full attention, and he wanted nothing more than to link this survivor to tonight’s Jane Doe. Getting ahead of this homicide before it slipped through the cracks and the leads went cold was his top priority.

  King lifted his cuff and glanced at his digital wristwatch. “What’s he still doing here?”

  Gripping the files in her hands, Gray quirked a brow and said, “If you saw what he did, you would have stayed, too.”

  The gruesome pictures of Jane Doe played out behind King’s eyelids as he stared at Bowers, hunched over in the hospital chair. Alvarez took the first step toward the witness and King followed, Gray saying she’d stay behind.

  “We’ll holler if we need anything,” King said.

  Gray nodded and turned back to the closed door behind which Eva was being evaluated.

  “Christopher Bowers?” Alvarez said as he stepped into the waiting room. Bowers stood from his chair. “I’m Detective Alvarez, this is my partner, Detective King. We’d like to ask you a few questions about the woman you picked up last night.”

  Bowers’s head bobbed on his shoulders. “Sure. Though I don’t have anything new to say.”

  “We understand,” King said. “But we’d like you to tell us if you don’t mind?”

  As the next ten minutes played out, King asked Bowers if he had a family of his own. When he said he did, King thanked him for staying to talk.

  “I have two daughters myself,” Bowers said. “I would hope someone would do the same for me if ever—” Bowers choked on the words he couldn’t get out. He couldn’t say what he thought had happened to Eva, but they all assumed the same. “I’m sorry,” Bowers sat, “I just need a moment.”

  “Take your time.” King shared a look with Alvarez. After a minute of quiet, King said, “Tell us where you found her.”

  “I was coming home from work—”

  “About what time?”

  Bowers shook his head as if not knowing for certain what time. “It was after midnight.”

  Alvarez jotted down notes. “Then what happened?”

  “I’m remodeling a house in the Arapahoe Acres neighborhood. It had been a long day, my eyes and body were tired when I saw her just standing in the middle of the road like a deer in headlights.” Bowers whispered as he talked and kept glancing in the direction of where Eva was being held.

  “Do you often work that late?” King asked.

  Bowers sighed. “The market is crazy right now—the amount of money up for grabs is, too. I’m thankful for the work as my oldest is off to college next year, but it’s draining trying to keep up.”

  “I’d like to check the house out sometime.” Bowers didn’t have any problem with King requesting to visit. King made note of his response. “Did Eva hesitate when you offered to give her a ride?”

  “Momentarily, but then she climbed in all on her own.” Bowers swiped a hand over his face. “I suppose she knew the chances of getting any kind of help that late was slim.”

  Alvarez asked, “Did you see anyone else with her?”

  “No one. It was just her and me.”

  “And she asked to come here?”

  Bowers shook his head. “It was my decision.”

  Alvarez lowered his brow. “Based on what?”

  “If you had seen the condition she was in, you would have brought her here, too.”

  King asked, “Did she say anything to you? Did you try to make conversation?”

  “Of course I did.” Bowers volleyed his gaze back and forth between the detectives. “But the only word out of her mouth was thirsty. She kept whispering thirsty, thirsty, thirsty. But she wouldn’t drink anything I offered. Hell, I don’t even know if she can speak English.”

  Chapter Twelve

/>   Detective King handed Christopher Bowers his business card after telling him he could go home and said, “If you remember anything else, give me a call.”

  Bowers took the card into his hand and said he would. Then his eyes locked with King’s. “Is she going to be all right?”

  King couldn’t say. He stared for a quick pause before pointing to the center of his card. “My number is there.”

  Bowers lowered his eyes to King’s business card and took one step toward the door when Alvarez said, “I forgot to ask. Were you working alone last night?”

  Bowers swallowed and tucked King’s card away in his back pocket. “I was. I can’t afford to pay overtime.”

  The detectives watched Bowers leave and Detective Gray strolled up behind them. “I ran his name through the system. Pleaded guilty four years ago to soliciting for prostitution. Class 3 Misdemeanor. Paid the fine and moved on.”

  King faced Gray. “You think Bowers is guilty?”

  Gray’s head wagged back and forth like a seesaw as if unable to decide herself. Gray said, “It certainly crossed my mind.”

  Alvarez jutted his jaw and eyed Gray. “Why would he bring his own victim here? Wouldn’t Eva know who he was?”

  Gray rolled her gaze to Alvarez and gave him a stern look. “Eva’s not talking. We don’t know what she knows.”

  King was lost in his thoughts, thinking over tonight’s Jane Doe as he stared in the direction of where he’d last seen Christopher Bowers. He’d thought about the two neighborhoods; the one where Eva was picked up, and the other where they found Jane Doe. Could Jane Doe have been transported from Arapahoe Acres with hopes of having the cops think she was murdered in Park Hill?

  “Let’s talk to his employees, see what they have to say about their boss,” King said.

  Gray opened her case file folder and tore a piece of paper off and handed it to King. It was the address to the house Bowers said he was remodeling. “This will get you started.”