The Journey of B.J. Donovan (Moonlight Murder Duology Book 1)

by S. A. Austin

  Fat raindrops hit the ground seconds before the sky opened up.

  “I don’t see a weapon anywhere, either,” Lucas shouted above the heavy downpour.

  Gary looked at him, quizzically. “A weapon that makes boils?”

  CHAPTER 15

  After a quick breakfast of eggs benedict at the café adjacent to the police department, Northcutt and Cantin hiked up the stairs to their office carrying go-cups of black coffee.

  Gary held open the swinging gate for Lucas to enter first.

  The detective division occupied the fourth floor with offices for Captain Ory Fortier, two sergeants, seven detectives, and three criminalists also known as crime scene technicians.

  The low unpainted wooden railing separated the detectives from everyone else, for reasons Lucas never understood.

  Gary picked up stapled sheets of paper that had been placed on his desk. The preliminary report on the woman murdered in the alley. Time of death between 9 and 10 PM. She had not been raped. Hair samples taken off the body were sent out for DNA analysis. Bee stings, two bees lodged in her throat. Eyes removed. He handed the paperwork to Lucas.

  “Bees? Damn. Nine and ten, huh? Someone other than Smithe and Rees could’ve seen or heard something. One building is vacant, but the rest were just closed for the day. Someone may’ve still been around,” said Gary Northcutt, 32, with piercing bluish-gray eyes, wavy brown hair, and a trim mustache.

  Unlike Lucas, Gary was married, although unhappy with the arrangement. She wanted more than he was able to provide. The Northcutt’s had no children.

  “I have serious doubts about another witness coming forward. Most people can’t afford to take time off from their jobs to testify in court. Or they’re too afraid. Or they just don’t give a damn. Take your pick,” said Lucas Cantin, 34, medium build, brown eyes, black hair, and clean-shaven. At six foot, he was one inch taller than Gary.

  Lucas held up a slip of paper. “Got a note here. A guy named Gilbert Wyatt, age twenty-five, is downstairs. He made a positive ID on the body in the morgue. Claims he heard about the alleyway murder victim on the news this morning. Said she’s his girlfriend. He’s on his way up.”

  An officer standing beside a pasty-faced man pointed at the detectives.

  Wyatt sat down on the solid wood chair in front of Detective Northcutt’s desk. “Hello. You can call me Gil, if ya want. It’s her. Sue, Susan Nolin.”

  He ran a bony hand across the top of his head momentarily flattening a scraggy mop of red hair. Idly scratched the matching sparse bristles on his chin.

  Wyatt reminded Gary of a certain cartoon character, but the name eluded him.

  “Damn. Did you see her face? What happened to her face? Her eyes? Hell. Her whole damn body.” Wyatt cringed. “If it weren’t for the tattoo of the little angel on her shoulder, I probably wouldn’t have recognized her. Daaamn.” He glimpsed up at the men. Exhaled through his mouth. “Uhm... I was supposed to meet her outside of Vieux Carré last night but I didn’t know that until I got off work, went home, and listened to her message on my answering machine. We’re not allowed to accept personal calls where I work, you see, so I didn’t know.”

  “I don’t understand,” said Detective Cantin, frowning. “She was supposed to meet you, but you didn’t know it?”

  “No, I was supposed to meet her, but I,” he shrugged, “well, you know, I didn’t know it.”

  Northcutt glimpsed at Cantin.

  Wyatt sighed. “It’s like this. Normally, I get off work at eight o’clock at night. Her message was that she’d meet me in front of the place where she works, uhm, that’d be Vieux Carré, at nine o’clock. But she didn’t know I had to stay over and do some extra stock work at my job, uhm, that’d be Old Square Hardware, it’s about seven miles from the department store, or that I didn’t get done until close to ten thirty. By the time I stopped to get a burger and fries, then went home, it was after eleven. That’s when I got her message. Well, I figured she was long gone by then,” he sat up straighter in his seat, “I mean, I figured she had probably gone home. She’s got a bad temper, so just to cover my own ass I drove by Vieux Carré. When I turned on Decatur Street, there were cops farther up ahead, but I didn’t make the connection it had anything to do with Sue. All I cared about was, I came to meet her but she wasn’t there, so that took the pressure off of me. I had done my part. The ball and court shit was on her.”

  He propped his elbows on his knees, and cradled his head in his hands.

  “When I got home I called her apartment. She didn’t answer. I tried a couple more times. By midnight I said the hell with it, and went to bed.”

  Northcutt noticed the hint of amusement in his partner’s eyes.

  “Nothing else?” Northcutt asked Wyatt. “You sure you didn’t get up and go out hunting for her? Perhaps got a little angry because she wasn’t answering her phone, or possibly, because she had stood you up?”

  “Hell no.” Wyatt furrowed his brow. “Sue, she’s got this little girl way about her. She gets pissed, seriously pissed, if I don’t do what she wants. It was a spur of the moment thing to see me last night, and that’s why I didn’t know ahead of time. Since we’re both in retail, and since the hours are so wacky in this business, we usually only see each other on the weekends. Sometimes, not even then. I’m thinking she thought I stood her up, like I did a time or two in the past. When I didn’t see her outside of the store I assumed she stomped off somewhere to pout, and she’d rip me a new one the next time we’re together.”

  “Uh-huh, that’s what I’d do,” said Cantin.

  A slight shrug. “In hindsight, I think that I probably thought she got somebody to give her a ride home, and then ignored my calls just to hurt me. Sue isn’t the type to hang around on the sidewalk for hours, much less at night. So I guess that’s why I really wasn’t too concerned about her.” Wyatt sat closer to the desk. “Any idea what happened to her cross?”

  Northcutt and Cantin looked at Wyatt.

  “Cross?” Northcutt asked.

  “Yeah, a solid gold cross and chain.” He lightly scratched his chest once, visualizing the necklace. “She never took it off. Never. Not even when it got hooked in the nose ring I used to wear. Her folks gave it to her before they moved to Virginia. Here.” Wyatt wrote down the address and phone number on a sheet of paper on the desk. There was suspicion in Northcutt’s eyes. “Hey, I only know the address ‘cause me and Sue went to Virginia Beach a few months ago to visit them. Honest, I’ve done nothing wrong.”

  Cantin had slipped out of the room. Holding a folder between his fingers he plunked it down on the desk. Sitting beside Wyatt, he turned the folder over to reveal Wyatt’s name scrawled across the center with a blue wide tip marker.

  “All right, run this shit by me again.”

  Wyatt’s eyes bounced between the folder and the detective as he repeated his woeful tale nearly word for word and without faltering on any of the crucial details.

  “Okay, you can go, for now.” Cantin stood up, rising to his full height.

  Gilbert Wyatt slid off his chair sideways. He scurried down the hall so fast he crashed into the hairy chest of a handcuffed prisoner in a white A-shirt coming round a corner. The guy yelled obscenities at Wyatt, who shrieked girlishly and ran off.

  “He’s clearly not the guy we’re after,” said Gary.

  Lucas pitched the folder with blank sheets of paper into a wastebasket. “Yeah, his reactions and responses were too quick for him to be making things up as he went along. Besides, we’re forgetting that bees were involved.”

  “We know the woman’s identity. And we both know it don’t come easy most of the time. If the contact information Wyatt gave us is valid, I’ll notify Nolin’s family.”

  “Better you than me.” Lucas fished the car keys out of his pocket.

  CHAPTER 16

  Within minutes of arriving at Vieux Carré, Detectives Northcutt and Cantin asked to speak with whoever’s in charge. The stern-faced manag
er of Young Men’s Wear escorted them to the elevator. “Second floor, turn left, see the switchboard operator at the counter. She’ll have to page the store manager, Julian Chase, since he doesn’t carry a radio. Have a nice day.”

  In less than a minute after he was paged a balding, short and rotund man with wire-rim spectacles and a friendly smile greeted them. “Follow me, gentlemen.” He brought them to his office. Sat in a swivel chair with a dark gray suit coat hanging off the back. Motioned for them to have a seat in the chairs facing his desk.

  Cantin and Northcutt took turns questioning Julian Chase about what kind of a person and employee Susan Nolin was.

  Chase didn’t know. All he did know was that she worked there. He confessed he only knew that much because he’d heard it on the news. He summoned his secretary, and told her to pull the file on Susan Nolin. He offered the men a cup of coffee. They declined.

  “Here we go,” said Chase when he was handed a manila file folder. He spread it flat on his desk. Read quickly and briefly, absorbing just enough information to get a rough summation of the employee.

  The detectives caught sight of a wallet-sized headshot of Nolin stapled to the folder, further confirmation of her identity.

  “Lovely girl,” said Chase. “I tell you what, not only was it embarrassing to admit I didn’t know the woman, I’m even more ashamed now that I see she’d been with us for three years.”

  His cheeks grew warm. Chase loosened his necktie. Let out a soft sigh.

  “According to the time sheet and other records on Miss Nolin, she is, er, was a very dependable employee. Apparently, she’d never missed a single day of work. She was punctual. A team player. Followed directions. Got along with the managers.” A sheepish grin. “This is according to the handwritten remarks on her annual evaluation report made by the manager of the department the associate worked in.” He referred back to the file. “Ah yes, that would be Soft Home, er, bath and bedding.”

  The collective stare of the detectives was unnerving.

  Chase glimpsed at the sleeve of his light blue Oxford shirt thinking he should’ve taken a moment to put on his coat before welcoming the officers. He closed the folder, nudged it aside with his fingertips. Smiled apologetically.

  “Gentlemen, we have over two hundred employees on the payroll. I don’t know how, but somehow, I just never became acquainted with this particular associate. Her record’s impressive, but unless she’d done something above and beyond her normal duties which helped make the company money, something such as convincing a great number of customers to apply for our store credit card, well then.…” He pursed his lips.

  “Fine,” Northcutt responded, sourly. Susan Nolin may’ve been the type who’s only content with drawing a weekly paycheck not seeking a leadership role, and that made her invisible to her employers. “If you think of anything else, give us a call.” He put a business card on top of Nolin’s folder. “Thank you for your time and cooperation.”

  Standing outside the store, Northcutt saw a familiar face. “Who’s the guy over there?”

  A couple of blocks up the street a man had exited a bar. He stared at the detectives for a long second, flipped a dark sweatshirt hood over his head, turned around and walked the other way.

  “I think he’s the rookie cop who’s been asking around about how to become a detective. Wentzel, Jacob Wentzel,” said Cantin. “A little early in the day to be drinking, don’t you think?”

  “And wearing a hoodie when it’s what, eighty-some degrees out here?” Northcutt mentally noted the time and date, also noting the guy seemed to know who they were.

  CHAPTER 17

  Jacob Wentzel chose the long way round to his apartment building on Vine Street. He held a hand against his forehead. Definitely had a fever. The flu? He hoped not. He sweated profusely under the sweatshirt, but shaking with chills like he was, he was reluctant to take it off.

  In his tidy little kitchen he opened up a can of vegetable soup, spooned the contents into a large glass measuring cup, added a little tap water. Placed the cup in the center of the turntable in the microwave and covered it with a paper towel. Stabbed two buttons. Waiting for the reddish greasy-looking stuff to heat up, he washed down a couple of nonprescription pain relievers with bottled water.

  Beep!

  The high-pitch sound of the microwave annoyed him. Holding the hot and steamy cup by the handle, he trudged onward to his office. Stifled a yawn, and booted up his computer. Drinking from the spout, he had a long swallow of the broth. Made a face.

  He scrolled through his email. Nothing but junk, most of which informed him how to grow a bigger dick. Don’t fear the measuring tape anymore! Is that a rocket in your pocket? Foreign stuff. Mainly encouraging the recipient to click on a certain link to receive prize money. “Or malware.” A bank account number is required for prompt deposit of the funds. “Suuure. Go, going, and gone,” he whispered, repeatedly pushing the delete key.

  Tons of adult porn. Saved for viewing later.

  Nothing, nothing at all, from his sweet Suite Sue.

  He used the mouse to tap on the compose-mail link. Stared at the blinking cursor on the blank space and finished the soup. What was there to say? Somehow he had made her lose interest in him.

  “Dammit, I shouldn’t have called her. Why the hell did I call her? What if the husband had gotten the call instead of Miz Sue Donovan, herself?”

  Jacob smiled. Yeah, he knew her name, too. Their home phone number was listed in her husband’s name. He had no intentions, whatsoever, of going anywhere near her house ever again. In the Garden District, an upscale neighborhood, lurkers wouldn’t go unnoticed.

  Slumped in his chair, he closed his eyes. Envisioned her street from the one time he’d seen it. Other things crowded in and blurred the image. I don’t ask for much, and I get even less. Sue’s the only woman who took a real interest in me. In his mind the smiling face of Kelly Murphy rose up over a dead tree, like she did that day. Jacob smacked a cigarette out of the pack and fired it up. Inhaled deeply. Blew her out of his head along with the smoke.

  “Let’s see. There’s a nice house on each side of Sue’s. Well-maintained lawns. Almost identical mailboxes up and down the street.”

  What the hell am I doing?

  Jacob was lonely when Sue came into his life. He enjoyed goofing off with her online. Mostly, the dirty-wordy email. He wasn’t married. Had no kids. But she never needed to know that. A tentative smile.

  He hauled his weary bones to the shower. He’d been working the graveyard shift for the past week. The hours were killing him. Hopefully a few hours of uninterrupted sleep, meaning no sexytime dreams of Sue, he’d feel well enough to make it to the end of his next shift.

  He can’t afford to have any absences on his record. Not if he’s serious about being promoted. Jacob was quite sure that those in charge of doing the promoting would take any and all absences into account, when he applied at the next opening for detective, and turn him down.

  * * *

  Singing along with the radio he parted his hair on the left side and combed it back.

  Dressed in a crisp, dry-cleaned uniform he admired his overall appearance in the mirror. Used the cuff of his shirt to shine his gold name badge.

  “The ladies love me. Yes they do.”

  A rapid knock on the door.

  Jacob turned off the transistor radio. Hid it in his sock drawer. Rushed to the living room. Through the peephole he eyed the flabby jowls of his partner, Darrel O’Rourke, a white-haired guy with a sarcastic attitude. Jacob opened the door enough to poke his head out.

  “Let’s go.” O’Rourke said, impatiently, before walking away.

  Jacob closed his eyes and tilted his head against the doorframe. Groaned. Smacked his hand down a wall switch to turn off a nearby table lamp.

  Officer O’Rourke parked on a poorly lit street on the seedy side of town. Shut off the lights, silenced the motor. “Let’s get this show on the road. See the boarded up warehouse
over there?” He lifted his chin toward an unlit building in the distance. “We’re gonna keep an eye on it. I heard something big’s supposed to go down tonight, and I want a piece of the action.”

  Jacob stared morosely into space. His partner aggravated the crap out of him, but since he harbored ambitions of being a detective he couldn’t afford to be labeled a complainer. The burly dude, wedged between the seat and the steering wheel with hardly enough room to exhale, wasn’t the type to put in a good word for some whiny little man, so Jacob kept his mouth shut.

  “Y’know what?” O’Rourke grunted as he shifted his weight to prevent a leg cramp.

  Jacob perked up, thinking good news was coming his way. Maybe O’Rourke learned his rookie had done such an outstanding job the department wants to shoot him straight up the ladder, or in his case, upstairs to the detective division.

  Maybe they had something even bigger in mind.

  Maybe—

  “I never understood what the deal was between the coyote and the roadrunner in that cartoon. Why’d he even want to eat such a scrawny ole bird? For that matter, if he had enough money to buy all that ACME stuff why the heck didn’t he just buy lunch?”

  Jacob slapped his open hands on his clean-shaven face. Shit.

  CHAPTER 18

  Jacob folded his arms and leaned on the table in his preferred booth in his favorite bar. He sipped a cold draft beer, unable to believe his miserable shift was finally over for the week. He didn’t know how much longer he would’ve been able to deal with O’Rourke. The guy drove him slam up the wall.