In Case of Carnage

by Gerry Griffiths

  “Who did you say you were?”

  “If you let me speak to her, I’ll explain.”

  “Look, whoever you are, I’m busy.”

  “We found some of Kelly’s things.”

  “What things?”

  “Her ID cards. We think someone might have stolen her purse.”

  “Is this a sick joke? My mother never lost her purse. It’s in her room in the closet.”

  “Your mother is Kelly Rice?” Hank’s eyes beamed.

  “My mother is dead, asshole! Who the hell is this? I’m calling the . . .”

  Hank lowered the phone from his ear, ending the call.

  Jackie gave Hank a loving pat on the arm. “That was a bit of a bust.”

  “I’ll say.”

  “If Kelly is a college student, couldn’t she be living at home with her parents?”

  “It’s worth a shot.” Hank used the house phone while Jackie called on their cell phone. It took two hours to call every resident with the last name “Rice” listed in the phone book.

  After they were through, they compared notes. Nine of the numbers were no longer in service. Twenty-seven had gone directly to voice mail. Hank and Jackie had left short messages with a number to call. Fourteen had kept ringing, no one picking up. The residents they had talked to knew no one by the name Kelly.

  Hank slumped back on the couch. “That was a big goose egg.”

  “Maybe she’s from out of town or doesn’t have a phone.”

  “She’d have a cell phone. Being a college kid, she must use the Internet.”

  “I’ll bet she’s on Facebook.”

  Hank went into the den. He booted up the computer.

  After an extensive search on Facebook, they found a slew of women doing selfies in skimpy outfits, a television anchorwoman, a guy with a beard reaching his belt, and an actress from the television series Lost, all listed as Kelly Rice. None of them looked anything like the picture on Kelly’s SJSU student ID.

  “Maybe you should give Bill a call?”

  “I’d hate to bug him. He’s been tied up with that double-murder case.”

  “You never know. He might have heard something.”

  “All right. I’ll call him in the morning.”

  * * *

  Hank called Bill at eight sharp and told him about finding the cards in the street. “Have you heard of anyone reporting someone by the name of Kelly Rice missing?”

  “No,” Bill said. “I’ll check with Missing Persons.”

  “I’d appreciate it.”

  “I have some good news. Cracked our two homicides.”

  “Who was it?”

  “Remember Berg from uptown? I tripped him up during our interrogation. He was trying to frame the apartment handyman. After we booked Berg, I checked his phone history. Turns out Berg had been calling Janice Kipper. She must have come across a cold case implicating Berg in a crime, so he killed her. He murdered Nadine Simmons to throw us off.”

  “Glad to hear someone finally thawed out that dick Iceberg,” Hank said.

  “I’d better get back to work,” Bill said. “I’ll call you if I learn anything about the girl. When are you coming back?”

  “Soon, I hope. Still waiting for the all clear on the hitchhiker shooting.”

  “Give my love to Jackie.”

  “Will do. See ya.” As they had an answering machine, Hank saw no reason to hang around the phone. “Put on your coat,” he told Jackie. “We’re going to the park.”

  Jackie hung up her apron. She clapped her hands. “Bella, want to go for a walk?”

  The dozing golden retriever’s ears perked. She scrambled to her feet on the polished kitchen floor, nails clicking as her pads sought traction. As soon as she reached the carpeted living room, she bolted for the front door to wait.

  Out on the walk, Hank took the leash, knowing Bella would be like a team of horses, pulling him along once she sensed they were going to the nearby park.

  Hiking down a designated path to the meadow area where Bella could romp off-leash, they noticed two police cruisers blocking a service road. An officer wrapped the end of a long barrier of yellow police tape around a tree trunk. A middle-aged couple wearing matching blue jogging outfits stood behind the tape, rubbernecking. Two officers stood on a footbridge, leaning over the railing, looking at something down in the washed-out gulch below.

  Hank held Bella back, afraid she might jump on the curious people. He stood by the man, watching the police. “What’s going on?”

  “They found a body,” the man said. “I heard one of them say it’s a woman.”

  ***

  Jackie was staring in the refrigerator deciding what to cook for dinner, when Hank suggested they watch the afternoon news report for any word on the woman found in the park.

  Jennie Lee, Hank’s favorite female news reporter, was on the scene, microphone in hand, standing in the park just outside the yellow police tape. “Police have yet to determine the cause of death of a woman found dead under a pedestrian bridge in Holly Park. The woman’s identity has not been released. Stay tuned for further developments in this story. This is Jennie Lee reporting.”

  Jackie put her hand up to her mouth. “It’s her, isn’t it?”

  “There’s a good chance.” Hank wished he’d been able to see the body for himself, but he knew his captain would object if he got involved in an ongoing investigation while on administrative leave.

  After dinner, Jackie was sweeping the kitchen floor when she called out to Hank. “Honey! Look what I found!”

  Hank came in from the living room.

  Jackie held up Kelly Rice’s Kaiser Permanente card. She laid the card on the kitchen counter.

  “Where was that?” Hank asked.

  “Under the cove. You must have missed it when you were picking the cards off the floor.”

  “I’d better call it in!”

  “Hank, it’s getting late. Do it tomorrow.”

  “All right, but I still think it wouldn’t hurt to call now.” Hank placed the card on the kitchen counter next to the phone, then went back into the living room.

  He sat on the couch, switching on the television with the remote.

  Jennie Lee stood in front of a glass-faced building. “We have just learned that the woman found in Holly Park was Claudia Danker, age thirty-five, a prominent real estate broker with Midtown Properties. An investigation is still under . . .”

  Hank turned off the television and rushed into the kitchen. “It wasn’t her after all.”

  “What?” Jackie leaned the broom against the side of the refrigerator.

  “Kelly Rice. She wasn’t the woman they found in the park.”

  “Oh, thank God.”

  Hank looked at Kelly’s medical card on the counter. He felt something in his trouser pocket and pulled out the matchbook he’d found in the street. “I wonder if these matches belonged to Kelly.” He opened the flap, looked at the handwritten phone number inside. He grabbed the house phone and punched in the number.

  The phone on the other end rang repeatedly before a woman’s voice came on the line.

  “Hi! I can’t come to the phone right now, but if you would like to leave a message, I’d be more than happy to return your call. Please wait for the beep. Bye now.”

  Hank waited for the beep, then said, “My name is Hank Jenkins. You don’t know me, but I have something of yours and would like to return it. Please call me back.” Hank left his phone number, then ended the message.

  A minute later, the phone rang.

  “Hello?” Hank answered.

  No reply.

  “Hello?” Hank gazed over at Jackie.

  “Who is it?”

  “I don’t know. They won’t say anything.” Hank swore he could hear shallow breathing. Someone was definitely on the line. “Hello, this is the police. I’m looking for—”

  The other end went dead.

  “Damn.”

  “What’s wrong?”

&n
bsp; “They hung up.” Hank looked at Jackie. “It just dawned on me. If Kelly’s purse was stolen, the thieves probably kept her phone. That was probably them.”

  “You don’t know for certain.”

  “Jackie, I left my name! We’re listed! Shit!”

  “That’s not good,” Jackie said, shaking her head. “Maybe you should call Bill.”

  “No, not yet. We need to be a hundred percent sure.”

  “So what do we do?”

  Hank stared at the Third Street Bar & Grill matchbook in his hand. “When’s the last time I took you out to lunch?”

  * * *

  The next day, Hank parked on the fourth level in the Third Street garage so they wouldn’t have so far to walk to the restaurant. They rode the elevator down. Once they were on the sidewalk, Jackie looped her arm in the crook of Hank’s, and they strolled down the street.

  They passed an automobile repair shop. A loud torque wrench screeched to an abrupt stop. The cars waiting for service were beat-up wrecks with faded paint jobs, better candidates for the compactor than an overhaul.

  Hank spotted two rough-looking characters wearing dark sunglasses and hooded sweatshirts; they were standing by a black van that was tucked in the alley beside the shop. The men seemed to take a special interest in Hank and Jackie, then climbed in their van.

  Hank and Jackie walked for another block, then stopped in front of a run-down house with a bank-owned foreclosure sign staked into the weedy front lawn. A clear plastic box was mounted on the post under the “For Sale” sign, jammed full of pricing flyers.

  Hank took a single-page advertisement and gave it a quick look. “We could swing this.”

  “You’d want to live down here?”

  “I meant, as a second property for a rental, it’s not bad.” Hank shrugged, then folded the flyer and stuffed it in his back pocket.

  A little farther down stood the Third Street Bar & Grill, a small hideaway with a brick, wrought-iron facade, wedged between a secondhand clothier and a thrift store. A green canopy shaded the small tables and chairs on the patio area, which was bordered with potted ferns. An outdoor bar served customers who were seated outside.

  Hank and Jackie sauntered through the gate. They sat at the bar.

  The young bartender sported a tanning-booth tan, a shaved head, and a diamond stud in each earlobe, the three top buttons on his floral shirt open to show off the bling on his hairless chest.

  “What can I get you folks?” The bartender placed two cork coasters on the bar.

  Hank looked at Jackie. “Care for a pomegranate margarita?”

  “I’d love one.”

  “Make that two.”

  “Coming right up.” The bartender scooped ice into a blender and grabbed two bottles from a shelf under the bar.

  Hank plucked a matchbook from a woven basket. He took the matches out of his trouser pocket. They looked the same.

  Shortly after, the bartender placed two wide-mouthed, long-stemmed glasses with straws on the bar top. The rims were dashed with salt. Lime wedges floated on the surfaces of the alcoholic beverages.

  Jackie took a sip of her margarita.

  “Careful you don’t get a brain freeze,” Hank warned, taking a drink.

  “Would you like lunch menus?” the bartender asked.

  “Please.” Hank licked the salt from his lips.

  The bartender grabbed two menus from a stack by the register and placed them on the counter.

  Jackie opened her menu to peruse the luncheon specials. She glanced over her shoulder. “Uh-oh, trouble.”

  Hank spun around in his seat.

  Three attractive women drifted into the patio area. They sat at a nearby table, dumping their big, long-strap purses on the flagstone.

  The bartender swaggered over to the women’s table. He said something to the women, making them laugh.

  “Quite the lady’s man,” Hank quipped.

  “So it would seem.”

  The bartender kept laying on the charm.

  Hank returned to his menu.

  Jackie was wavering on a third pick when the bartender returned.

  “Have you decided?”

  Jackie stared at the menu. “I think I might need another minute.”

  “No rush.”

  “I guess we picked a good time to come.” Hank gestured to the empty tables.

  “Come here at night,” the bartender said. “The place is crazy. Wednesday’s ladies night. Drinks are half price for the women.”

  “Bet you do all right.” Hank gave the bartender a conspirator’s grin.

  “I get my share.”

  Jackie struggled to keep a straight face.

  Hank opened the matchbook. He showed the bartender the phone number that was scrawled inside the flap. “Any chance you might recognize this number?”

  The bartender started to laugh. “I remember who wrote it.”

  “Was her name Kelly Rice?”

  “She never gave her name.”

  “When was this?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe five or six days ago. She was trying to slip me her number. To tell you the truth, she wasn’t my type. I told her I already had a girlfriend. She just shrugged it off, put the matchbook in her purse. I think she was used to rejection.”

  “That’s sad. We were hoping you might be able to help us. We have something of hers we wanted to return.”

  “Funny you should say that.” He reached down behind the counter. “She left this on the bar last time she was here.” The bartender handed Hank a compact digital camera. “Maybe, when you find her, you can give it back to her. I’m afraid someone’s going to walk off with it.” He jotted down their order and meandered to the kitchen.

  Hank studied the camera in his hand. “She seems to be losing stuff left and right.” He leaned over his margarita and took a long pull on his straw. A second later, his eyes snapped closed. He clamped his hand over his forehead.

  “Hank? Are you all right?”

  “Brain freeze.”

  * * *

  Lying on their bed in the master bedroom, Hank scrolled through the photos on the small screen on the back of the digital camera.

  Jackie finished brushing her teeth. “Find anything interesting?” She climbed into bed, grabbing her novel off the nightstand.

  “It’s strange. I haven’t seen one picture of a person. I must have gone through a hundred photos. It’s all interior shots of different homes.”

  “That’s odd.” Jackie opened her latest Dean Koontz thriller.

  Hank turned off the camera. He slipped it into the drawer of his nightstand. He looked over at Jackie. Her eyes were drooping. “Want me to turn off the light?”

  “Okay.” She put the book back on the nightstand.

  Hank switched off the light.

  Sometime in the night, Hank startled out of a deep sleep to the sound of silverware rattling in a kitchen drawer downstairs and Bella barking.

  He jumped out of bed, waking Jackie.

  “What’s wrong?” Jackie asked. “Why’s Bella barking?”

  Hank reached into his nightstand drawer and withdrew his personal revolver, which he kept for home protection. “Call 9-1-1.” He stepped from the bedroom and crept down the stairs.

  He entered the kitchen, switching on the light.

  The sliding glass door leading to the backyard stood wide open.

  Bella growled at a man in a hooded sweatshirt who was scowling from the other side of the kitchen table.

  “What the hell are you doing in my house?” Hank hid his gun near his hip.

  “Where is it?” the man demanded.

  “Where’s what?”

  “The camera.”

  “Why do you want it?”

  “Hand it over, or else there’ll be—”

  “Hank! I’ve called the police!” Jackie hollered down from upstairs.

  Hank stepped forward and grabbed Bella’s collar. She kept barking.

  “Bella, quiet!”
Hank shouted firmly. Bella snarled at the man.

  Another man in dark clothes loomed in the backyard.

  Bella lurched, tugging Hank off balance and providing just the distraction the intruder needed to bolt out the door.

  “They called the cops!” the man yelled, and they fled through the backyard.

  Hank heard them scrambling over the front fence.

  He closed the sliding glass door and locked it. He ran from the kitchen, rushing to the living room window and spotted a black van parked in front of the house.

  The two men jumped into the vehicle. The driver cranked the engine, but it wouldn’t start. As sirens approached, they scurried from the van. Two patrol cars stormed down the street. The men scrambled to escape, only to be boxed in. With nowhere to go, they threw their hands in the air and dropped to their knees.

  * * *

  Bill sat in Hank’s favorite armchair. He pulled a cell phone out of an evidence bag, stretched his arm across the coffee table, and showed it to Hank and Jackie. “Found this in the van.” He punched in a series of numbers.

  The phone in the kitchen rang.

  Hank started to get up.

  Bill held up his hand. “It’s only me.”

  Jackie clutched Hank’s arm. “So, they did have Kelly’s phone.”

  “Kelly?” Bill placed the phone back in the evidence bag.

  “Kelly Rice.” Hank stared at Bill. “The girl I told you about.”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  “We have more of her stuff. Hold on. I’ll go get it.” Hank raced out of the room.

  A few moments later, he returned to the living room with the camera, Kelly’s medical card, and the matchbook. “Her number’s written inside the matches. We believe this is her camera.”

  Bill opened the matchbook. He looked at the phone number, shaking his head. “I take it you heard about the dead woman found in the park.”

  Hank nodded. “Yes, it was on the news.”

  “The number in this matchbook belongs to Claudia Danker. This is her phone.”

  “I don’t understand.” Hank turned to Jackie. They exchanged wide-eyed looks.

  “After the officer left your house, she drove to where you found those ID cards. She got out on foot and combed the area. She came across more discarded items in the street, only they had Claudia Danker’s name on them, suggesting her purse had been rifled through before her body was dumped in the park. Apparently, they were looking for this.” Bill held up the camera.