She shrugged.
“After the assignment was over, I decided that I would be crazy not to find a decent club and continue for awhile and do a few gigs a month until I paid off my house. It’s not illegal or anything.”
“You don’t have to justify it to me. I’ve been there.”
“You were a stripper? Do tell.”
“Afraid not, as what I mean to say is that I’ve been in a place where it’s hard to pay the bills, and I would have been more than willing to use some rather creative means to get by.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
“Why?”
“You were at the vice presidents bachelor party for fuck’s sake.”
“Doesn’t mean I haven’t had to scrape by.”
“Really? So what is it you do for a living?”
“Private investigator.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah, why?”
“You look more like the government type.”
“Well, actually I used to be.”
“Oh, are we talking Secret Service? That would explain how you know the vice president.”
“No, it was a different entity.”
“Interesting—that would leave the CIA or NSA. You don’t look like a computer nerd, so I’m guessing you were Agency.”
“Can’t officially say.”
“So, that’s a yes—and I suppose it explains your whole two to the chest, one to the head thing.”
I nodded.
“Well, don’t worry about maintaining your secrecy, as I have top secret security clearance.”
“Is that how you got the assignment as my babysitter?”
“Not exactly. As it turns out, the vice president is good friends with the director of the Bureau, and I just happen to be good friends with the director. Obviously this is a very sensitive affair, and your friend the vice president wanted someone he could trust.”
“Interesting. How is it you’re so close to the Director, when you’re five thousand miles from Washington? It’s not a romantic entanglement gone bad is it?”
“Hardly—he and my dad were best friends, and they came up through the ranks of the Bureau together.”
“Where is your dad now?”
“Retired. He and my mom live just past Diamond Head.”
“Must be nice having your family nearby.”
“Sometimes, except he get’s kind of protective of me when I’m on a big case.”
“Nothing wrong with caring.”
“Until he shows up at a stakeout and makes me feel like an eight year old child around my fellow agents.”
“That could be awkward.”
“So, how is the private investigation field? Lot’s of intrigue and excitement?”
“Ha! Up until recently, the majority of my cases were adultery and lost pets.”
“Bullshit.”
“I’m serious. That’s why I can understand you pursuing an alternative income, though I doubt I could get by as a part-time stripper.”
“Don’t sell yourself short. I know plenty of women who would pay to get a look at that body of yours.”
“Would that include you as well?”
“No, I’m not the stripper type.”
“Touché.”
“So, I take it that you don’t have a problem keeping my little secret to yourself.”
“None whatsoever.”
“And about last night—I assume you also understand that because of the nature of our working relationship that what happened, however enjoyable it may have been, cannot happen again.”
“I don’t officially agree with that last statement, but I’ll do whatever makes you happy. Besides, I was just drunk and vulnerable.”
“Indeed, so was I.”
“I guess it’s settled then. We are officially just partners,” I said, holding out my hand to shake.
We shook hands and looked at each other a moment, and I could see something behind Violet’s eyes that I secretly hoped was a tinge of regret at the terms of our unusual relationship.
“So, partner, I guess you’re officially my babysitter.”
“I’m not exactly your babysitter. My orders were to assist you in any way necessary to complete your investigation.”
“Any way? What if sexual gratification becomes necessary?”
“That’s why God gave you two hands.”
“And women.”
“Not this one.”
“What do you call last night?”
“Poor judgement in a moment of weakness.”
“Strange—I saw it as two people finding comfort in the emptiness of existence.”
“You would, Bart.”
We finished our coffee and headed back to the Police Station and entered the building with a number of other employees. A man and woman branched off from the bunch and entered the elevator, and Violet and I followed them inside. Both looked like nerds, though the woman was kind of reminiscent of a sexy Velma from the Scooby Doo cartoon. She had a lovely figure as well as a very pretty face that was framed by short brown hair cut in a bob. To complete the look, she also had the obligatory tortoise shell glasses. She happened to turn in my direction just long enough for me to get a look at her name tag, and I saw that she was Andrea. Talk about perfect timing!
“You did the GSR test on Jessica Thurman today,” I said.
“Yeah, as well as the finger and shoe prints. How did you know?” she asked, looking at me curiously.
“We already talked to Bert.”
“Oh, so you are?”
“Tag Finn. I’m here as an independent investigator for the vice president.”
“Well hello, Mr. Fancy Pants.”
I had to laugh at her sassiness.
“More like Mr. Old Navy outlet guy.”
She laughed then looked to Violet.
“And you are?”
“Oh, forgive my rudeness. This is Special Agent Violet Kalili of the FBI. She’s my babysitter,” I said.
She shook Violet’s hand then turned her attention back to me.
“Well, how can I help you—Mr. Un-Fancy Pants?”
“I’m curious about the GSR test.”
“Follow me, and I’ll show you my results.”
We followed Andrea to her section of the lab, and she brought up a series of pictures as well as some kind of color coded chart with a number of chemicals listed on the left hand side of the screen.
“You familiar with GSR?” Andrea asked.
“A little, but feel free to speak to me as though I’m a rookie biatch, as I’d love to better understand the nature of the evidence.”
“Well, it’s pretty basic. I use adhesive dabs to scour the potential suspect’s hands and clothing then bring them back here and look at them under an electron microscope, which of course has an energy-dispersive X-ray spectroscopy detector.”
“Well, of course. And all that means?”
“It means it can tell me all of the trace elements of gun powder residue—namely lead, antimony, barium, and in some cases, copper from the shell casing.”
“So, you used these adhesive dabs on Jessica?”
“Yeah—her hands and her clothes.”
“The clothes she was wearing?”
“Yeah, as well as another article of clothing in her room.”
“And?”
“Her hands were positively covered in GSR, though her immediate clothing was not. I did however find some extremely minute traces of GSR on the right sleeve of the bloody sweatshirt found in Jessica’s closet.”
“Shouldn’t it have more residue if she were supposedly wearing it when she shot Steven Green?”
“It should. Usually anything within three to five feet will have particles, but the elements can rub off fairly easily on furniture or any number of items a person comes into contact with, which would explain the lesser amounts.”
“So, in your professional opinion—did Jessica fire the weapon in question?”
�
�Absolutely.”
“And what about the prints?”
“Well, I found a fair amount actually—some on the gun, obviously, as well as a number in the bathroom and around the room, though primarily on the door handles.”
“Don’t you find that unusual?”
“Not really, as those are the places people usually touch the most.”
“Exactly, but wouldn’t a good killer try and leave as little evidence of herself behind as possible?”
“Yeah, but maybe Jessica isn’t a good killer.”
“Or perhaps she’s not a killer at all.”
“Perhaps, but ultimately it backs up the assumption that she is our killer.”
I thought for a moment.
“Can you explain the shoe print?”
“Yeah, after I was done with fingerprints, I moved on to the lobby to see if I could find any shoe prints that matched the shoes in Jessica Thurman’s closet.”
“And you obviously did.”
“Yeah, several, though only one was clear enough for an attempt at a match.”
“And how is it you found a clear print in an area where so many people have obviously walked.”
“Excellent question, and the answer is timing. The Janitor does the floors around midnight and usually finishes around one a.m., so the floor was still wet when Jessica, or I should say our alleged killer, walked through. By the time we were on scene, the prints were dried and clear as could be—almost as though they had been painted on the floor.”
“And you believe it’s a match to the shoes found in Jessica’s room?”
“I’m about 99% certain.”
“Can you explain why?”
“Firstly, the print is identical to the shoe’s tread pattern. It’s a size eight Nike Women’s Air Pegasus, but the real clincher is the wear pattern. The person in question has the tendency to Supinate
“Or wear out the outer edge first.”
“Exactly, and I directly compared the sole and the print and found them to be a perfect match.”
“So, you have no doubt that the shoe print belongs to Jessica Thurman?”
“None whatsoever.”
“Fuckinzee.”
“Well—you might want to talk to the blood spatter specialist. He had some interesting conclusions of his own.”
“I guess we’re off to talk to Dexter.”
“Funny. That’s what we nicknamed him.”
“Really?”
“Well, I think he bought the cargo pants and grew the five o’clock shadow after we gave him the nickname.”
“What’s his real first name?”
“Princeton.”
“Kind of pompous. I think I’d prefer the nickname too. Anyway, thanks for your time, and on the subject of nicknames, might I say that you look quite a bit like a very sexy Velma from Scooby Doo.”
“You might, and it wouldn’t be the first time.”
We left Velma and moved across the lab to see a man that did indeed resemble the television character Dexter. He had brown scruffy hair, five o’ clock shadow, and was wearing the obligatory cargo pants but had opted for an untucked button up shirt, probably to better conform with police dress code.
“Hello, Dexter, I’m Finn, and this is Special Agent Kalili of the FBI,” I said, holding out my hand.
He smiled as we shook hands, though his gaze quickly moved on to Violet, whom he appraised for some time before looking back to me.
“Nice to meet you. What can I help you with?”
“Velma said that I should talk to you about the blood spatter on the Steven Green murder.”
He thought for a second then laughed out loud.
“Funny! I’ve often thought that Andrea totally looks like Velma!”
“Yeah, though a sexier version.”
“Without doubt. Well, follow me, and I’ll show you what I have.”
We followed Dexter to his desk, and he brought up the Green Murder Investigation on one of his two monitors.
“So, first, we have a blood spatter pattern that clearly shows that the weapon was placed at about a forty five degree angle and fired, point blank, up into the chest cavity, penetrating the heart and causing the death of Mr. Green.”
He showed us the crime scene pictures of Steven, and strangely, it was the first time I had seen him since he hired me six months previously to spy on his then wife, Jessica. He was lying on his back, his skin was pale white, and there was a large stain of blood on his abdomen that trailed off his body and down onto the bed. I’d seen plenty of dead bodies over the years, but Steven was an acquaintance, so it really brought the impact of the experience into my awareness.
“So, Velma said you had some interesting conclusions.”
“Well, they are to me.”
“I’d love to hear them.”
“In cases such as this, it would be common to find that the perpetrator too would have some blood splatter on their clothes. The sweatshirt found in Jessica Thurman’s room does indeed have blood on it, but it’s more than it should in my opinion—almost as if someone made a point of dousing it with the victim’s blood. I also checked the rest of her clothes, and none had even the slightest trace of blood. The amount on the sweatshirt would have easily soaked through into any undergarments, but it didn’t, which leads me to believe that it wasn’t worn over any of the clothes found in Jessica’s room.”
“Meaning she might have gotten rid of those clothes,” Violet said.
“Yeah, but, if so, why keep the blood soaked sweatshirt?”
“Very interesting,” I said.
“I think so.”
“Did you tell this to the Ed Kamakana or any of the other detectives upstairs?”
“I did, but they have a different take on this. In their minds, it’s incontrovertible proof to link Jessica Thurman to the murder.”
“Cops will be cops. Oh well, I guess it’s time to move on to the surveillance tape. Do you know who that might be?”
“Ernie, next office over.”
“Wait a minute. You seriously have someone named Ernie and someone named Bert working here?”
“Yeah, and Dexter and Velma. Quite a crew.”
“Indeed. Well, thanks for your time.”
“You’re welcome, and please feel free to come back if you have any more questions,” Dexter said, though I think he was mainly referring to Violet.
We left Dexter’s office and moved one over to find Ernie sitting at his desk, where he was watching a YouTube video. Unlike his Sesame Street counterpart, he was not orange, but he was wearing a striped shirt. I knocked on the doorframe, and he turned to greet us, though his eyes quickly left me and moved over to Violet.
“Hello, I’m Tag Finn, and this is Special Agent Violet Kalili of the FBI. I hope we aren’t interrupting anything,” I said, gesturing at the YouTube video.
“Oh no, not at all. I was just going over some footage of a local vandalism case. The dumbass posted a video of himself spray painting a store window, and I managed to find a reflection of his face. We’ll have him in less than twenty four hours.”
“Not bad,” I said.
“It’s easier to find people on an island, as there are fewer places to hide.”
“And it apparently helps if they’re stupid.”
“No doubt.”
“So, do you have a minute to talk about the Steven Green murder?”
“Absolutely. What do you want to know?”
“Well you’re the video guy, so I wanted to know your opinion about the footage. Can you say conclusively that the woman in question is Jessica Thurman?”
“Well not one hundred percent, but it’s highly likely after having compared the woman in the footage to pictures of Miss Thurman. I can show you the footage if you want.”
“That would be great,” I said.
He opened a folder and scrolled down and double clicked on an icon, and a new window opened up. He clicked the play button, then hit a key on the keyboard, and it starte
d playing in full screen on his other monitor.
“The first shot is from the camera in the hallway. The second is from the lobby, and it’s where we managed to get a good look at her face.”
A few seconds passed, and there came a woman that for all intents and purposes was similar looking to Jessica, though she had the hood up on the incriminating sweatshirt, and it was concealing the majority of her face. The time on the screen’s counter said it was one fifty two a.m., and she disappeared from the screen, and up came the footage of the lobby, where she reappeared and pressed the button for the elevator. All of a sudden, she looked straight up into the camera, and my heart skipped a beat, as it did indeed look like Jessica. She disappeared from view as she entered the elevator then reappeared in what I assume was the security camera footage from Steven’s hallway. She continued down the hall and out of camera view—presumably to Steven’s room. The time on the counter was one fifty three am..
“The next shots are from forty-five minutes later,” Ernie said.
The video jumped, and the time now read two thirty-five a.m. and showed what appeared to be Jessica walking back from the direction of Steven’s room. It jumped to the lobby, and again she paused and looked up into the camera. She was, of course, wearing the supposedly blood stained sweatshirt, though it was impossible to tell whether or not it was indeed soaked with blood because of its dark color. She entered the elevator, and, a moment later, appeared in the hallway and walked until she left the frame, and the video stopped playing.
“Have you done any frame grabs and gotten better images of the woman?”
“Yeah, just a second.”
He grabbed the mouse and brought up a series of still frames then zoomed in on the image and cleaned them up to show greater detail of the person in question. The image was a little grainy, but it sure as hell appeared to be Jessica.
“Is it possible any of this footage might have been altered?”
“Not that I can tell. Of course, the timeline is such that it would take a person with extremely good editing skills to pull it off.”
“Fuckinzee.”
“I take it you don’t believe that Jessica Thurman is our killer.”
“I know for a fact she isn’t.”
“The evidence tells a pretty conclusive story,” Ernie said.
“I’m afraid he’s correct,” Violet added.
“Any idea why she might have paused and looked deliberately into the camera?”
The Poi Predicament Page 7