Red Death

by Alan Jacobson

  “I asked him what the deal is, but he refuses to discuss it.”

  “I think I already know.”

  “You—you do? I thought you—”

  “My fiancé looked into it. A former colleague of mine, Chase Hancock, is Ferraro’s brother-in-law. Hancock was a crappy agent and wanted into the profiling unit. My boss asked my opinion, I told him what I thought, and Hancock didn’t get the gig. He blamed me. As if that wasn’t bad enough, we ended up squaring off during a case a few years ago. He was out of the Bureau and working private security for—well, for a state senator. She assigned him to my task force and that didn’t go so smoothly. He didn’t know his ass from his elbow.”

  “Hard to mix up those two body parts.”

  “That’s my point.”

  Russell chuckled. “But this Hancock guy, he thought he was the foremost expert, right?”

  “Yep. And I didn’t hesitate to call him on it. Anyway, we didn’t play well together and it all went south from there.”

  “So it’s personal, this animosity Ferraro’s got toward you.”

  She shrugged. “Never met the man before, so it’s gotta be.”

  Russell looked out at the ocean. “The part I didn’t want to tell you is that he wanted you outta here tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow?”

  “I talked him into giving us a couple of days.”

  Vail shook her head out of disbelief, not sadness. “What if we’re making headway and have a bead on—”

  “Doesn’t matter. This is emotional, not logical. Like your outburst a little while ago. He wants you gone whether we’ve wrapped the case or not.”

  “I didn’t exactly help my case, did I?”

  “Probably not.”

  Vail sighed. “I’m here to help you guys out. So if he doesn’t want the help …” She shrugged. “Nothing I can do about it.”

  “I’m not giving up so easily. I want you here. I need you here.”

  “Nice thought.”

  But I’ve been gone for almost three weeks. I could go home, see Robby, start planning our wedding.

  She checked her watch. “Let’s make use of whatever time we’ve got left.”

  Russell frowned. “Yeah.” He got quiet for a moment, then said, “So is the killer changing? Devolving or something? Because of yesterday—”

  “No.”

  “No? How do you know?”

  Didn’t I tell him to stop asking me good questions?

  She kept her gaze out on the breaking waves. A gentle breeze ruffled her red hair—but she hardly noticed because a thought was formulating.

  “Karen?”

  “He didn’t mean to kill Haley.”

  “How do you get that?”

  “Haley was a mistake. Why, I don’t know. Maybe he gave the soap to someone else, who lost it. Haley found it and …” She shrugged. “Wasn’t her lucky day.”

  “That’s your best guess?”

  “For now. Give me a few minutes and maybe I’ll come up with something better.”

  “That’s not funny.”

  “I’m not joking.”

  “Detective!”

  Russell turned and saw an officer standing by the mud brown smoothie truck. He started toward the cop, followed by Vail.

  Vail trudged along the pavement. “Another possible scenario is that someone named Mary bought the soap, saw Haley, or knew her—or knew she was homeless—and gave it to her. As a gesture of goodwill.”

  Russell gave Vail a look, but his face was silhouetted against the sun and she couldn’t make out his expression.

  He stopped in front of the officer. “What’s up, Kahale?”

  “You’re gonna wanna hear this.”

  Russell and Vail ducked beneath the crime scene tape, following Kahale, who led them to the van.

  “This lady’s a witness,” Kahale said. “Says she saw the whole thing.”

  What’s there to see? Woman starts coughing, drops dead. End of story.

  Kahale stepped aside as Vail and Russell craned their necks to look through a window cut into the side of the old panel van, where a woman was wiping pineapple and mango remnants off a well-worn butcher block countertop that looked like it had seen many years of continuous use.

  “You see what happened?” Russell asked.

  She stopped and set the sponge down. “Crazy. Never saw anyone die before. Haley was here one minute, the next she started coughing and just dropped—well, dead.”

  “You knew her?” Vail asked.

  “Everyone around here knew Haley. At least, the locals. She’s homeless, we all kinda looked out for her. Sometimes we wouldn’t see her for weeks, then she’d come by and sit on the beach. I give her one of my old knives and she sits there carving wood that washes up onto the sand.”

  “Was she doing that today?” Russell asked.

  The woman shook her head. “She’d waited, like she always does. Very polite. Never cut the line. Anyway, she got up to the window and I asked her what she wanted. I make some special drinks for her. Never charge her. She needs the nutrition, ya know?”

  Vail nodded. “Very nice of you to look after her.”

  “Yeah, so she said she wanted an OJ with pineapple juice. I started to cut the fruit when she sees this chocolate bar I had on the counter. And she said, ‘Wait. Can I have that instead?’ I told her the smoothie would be better for her, but she said, ‘Just this once.’ I figured, hell, we all have our weaknesses, so I told her of course. I gave it to her, she walked away, and well, the rest you know.”

  “How long after you gave her the chocolate bar did she start coughing?”

  “Not that long. Maybe a couple of minutes?”

  Vail turned to Russell. “We need that chocolate—including the wrappers.”

  Russell swiveled around in the direction of the criminalist and brought two fingers to his mouth. The loud whistle made a dozen heads turn. He waved Cynthia over and told her what they were looking for.

  “We bagged a bunch of stuff in the area. I’ll go take a look.”

  As Cynthia walked away, Vail huddled with Russell. “I know this doesn’t fit the UNSUB’s ritual. But we follow the evidence and see where it leads us, right?”

  Russell shrugged. “Guess so. Really thought we were onto something with the soap. I mean, in spite of Kelleher.”

  “We were—we are. Don’t let this shake you. It’ll all make sense once we figure it out.”

  Listen to me! So calm. Rational. What if it doesn’t make sense?

  “Yo, Kahale,” Vail called to the officer, who was standing with his fingers locked in his belt loops staring out at the ocean.

  He turned and trudged toward them. They met him halfway.

  “Extend the crime scene tape around the van,” Vail said. “You didn’t secure a large enough area.”

  Kahale dropped his hands from his belt and apologized. “I’ll get right on it.”

  Russell jerked a thumb over his right shoulder at the fruit smoothie van. “And get that witness’s contact info.”

  “Already got it.”

  Vail and Russell headed back to Haley Anderson.

  “So what the hell, Karen? I know you said I shouldn’t let this bother me, but … I gotta admit. It’s officially bugging me. Between Kelleher yesterday and now Haley Anderson, I feel like we’re back at square one.”

  Vail sighed. She had thought the same thing—but kept rejecting the notion that she had gotten this all wrong.

  Did I? Did I fuck this up?

  “We’re not wrong. I had my doubts last night, around 3:30 am, I think. But I’m right. I mean, I don’t know for sure what the hell’s going on, but we’re close. We have to be. I just … I feel it. There is an explanation here. We haven’t found it yet, but we will.”

  “Yea
h, but what if the explanation is that we’re on the wrong road and—”

  “Hang on a second.” Vail jogged back over to the juice truck. But the woman they had spoken with was gone. Vail spun in a circle and located her about thirty yards away on the beach. “Hey! Hold up.”

  Vail took a step onto the sand and stopped. Fuck it. Sand isn’t gonna kill me, even a city girl like me. She pulled off her shoes and socks and waded into the warm silica.

  The woman waited for Vail to get closer. “The officer said my van is now a crime scene so I couldn’t stay there. This is gonna kill my business.”

  “At least you get to live for another day. Haley, she’s laid out on the asphalt back there.”

  She frowned. “Sorry. Just frustrated. I didn’t ask for any of this.”

  “Neither did Haley.”

  Another frown. “What do you want?”

  “Let’s start with your name.”

  “Really?” She looked off at the ocean. “I already gave it to the officer.”

  “Look,” Vail said. “I get that you’re pissed off and that you’re losing business. But I’ve got a job to do and, at the moment, that job is serving Haley Anderson by finding her killer.”

  The woman recoiled. “Killer?”

  “Don’t waste anymore of my time. Your name.”

  Seemingly mesmerized by the breaking waves, she said, “Mary Alana.”

  Bingo.

  “That chocolate bar you gave Haley. Where’d you get it?”

  Mary swung her gaze back to Vail. “Why?”

  Now you’re pissing me off.

  “In case you didn’t notice, Mary, I’m the one with the badge. So I get to ask the questions.”

  She frowned. “Some guy in a wheelchair. I’ve seen him around town.”

  Vail noticed that Russell had come up alongside her.

  “Everything okay?”

  “More than okay. Adam, meet Mary, the woman from the smoothie truck.”

  Russell instinctively held out his hand to shake—but his head whipped back to Vail. “Did you say Mary?”

  Vail faced their witness. “Tell me about this guy in a wheelchair.”

  Mary shrugged. “Full beard, bushy. Starting to gray. Hair, too. Black, graying at the temples. Maybe forty, forty-five. Sign on his wheelchair says he’s a veteran of the Iraq War.”

  Iraq War? Doubt that. A poisoner avoids confrontation. A soldier is taught to run toward a fight, not away.

  “And he sold you this chocolate bar,” Russell said. “Homemade?”

  “That’s what his sign said. And something like ‘boutique’ and Ecuadorian cacao beans. It was small, only like two ounces.”

  “Did he also sell soap?”

  “Yeah,” Mary said, drawing the word out, surprise permeating her expression. “How’d you know?”

  “Have you used it?” Russell asked. “The soap?”

  “Didn’t get any. I bought like a gazillion bar pack at Costco. Last thing I needed was soap.”

  “Where’d you see him?”

  “Waikiki, on one of the corners where they have all those fancy stores.”

  “Fancy?” Vail asked.

  “Kalakaua Avenue,” Russell said. “I know the place. Luxury Row. Chanel, Coach, Gucci, Tiffany’s—you get the idea.”

  “Yes,” Mary said with a nod. “Lots of rich Chinese and Japanese women shop there. Tourists.”

  “Doesn’t sound like a place you’d find a guy in a wheelchair selling homemade soap and chocolate bars,” Vail said.

  “Not the kind of place you’d normally find me at, either,” Mary said. “I obviously don’t have that kind of money. But it’s fun to rub elbows with the rich. A thousand bucks for a purse? Give me a break.” She snorted. “And they’ve got some great restaurants down a couple of alleys. An authentic Korean hole-in-the-wall that I love. But I don’t think Luxury Row’s the only place this guy sells his stuff.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Pretty sure I saw him somewhere else, maybe a few days before that.”

  “Where?” Russell asked.

  Mary sucked on her bottom lip. Her eyes canted toward the sky for a moment, then she shook her head. “Can’t remember. I buy my fruit and supplies all over the island. I—I was driving at the time, that’s all I can tell you. Wasn’t anywhere around here.” She glanced up at the sky. “High traffic area. Which I guess makes sense because he needs people to sell to. Maybe closer to downtown?”

  “What time of day was he out there?”

  Mary shrugged. “Both times I saw him it was late afternoon. Four-ish. By Luxury Row, a little later because it was getting dark. Maybe he’s there for a few hours. I don’t know. He’s not only catching tourists in the area but people getting off work.”

  Yep. That’s what I was thinking.

  “This guy,” Russell said. “You get his name?”

  “I think he said it was John.”

  John. Mary. Jesus. Couldn’t their parents choose less common names? Like Latoya? Aisha? Shaniqua? DeAndre?

  “Can we set you up with a forensic artist, see if we can get a likeness of him?”

  Mary shrugged, then hooked a fingernail beneath a lock of hair that had blown across her face. “Sure.”

  “Did you open the chocolate bar?” Russell asked.

  “Never got around to it. Bought it last night and stuck it in my purse. Forgot about it until I was here this morning. Figured I’d eat it after lunch. I took it out so I wouldn’t forget about it. That’s when Haley saw it.”

  “So the chocolate was meant for Mary,” Russell said.

  “Looks that way.”

  Mary looked from Russell to Vail. “What do you mean?”

  Vail sidestepped the question. “You’re sure you bought it last night?”

  “Yeah. Why?”

  “Oh,” Russell said, “that’s music to my ears.”

  “You know his name,” Vail said, “so the two of you obviously talked. Any accents?”

  “Southern. Or, I don’t know, maybe back east. It was distinctive.”

  “Those are very different,” Vail said. “Which was it?”

  Mary thought, her eyes canting up to the sky. “Back east. New York. Or Boston. I’m not good with accents.”

  “What’d you discuss?” Russell asked.

  “Small talk. He asked me where I was from, if I had any kids. If any of them served in the military. You know, stuff like that.”

  “Any of the questions seem odd? Did he seem off in any way?”

  Mary stared out at the ocean. “Nothing I picked up on. Just making conversation. He did ask a lot about me, though. I didn’t get to ask that much about him.”

  “How’d he become disabled?” Vail asked. “Was he missing any limbs?”

  “No. He—he said he was in a Humvee accident outside Baghdad. Spinal cord injury. Didn’t seem like he wanted to talk about it so I didn’t push it. Had something wrong with his left hand, too. Wore a glove.”

  “A glove?” Russell asked.

  “Yeah, not a thick, winter one. Thin, like a cotton one.”

  “Did he say anything about his mother?” Vail asked.

  “His mother?”

  “Yeah, like, ‘Wow, you really remind me of my mom.’ Anything like that.”

  “Actually, now that I think about it, he may’ve said something like that. Wasn’t a big deal.” She studied Vail’s face. “Was it?”

  “Yo!” Cynthia was approaching, sand flying off her shoes as she slogged toward them. She lifted up a clear evidence bag. “Found a chocolate bar wrapper. Among a bunch of other crap. But this is what you wanted, right?” She held it in the direction of Mary.

  “That the one you gave the vic—uh, Ms. Anderson?” Vail asked.

  Mary leaned forward
and examined it, moving slightly to avoid the glary sunshine. “Yeah.”

  “No sign of the chocolate,” Cynthia said.

  “It was small,” Mary said. “She probably ate the whole thing in a couple of bites.”

  Great.

  “Spoke with Harry Bachler at the lab,” Cynthia said. “He’ll run this soon as I get back, check it for that toxin.”

  “And have him check her stomach contents,” Russell said.

  “Ten-four.”

  “Can you have someone bring it over there now? Rather not wait till you finish out your day.”

  “I’ll make it happen.” Cynthia turned and headed back the way she came.

  “Other than the red handwritten ‘Mary Alana,’” Russell said, “looked like the wrapper was printed on a LaserJet. Black and white text. Did you catch what it said?”

  “Seventy percent dark, homemade, small-batch premium chocolate from sustainably farmed Ecuadoran cacao beans.”

  Russell squinted at her.

  Vail shrugged. “I like dark chocolate. A lot.”

  “She looked like she really, really wanted it,” Mary said. “Haley. Her eyes were riveted to it. I—I just felt bad for her. I mean, how many happy things does she have in life? So I gave it to her. And you people are saying that that’s what killed her? I killed Haley?” She brought a hand to her mouth, cupped it.

  “No,” Vail said, “you didn’t kill her. We’re looking into a number of things. You did the right thing in helping her out.”

  “But she ate the chocolate and then—then—”

  “Mary,” Vail said. “Listen to me. We don’t know what happened yet. But even if it was something with the chocolate bar, it was someone else who was responsible. Not you.”

  Mary bit her lip and nodded slowly. Vail had not convinced her—that was obvious—but there was nothing more she could say.

  Mary certainly won’t feel any better when she realizes the toxin was meant to kill her, not Haley.

  Vail and Russell thanked her, then left her alone with her thoughts—and guilt.

  38

  Vail and Russell stood roadside, waiting for a passing line of cars with surf boards bungied across the top, then headed back to their vehicle.

  Vail took one last look at the beach over her left shoulder. “We need to ask Bachler if there are any chocolate bar wrappers in the crime scene cache they collected from Hanapepe.”