by Keene, Susan
I did the same. I didn’t think I could sleep but I did. Within a couple of minutes, I heard Ryan’s breathing change, and I didn’t remember anything after that.
We got up when the alarm went off at eight. We all showered and changed into dark clothing. I didn’t like surveillance. I didn’t think anyone did. It was cold, boring, and dangerous. Amy and I made sandwiches and snacks for, what we assumed, would be a long night. Ryan called three of his men and gave them instructions. They were to meet us at the apartment at ten. Seemed like the six of us would all be watching the warehouse tonight.
It was a long and boring night, just as I expected. I, personally, thought Mr. Wu was trying to play us. I didn’t know why, but the equation didn’t make sense unless he was in the middle of it. We stayed until daylight and then headed for the nearest Starbucks for some coffee.
Under normal circumstances, I was a creature of habit. I had my coffee, bagel, and cream cheese every morning. Then I made a stop by the newsstand. There were only one or two in St. Louis. After that I went to the office where, I worked until five or six, and then to the grocery store and home. If someone wanted to kidnap me, it would be an easy catch. Only, lately, so many things had happened that I strayed from the norm. It was exhausting.
Ryan said he had work to do. He promised he would be back by nine and go with us to the warehouse again with his men. I told him I wasn’t going to stay in all the time.
I was shocked when he agreed. “Keep your eyes open and let Nathan Morris drive you. I would feel better.”
“I need to get dog food and stretch my legs,” Amy said. “This is the most sedentary I have been in twenty years.”
“Just be careful. I don’t think anyone is out to hurt you, and you’re probably safe by yourself, but take Bobby with you, anyway. He’s good company and a runner.”
Ryan left. Amy and I got cleaned up and went our separate ways. It felt good to have a normal day. She wanted clothes and things from her house. I wanted to go to the office. Nathan loaded up the office computer, and off we went.
I didn’t realize how popular we were. Four more people wanted to hire us. None of them seemed odd. One had a cat that was poisoned and he wanted to know who did it.
Another man said his daughter of twenty-two had come to St. Louis and met a boy. He wanted us to check the boyfriend out and see if he was who he said he was. There were two women. One was a watch-my-husband-that-scum case and the other was about a missing ring. I couldn’t really follow what she was trying to convey. I would have to call her to find out.
I started with the first one and took the case of the poisoned cat. I got all the information and told him we would be there in about an hour. Amy would be at the office by then. The phone rang.
“Kate?”
“Lizzy, is that you?”
“Kate?” she repeated, as though she hadn’t heard me. “Kate, I can’t do this much longer. I need help.” Then the phone went dead.
I sat in stunned silence. I called Ryan, who didn’t answer, and Roger, who did. “I just got a call from Lizzy Smith.”
“Are you sure?” Roger asked.
“Mostly. She sounded tired and hoarse.”
“Did she call on your cell phone so we can track it?”
“No, the office phone. Can you do anything?”
“No, we weren’t set up for it. Do you have caller ID?” He sounded frustrated.
I got up to pace. “Yes, but it came in as Anonymous.”
“There’s nothing I can do. Tell me exactly what she said.”
I told him and he said, “Hum. I don’t know what to think about that. At least we know she is alive. I wonder how she got to a phone.”
“Roger, we need to find her.”
“I know, Kate. I’m working on it as an active case. There are just no leads. She vanished one day and there have been no cell phone calls, no credit card charges, and no sightings. All the things we usually use to track someone down are missing.”
There wasn’t anything else to say, and we hung up when my cell phone rang. It was Ryan. We went over the same information as I had with Roger. He said he was in a meeting and would see me at nine. He sounded depressed.
About ten minutes later, Amy and Digger walked in. They both seemed happier from a long run and different clothes. I went over everything for the third time. Each time I told it, the worse I felt. My friend or at least someone I had known for fifteen years was gone. I mentally renewed my vow to do something.
CHAPTER 25
A my, Digger, and I went to see Jack Stockman. He was a short, effeminate man with a balding head and a potbelly. When he talked, he made wide sweeping gestures with his arms.
“Thank you so much for coming. Fluffy’s in the house. Someone poisoned him.”
Amy looked toward the house. “How long ago did it happen?”
He had tears in his eyes. “It was a week yesterday.”
Amy looked at me and then back at Mr. Stockman. “You didn’t bury Fluffy?”
“No, I kept him for evidence.” He said it like it was normal behavior.
“Where, exactly, is Fluffy?” I asked.
“He’s in the freezer.”
I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. “We don’t need to see Fluffy. We only need to ask you a couple of questions.” He motioned for us to sit at an outdoor table under a tree in the side yard. “Where did you find the cat?”
“He was lying in the flower bed right over there.” He began to cry openly.
I made it a point not to look at Amy.
She, meanwhile, put her hand on his and patted it. “I have a dog, Digger, and I know just how you feel. If someone killed him, I would be devastated and angry.”
He took a handkerchief from his pocket, unfolded it with a flourish like a waving a flag, and dabbed the corner of his eyes as a woman does when she doesn’t want to ruin her makeup.
“Jack, do you get along with your neighbors?” I asked.
“Mostly. This was Mother’s house. When she died last year, I moved in. Fluffy was her cat. He was my last living link to my dear mother. He was only nine. He should have lived another seven or eight years. This is tragic.” He put his head down on the table and I stole a look at Amy.
She mouthed the words. “Let’s help him.”
“Well, Jack, we’ll take a walk around the neighborhood and see what we can find out.”
“Oh, thank you. Thank you.” He waved the handkerchief again.
Jack lived in an elegant neighborhood. Professionally done lawns and swimming pools were the norm. Each had a lovely garden, and I guessed a gardener. I didn’t see any swing sets or bicycles laying in driveways.
We knocked on the next-door neighbor’s door.
A tall thin gentleman answered the door. “May I help you ladies?” he asked.
“We’re looking into the death of one of your neighbor’s pets.”
The man shook his head. “Jack still trying to find out who murdered his mother’s cat?”
“Yes, he’s quite upset. Do you know who poisoned his cat?” I was determined to take this seriously.
“Yes, we all do, but no one’ll tell him for fear he’ll shoot them.”
“Well, Jack hired us so he can bury this mystery and his cat. He didn’t seem violent to me,” Amy said.
The neighbor began to close the door. “Then why hasn’t he buried the cat? Why does he still cry when you mention it? It’s been over a week.”
I put my hand on the door to stop it’s forward movement. “Do you have any pets, Mr...”
“No, and it’s Jones, Troy Jones.”
“Well, Mr. Jones,” I said. “There’s always someone willing to talk. We could canvas this entire neighborhood and eventually we’ll run into someone with the kind of personality who wants to talk. You could save us some time and effort.”
He looked over me and to his left, right, and then invited us into his house. We all three took a seat in the family room. “Tony Mar
coni killed the cat. Every day, the cat, Fluffy, who weighed a good twenty pounds, would lay on Tony’s prize lilies. It’s hard to believe Jack doesn’t know Tony killed the cat. They often fought about keeping the cat at home.”
“So did this Tony admit to poisoning the cat?”
“Yeah, he said it was an easy fix. In Tony’s defense, he lost a major award because when the judges came by, Fluffy was lying in the middle of the garden and had broken the stems of the flowers. Tony was livid.”
Amy stood. “Where could we find Mr. Marconi?”
“He lives in the Tudor style house with the circle drive at the north end of the street.”
“Thanks for your help.”
“You’re welcome.” He showed us to the door.
As we walked casually to the other end of the street, Amy said, “I have a bad feeling about this. After we confront this guy, are we going to go back and confirm to Jack that his neighbor did indeed kill the cat that he’s so attached to he hasn’t bothered to bury it a week after it died?”
“I think our man is a little skewed in the mental department, but surely he won’t do anything. I can see him calling the police to report a case of animal abuse and cause Mr. Marconi to have to pay a big fine. I don’t think he’ll do him any bodily harm.”
“For what it is worth, Digger has been my best friend for twelve years. He sleeps with me, listens to all of my problems, and is generally the only one I can trust every minute of every day. It would be difficult for me to not hurt someone if they poisoned Digger, heaven forbid.”
We went back to the car so she could check on the dog. I didn’t have any pets, always wanted a cat, but never managed to take the time to get one. Killing someone over a pet sounded a little overboard to me.
Digger was asleep in the backseat. After Amy checked to make sure the windows were cracked so he had enough air and the doors were locked, we resumed our walk to the Marconi house.
When we got there, we paused in awe. It had the most extensive gardens I had ever seen, except on TV or in magazines. He didn’t have to mow his lawn. There were lush green plants everywhere. I told Amy I wanted to come back in a month or two and see them in bloom. If I were a cat, this is where I would want to hang out.
We rang the doorbell, and the man who answered didn’t look like a gardener. He was at least six feet, four inches and wore a thousand dollar suit and shoes that topped four hundred dollars. I couldn’t afford to dress in that class, but I knew quality when I saw it.
“Mr. Marconi?” I decided it probably wasn’t him.
“Yes, who are you?”
I handed him a business card.
“Nash Detective Agency?” He handed back the card. “I don’t need a detective.”
“I’m sure you don’t. This is my associate Amy Perkins. We were hired by your neighbor, Jack Stockman, to investigate the death of his cat, Fluffy.”
He laughed. “You’re kidding me!”
I took a step forward. “No, I’m serious. Do you know anything about the poisoning of the cat?”
“Yes, I think it got poisoned in my garden.”
“What do you mean, you think?” Amy asked.
“Well, I did drop some antifreeze when I was servicing my car. I have heard cats love antifreeze because it tastes sweet.”
I felt my face get hot. “You’re telling me you service your own car?”
“Yes, it isn’t against the law, you know?”
“I know, but poisoning a cat is animal abuse,” Amy said.
I took Amy by the arm and pulled her toward the stairs. “Thanks for your time, Mr. Marconi, you’ve been a great help.”
“Great help? He poisoned that cat.” Amy turned around to glare at him as he grinned at her and shut the door.
I had to nearly pull Amy away. “We’re going to Jack’s house,” I said, “tell him what we found out, collect our fee, and be done with this.”
“I still say it’s the wrong thing to do.”
“Amy, what would you have me tell him?”
“We didn’t find out anything. We don’t need his money if he doesn’t like the job we did.”
“Where’s your faith in mankind? I believe he just wants to know so he can bury the cat and get on with it.”
“Are you sure?” she asked.
“Reasonably.”
Jack took it well. He said he thought that was the case, but wanted to be sure. He said he needed closure. He handed me a check he already had written, shook both of our hands, and said goodbye.
We were not a block down the street when we heard the gunshots and saw people running toward the Marconi house.
“I guess I was wrong,” I said to Amy.
She shook her head. “You had better turn around. Let’s see what happened. I told you. If you had a beloved pet, you would have believed me.”
“You’ll never know how much I wish I’d listened.”
All I could think of was Michael, Roomy, Andy murdered, Lizzy missing, and now a stranger, possibly dead because of me. I stopped and closed my eyes. I swore to myself, at that moment, if I saw someone in trouble, even if it was a hangnail, I’d stop and help. Then I made a vow to get a cat and a dog, I’d never had a pet in my life. Maybe it was what I needed to learn empathy. God knows I needed something.
CHAPTER 26
I had been in a reflective mood ever since Jack Stockman shot Tony Marconi. Thank goodness, he was a poor shot and the bullet hit Tony in the left shoulder. Amy and I had to go to Central to give a deposition.
“What possessed me to tell Jack who killed his cat?” the officer taking our statements asked me.
Honestly, all I could do was shrug my shoulders.
We had to hurry through the interview because Ryan called and said there was something on the film taken at the warehouse the night before. He wanted us to come to his house and review it with him. Thank goodness, he’d had the forethought to set up some cameras.
We watched it at least fifty times. It was unbelievable. A tall thin person in a wide-brimmed hat and dark clothes came to the rear door of the warehouse and used what appeared to be a key to get in.
The next ten minutes showed the lights coming on in the northwest corner, where Mr. Wu said Jasmine’s paintings were stored.
About twelve minutes into the tape, the person came back out the same door, carrying two large packages. He or she walked straight toward the camera. Dark hair, thin, and face covered with the hat. I took a deep breath. As the person got closer to the camera, I could see the shoes he wore. And the same shoes as the person who stood over me when I was pinned to the tree outside my apartment.
It answered one large question. We knew now it was all connected. I had every confidence we were going to figure it out.
Ryan kept increasing the size of the picture. I kept thinking if it were only a tad bit larger, I could see the face.
Ryan picked up the phone. “I’m going to call my tech and have him come over. He showed me the basics of the system, but I know he can do wonders with this film.”
While we waited, each of us came up with what we thought was going on. I started. “The person is too tall to be Stanley Wu. I still think he wanted us at the warehouse so he could keep an eye on us and try once more to kill us. I believe whoever broke in, or actually used a key to get in, works for Wu. We need to dig deeper into the whereabouts of his daughter, Jasmine. One way or the other, I think she’s the key.”
Amy said she also thought Jasmine was the key to everything. She was having a difficult time talking to me. Digger rested on her lap and she unconsciously stoked his back.
Neither of us told Ryan about the events of the day. If he thought there was something wrong between Amy and me, he didn’t say anything.
Ryan shocked us both with his thoughts. “I think the person on the tape is Lizzy.”
“It couldn’t be!” I said.
“Why not?” Amy and Ryan both said.
“If it was her, why didn’t she just walk awa
y? Why not come home?” I couldn’t believe it.
“If you remember, the film showed her getting into the passenger side of a Mercedes. Probably the blue one we have seen before. Whoever is driving that car has something on her that makes her stay. Hopefully, Rodney can manipulate the tape so we can see more.”
Someone knocked on the door. It was a young man who I guessed was Rodney. He looked like a high school student, but my doctor looked like he was twelve, so I assumed Rodney was older.
After Ryan introduced us, they went over to the desk and hunched over the control panel. Rodney was sitting and Ryan watched over his left shoulder. Within a minute, Ryan called us over. “Play it for them,” he said.
In front of us was the surveillance film. It was clear and moving at the pace of one frame at a time. It was impossible to see the face of the thief, but I did know the movement.
Ryan was right.
It was Lizzy Smith. I was sure of it.
We watched to the end of the tape several times.
Lizzy got into the Mercedes. Someone else was driving. Now I was more confused than before.
Rodney showed Ryan how to make the films clear and, within fifteen minutes, he was gone.
“Do you have any kind of scenario to match what we just saw?” I asked.
“Actually, I do,” Ryan said. “I think Jasmine Wu’s art is worth a lot of money. It went up when she got hurt and, if she’s dead, it will go sky high. I think someone’s forcing Lizzy to steal the paintings and paint more that can be passed off as Jasmine’s. Whoever it is wants to make sure there are plenty of paintings to go around before they announce her death.”
“That’s a good story.” Amy stood and put Digger on the floor. “It would explain why Lizzy went to her apartment and ransacked it to get brushes and other painting supplies.”
“I guess we’re pretty sure that was Lizzy too,” I said.
“Yes, same height, weight, and body language.”
I shuddered. “If that’s true, then she was standing over me at the apartment.”
