by Keene, Susan
Ryan walked toward me. One of the guards held a baton in front of his chest to stop him. “You’re not allowed within twenty-feet of the prisoners.”
Ryan turned on his heel and left without a backward glance. I could only hope things would go well.
We sat on the curb and waited for prisoners for another four hours. No one cared about our well-being. As a case was disposed of, the defendant went in one of three vans―one went to the county jail, one to the mental ward at Barnes-Jewish Hospital and the other to Fulton, the state prison. They had it all worked out.
Even though the trip to the jail shouldn’t have taken more than thirty minutes, it took another two hours. One man, who looked like he’d slept in his clothes for weeks and smelled like whiskey and dirty socks, threw up all over the van. The other men, I was the only female̶, raised such a ruckus, the guards stopped and hosed out the vehicle.
I learned more about prisoner transport than I ever cared to.
We walked single file into the foyer of the facility. Someone called my name. I was unshackled from the men in front of me and behind me. A big woman took my arm, not too gently, and pushed me into a room on my left. Ryan and Jim were there.
Once we were in she shoved me toward them and slammed the door. “She’s free to go.”
I couldn’t hold back the tears. I’m not a crier, but exhaustion, the thought of spending more time in a cell, and lack of food and sleep had gotten the best of me.
Ryan helped me into his truck―I was greeted by my beautiful fur-baby, Chili. Best decision ever. I loved that dog. She listened to all of my complaints, joys, and sorrows, and loved me no matter how I looked, acted, or sounded.
Ryan stood outside and talked to Jim for a few minutes. I didn’t care. I folded my legs under me, turned the heater on full blast, closed my eyes, and hugged my dog. Thank goodness part of my nightmare was over.
Ryan opened the door on his side and slid into the driver’s seat. “I hope you’re getting warm.”
I reached to turn down the heat. “Oh, I’m sorry.”
“No. It’s fine. What’re you hungry for?”
“Steak ‘n Shake; a double cheeseburger and an orange freeze.” Once a few bites of warm, comfort food hit my stomach and the heat in the truck reached my core, I felt human again. I hoped a hot shower and a good night’s sleep was the answer.
“I can’t believe you put up that much money for bail.” He was shamelessly rich. Only two people in the area had more money. One owned a brewery and the other a rental car company. Ryan inherited his, but he never forgot how blessed he was. He had his hand in art galleries, restaurants, real estate, a semi-pro basketball team, and owned the largest home and business security company in the Midwest.
He pulled me to him and hugged me and Chili at the same time. “Honey, its only paper. You aren’t going to skip the country are you?”
“No.” I reached over and touched his leg. “They took my passport.” We both chuckled. “I’m worried about how I’m going to live with no license to work and no gun.”
He put his hand on mine. “Kate, don’t worry about it. I’ll take care of everything,”
“I know you want to, but let me ask you a question.” I didn’t wait for him to say anything. “What do they call a woman who sleeps with a man, doesn’t work, and lets him support her? Before you answer let me tell you, I know about fifty words for her and none of them are flattering.”
He glanced down at me. “You’re being a little hard on yourself, aren’t you?” He pulled to the curb and put the truck in park.
I held Chili tighter. “This could go on for a long time. I have no gun, no credentials, and not much money. It doesn’t look promising.”
He took my hand in his and patted it. “Here’s my idea. Finish your burger. Take a hot shower and sleep until you feel better. Amy and I have a plan. If it works, and Jim thinks it will, I’ll have you cleared by the end of the week. We’ve done all we can do at the moment.” He leaned toward me. We shared a tender kiss and headed home.
CHAPTER 5
I woke up with Chili’s tongue up my nose. She wanted to go outside to potty. For the hundredth time in the past few weeks, I thought I needed to move out of my penthouse apartment overlooking Forest Park. When nature called and I wanted to take her outside I had to keep her on a lead. She never got to run free.
The apartment served me well over the years. It, along with a paid lease, was a wedding gift to Michael and me from Ryan. I stayed because of the memories of Michael and because it was paid for. I didn’t need four bedrooms and three baths. I needed a backyard with a fence. As soon as I could work again, I would search for a house on a quiet street with a huge fenced backyard.
When I went back inside there was a missed call on my cell phone. Caller ID read Ryan Meade, but he didn’t leave a message. I called back anyway. “Hi, you called?”
“Yes. Can you be ready to go to Jim’s office for a meeting in about thirty minutes? I’m sorry it’s short notice, but I wanted to let you sleep as long as possible.”
It was mid-morning already. “Sure, I’ll be ready and downstairs in thirty.”
I fed Chili, filled her water bowl, and stroked her back while she ate. I took another shower to try to get the smell and memories of the jail cell off me. I looked around for something to wear. Someday I intended to go through my closet, throw away what I no longer wore. I thought it about once a week. When the time came, I could find a thousand other things I had to do.
When I looked in the mirror, I didn’t always have self-acceptance. I was too short, my hair unruly and my boobs tiny. But no one had ever tried to put a bag over my head because they couldn’t stand to look at me, so all was not lost.
I liked dresses but hardly ever wore one. In my line of work, I ran, jumped, ducked and pushed on a regular basis. Slacks, feminine tops and tailored blazers to hide my weapon were my uniforms. Spike heels were my trademark. Anything I could do to make me taller than my five feet one inch and made me look more imposing on the job.
I slipped on a little black dress with no jacket. Ryan must have thought the dress was a good choice. He whistled when the elevator door opened and I stepped out.
We arrived at Jim’s posh Clayton law office about ten minutes later. Amy and my nail technician, Debbie, were there. I mouthed hi on my way by.
An assistant ushered Ryan and me into James’s office and closed the door. Jim worked a few more seconds on something on his desk and looked up with a cheesy grin. “I think we have it.”
Ryan smiled, “Good.”
“Would you guys like to clue me in? I want to be happy too.”
“Okay, the grand jury’s in session. Your case goes before them within the next three weeks. But, it will never go to court. I called Darrin Donavan and made an appointment with him for tomorrow.”
Darrin Donavan was the district attorney for St. Louis County. There were several of them but Darrin led the pack. “I assured him we have proof you’re not the woman in the video. At first he laughed then he laughed and said; “The video I saw gives me an ironclad case.” James picked up some pictures that had been lying on his desk. “Look at these, Kate. Do you recognize them?”
“Yes. The ones on the right are the pictures of my hands Amy took at the jail the other night.”
“And the other pictures?” He wanted to know.
I shook my head. “I haven’t a clue.”
“The other pictures are enlargements of the hands of the woman in the video. They prove beyond a doubt it’s not you on those tapes.”
I was skeptical. “How can you prove it?”
“That’s why Amy and Debbie Crawford are here. Amy will testify your hands looked like these pictures hours after the crime. Debbie will testify she does your nails every other Tuesday and has for the last four years.” He put the other pictures on top. “This woman hasn’t had her nails done in the recent past. What else do you see?” Before I could answer he continued, “When they locked yo
u in the holding cell you removed your jewelry. Look at your hands. You have deep white lines where your rings were. She doesn’t. Believe me, it’s enough to finish this entire thing.”
Ryan sat quietly through out the exchange He leaned over and patted my hand. “It’s enough.”
Jim took another long look at the photos as he restacked them. “There are other differences in your hands and hers. I don’t think we’ll need them. Darrin will drop the case and this will be behind you. Believe me, Kate.”
“And you are sure?” It seemed like a long shot to me.
James put the pictures in a manila envelope and slapped it with the back of his hand. “The district attorney won’t take this to the grand jury for an indictment. Those men have large egos. No one wants to take a case to court they can’t win. This one would command a great amount of publicity. He’d be foolish to continue once he sees these.”
I let out the breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. “Thanks, that’s wonderful. Now we only have one problem.”
“What’s that?” Both men talked at once.
“What keeps her from doing it again―or something worse? Who is she? I don’t mind telling you, I’m nervous.”
CHAPTER 6
I picked my gun and credentials up on Friday afternoon. Ryan told me it was over. But I knew the other shoe would fall one day. I was sure of it.
The thing about publicity is that it didn’t matter if it was good or bad. Amy and I had more new business than we could handle. Never in our career were we able to pick and chose from so many cases.
We picked a woman, Nancy Trimble, who had bought a condo from a fellow who was now her maintenance man. She was convinced every time she left her home, he went in and moved things around.
Our appointment with her was after lunch. We had Digger and Chili with us. They went with us if the temperatures weren’t too hot or cold. They were happy campers and comfortable in the truck while we visited with our client. Many times when we came back, they were burrowed together under a blanket I kept in the back seat.
Mrs. Trimble answered the door. “Are you from the̶” When she got to detective agency, she looked around and whispered the words.
Amy handed her our card. “Yes, I’m Amy Perkin and this is Kate Nash, may we come in?”
She stepped away from the door and gave us room to enter. Before she closed it she stuck her head out and looked in both directions.
The room was overstuffed with collectibles. There were figurines of dogs, cats, Friar Folk, Sister Folk, elephants, tigers, donkeys, and Precious Moments statues. I didn’t have to move to see the dining room was filled with tiny mouse figurines, mules, elephants, and squirrels. It was all I could see from where I stood. I had the impression we’d stepped into an entire house full of what I referred to as dust catchers.
It would take an amazing memory for anyone to know if an item had been moved. Every tabletop, counter, the television, and numerous shelves had some sort of collection.
Amy walked around the room. “Do you know where everything in this room is placed?”
She went to a cabinet near where Amy stood. “My first husband gave me everything in here and on the piano. The things in the bedroom belonged to Mother. All the rest was given to me by my second husband, Wilbur.”
I sat on the couch and opened the little notebook I carried in my back pocket. “When did you first find something in the wrong place?”
She sat beside me. “I’ve been uneasy ever since I bought this apartment last June. Something is not right around this complex. I can’t put my finger on it. Last month I noticed when I left and came back, my collections would be out of place.”
Amy sat in a chair that faced us. “Can you give me a for instance?”
She looked from Amy to me. “The first time, six of my Persian cats were gone from their shelf. They were over there with the German Short Hairs. I would never mix the cats and dogs for fear one of them would be injured.
“I left to grocery shop. When I arrived home, my Precious Moments figures were in disarray. Some of them were in the other room with the Hummels. The two sets of statues don’t get along. There’s a lot of jealousy between them. I find a different arrangement of my lovelies each time I come back from an outing.”
I wrote it down. Maybe someone wanted to mess with her mind or force her to move. “What would you like us to do?”
She put her hand over her mouth in an, oh my gesture. “I was certain you would know what to do to stop this. If you don’t, I have no idea what the answer is.”
“We know what to do, Mrs. Trimble. We generally like to ask our clients what they expect so we are on the same page.”
She looked relieved. “I’m glad to hear it. When could you start?”
“We are going to familiarize ourselves with the complex now. Tomorrow morning we will begin.”
There were miniatures of cooking items, ranges, and tiny utensils in the kitchen. Her bedroom, except for a path to her bed and the master bath, held at least forty quilts. They were on racks, walls, stacked on the dresser, the bedside table and hung from ceiling to floor in two places.
The guest bedroom housed holiday-themed items. Christmas trees decorated with lights, ornaments, and garland, a group of angels graced the top of the dresser and chest, and there were many tree skirts spread on the bed as if they were blankets. It was a sight to behold. She hadn’t ignored Halloween, Easter, Independence Day, New Years, Memorial Day, Martin Luther King, Jr. Day, or George Washington’s Birthday. It was an assault on the senses.
“I only see one door in and out. Is that correct?” I asked.
“Yes. It’s one of the things I like. Once I secure the front door, I have no worries that anyone will bother me.”
Amy walked to the front hallway. “Do you have a schedule of your appointments and outings for the next week, or at least the next few days? It would be best if you were out and about.”
“Yes, yes, of course. I have a medical check-up, bridge club, mid-week church, and if you haven’t caught the culprit, I can add more. I want to thank you ladies. I have every confidence you will put a stop to this.”
On the way to the car, I glanced toward Amy. “How many pieces do you think are in there?”
“While the two of you went over the paperwork, I counted four hundred and eighteen in the one curio cabinet next to the kitchen. I’d estimate five to six thousand, maybe more.”
I shook my head. “Except for clothes and shoes, I’m a minimalist.”
Our conversation ended when we got to the truck. The puppies acted like we’d been gone for weeks. We gave them all our attention.
We arrived at the condo at eleven the next morning. Our client needed to be at her card game at noon. I snacked on an apple while Amy read about living full time in an RV. “Are you interested in that?”
“No. My Aunt Alice wants to retire and drive around the country. It sounds like work to me.”
Our conversation was cut short when we spotted Mrs. T, as she headed for her car. Since there was only one way in and one way out of her place, there were dozens of places we could park to observe the door. If we sat too long in one place, someone was bound to complain.
Time dragged. Amy walked Digger. “Didn’t she say, every time she left?”
“Yes, she did.” I took Chili for a walk; there was still no sign of anyone around the place. Once I sat in front of the swimming pool and Amy went to the balcony so she could look down on the situation. No matter how many times we changed our vantage point, nothing happened at the apartment.
Not only did no one go near Nancy Trimble’s apartment, not many people wandered around. Meals on Wheels delivered to a few apartments. There was a carpet cleaner, the Dish man, and the mailman who filled the boxes at the edge of the parking lot.
Promptly at three-thirty she was back. We drove to our office. Amy gave her a call. “Nothing’s out of place today, right?”
“Why yes, my Hummels are no longer in a
lphabetical order.” Amy put her hand over the receiver. “Her Hummels are out of order.” She looked at me and shrugged her shoulders.
“Tell her not to move anything. We’ll be back in the morning to assess the damage.”
This went on for several more days. She would leave, we would watch, no one would go into her apartment but she always found something out of place. We decided to split up the next day. I sat where I could see the kitchen window. Only an acrobatic person with the ability to jump fifteen feet in the air could get in. Nothing happened. Our client let us in to take a better look around.
I was in the kitchen while Amy looked through the bedroom with Mrs. Trimble. I called to them. “Can you come in here?” I pointed to a piece of aluminum foil taped on the range vent, two pieces were wrapped around the stove vent and another taped to the front of the radio. “I don’t remember these being here before. What are they for?”
“I put them there so no one can hear me.”
Amy moved in front of her “So who can’t hear you? Do you have nosey neighbors?”
“No― them.” I could barely hear her.
I pulled a chair out from under the kitchen table and suggested she sit. Amy and I sat across from her. “Tell us who they are.”
“The people who don’t live on this planet, you know― the aliens.”
Amy leaned forward and put her hand on Nancy’s arm. “Is the maintenance man one of them?”
“I don’t think so, he seems normal, but he must have an invisibility cloak so you can’t see him come in. How else could he move my things?”
“Have you ever seen him put on his invisibility cloak and disappear?”
“No, I haven’t, but there’s no other possible answer.”
“I see. In that case Mrs. Trimble, you are wasting your money paying us to watch the condo. Why don’t we make this our last day? He has the advantage because of the cloak. Most likely he won’t allow us to see him. I think you’ll be fine if you put your things back where they belong when you get home. Some of those technical helpers like the cape and their listening devices are too advanced for us.”
