West Texas Dead: A Kailey and Shinto Mystery

by Frances Hight

  I picked Brittney up in a fireman’s carry and took Ken by the arm. Grace held onto his other side for support, and we staggered off from the party.

  We were about a block away when Brittney began coughing. We stopped, and I let her slide until her feet touched ground. She stood on her own, a little wobbly, but she got better every second.

  Ken shook so hard he bent over and put his head between his legs.

  “What the hell?” I said. “I leave you guys for a nanosecond . . . ”

  “Thank you, Junior and Grace. I owe you both.” Ken gasped between heaves.

  “I didn’t do much; Junior is our hero,” Grace said, holding tight to her skinny bespectacled Romeo.

  “Don’t forget Brittney. What in the world made you step between a fist and a hard place?” I couldn’t help myself and snorted.

  She socked my arm. “I can take care of myself.”

  “Ow. I think I got stung by a mosquito.”

  She teared up. “Very funny and thank you from the bottom of my heart.”

  I wrapped my arms around her. “Why did that happen anyway?”

  Ken straightened up. “Those guys crashed the party. I told them to leave when they started to harass Brittney.”

  “You did the right thing, Ken. Just need to learn a few moves. Maybe a few dozen.”

  He shook his head. “No fistfights in the corporate world. I’ll fight with my mind.”

  “Even so.” I nodded to Grace. “I suggest, my brother, that you keep that woman close by your side. Now you two need to get home, and girl, ice that jaw and stomach, or you will get the third degree from your parents. Please don’t tell them I had anything to do with this.”

  The three of them laughed. Brittney said, “How’d you like your first frat party, Junior?”

  “What’s not to like? Though I do plan to avoid any parties you three are going to from now on. Either that or Grace and I need to be there to chaperone. Where did you learn those moves, Grace?”

  “Mom and Dad made me take every type of martial arts and boxing since I could walk. They said I needed to know how to take care of myself and not depend on anyone else. What about you, Junior? Where’d you learn to fight?”

  “You don’t want to know, honey. My family’s a lot different from yours.”

  Ken piped up. “Least we can do is drop you at your apartment.”

  “Damn straight.” I climbed into the backseat, glad to be distracted from the questions.

  When we got near my place the street up ahead flashed bright with red and blue strobes. More police cars than I knew existed in Midland, Texas, crowded the curbs and front lawns. Crime scene tape drooped around the entrance to my building in ominous fluorescent yellow and black. Sleepy neighbors wrapped in robes formed a subdued audience three and four bodies deep. An officer corralled them with little effort.

  “Great. Now I won’t get any sleep. Wonder what happened?”

  “Junior, why don’t you come over and stay at my place? We have a guesthouse that’s empty. My folks always insist friends can stay there,” Grace said. “Go back to your apartment in the morning when all this blows over. Probably a domestic. Some couple got drunk and got in a fight. Dad’s always telling me about those kinds of disputes.” She turned around in the front seat and patted my knee.

  Brittney said. “You saved us. It’s the least we can do. Have a decent night’s sleep and ace the test in the morning.”

  “How can I turn down a sweet offer from two hot babes?”

  Ken piped in and stepped on the gas. “Hey, buddy, one of those hot babes is my girl.”

  After a while we turned onto a quiet tree-lined avenue. About halfway down the street on the right Ken pulled into the driveway of a large yellow brick home. Brittney and I got out of the back seat and headed down the driveway while Ken and Grace goodnight-groped each other.

  Brittney seemed to know where we were headed, so I followed. High hedges lined one side of the driveway with the darkened house on the other. The generous driveway led past a home big enough to have a guesthouse behind it. We rounded a hedge, and I noticed a black-bottomed pool lit by soft lights pointing at huge trees. The pool sported a steep, curvy slide. A large, roofed patio had a fire pit and fans twisting slowly overhead. A massive built-in barbecue with a sink and a refrigerator in one corner and a large flat screen TV in another were situated behind a bar area. The bamboo furniture looked expensive. I’d never seen anything like it. I stopped in my tracks and stared.

  Brittney tugged my arm, and we continued. We rounded the corner to come upon a small, fairytale cottage nestled between two big old pecan trees. Brittney found a key in a flowerpot full of pink flowers and then she led us inside. Just as she turned on the light, Grace skipped up to join us.

  “Do you need anything else, Junior?” Brittney asked. “In the bathroom are razors, toothbrushes, and toothpaste. Soap is in the shower. The refrigerator is stocked with water and some food. The cupboards have some canned goods and breakfast bars. Help yourself. Want me to call you on the land line for a wake-up call?”

  “That would be great.” I looked around. Nice. “You sure this is all right?”

  “Don’t be silly.” Grace said. “Cable TV’s in the bedroom if you want to watch a movie or whatever. Brittney is staying the night with me, so we will see you in the morning. We’ll all carpool to school. Won’t that be fun?”

  “Thanks for all this.”

  They both reached up and kissed my cheek and left me to my guest palace.

  At six a.m. the strange phone sounded like a fire engine on full alert. I groaned and rolled over. “What?” I growled into it.

  A too-chipper voice said, “Wake up, sleepy head. Time for school. We’ll be over in an hour.”

  Showered, shaved, and in the process of brushing my teeth, I heard a knock on the door. “It’s unlocked, come in.” I spat, rinsed. “Thank you again, Grace.”

  I rounded the corner to the living room and practically ran into a man I’d seen photos of on bus benches and billboards all over town. He stood tall and ramrod straight in a starched white long-sleeved shirt. Gold flashed on the cuffs, and a green tie added the right touch of flair. His salt-and-pepper hair could have starred on any poster in a hair salon.

  “I thought I should see who Grace brought home with her last night. I am her father.”

  His black eyes bore into me, unblinking.

  I turned on the smile. “I’m Junior Alvarez.” I stuck out my hand.

  He whipped his hand up to my shoulder. I winced and stepped back and saw a large scorpion wriggling in his fist. He calmly walked to the kitchen. I heard the crunch and crackle of the scorpion body. He deposited the lifeless creature in the trash and then rinsed his hands. He turned. “Carlos Sanchez. What brings you to our home, Mr. Alvarez?” His penetrating gaze never wavered.

  “The police cordoned off my apartment building for some reason last night and Grace offered. I’m sure I can get in today.”

  “Where exactly do you live?”

  “Chaparral.”

  “Public housing,” Sanchez stated. He turned and walked out of the guesthouse.

  Chapter Forty

  Kailey and Shinto

  After the Williamses left the station, I felt drained. Maybe coffee would help. I wandered over to the pot.

  Captain Samosa approached. “Carmichael.”

  “Captain?”

  “Get yourself over to the Chaparral Apartments. There’s been a murder. Time to use those new forensic skills of yours.”

  “Yes, sir.” Gulping the remains of my newly poured coffee I rushed to pick up my gear and exchange my uniform for crime scene coveralls.

  The crime scene was across from Midland College. I grabbed my phone and cancelled my class for today, ducked under the crime scene tape and met Mike. “Hey, partner. What have we got so far?”

  “Shinto and Allen are inside. They can give you more information. It’s pretty bad Kailey. Poor woman didn’t have a chanc
e in hell.”

  “Allen is here?”

  “Moving a little slow,” Mike said. “But this one is all hands on deck.”

  “Who is it? Do we know?”

  “Lived in that apartment where the front door’s open.”

  I pulled on latex gloves, a hairnet and bent over to put on my booties. I noticed a newly planted row of small oleander plants with a few white flowers. One bush listed to the side. Behind it, a squashed tomato looked definitely out of place. My eyes drew a line from it, up the outside wall, to the kitchen window. I knelt and saw the imprint of a shoe or boot in the smashed tomato pulp. I photographed it in situ and staked it with evidence flags.

  After that I proceeded into a small, immaculate apartment decorated to the hilt in tomatoes. Tomatoes everywhere; framed in pictures, patterned in the furniture, Warhol’s soup can art hung on the wall. This woman lived for her tomatoes. I wonder if she died for them?

  To my left, a sunny kitchen. I opened the refrigerator, more out of habit than any forensic insight. I wanted to get to know this woman. Damn. I immediately wished my refrigerator were as clean and stocked with fresh veggies and things good for you as this one. She kept eggs in a clear bowl, not in the carton, nonfat plain yogurt and a perfect heirloom purple tomato as well as an eggplant, a head of red leaf lettuce and nonfat milk. Not a candy bar to be found. I snapped a photo of the contents. I opened the freezer hoping to find some chocolate ice cream. Nothing but ice cubes, a small zip-lock bag labeled stew meat, and single serving of frozen edamame. Who eats edamame in Midland, Texas? I snapped another photo.

  I turned and noticed the window open over the counter and a broken drinking glass in the sink. Clearly, the perp’s way in. I took a photo and hustled from the kitchen to look for Allen and Shinto. I heard them somewhere on the other side of the living room, probably the bedroom.

  I stepped to the side of the logical footpath. Didn’t want to contaminate any evidence Luminol might reveal. I hefted my equipment bag higher on my shoulder and remembered my instructor’s admonishments: the role of a Crime Scene Investigator is to identify, document, collect and preserve evidence for presentation in court. Take a lesson from the botched case in California. Nicole Simpson and Ron Goldman changed forensics forever. Thanks to them, we know everything is important. If you don’t believe it, there are guidelines and rules to prove it to you.

  I rounded the corner to the bedroom and saw Shinto squatting next to the body of a nude and bloody woman. Allen faced the closet, talking on his cellphone.

  “Look who’s back on the job.” Shinto rose and came over to me.

  “Mom?”

  “Hanging in there. Tell me everything,” I said.

  Allen clicked off his phone. “We got the call around one a.m. Found her like this; beaten, probably raped.” He consulted a notepad. “Name’s Patricia Keystone, fifty-five-year-old female.”

  “What’s been done so far?” I noticed blood spatter on every wall in the bedroom.

  Shinto leaned over the body. “I’m gonna get the asshole that did this.”

  “We’re gonna get the asshole.” Allen said. “She called nine-one-one,” Allen continued. “Said she’d been raped and assaulted. The operator told her help was on the way and asked if she knew her assailant. She said yes but didn’t identify him. The last words the operator heard her say were thank-you. Then nothing. Believe that? She must have died thinking someone was coming to save her.”

  I hope so, I thought. I hope this poor woman found some solace in a little bit of hope at the end.

  I opened my magic bag of forensic tools and went to work.

  Chapter Forty-One

  Junior

  I patted Grace on the back as the door to the classroom closed behind us. We were first out. The rest of the students remained inside, buried in their tests for the remaining minutes.

  “The study group worked great. Pretty sure I aced that test. I’m telling you, we ought to schedule a study group every week if we can. Thanks again for letting me crash in your guest house.”

  “Listen, buster, it’s the least I could do after what you did for us,” she said.

  “Catch any grief from your father?”

  “Why should I?”

  “No reason.”

  Grace grunted and said, “You really are a dork, aren’t you?

  “I’ve never in my life been called a dork,” I said. “That’s a new

  one.” The bell rang, and we were suddenly in the middle of a crowd. “Do you have another class this hour?”

  “No, you?” Grace said.

  “Nope. I am hungry.”

  Grace hooked her arm in mine and pulled me toward the cafeteria.

  I grabbed a table and watched Grace as she waited for her order. She gestured and laughed with the hairnet woman behind the counter. I wondered what it might be like to be a normal person with a Disney family and a safe upbringing. Memories of sucking dick for grocery money and getting beat-downs so severe I pissed blood for weeks faded as I watched Grace giggle over something Hairnet said.

  Maybe this is my time for normal stuff. Why not? Today will be my new birthday. No more dark shit. From now on it’s college, new friends, women as actual people. I’ll live straight. Improve. Make a future. Look out, world. Today, a new Junior is born.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Kailey and Shinto

  I cleared a small part of the crime scene after six hours. Bagged, tagged, and photographed, the body lay waiting for removal to the morgue. I stood and arched my aching back. “I need some air.”

  Allen piped in. “Think I’ll poke around the complex, come back and finish later.”

  I turned to my friend. “Join me for a cup, Shinto? Allen can guard the premises.”

  “I’ll guard your premises anytime, baby.” Allen Groucho-Marxed his eyebrows.

  I didn’t respond and Shinto chuckled under her breath.

  “What do you say, Shin?” I said. “Is there a latte macchiato in your future?”

  Allen banged the mirrored closet doors open. “Let’s see. Oooh. Red in every color.”

  “Nice, Allen.” Shinto sensed my irritation. To me she said, “Latte sounds perfect.”

  “Don’t mind me,” Allen grumbled. “I’ll guard while you’re gone.” He flicked his high-powered flashlight over the racks of clothes. I stepped closer to the closet and peered in. The clothes were indeed all shades of red, dark purple at one end and light pink at the other. Coordinating shoes tucked neatly in their respective boxes with photos of the contents taped on the outside and spaced evenly apart. I didn’t see one thing out of order or too close together.

  Shinto snorted. “Don’t mind him, Kailey. He’s in full-on PMS, Poor Me Syndrome.”

  I turned and we left the apartment. “Wish I was tidy.”

  “Look what it got her.”

  We arrived at my car and shed our plastic garments. Threw the whole mess, hairnets and booties, in a trash bag in my trunk, tagged, and sealed it.

  Thirty minutes later we returned, Starbucks in hand, in time to see Allen jump into one of the Dumpsters behind the apartments. “We got your coffee.” Shinto raised a cup.

  “Keep it warm for me. A tenant came by and said they saw a guy throw a knife in here. I’ve found lots of other shit; empty beer bottles, cat food cans, broken dishes, cigar butts, hypodermic needles, tons of shitty diapers, a broken-up gun, and one dead cat. I’m ready for a couple of showers.”

  “You rock. I’ll leave your coffee on your cruiser.” Shinto leaned over and put it on the hood.

  “We’ll handle the rest of the apartment. Thanks, Allen,” I said.

  He nodded and continued Dumpster diving.

  Shinto nodded her head in the direction of a guy who turned the corner with a backpack. “Who’s that?”

  The guy stopped and stared at the police tape. He looked familiar.

  “Junior? Shit that’s Junior Alvarez. One of our students,” I said.

  He walked up and
slid his backpack to the ground. “Hey, my two favorite professors. What happened here?” He nodded at the apartment we were working.

  “You know the woman who lives there?” Shinto asked.

  “Yes, ma’am.” His voice sobered. His eyes darted from Shinto to me and then the crime scene tape. “Is Patricia all right?”

  Shinto advanced on him. “Did you give a report to the officers last night?”

  “Wasn’t here last night.” He kept his voice light, his gaze unwavering. He didn’t elaborate.

  I said. “Did you do your homework for class, Junior?”

  “Yes, ma’am, but class got canceled.” He rested one black Doc Martin on the bottom stair step. “Is Patricia okay?”

  Shinto narrowed the space between them. “No, she’s not. Again, where were you last night? Know anyone might want to hurt her?”

  “At a friend’s house. Guest house, actually and no, I don’t know anyone who’d want to hurt Patricia.”

  “Who’s this friend, and where was this guest house?” Shinto asked.

  “A schoolmate. A mile or so from here. In a nice part of town. Though come to think of it, yesterday I did hear Patricia screaming.”

  Shinto looked at me.

  “You heard her scream?”

  “I did.” He nodded. “I knocked and asked if she was okay. She flew out of the door and slammed into me, begged me to kill it, kill it.” He jerked a thumb at the apartment. “She found a tarantula in her bedroom, and it terrified her. She kept babbling something about always being afraid of spiders. She wouldn’t let go of my arm. I talked her down enough to let me go in and kill the sucker, a big hairy one. I used one of my books and smashed the guts out of it on her wall.” He scraped his shoe on the stair. “When I came out of her bedroom she sat in the hall, still shaking. I thought she might pass out.” He pulled on his backpack. “I sat her in her living room while I wiped spider blood off my book in the kitchen with a paper towel. She gave me an apple and a nutrition bar when I left. For my heroism, she said. She always did stuff like that. Nice lady.”