Hard Case

by Kylie Dodson

  “Let me do the talking,” she told Blake.

  “Lead the way.”

  Her finger pressed on the white doorbell button. The little button sat in the middle of an ornate brass rectangle. Jennifer figured its cleanliness was due to the Gambles being very serious about cleanliness, or, that the Gambles rarely had visitors.

  A woman with short brown hair opened the door. “Hi.”

  Jennifer held up her badge. “Hi, Mrs. Gamble?"

  "Yes?" the woman replied.

  "I’m Detective Jennifer Case. This is my associate, Mr. Blake Rivers.”

  “Yes. Is everything OK?” Mrs. Gamble asked.

  “Who is it?” a male voice called from deeper in the house.

  “The police.”

  Jennifer lowered her badge. “I’m afraid I have some bad news, Mrs. Gamble. May we speak to you inside?”

  ***

  The white furniture and original hardwood floor were just as expensive looking as the outside of the home.

  Jennifer and Blake sat on a suede love-seat, a little closer than Jennifer cared for, while the Gambles sat on a full-size sofa across from them.

  Mrs. Gamble’s eyes were wet and red from crying. Her husband's were red but hadn’t burst as his wife's had. Jennifer was sure it was just the sign of a husband trying to be strong for his wife in light of tragic news.

  “I am so very sorry,” Jennifer said.

  Mr. Gamble pulled his wife in close. “Where did you say you found her?”

  Jennifer reconsidered her words. Repeating them didn’t make it any easier than the first time. And considering the answer, there was no gentle way to say it. “On-site officers found her in an alley next to a nightclub called Riptide. Was that a place that she frequented?”

  “We didn’t raise her to go to places like that,” Mrs. Gamble said.

  “It’s actually a classier place that—” Blake shut his own words off as Jennifer gave him a look. It was a look that lay somewhere between understanding and wrath. Understanding that he wanted to help, and wrath that he was speaking when she told him not to.

  “Our daughter is—was—caring and quiet," Mr. Gamble said. “She didn’t go to places like those because we warned her to stay away from them.”

  “Then how did they find her there?” Mrs. Gamble asked, looking at her husband.

  "Is it possible that she didn't go inside?" Mr. Gamble started.

  “So someone just threw her body in a city alley?” his wife asked, close to breaking down, again.

  “I’m not…” Jenifer was losing them and she knew it.

  “No one is suggesting that, Mrs. Gamble,” Blake said.

  That time, Jennifer looked at him with slight embarrassment and gratitude.

  “I…I realize you won’t like this," Blake continued. "And I’m sorry to be the one to say it. But I was there the night your daughter was...At the same time as her. I saw her. She didn’t look to be doing anything wrong. Just enjoying a night with sushi and friends,” Blake lied. At least about the sushi part. It was clear that he thought better than to tell the deceased girl’s grieving parents that their daughter—who they thought so well-mannered and proper—was drinking and dancing with a much older man. A man who had less than honorable intentions. And one who was on a suspect list for murder.

  Jennifer made a special note about how Blake’s words seemed to provide some small level of comfort to the parents.

  “I realize this is a horrible time to be asking any questions,” Jennifer started. “But do you know if there was anyone that would have wanted to harm Kimberly?”

  “No one,” Mr. Gamble said.

  “She was liked by all of her friends and work colleagues,” Mrs. Gamble added.

  Jennifer scribbled very brief notes on what the Gamble's had just said.

  “Oh,” Mrs. Gamble said. “What about Jordan?”

  “Jordan?” Jennifer asked.

  Mr. Gamble’s face soured. “That was a few years ago. Jordan was a boy she went on a date with. She came home crying that night. Said he tried to take advantage.”

  “After she’d calmed down, she told us how she slapped him and ran away,” Mrs. Gamble said. “She could always handle herself when she needed to.”

  Last night, she needed to. And while the bruises on her arms were evidence of some resistance, Jennifer knew that the poison probably stopped her from successfully fighting back against whoever killed her.

  Still, Mrs. Gamble’s strong words about their daughter reminded Jennifer a little about herself. And her policy of never being a victim. That may not have helped after her mugging, but those were special circumstances. And her head was definitely not in the right place, leaving her vulnerable last night.

  “I just don’t know what to do, now that she’s—she’s...” Mrs. Gamble’s voice grew muffled by her renewed tears. “My baby girl.”

  Jennifer glanced at Blake and motioned toward the door, trying to give him a clear sign that it was time to go. "We won't bother you any longer and appreciate your time." Jennifer took out her card and offered it to Mr. Gamble. “If you can think of anything else, or just need an ear, that’s my number. And, again, I'm very sorry.”

  “You’ll let us know if you find who did this?” Mr. Gamble asked.

  “Of course.”

  ***

  Jennifer and Blake stepped back onto the sidewalk, making their way to her Impala.

  “How often do you have to do that sort of thing?” Blake asked.

  “If I’ve had to do it once, I’ve had to do it too often.”

  The front door of the brownstone rattled its window as it closed. Jennifer and Blake looked back to see Mr. Gamble rushing down the steps, phone extended.

  “I forgot I had this,” he said, showing them his phone screen, revealing a photo of a man with shoulder length hair. “As soon as we met him, we knew he was no good.”

  “Sir?” Jennifer asked for understanding.

  “The photo is about three years old, but this is Jordan. We didn’t want her going out with him, but…” Mr. Gamble pulled his bottom lip in and looked at the sidewalk beneath him. “My wife has a rose-tinted view of our daughter. She was a good kid but had a small rebellious streak. I blame a life of plenty. I didn’t have any of this growing up." He gestured to the neighborhood. "I earned it. My wife comes from money, though. Maybe I wasn't thinking straight, wanting to keep her in the lifestyle she was accustomed to. And in giving my daughter the world where I could. Saying no didn’t happen often and it was hit or miss whenever I did. This guy…This guy was a miss. Maybe I put my foot down too hard sometimes, but—”

  “No one would blame you for that,” Blake said.

  “Thanks. Anyway, I don’t know if it helps but, this is what he looked like.”

  Blake leaned in, narrowing his eyes to get a better look at the picture. “I think I’ve seen him before.”

  “What?” Jennifer asked.

  Blake thought for a moment before snapping his fingers. “That’s it. Riptide. I ordered a drink from this guy. He’s a bartender there.”

  ***

  Six o’clock in the evening was much too early for any club-goers to show up. Places like Riptide didn’t start getting in any clientele until at least nine. And even that was considered by some to be too early.

  But the staff had to arrive much sooner. If Riptide was just another bar with dancing, employees could mosey in at some level of leisure. Those patrons who were already drunk wouldn’t care. And those who had yet to drink hadn’t shown up yet. But Riptide was a bar, a dance hall, and a full service and full menu restaurant. And it didn’t get to be as popular as it was without the owners being stringent about their staff’s promptness and professionalism.

  Jennifer and Blake sat in the car, watching as every now and then someone would head for the front door. Each of them were garbed in various states of dress uniform. It was clear who was a bartender and who was a waiter. Bartenders wore bow-ties while waiters had on white coat
s with gold buttons up the sides. They almost looked like chefs. The bartenders for the dance hall side wore short-sleeved t-shirts with the Riptide name across the back.

  The valets rolled out their valet booth, preparing for what they hoped was a busy night. The more cars, the more tips. Jennifer figured they were a contract company and not run by the club. They probably had other booths at many venues in the city.

  “I can’t figure on anyone being a murderer after one bad date from three years ago,” Blake said.

  “Who really knows what goes on in these sick-O’s heads,” Jennifer replied.

  “I mean, the guy probably wouldn’t have remembered her.”

  “Maybe. Maybe he forgot all about her after a month or two. But then he saw her in the club and it all came flooding back in. Memory has a weird way of doing that. Kimberly was twenty-two. That would put her at about eighteen or nineteen when she met Jordan. Appearances don’t change all that much at those ages.”

  “So you’ve always been a looker?”

  Jennifer’s brow furrowed, as she was not sure she heard him right. “Wait, what?”

  “Can I ask you a question? Last night,” he said without waiting for her to reply. “When we were here, you got up and you danced with Driscoll.”

  “Yeah?”

  “I mean—correct me if I’m wrong, and call me crazy, too. But, I felt like you were. Maybe…”

  “Jordan,” Jennifer said.

  “Huh?”

  Jennifer pointed out Blake’s window at a man with long hair, walking along the sidewalk toward the front door. “Stay here—”

  It was too late. Blake had already opened the door and was stepping out.

  She got out as well, trying to stop Blake from doing something rash. “Rivers!”

  “Hey, man!” Blake shouted.

  Their raised voices got Jordan’s attention and the bartender’s eyes went straight to Jennifer. He stumbled backwards and his eyes widened at the sight of her. It was a strange reaction considering she’d never seen him before. Not even last night.

  The bartender immediately broke into a run.

  “It is him,” Blake said, rushing after him.

  CHAPTER 14

  The first garbage can was easy for Jennifer to hop over. But the greasy rolling tray rack positioned on the other side was more challenging.

  As the trays slid out and clanged onto the concrete, Jennifer leaped over the rack. Her foot hit one of the trays and nearly slid out from under her. Fortunately, she wasn’t the type who wore heels at work. While flats would have been far more presentable, she opted for tennis shoes, just for these occasions. Her other foot hit the ground and she regained her balance.

  Jordan burst out from the other side of the alley, nearly colliding with a car. But instead of crashing into it, he rolled over the hood and hit the street on the other side.

  Jennifer made her way around the front of the car, taking a diagonal sprint to the other side of the street where Jordan was pushing past and weaving through pedestrians.

  “Stop!” she shouted.

  Those on foot turned to look in her direction. A few of them did as she ordered, obstructing her path. It wasn’t the reaction she wanted but it did help to slow Jordan a hair. Jennifer just hoped it was enough for her to catch up. As things were, he had a decent lead on her. Thanks to Blake.

  The fleeing bartender slammed into a woman who was carrying several shopping bags. He almost fell face first into the pavement, but managed to keep his feet under him.

  The woman was not so lucky.

  If it weren’t for the circumstance, it may have been comical to see shopping bags flying into the air. Jennifer knew she shouldn’t have, but she stopped to make sure the woman was alright. The visibly surprised civilian nodded her head, giving Jennifer the OK to continue her pursuit.

  She returned, full speed, to the chase. The small slowdown helped Jordan get even farther ahead. Jennifer took one quick glance over her shoulder, hoping Blake was behind assisting those civilians who were most greatly impacted by the fleeing suspect.

  There were too many people still gawking at the sight for her to pick Blake out from the crowd. Some of them even had phones out, taking video. Great, she thought. Just one more thing for Captain McGhee to reprimand her for.

  The path was still too congested. There was only one way to clear it. Most officers wouldn’t do it, but Jennifer Case was not most officers.

  She drew her gun. “Freeze!”

  People couldn’t get out of her way fast enough. Even a few cars slammed on their brakes. Without her badge out, no one knew she was an officer. She just hoped that no beat cops were ahead of her. That would be a scene she had little interest in creating.

  Jennifer’s feet hit the next curb as Jordan ignored the [Sidewalk Closed] sign and rushed under the scaffolding of a renovation project. The ground-up concrete under the scaffolding tripped him up but the bartender stayed upright. The guy had more luck than most who’d run from her.

  “I said, stop!”

  He paid no heed to her warning, but continued on, kicking up gravel and rocks in his wake.

  The bad terrain didn’t slow Jordan. Unfortunately for Jennifer, it did slow her. As Jordan neared the next street, her only thoughts were on how if he made the turn, he could disappear inside a store, a restaurant or parking garage. She didn’t know what was on the other side and the construction on the sidewalk already slowed her down. Plus, she had no idea how many more people or obstacles she might run into once she made that turn around the corner.

  Jennifer tried to pick up her pace but the ground made it impossible. And she figured

  Jordan had a good twelve inches in height on her. He could cover more ground.

  The sudden roar of an engine caught her attention as her police Impala blazed down the street right past her with Blake behind the wheel.

  The car tires screeched as he made the turn. It was reckless, but thankfully, there were no cars in his way as Blake hit the brakes, landing the car up on the curb and right in Jordan’s path.

  The unexpected maneuver surprised the bartender and actually impressed Jennifer.

  Jordan slammed into the car, pelvis to side fender, then head to hood.

  Jennifer slammed her forearm into his back, pinning him against the hood. “When a police officer yells 'stop', you stop,” she told him.

  “You’re a cop?” Jordan asked.

  Blake stepped out of the car. “Isn't that why you ran?”

  “No.”

  “Then why did we just chase you for two city blocks?” Jennifer demanded as she jerked him up and around.

  “Because you’re the--” Jordan started. “Look I didn’t know you were a cop. If I knew that, I wouldn’t have jumped you last night.”

  CHAPTER 15

  Jennifer sat in one of the cold steel chairs of the interrogation room while Jordan sat on the other side of the metal table, handcuffed to a bar in the middle.

  The detective stared at the prisoner. Hard. Blake tried to match her stare with the addition of his own arms across his chest. And it might have looked imposing had he not been glancing at his own reflection in the two-way mirror to make sure he was doing it right.

  Regardless of her own disbelief in Blake's tough guy act, she could tell Jordan was buying it. At the very least, Jordan's fear was real.

  "I told you, I'm sorry," Jordan said as he tried to massage handcuff-bruised wrists. The movement only served to push the steel cuffs into the growing bruises. "It was just a misunderstanding. I thought you were someone else."

  "And who would that have been?" Blake asked. "Kimberly Gamble?"

  Jordan's eyes popped wide open. "Kim?"

  The reaction was unexpected. Jennifer was particularly good at telling when someone was lying or about to lie. Jordan was showing none of those signs. Still, there had been a few who'd gotten away with lying to her. A lifetime of practice could usually create an expert.

  "Come on, Jordan," Jennifer
said. "Like you don't know who he's talking about. She was at Riptide just last night."

  "OK. So what?" Jordan asked. "What if I do know her? I didn't see her there."

  Jennifer stood up. "Really?"

  "I haven't seen Kim since our first date."

  "You mean your only date," Blake chimed in. "The one where you tried to rape her."

  "I didn't rape her," Jordan protested.

  "Operative word. Tried."

  Jordan's eyes flickered to Blake then back to Jennifer. He knew he was busted. "Well, I didn't because she ran away."

  Jennifer slid her chair under the table. It was a disarming tactic designed to make the suspect more relaxed. It made applying pressure more effective. "That's what I hear. I guess that means no rape charge for you."

  Jordan's expression went from nervous to a little more at ease.

  “But, if you actually tried to force yourself on her and failed, that does count as attempted rape,” Jennifer said.

  ”Sexual assault at the least,” Blake added.

  Jennifer looked at him. Now she was rather impressed at his believability. But more than that, he was right.

  "Do you know what they do to guys like you in prison?" Blake added.

  Now he was embellishing. And Jennifer needed to reign him in before he got too over the top.

  "Unfortunately, there was no charge filed back then. No way to prove you did anything," Jennifer said. "Which means that you're free to go."

  Jordan started to stand but the cuffs prevented him from getting all the way up.

  Jennifer waited to continue until she heard the clink of metal on metal.

  "Or at least you would be, if you hadn't assaulted a police officer," she said.

  "How long is the sentence for assaulting a civilian?" Blake asked, still in character.

  "It depends," Jennifer said, letting Jordan stew in his re-rising nerves. "Could be a long time. But for assaulting an officer?" She whistled. "Yikes, buddy."