Inkslingers Ball (A Forensic Handwriting Mystery)

by Sheila Lowe

  She laid the paper on the table and looked at Annabelle. “There’s something I have to tell you.”

  “Something happened to Angel,” Annabelle spoke without inflection, but the apprehension was there in the tautness of her mouth, the widening of her eyes.

  Claudia reached out and took the small, icy hands in hers. Sometimes she thought the girl was at least a little bit psychic. “Yes, something happened.”

  “She’s dead.”

  “Yes, sweetheart, I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s my fault. I’m a jinx.” There was a quiver in Annabelle’s voice, though she tried to control it. “People I care about always get killed.”

  Claudia sat down next to her on the bench and slipped her arm around the stiff shoulders. “Annabelle, listen to me. You are not a jinx. This has nothing to do with you. Whatever happened to Angel, the only person responsible is the one who did it.” She had worked for so long to break through the walls behind which Annabelle hid that she was surprised when she felt the slim body relax into her and Annabelle started talking.

  “She was supposed to get this guy, Travis, to hook up with her so—”

  Jamie jumped up from the table, her eyes smoldering. “Shut the fuck up, you moron!” She stabbed her finger at Annabelle, her shout as jarring as a gunshot.

  “Sit down, Jamie.” Claudia hardened her tone enough to get the girl’s attention. “What’s your problem?”

  “She’s talking shit. She doesn’t know nothing about it.”

  “Well, if you know something, you’d better tell me, right now.”

  “I’m not telling you anything.”

  Annabelle’s face had drained of color. “Angel’s dead!” she cried. “Don’t you get it?”

  “Well, you’d better shut up, or you’ll be dead, too!”

  “I don’t care, Jamie!” Annabelle looked up at Claudia. “Angel was supposed to get Travis in trouble because she’s underage, but she liked him and she wouldn’t do it.”

  “You stupid little c—”

  “Be quiet, Jamie!” Claudia said sharply.

  Travis. The name rang a bell. Then she remembered, Travis was the name of the firebombing victim who had been killed at his tattoo shop. The dots connected. It struck her afresh how close Annabelle had been, both to that crime and Angel’s murder. Why hadn’t Jovanic called back yet? She needed to get Jamie out of her house.

  “Tell me about Travis, Annabelle,” Claudia said. “Did Angel say why Viper wanted to get him in trouble with the police?”

  “You’re so stupid,” Jamie hissed. “You don’t know—”

  “Viper was mad because Travis wouldn’t give him money from his tattoo studio. Viper found out that Angel disobeyed, and that’s why—” Two teardrops splashed onto her Levi’s.

  Claudia reached out to her, but Annabelle jerked away. Apparently, there was a limit to the walls she was willing to break down, and they had reached that limit.

  ***

  Once she had brought him up to speed, Jovanic told her she would need to bring the girls to the station.

  “Do I have to bring Annabelle?”

  “Yes. Someone else will have to interview her.”

  “She’s pretty traumatized. I doubt she’ll talk to a stranger.”

  “It would have been better if you’d brought them right away.” Claudia caught the hint of a rebuke, which put her on the defensive.

  “They were hungry and cold.”

  “Which makes it more likely they would have told the truth.”

  “Well, it’s done now. Anyway, she can’t change her story. She’s given it in front of two witnesses.”

  “Sure,” Jovanic said drily. “People never change their stories.”

  “Okay, I know. You’ve seen it all.” Claudia yawned. “I’m so relieved Annabelle is safe. Now all I want is to crawl back into bed.”

  “But that’s not what you’re gonna do, right? You’re gonna get right back in the car and deliver that little package to me, aren’t you?”

  “Of course, my darling. You are my Viper. I am your errand girl.”

  “What?”

  “Never mind, you’ll get it in no time. See you in a few.”

  Chapter Twelve

  At Pacific Division Police Station, staring back at Jovanic across the table in an interview room, refusing to answer his questions, Jamie Parker gave an Oscar-worthy imitation of a stone. Even when he showed her the photos he had taken of Angel in the dumpster, she showed no discernible reaction. She might as well have been made of ice.

  When Claudia brought her in, she had told Jovanic that she had managed to persuade Jamie to accompany her to the station by convincing her that she could be prosecuted as an accessory to Angel’s murder, and that it was in her best interests to go to the police before they came looking for her. Whether or not what she had said was correct, the threat had been enough to scare the surly young woman into reluctantly agreeing. But it was not enough to persuade her to part with any information.

  Jovanic left Jamie alone to stew for an hour or so while he ran a background on her.

  This was not her first time in an interview room. Her juvenile record included arrests for drugs and prostitution starting at thirteen, and a long string of foster and group homes. Too bad there were no outstanding warrants he could use to scare her into talking.

  When he returned, she looked up with a bored face. “You got a Coke? And I need to pee.”

  “How about giving me some answers first?”

  “I told you already, I’m not gonna narc on anyone, even if I had anything to say, which I don’t.”

  Jovanic perched on the corner of the table. “Why would you want to cover for someone who killed your friend?”

  Jamie shook her head with a chilling expression of disdain. “That little ho is not my friend. Anyway, if you knew who did her, you wouldn’t have to keep me stuck in this shithole the whole fuckin’ day.”

  “If she wasn’t your friend, what was she?” Jovanic tipped his chin at her off-the-shoulder shirt, which gave him an eyeful of the sugar skull tattoo. “You’ve got the same tat as Angel. Did Viper do them for both of you?”

  She made a noise in the back of her throat as if bored with the whole conversation. “Hey, dude, you gonna let me go to the john, or you want me to let loose right here?”

  Jovanic had no doubt that she would make good on her threat. The only available female detective was RJ Scott, whose eyes were still bloodshot and droopy from her bout with the flu. He stood as far from her as he could without being obvious and asked her to escort Jamie to the restroom.

  Afterwards, Scott took a run at the girl herself. Having no better luck, she stepped out into the hallway with Jovanic, shaking her head in disgust. “That girl is as tough as a cockroach. Either she’s not talking because she’s scared of this Viper dude, which she doesn’t seem to be, or maybe she’s got the hots for him. We’re lucky your girlfriend got as much as she did from the chick. Maybe enough to bring him in for a one-on-one.”

  As tired as he was, and more than a little frustrated, Jovanic had to admit that Claudia had obtained more information in the few handwritten lines Jamie provided her than he had managed in the two hours he had spent with the girl. “Viper’s been on our radar for a while,” he told Scott. “See if there’s anyone at his studio we can lean on. We’re not gonna bring him in until we’ve got something that’ll stick.”

  Scott left to make some calls and Jovanic went to his desk and phoned Claudia.

  “I’m going to have to release her, but I hate to just let her go. At her age, DPS won’t take her, but I’m concerned about her safety. According to what she told you, Angel got on this guy Viper’s bad side and ended up dead in the trash.”

  “Annabelle asked
if Jamie could stay with us.”

  “No fucking way. I can’t be staying in the same house as a witness.” He heard the snarl as the words came out and felt like kicking himself. Claudia was not the enemy. He felt even worse when she didn’t snap back at him.

  “Don’t get your panties in a bunch. I told her it was out of the question. I don’t want her near Annabelle, anyway. There’s something wrong in that girl’s head.”

  “Sorry, babe. I’m just wound up.”

  “Probably need some lunch, too.”

  “Yes, Mom.”

  “Okay, that did it. You can figure out Miss Jamie by yourself. I’m hanging up now.”

  “No! Wait, I’m sorry.”

  “That’s two ‘sorrys’ in thirty seconds.”

  “Believe me, I do not think of you as my mom.”

  “You’re sure about that?”

  “I couldn’t be more sure. The things I think about doing with you…” Jovanic broke off as Randy Coleman appeared in the doorway and approached his desk. “Let’s finish that conversation tonight. Can you come and take Jamie back to her car?”

  “Sure. Be there in ten minutes.” A thought struck her. “I wonder if Kelly would take her for a day or two. At least until you arrest Viper.”

  “Talk about the blind leading the blind.”

  “Kelly’s an attorney, not a criminal.”

  “There’s a difference?”

  “Jeeez, Columbo, I guess I fell right into that one.”

  He caught the grin in her voice as she said goodbye and clicked off.

  “I don’t need a babysitter,” Jamie snapped.

  “Trust me, you do.” Kelly Brennan opened the passenger door of her shiny red Mustang convertible and stood back for her to get in.

  “Last time someone said ‘trust me,’ what they really meant was ‘fuck you.’”

  “Okay, but I don’t. Get in the car, please.”

  They were standing in front of the Pacific Division Police Station, having just left the building and met up with Claudia and Annabelle on the sidewalk.

  “Just take me to my car, okay? I need to go—”

  “Sorry, Viper’s going to be a little busy today,” Kelly said, not unkindly. “How about some lunch? You hungry?”

  “I’m dying for a smoke,” Jamie said. “Got one?”

  Ignoring the request, Kelly turned to Claudia. “How about it? Lunch? I’m thinking Black Angus.”

  “Do you feel like eating something?” Claudia asked Annabelle, resting a gentle hand on her shoulder. Annabelle just shook her head. She had not spoken since Claudia had insisted she go with her to meet Kelly at the police station. Now, staring at the sidewalk, she seemed lost in her own world.

  Watching Kelly climb into the Mustang, Claudia wondered whether she had done the right thing, asking such a big favor. Her friend had agreed with relish to take on the challenge of hosting Jamie for a day or two, but Claudia had the feeling that she didn’t understand what she had agreed to.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Back at his desk, Jovanic wolfed the Double Double and fries he had grabbed at the In-n-Out on Washington, and washed them down with Diet Coke. He was starting his second murder book of the week and the lack of sleep was catching up with him.

  The three-ring binder he had opened on Monday for Travis Navarette, the arson victim, was joined by a new one for Angela Eliana Tedesco, AKA “Angel.” The two cases had to be related, no question about it. But each required its own unique murder book that would soon be filled with witness statements, descriptions of the crime scene and the evidence, a listing of all officers and others who had been at the scene, the investigative reports. The medical examiner’s findings at autopsy would be added later.

  By the end of the investigation, the murder book would provide a complete history of what had transpired in the case. Assuming enough evidence had been gathered to charge a suspect, when the case went to court, all the t’s would be crossed and the i’s dotted. That was the goal, anyway.

  Jovanic reviewed the list he had made of witnesses to be interviewed. Dumpster Dave, whom Kahn Khosa had mentioned, was at the top of the list. They were still at the scene when Randy Coleman had located the homeless man asleep on a thin pile of burlap sacks behind Le Petit Bakery, a small bistro café a few yards west of Harvey’s Market.

  Jovanic could smell Dumpster Dave from six feet away. Like many street people lacking the benefit of a regular shower, the man wore a filthy knit cap pulled down low over his eyebrows and an overcoat crusty enough to stand up on its own. Life on the street added a lot of years to a face. He could have been anywhere from thirty to seventy.

  Dumpster Dave was less than pleased to be rousted by the cops, even ones who were not ordering him to move his makeshift bed at six o’clock in the morning. He hauled himself unsteadily to his feet. “What the hell do you assholes want?”

  “What’s your name, sir?” Jovanic asked.

  “I haven’t done anything wrong.” His pitch was raspy but not old.

  “We just need to ask you a couple of questions; it’d be nice to have your name.”

  “David,” the man said grudgingly. “David Robinson.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Robinson.”

  “You around here most nights?” Coleman inquired.

  Dumpster Dave looked up at him with a sneer that revealed broken upper teeth on one side of his mouth, vacant gums on the other. “Nossir, most o’ the time I’m stayin’ over at the Ritz Carlton, but last night I thought I’d camp out and look at the stars.”

  “Listen, wiseass,” Coleman said, bringing out the tough guy. “Just answer the question. Did you hear anything unusual last night?”

  Jovanic put up a restraining hand. “Hold up, Detective. Mr. Robinson isn’t suspected of a crime. We’re looking for his help.” He pulled a twenty dollar bill from his pocket and let the homeless man see it.

  Dumpster Dave leaned over for a moment, hands on his knees, and hacked up a nasty wad of phlegm. It landed on the sidewalk an inch from Coleman’s polished Oxfords.

  “Hey!” The younger detective jumped back, his face furious, then he lunged toward the homeless man. Jovanic grabbed his arm and jerked him away. “We heard you sometimes crash behind the market,” he said to Robinson. “Why’d you move down here last night?”

  When the man straightened up, Jovanic noted a crude spiderweb tattoo across his Adam’s apple, the spider hidden under the collar of his overcoat. A prison badge of honor for a kill.

  Dumpster Dave reached for the cash, scowled when Jovanic held it back. “What d’you care where I sleep? I mind my own business, don’t bother no one. Don’t know nothin’.”

  “That’s not a good answer.” Jovanic moved to stuff the money back in his pocket.

  The scowl deepened. “What th’ fuck? That raghead down the store was late gettin’ out. If I’d took my usual spot, asshole woulda hosed me down like he done before.”

  “So, getting back to my question, sir,” Coleman said tightly. “Did you hear or see anything out of the ordinary?”

  Coleman was getting on Jovanic’s last nerve. He made a mental note to give the junior detective a verbal ass kicking after they’d left the homeless man. It was time he learned that it didn’t cost anything to be courteous. Sometimes, just the act of being nice to people produced valuable information they would have otherwise withheld.

  Dumpster Dave scratched at the scraggly white beard outlining his chin. It was easy to see the wheels turning as he calculated how much he might be able to scam out of the two cops. He hunched his head down into his coat like a tortoise. “I got the cancer, man. I’m gonna be worm food by the end of the year. Can’t you do a brother some good?” The dullness of his rheumy eyes, the sunken cheeks, the sallow skin corroborated his tale about hi
s illness. Jovanic peeled off another twenty and held out the two bills, this time let him take them. “Just tell us what you know, Dave. That’s all we want.”

  “God bless you,” the man mumbled. He hurried to stash the money somewhere deep inside his coat and crossed his arms over his chest as if the two detectives might try to wrestle it back. “I mighta heard somethin’, but I don’t wear no watch, so I don’t know what time it was and I know you’re gonna ask me that.”

  “What did you hear, sir?” Jovanic repeated.

  “Like I said before, the raghead didn’t come out like usual. I know it was pretty late. So I’m checkin’ the recycle bin for cans, you know, while I’m waitin’?” He pointed vaguely in the direction of Harvey’s Market, where a few feet from the body dump, a smaller bin was designated for recyclables.

  “Go on.”

  “One o’those big mutha SUVs comes crawling down the alley real slow, no lights on. I figure somethin’s up and I git down behind the wall.” Jovanic reckoned he was referring to the concrete wall at the rear of the businesses adjoining Harvey’s, which separated the businesses from the parking lot in back.

  “I duck way down so they can’t see me. They stopped behind Harvey’s. First it was quiet, then I heard a kinda grunt, then the dumpster lid banged down like it was dropped. One of ‘em cussed, kinda quiet, but pissed, know what I mean?”

  Jovanic assured him that he understood, and waited for Dumpster Dave to continue his story.

  “A few seconds later I hear three doors shut. One, two, three.”

  “Three car doors?” Coleman put in. “You sure it was three?”

  Dave glared at him. “Maybe I sleep in the street, muthafucker, but I can count to three. I went to college—”

  “Okay,” Jovanic broke in. “You heard three doors shut on an SUV. Tell me about the people in the vehicle. What’d they look like?”