His Twisted Smile

by Chris Thompson

  He saw Jones in the middle of his reverie and was pulled back to why he was there. Jones was a balding, gruff looking man who had a goatee and otherwise bore a passing similarity to Gordon. It had been joked that Jones was his evil twin, something they had used to their advantage in their good cop, bad cop interrogations. Formerly in the Army, the habit Jones picked up of using last names to refer to colleagues had rubbed off on Gordon and, despite their strong friendship, they seldom referred to each other on a first name basis. Gordon passed by a few others he recognized and came to a stop behind Jones, who seemed not to have noticed him.

  “Jeez, I forget to return a few phone calls and now you’re ignoring me?” Gordon quipped.

  Jones stopped typing at his keyboard and looked up.

  “Hell, I thought I heard a ghost.”

  Jones turned around and stood, grinning from ear to ear. He and Gordon shook hands and exchanged some pleasantries before Gordon borrowed an empty chair from one of the other desks and sat next to his friend.

  “So, what’s this all about? You only visit when you need something?” Jones asked gruffly.

  “Oh, you know how it is; every day is a new adventure for the self-employed.”

  “I bet. So, found any cats stuck up trees? Maybe caught a picture or two of a cheating wife?”

  “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” Gordon replied sardonically.

  “Fair enough. But now that you’re here, Shelly’s birthday is coming up next weekend and she told me to shoot you and drag you there if you don’t turn up willingly.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t want to disappoint your wife. You do that enough.” Gordon cracked. Jones laughed.

  A female detective approached and hovered at the desk beside Jones’, looking between the two men expectantly. She had combined professionalism and attraction well, wearing a black trouser suit and white blouse with a stylish, short cut of auburn hair.

  “Who’s this?” She asked.

  “This is a relic from the past, Weller.” Jones told her. “Gordon Crane, my old partner.”

  Weller stepped forward and extended her hand.

  “Allison Weller.” She greeted.

  “A pleasure.” Gordon replied, shaking her hand.

  “Listen, I’m helping him out with something. Do you think you can go pester the crime lab for their findings?” Jones asked her.

  “Sure. I’ll call you if they have something.”

  “Great.” Jones responded. Weller nodded in Gordon’s direction and then started out of the room, heading towards the doors.

  “She seems nice.”

  “She’s a hell of a detective; great instincts and she knows some kind of fancy martial art so she can kick the crap out of someone if she needs to. A few years experience on the street and she’ll be the second best detective here.”

  “Well, third best. I’m here for now.” Gordon responded with a smile.

  “To business.” Jones declared, waving off Gordon’s comment. “I take it Ms Reese-Smyth came to visit you?”

  “Yeah, told me you gave her my card. I was hoping you could tell me what was in the report.”

  “Between us?”

  “You have to ask?” Gordon questioned.

  “Well, it’s an odd one for sure.”

  “I was hoping you had more than that.”

  “Okay, so this wasn’t my case it was Jenkins’. He ran with it and closed it pretty quick, maybe a little too quick if anyone wants my opinion.”

  “They’re letting Jenkins run cases on his own now?” Gordon asked disdainfully.

  “You’ve been out of the game for a few years, Crane, Jenkins isn’t thought of as a rookie anymore.”

  Gordon nodded dismissively. Bobby Jenkins had been a bumbling, inexperienced junior detective the last time Gordon had seen him. He was very ‘by the book’, and definitely lacked imagination. He had a way of dealing with police work that didn’t leave much room for instinct, something that had rubbed Gordon the wrong way on the few occasions they’d been required to work together.

  “So, what did he find?”

  “See for yourself.” Jones told him, grabbing a file and handing it over. Gordon opened it and was surprised at how little information was contained in the report. He quickly read it through and took away from it what seemed to be the relevant details. Firstly, the autopsy had revealed Millie had definitely engaged in very rough sexual intercourse before her death. Interpreting the bruising, the coroner was able to learn that she’d had several bouts of such intercourse in the days before she died. There was a statement that it might not have been consensual, but there was no way to be entirely sure as there weren’t any cuts or tearing. No DNA evidence was left behind, meaning there was no way to determine the identity of her partner. There were abrasions around the wrists which indicated she had been bound at some point. Gordon began to feel more than a little incredulous that someone could assume this was consensual and dismiss her death as accidental without more investigation than the file appeared to hold. Nonetheless, he continued on.

  The toxicology report revealed a substantial amount of cocaine in her system, enough to conclude she was probably experiencing significant side effects. She wasn’t in danger of overdosing but, given the fact that she was apparently not used to imbibing cocaine, she was likely off her head. Gordon considered this; some of the supposed ‘benefits’ of taking such a drug were euphoria, feelings of increased sexuality and energy. To Gordon’s mind this didn’t make it worth putting poison in your body, but that was irrelevant. Injection marks on the arms indicated she had - or someone had - injected the drug rather than her snorting it, a number of times before her death. There were a number of subsequent injuries that could’ve been caused by herself or by another party, notably some scratches along her forearms. Gordon flipped the pages of the report to see the crime scene photos. What he saw stung after a night spent looking at the happy, innocent pictures she’d posted to her social media. The usually conservatively, but still prettily, dressed young woman had been found after death wearing a skirt that barely covered her rear and a bra covered by a silver, mesh-like, strappy top which was almost entirely see-through. Gordon could understand why her mother had a hard time believing the conclusions Jenkins had drawn.

  Gordon returned to the coroner’s report and saw that the cause of death was cranial trauma; specifically, she’d struck an edged object, not dissimilar to the edge of the large metal dumpster near where she was found. There was no evidence she’d been moved, and the blood that had pooled from her head wound was consistent with what someone would expect if it was the scene of death. Further, she had been in the place where her body had been found for approximately two hours prior to discovery, based on the time of death. Gordon read further, skimming the interview with the person who found her body, a storekeeper named Jacob Smith, who claimed he was taking out some trash and discovered the body a little after midnight just as he was preparing to close up. The in-store surveillance confirmed he had been working at the cash register for hours prior, ruling him out of having anything to do with her death. Scanning through further pieces of information, Gordon checked to see if there was blood found on the dumpster she supposedly struck her head on, but the report was inconclusive. This didn’t mean it was impossible that she had smashed her head on the dumpster, as a single, powerful enough blow could have caused fatal damage without leaving a blood trace.

  Finally, Gordon read through the series of events as they were summarised by Jenkins: Millie left her home, leaving her vehicle behind, and went to meet someone shortly after nine o’clock in the evening. She told no one where she was going and the security guard on the gate of the community where she lived saw her walking calmly, almost leisurely. Jenkins had interviewed her friends and none of them knew who she could have been meeting or where. Skimming through the list of people interviewed and the notes of what was said during the interviews it seemed Jenkins was, at that point, focused on it being an accident. Gor
don took a couple of pictures on his phone of the contact information for the witnesses, though there weren’t many. Continuing his reading he discovered it was Jenkins’ conclusion that, after she left home, she decided to indulge in a number of vices. The case was closed with the decision that Millie Reese-Smyth was a good girl who partied too hard and it led to her death. After having sex and taking drugs for several days, she stumbled down an alleyway and tripped, cracking her head on her way down. Gordon didn’t like what he read. It was a solution brought about by looking only at the surface: drugs and sex, which led to labelling her as a young woman with her mind on the vices readily indulged in on a daily basis by people her age in Carlson Flats, rather than seeing the true nature of the woman. Gordon closed the file and kept it on his lap.

  “You’re not happy?” Jones asked.

  “You are?” Gordon questioned back.

  “It wasn’t my case.”

  Gordon nodded. “But you must’ve thought something was hinky or you wouldn’t have told the mother to contact me.”

  “The thing is, I don’t have time to look into it, not to mention the reaming I’d receive if I tried. Jenkins’ popularity has increased quite a bit lately; rumour has it the higher ups have their eyes on him for promotion.”

  “Apparently shit can roll up hill.” Gordon commented. “Well, at least I’ve got nothing to lose if I go poking around in a hornet’s nest.”

  Jones shrugged and made an open handed gesture.

  “It didn’t sit right with me, but who knows? Perhaps everything in that report is true. People can go wild and party hard; hell, some of the people who go the craziest are the ones who’ve never done it before. Maybe she decided to cut loose and it went sideways. It’s not always a crime when a seemingly innocent girl dies.”

  “And sometimes it is. I took a cursory look at this girl on her social media, and she really didn’t seem the type.” Gordon commented. “Did they find a promise ring?”

  “I don’t remember, check the evidence log.”

  Gordon flicked the file open and scanned the papers until he found the one listing the items taken into evidence. From what he could see, they didn’t find a ring or her phone. They had collected her computer, but had found nothing of note in her emails or social media messages, and had returned it to her mother when the case was closed.

  “She had that promise ring in all the pictures I saw of her.” Gordon commented. “But she apparently didn’t have it at the time of her death?”

  “To be fair, if she had broken her vow there wouldn’t be much point in keeping it.”

  “Not even for sentimental value?” Gordon questioned. “So, Jenkins was happy with all of this? He didn’t have any lingering curiosities?”

  “Apparently not. From what I remember they canvassed for a while but no one remembered seeing her. With no leads on whom she bought the drugs from or had sex with, or even a slight idea where she’d been staying, the case was dead in the water. Truth be told, I think Jenkins just wanted to close the case and get it off the pile; open cases wouldn’t look good for someone angling for a rise in the ranks.” Jones stated objectively. It was despicable, but possible.

  Gordon tried to think clearly without letting his personal opinion of the young woman, based on what he’d seen of her on her social media and Isabelle’s passionate denial of any misconduct, sway him. It was plausible that the reports were accurate, even if unlikely. The only loose ends which caught Gordon’s eye were the promise ring and phone being missing, plus the skimpy clothing and the wrist abrasions, the latter because even if she did decide to get high and sleep with someone, it seemed highly improbable she would agree to have her wrists bound during her first experiences. Not impossible, of course, as everyone had their ‘thing’. Gordon decided that his best course of action was to dig into her life, and the place to start was with the person who knew her better than anyone, which would also offer him an opportunity give Millie’s room the once over. The step after would be to interview her friends to see whether they felt the manner of her death was in keeping with the Millie they knew or whether, as he suspected, it was totally out of character for her to take drugs, dress provocatively and abandon her plan to stay a virgin until her wedding night. Apparently Jenkins’ interviews hadn’t turned up much but, Gordon thought, perhaps he hadn’t asked the right questions. Gordon handed the file back and stood up.

  “Thanks. I’ll see you next weekend.”

  “You’d better.” Jones said with a smile. “Otherwise you’ll be getting a call from Shelly and she won’t take no for an answer.”

  Jones quickly put the file away, stood up and extended his hand. Gordon shook it briefly.

  “You really think I’m that afraid of your wife?”

  “Why not? I am.”

  The two parted and Gordon exited the building, returning the visitors pass on his way out. He strolled casually to his car, unlocked the door and retrieved his gun from the glove compartment. He replaced it in the holster and then grabbed the piece of paper from his pocket that Isabelle had left with the money. He checked it was the same address Jenkins had written in the report... not that he didn’t trust him to get it right. Gordon scoffed as he realized it actually wouldn’t have surprised him if Jenkins had got it wrong. He hoped when he arrived there Isabelle wouldn’t expect him to have any answers for her, because at that moment all he had were vague ideas and more questions.

  Chapter Three

  Isabelle Reese-Smyth’s house was about thirty minutes east of downtown Carlson Flats, in a community of large, luxurious homes that were beautiful but so far out of Gordon’s price range he didn’t even take the time to admire them. Specifically, Isabelle and her neighbours lived within walled seclusion, adding privacy and security to the desirability of their properties. Gordon had to wait at the gate while the armed guard phoned ahead to make sure Isabelle was expecting a guest. It took a short time for him to get her on the phone but the conversation was brief and Gordon was waved through. The first thing that struck him about the area was it was the kind of place almost every parent would like to raise their child in, with safe roads and evidence of a sense community everywhere. Some neighbours stood conversing on their well maintained lawns while others were gardening, accentuating their lawns with borders filled with bright, colourful flowers. And, almost everywhere, children on summer break played games. Whatever the inhabitants were occupied with they also did their best to pretend not to notice Gordon’s less than extravagant sedan driving up the street. It took a short time but Gordon eventually found Isabelle’s home. He pulled up outside and looked at the building. It was as uniform as the others he’d passed: a two car garage, a paved driveway, a wide lawn surrounded by flower beds - that were admittedly neglected looking - and a two floor, red brick building, which had large windows in each of the rooms and a wood and glass door. Down in the city, such a design could leave you open for just about every type of crime imaginable but he figured that wasn’t a concern here, not with a guard on the gate and others patrolling. Not that he doubted there would be some criminal activity going on. No matter how perfect a facade looked, people were people and, in Gordon’s experience, it meant they were just as likely to be committing some transgression once they closed the blinds on their windows.

  Gordon exited his vehicle and started moving up the path to Isabelle’s front door. Just like the other houses, it had a second floor with large windows in the bedrooms or offices. She had drawn all the curtains on the front windows, for which there were two explanations to Gordon’s mind: first, it could have been part of the tradition to close the curtains during a time of mourning, although most people opened them again once the funeral was over, or alternatively, it could have been because she didn’t want her ‘friendly’ neighbours to intrude upon her grief. As Gordon approached the door he reached out to press the doorbell and, catching his reflection in the glass of the door, smoothed his hair down out of some nearly forgotten habit about presentation. He s
aw Isabelle coming down the stairs, which were situated across from the door; she was holding the banister but had a sway to her walk that Gordon recognized as inebriation. She was barefoot, wearing the same dress he’d seen her in last night and looked more than a little worse for wear. Despite himself, Gordon still noticed she was effortlessly pretty. As she reached the door, he pushed away all his unprofessional thoughts and tried to focus on why he had come to see her. Isabelle opened the door fully and leaned on it for support, looking at him with red, half-closed eyes.

  “Mister Crane. I wasn’t quite expecting you so early.”

  It was a little before eleven in the morning, but he let it pass.

  “Call me Gordon, please. I was hoping I could take a look around Millie’s room and maybe ask you a few questions about her when I’m done?”

  “Sure.” She replied a little blearily, moving aside. Gordon stepped into the hall and she shut the door behind him. He took a quick look around, noticing that there were sliding doors on the left and right that were wide open, revealing a dining room - which didn’t appear to have been used in a while - and a living room, where he glimpsed a large television and a couple of empty wine bottles on a coffee table. There was a central staircase in a roughly hourglass shape that led to the second floor, with avenues immediately to the left and right of the staircase on the ground floor that led to other rooms; as well as a sliding door at the rear leading out onto the patio where, Gordon didn’t doubt, there was a swimming pool and other outdoor facilities.

  “Where is her room?” Gordon asked, glancing over his shoulder.

  “Up…” She paused for a second and then seemed to refocus. “Upstairs, take a right; her door has her name on it.”

  “Thanks.” He started towards the stairs and saw she was doing her best to keep pace with him. He wanted to examine her daughter's room alone and so came to a stop as he put his foot on the first stair.