White Lines

by Tom Fowler

EDGEWOOD, MD.—A young woman’s body was discovered by a man walking his dog late last night.

  The body has not been identified yet. The deceased is described as a redheaded white woman in her early 20s. The cause of death was a brutal beating, likely with a weapon such as a baseball bat.

  Harford County Sheriff’s deputies are investigating. No leads are reported at this time.

  * * *

  Tyler stared at the screen. He took measured breaths in and out. The body had to be Alice. Rodolfo beat her to death. In the aftermath, he probably asked his cousin to help him cover it up. If Héctor was who Tyler suspected, he could get those resources with a single phone call. The cops didn’t have any leads. In the back of his head, Tyler heard Sara’s voice encouraging him to turn this over to the authorities.

  He would. If they refused to act, however, Tyler knew what he would do.

  Lexi finished her first class and refilled her coffee cup. If she were forced to endure another tedious lecture, she’d need to brew more. Why were intro classes so boring? She liked physics, but between her professor’s Schwarzenegger-like voice and the quality of his slide deck, she felt glad she opted for a different course next semester. With some time to kill, Lexi looked at her email. Her eyes landed on the message from her mother, and she sighed.

  One of these days, she would need to reply. Her dad told her to do what she wanted. She’d really come to like living with him over the last year and a half. He treated her like an adult—which she now was—and it made her realize how much her mother tried to control her even as she hit her teenage years. Lexi practiced a measure of mindful breathing. If she were going to respond, doing so when angry wouldn’t help.

  Once she’d calmed down, she opened the message and clicked on the Reply icon.

  * * *

  Hi Mom,

  It’s nice to hear from you. I know we haven’t talked in a while or seen each other in longer.

  I’m in college online. Your daughter is a Terrapin! The classes are kind of lame right now. I haven’t settled on a major yet, but there’s time.

  Dad’s doing well. He’s working as a mechanic on old cars. I know he’s wanted to do it for a while. We’re in a good place and getting along well.

  I’ll try to come and see you soon. Maybe next week. Take care. I hope you learned a few things from watching Orange is the New Black with me.

  Love,

  Lexi

  * * *

  She sent the message. Did she really want to visit her mother in prison? Guilt clawed at her. She should’ve gone already. It had been long enough, and it’s not like her mother was a serial killer in solitary who couldn’t receive guests. Lexi looked at her class schedule. She’d find some time.

  Tyler waited in an uncomfortable chair at the Edgewood branch of the Harford County Sheriff’s Office. While he sat there, he found Alice's Facebook page and downloaded one of her better pictures. Many were of her, but others were of cars she liked and wanted to drive. Now, she’d never get to add another one—all because her boyfriend was an asshole. Tyler thanked his lucky stars Lexi had too much sense to get involved with someone who threw red flags like Rodolfo.

  “Mister Tyler?” A large deputy peeked around the corner. He jerked his head, and Tyler followed him to a desk toward the rear. “I’m Deputy Parker,” he said once seated. Parker looked like he stepped off a college football field last year. His round face and spiky blond hair lent him an unserious look. His massive chest and arms sent a much different message. “What can I help you with today?”

  “I’m here about the young woman found in the woods,” Tyler said.

  Parker frowned. “We haven’t released a lot of information yet. How do you know about it?”

  “I’m resourceful.”

  “Do you have some information?”

  “Do you know her name?” Tyler asked.

  “It’s an ongoing investigation, sir,” Parker said. “I couldn’t share it with you either way.”

  “In case you don’t, it’s Alice Simard. Before you ask, I didn’t know her well. I work as a classic car mechanic, and she brought an old Boxster into the shop.”

  Parker stared at Tyler a moment before scribbling in a spiral pad. A computer sat on his desk. So did a lot of other things. A piece of paper could get lost in the cubicle jungle. Tyler wished the man would input his notes. “When was this?”

  “A couple days ago.” Tyler called up the picture he’d saved to his phone. “This was her before she got murdered and dumped somewhere.”

  “Pretty,” Parker said with a nod.

  “And very nice. We don’t get a lot of female car enthusiasts, so she tends to stick out in my mind.” Tyler slipped his phone back into his pocket.

  “You seem to know a lot about her.”

  “We had lunch after she dropped the Porsche off,” Tyler said. “She walked into the place where I was eating, and we had a nice conversation.”

  “Can I see the picture again?” Parker said.

  Tyler narrowed his eyes. “Don’t try to make something lascivious out of this. She was barely older than my daughter.”

  “All right.” Parker put up his hands. “You think you know who she was. Who—“

  “There’s no think here. She’s your dead woman. I’ll bet your salary on it.”

  “I’m not a gambling man,” Parker said with the trace of a smile. “I’ll take your word for it, though. I was about to ask if you had any idea who might’ve put her there.”

  “I’m sure your people already know she wasn’t killed there.” Tyler waited for a reaction, but Parker sat stone-faced. “My guess is her boyfriend killed her. Rodolfo Espinoza.”

  Parker abandoned the notepad and went to work on his computer. “You ever in the military, Mister Tyler?”

  “Yes . . . why?”

  “My old man was career Air Force,” Parker said. “You got the same look about you.”

  “Army,” Tyler said. “Twenty-four years.”

  “He wanted me to enlist, but I knew it wasn’t for me.” Parker pivoted his flatscreen monitor toward Tyler and lowered his voice. “I’ll tell you this. Looks like we identified the girl early this morning. Deputies questioned Rodolfo Espinoza, but he had an alibi.”

  “Let me guess . . . something to do with his cousin.”

  “Yep.” Parker returned the screen to its original position. “Confirmed by multiple witnesses.”

  “All of whom are likely on the cousin’s payroll,” Tyler said.

  Parker shrugged. “This is where we are in the investigation. It’s still early. I can’t share any more details with you.”

  Tyler took a deep breath and shook his head. He knew how this would play out. Parker told him more than he expected, but the result was the same. Rodolfo enjoyed Héctor’s protection in the form of an alibi, and the investigation would sputter and die from here. “Thanks for your time, Deputy.” Tyler stood.

  “My dad’s a determined guy,” Parker said. “Kind of like an old dog. He doesn’t like to let go of something when he’s got his teeth in it.”

  “I guess he and I are a lot alike, then.”

  “Let us do our jobs, Mister Tyler.”

  “It’d be nice if you’d get started,” Tyler said. He turned from the desk and left the station.

  8

  Tyler drove back home. He didn’t feel like going to work at the moment, and he texted Smitty to say he’d be in later. After leaving the 442 in the driveway, Tyler walked inside and went upstairs. He went to his spare bedroom. Years ago, a Veterans Administration therapist suggested he try painting as a means of working through his PTSD. Tyler scoffed at first, but tried it and came to like it.

  He preferred watercolors, and he’d churned out some impressive works since he took the time to learn what he was doing. They stood around the room, a few on shelves, some in bins, and others stacked on the floor. He knew Lexi came in here at least once. She knew the whole story about the end of his time in the army, and he didn’
t mind her seeing the output of his brain processing everything. Dealing with his former commander a few months ago kicked up some unpleasant memories.

  A new paper awaited. Tyler sat in the chair, closed his eyes, and took a few deep breaths. His hand shot out and closed around a thin brush. He drew the outline of a car. He waited a minute, then grabbed a thicker brush to fill in the border with silver. Wheels and tires came next, then a twisting road leading toward the top of the page. Tyler filled in the space there with a lot of brown.

  He went for red again, added a few final touches, and then put his brushes down. A silver Boxster sat askew in the middle of the blacktop. A desert wasteland lay in the distance. The rear tires of the car trailed blood on the road. Tyler got up, cleaned his supplies in the nearby bathroom sink, and left his little studio the way he found it.

  He grabbed his former company’s laptop. Héctor Espinoza, his cousin, and their crew would pay for what they did to Alice, a girl who didn’t need to die. Civilian deaths should always be prevented when possible. Only cowards reveled in needless casualties. The conversation with Deputy Parker told Tyler the Harford County SO would be slow to act if they did anything at all. Speaking for the dead fell to him.

  Good thing he’d already established himself as a knight-errant.

  Talbot Lakes was a swanky community in the town of Bel Air. Nestled off Route 543, it marked the end of miles of farmland and the beginning of civilization—expensive civilization. The development sprang up a couple years ago, and a bunch of rich early adopters bought the first allocation. Tyler’s research before leaving the house told him all this. When he drove up to Talbot Lakes, he confirmed something he couldn’t believe.

  For all its glitz and glamor, the community didn’t have a gate.

  He drove the 442 along the main drag. Other than the occasional work van or service truck, his was probably the loudest engine to sully the air. Large single-family homes with garages lined the road and smaller side streets. The main differentiators seemed to be size, brick front, and the color of the front door and shutters. Even a million dollars couldn’t buy an original design these days.

  Near the end of the main street, a manmade lake sat back on the left. The smallest house in the community stood about two hundred yards before it on the right. Tyler knew this was Rodolfo’s. Like the others, it had a garage, and the general aesthetic looked the same. The reduced size lent the appearance someone left a larger house in the dryer too long.

  The road ended ahead and featured a wide circle for turning around like a cul-de-sac. One mini-mansion sat at the terminus, and it was the largest in the development. A long driveway and trees prevented good views from the road, but Tyler scouted it with satellite imagery. Héctor Espinoza’s place was half again as large as the rest. His garages would hold four cars. A brick exterior and white columns near the front and back doors lent a general look of opulence.

  Tyler turned around and headed back the way he came. He parked across from Rodolfo’s and took a camera out of his bag. Hundreds of yards ahead, one woman walked a dog. The street was otherwise empty. He snapped pictures of both dwellings. He couldn’t get a good shot of Héctor’s, but Google could close the information gap. Lexi could probably help on the Patriot laptop, too.

  All was quiet at the houses he watched. No one came in or out for a half-hour. A van drove down the road and navigated the long driveway of Héctor’s home. Tyler got photos of it coming and going. Probably a harmless delivery. Nothing in the background intel he found on Héctor suggested the man was stupid. He wouldn’t run a needless risk like getting a shipment of drugs at his residence.

  Only fifteen minutes elapsed before the next vehicle approached. This one was a white Jeep SUV with the Talbot Lakes logo on the side. The driver steered it next to Tyler’s car and lowered his window. Tyler did the same. “Can I help you find a house, sir?” Tyler couldn’t see much of him, but he looked burly. His baseball cap carried the same insignia as his Jeep. It was about time security arrived. Tyler wondered who called them.

  “I’m all right . . . thanks, though.”

  “Let me put it a different way,” the man said. “Do you have business in Talbot Lakes?”

  “Yes,” Tyler said.

  “Do you want to tell me what it is?” the guard asked after Tyler didn’t elaborate.

  “Not really.”

  The security guy scowled and rolled up his window. Tyler left his down. The fellow would need to call someone. No way he got trusted to make decisions. Sure enough, he radioed for assistance over a walkie-talkie. Tyler couldn’t make out either end of the conversation. After a moment, the fellow lowered his glass again. “Follow me, please. The community president would like to speak with you.”

  “I’m sure he would,” Tyler said.

  Tyler followed the white Renegade onto a side road. The first building on the right was the model for Talbot Lakes. He parked the 442 behind the Renegade. The security guy stepped out first. He was tall and muscular but also paunchy. His stomach hung over the belt of his Dockers. His bright red hair and goatee painted him as a young man, probably not even thirty. Tyler climbed out of the Olds, and they walked inside.

  A corridor ran the length of the interior, ending in a kitchen with a slider to the deck. Another portly man sat behind the desk in what would be the living room of a normal house. Here, a desk and four chairs served as the only furnishings. A nameplate read Todd Windholm, Developer. Windholm looked to be about forty, and his physique suggested he spent much of his day camped behind his desk. Tyler slid onto a guest chair and turned it to the side so he could keep the front door in view. Windholm offered an insincere smile. “You interested in a house?” Like a good lackey, the guard stood near his boss.

  “I have one already,” Tyler said. “It’s got a lot more character than anything here.”

  “Might I ask what you’re doing sitting in your car on the street, then?”

  “It’s a public street, right?”

  “This is an exclusive community,” Windholm said.

  “Is your fat ass going to get out there and fix a pothole?” Tyler asked.

  “No.” Windholm frowned. “We would call the county.”

  Tyler spread his hands. “There you go. Taxpayer funded.”

  Windholm crossed his arms, and the security fellow did the same. “You still haven’t answered my question.”

  “I was taking pictures.”

  “You got ID?” the guard said.

  “Sure,” Tyler said.

  The other two men looked at each other for a moment when Tyler didn’t continue and made no effort to produce a card. “You gonna show us?”

  “No.”

  The sentry glowered, and the muscles in his crossed arms flexed. “Why not?”

  “Because neither of you are cops,” Tyler said. “You’re a glorified property manager and a poorly-trained attack dog. You do this absurd show for everyone who drives in or only the ones who stop at the far end of the street?”

  Windholm focused on his very neat desk. “I’m not sure what you mean.” Tyler remained silent. He was good at it. Quiet unnerved a lot of people, and they ended up filling the silence by saying too much. It didn’t take long for Windholm to crack. “We value the safety of all our residents.” Tyler again let the other man’s words hang in the air. “You might say we’re especially protective of Mister Espinoza,” Windholm added after a moment.

  “He must be an important man,” Tyler said once the stooge took the bait.

  “A community benefactor.”

  Tyler had an idea how Héctor and his crew benefitted the neighborhood, but he kept it to himself. Windholm was a happy Kool-Aid drinker. Tyler disparaging anyone wouldn’t make a difference. “What kinds of things does he do?”

  “Mister Espinoza is very involved.” Windholm nodded, and the guard again mirrored him. “He even gave his cousin a job and a place to live . . . the small house across from the lake.”

  “He sounds like
a peach,” Tyler deadpanned. “Unfortunately, I’m gathering information in the murder of a young woman who lived here. In the house you just mentioned, in fact.”

  “I’m not sure who you mean,” Windholm said. His eyes flittered from side to side under Tyler’s stare. “Are you a private investigator?”

  “No,” Tyler said. “Even if I were, I couldn’t compel you to talk to me.”

  Windholm leaned back in his chair. “I don’t see much reason for this conversation to continue, then.” A confident grin split his round face. “Glen?”

  “Time to go,” the rent-a-cop said.

  “But I’m enjoying this thrilling chat,” Tyler said.

  Glen scowled and advanced, tapping his fist into his open palm. Tyler remained in the chair. Before the larger man could do anything, Tyler fired a short left into his groin. It staggered him but didn’t put him down. Tyler stood, giving Glen a punch in his ample midsection and a short chop to the neck. With his foe gasping, Tyler grabbed the stunned man by his red hair and slammed his head into the desktop. Glen rebounded off the wood and hit the floor hard. He didn’t move.

  Tyler walked around the desk and grabbed Windholm by the tie. The panicked man flailed his arms to no effect. The knot of his tie pressed into his throat, and his pudgy face reddened. “Tell me about your alleged benefactor,” Tyler said.

  “Uh . . . Mister Espinoza is retired. He loves this community and wants to see it continue to prosper.”

  “Nice prepared speech. He probably gave you the script. What kind of career did he retire from?”

  “Im . . . Imports,” Windholm stammered.

  Tyler let him go. He stepped over the fallen Glen, who was breathing but still didn’t stir. “If I were you, I’d find a different place to manage.”

  Windholm straightened his rumpled tie and cleared his throat. “You should stay away from Talbot Lakes, sir.”

  “Who’s going to keep me out?” Tyler jerked his head at the fallen guard. “This asshole?”