A.W. Hartoin - Mercy Watts 04 - Drop Dead Red

by A W Hartoin

  “So, did you see Christopher on the day his father was murdered?” I asked.

  “Probably. I don’t remember,” said Toby.

  “Do you perhaps remember seeing his brother and sister on that day? I believe their mother brought them here before they flew to St. Louis. She’s rather striking.”

  “Oh, yeah. I guess I did. It was in the afternoon. I was going out to my Calc three study group.”

  “Did you notice anything odd when they were here? Strangers hanging around the house? Stuff like that.”

  “No, but I wasn’t really paying attention. Everything was fine,” said Toby, shuffling his feet and looking at his watch.

  “How was Christopher doing? Any problems?”

  Toby’s eyes shifted to the left before he answered and I perked up. “No, no, he’s fine.”

  “So no problems whatsoever?” I asked, making sure I focused hard on him.

  Another shift to the left. “No. Nothing.”

  “Do you have any problems with Christopher?”

  He looked me right in the eyes. “No. He’s a good kid.” He said that a little strongly, like someone might disagree.

  There was movement in the hall, a brief flash of an arm. I hesitated, but they didn’t come in. I had the strong impression they were standing there, listening.

  “I really have to go,” said Toby.

  “Just a couple more questions,” I said. “What’s going on with the house? Some girls came by and told me that you’re being investigated.”

  Toby flushed, his cheeks turning tomato red in an instant. “People say lots of things. Nothing’s going on. Nothing big.”

  I watched him silently without blinking.

  “We had a party. We’re a frat. We have parties. It’s not our fault if underage assholes come in and get wasted.”

  “And that’s it?”

  “What else could there be?”

  “Something with Christopher perhaps,” I said with a winning smile, the one that had been known to disarm men much more experienced then young Toby. But I’d left it too late, an error on my part. I should’ve batted my eyelashes at the beginning. Dad would be so disappointed in my lousy timing. Toby was already too agitated to fall for my face and he just wanted to escape.

  “I have to go.” He went for the door and I wasn’t going to talk him out of it.

  “That’s fine, but I need to take a look at Christopher’s room.”

  He stopped in his tracks. “What for?”

  “Just a look-see. His siblings were poisoned with listeriosis. I’m supposed to find out where it came from.”

  “It didn’t come from here,” he said.

  “How do you know?” I asked.

  “Nobody else is sick. I told you already.”

  “So what will it hurt to let me take a look? Maybe the guy in the hall could take me up.”

  “What guy?”

  “The one hovering by the door, listening to our conversation,” I said, still smiling.

  Toby flushed harder and walked into the hall. “Derek, what are you doing?”

  A bulky kid with a good set of pimples stepped into the doorway. “Sorry. I was curious.” He glanced at me and I realized his red face was about me not about being caught eavesdropping.

  “I was just going.” I stood up slowly and tossed back my hair. I really had no shame. I needed to get into Christopher’s room and that kid could get me there.

  I walked over to Toby, while keeping my purse back out of his line of sight, and pulled one of Dad’s cards out. I held it low by my hip and slipped it to Derek as I passed. Then I thanked Toby for his help and sallied out the door with a good hip swing for Derek’s benefit. With any luck, I’d be back with a quickness.

  Toby lied. He did not have class in fifteen or even in thirty. It took a painful forty-five minutes for my straight-laced obstructionist to leave the house. Minutes I spent standing on the corner next to a bar covered in band flyers and questionable substances. I hadn’t been to a college bar since the Byers case and I hadn’t missed it. There were five separate vomit spots along the front wall that someone had made a cursory attempt at washing away. The strong wee smell wasn’t helping my mood either. To be fair, the smell wasn’t much different than Bourbon Street and the surrounding blocks, but I found Bourbon much more diverting. At least there was music and interesting, if odd, people to watch. Toby made me stand in the muggy New Orleans sun, smelling vomit and getting hit on by delivery guys who thought their tongues were somehow enticing. Not so much. I could’ve kicked that over-starched liar in the shin. Get out.

  And then he did. Toby walked out of the front door with a backpack, that was either brand new or ironed, and walked off toward the Science Buildings on campus. I waited until he vanished around the corner before I crossed the street to try my luck with Derek, who answered the door after one knock. He’d been waiting, a very good sign for me.

  I stuck out my hand. “Mercy Watts, daughter of Tommy Watts.”

  “I know,” he said breathlessly.

  “Because of the card?”

  “Because of you. I’m a criminal justice major.”

  Sweet.

  “I see, and you overheard me talking about Christopher?”

  “Sorry, but I had to know why you were here.” Derek led me back into the TV room and closed the door behind us. “I saw you out the window, talking to those girls. I couldn’t believe Mercy Watts was at my frat. I about freaked the fuck out. Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

  “It’s fine. Toby was pretty evasive. I could call Christopher’s mom and ask her what’s going on, but I’d rather not, if I don’t have to.”

  “I don’t think she knows.”

  I gave him the full Marilyn wide-eyed smile and this time it wasn’t too late. Derek blushed like crazy and started stammering. Okay. Maybe I laid it on a tad too thick.

  “Knows what?” I asked.

  “We’re not supposed to talk about it, but since it’s you, I think it’ll be all right.”

  “It’s more than alright. I need to know and so do the police.”

  “Christopher was charged with rape,” whispered Derek.

  I almost fell over. My knees actually went weak, and they never do that. I have rock-solid knees. I groped for a chair and dropped into it just the way my godmothers taught me never to do. “By who?”

  “Faith Farrell. But he didn’t do it. She’s crazy.”

  How many times had I heard that? Too many to count.

  “What makes you say that?” I asked in what I hoped was an even tone.

  “She’s a psycho. She was stalking him.”

  “Did Miss Farrell report this to the police?”

  Derek frowned. “I don’t think so. No regular cops ever came. Chris had to go talk to the campus police about it, though.”

  “What happened?”

  He shrugged. “Nothing. He didn’t do it.”

  Campus police. Great. Why they were ever allowed to decide anything on a rape case was beyond me. Some schools even allowed student courts to decide whether or not an assault had taken place. And people wondered why girls didn’t want to report rapes.

  “When did this happen?” I asked.

  “I don’t know when she said it happened,” said Derek.

  “Okay. When did she accuse him?”

  “Christopher got called to campus security in December. I think it was before finals. Could’ve been the second week. I heard you talking about the Listeriosis thing with Chris’s brother and sister. What’s this got to do with that?”

  “I’m not sure. Maybe nothing. Did Christopher have any problems with anyone?”

  “Besides Faith? No.”

  “Nobody threatened him? Was there anyone hanging around the house that shouldn’t have been?” I asked.

  “No. Everything was regular. We all thought the rape thing was bullshit.”

  “But some people didn’t agree?”

  “Just some of the girls around.” D
erek rolled his eyes. “They love drama and pumpkin spice lattes.”

  I grinned at him. “You’ve got us pegged. How about Faith? Drama girl?”

  “I don’t really know her. She was around at the beginning of first semester and then she wasn’t. No big deal,” he said.

  “Do you remember when you stopped seeing her? It could be important.”

  Derek got out his phone and looked through some things. “October.”

  “Really?” I didn’t expect him to know.

  “Yeah. She was at our Halloween party, but she wasn’t at sexy savages.”

  “Huh?”

  He came over and kneeled next to my chair, holding his phone in front of me. “Here she is. The French maid in the back.”

  The group shot had twelve people in it. Faith stood far off to the left, not really part of the group. She was tall and curvy with dark brown hair cut in a pageboy style. Her smile was plastered on and she looked uncomfortable in her sexy getup, while everyone else hammed it up.

  “Is Christopher in this picture?” I asked.

  “That’s him.” Derek pointed to a gangly redhead that reminded me of Prince Harry, but not as good-looking. He was definitely Donatella’s son, curls and all. Two identical blonds, wearing Cleopatra costumes, were hanging all over him and he was loving it.

  “Who are the Cleos?” I asked.

  “Rory and Rachel. They’re twins and they love redheads.”

  “So they were with Christopher that night?”

  “Oh, yeah. Big time.”

  I got out my phone and typed in the names and dates that Derek repeated for me.

  “What was this sexy savages thing?”

  “Thanksgiving party. You know sexy savages and pimping pilgrims. It’s kinda stupid.”

  “And Faith wasn’t there?”

  Derek showed me all the pictures he had of that night and it was pretty stupid. Any excuse to drink, right? Faith wasn’t in any of his pictures. Of course that didn’t mean she wasn’t there. Derek might not have seen her. There were plenty of shots of Christopher though with the twins again. They were half-dressed as pilgrims. Christopher was a savage in a loincloth.

  “Any parties after that?” I asked.

  We went through all the pictures Derek had taken since then and Faith wasn’t there. Maybe she’d run into Christopher somewhere else, but Derek didn’t think so. The pledges stuck pretty close together. They did cleaning details and cooking, plus they had to study group, but he admitted that they weren’t joined at the hip.

  “Were you here when Christopher’s mother came the day his father died?” I asked.

  “No. I have three back-to-back classes on Friday afternoons. My schedule sucks.”

  “And nobody in the house has been sick?”

  “Nope.”

  I stood up. “I need to see Christopher’s room.”

  Derek’s eyebrows shot up. “What are you looking for?”

  “No idea. Probably nothing, but Abrielle and Colton were here. I have to look.”

  Derek pumped his fist. “Let’s do it.”

  We used the back stairs, so no one would see us and went into Christopher’s room. Derek said I was there at the right time. Most everyone was in class or out getting lunch. The house would get busy in a couple of hours.

  Christopher’s room was tiny, more like a walk-in closet with clothes strewn everywhere. He had a single bed and posters of cars and various movies pinned to the walls and ceiling. There was something about that room. It was messy and all guy, but I had the sense that there was a clue buried in the mess. This was the last stop for Abrielle and Colton before the airport. Something happened in that room. I could feel it. I just had to find it.

  Christopher had a little dorm fridge stocked with only some cheap beer and Red Bull. No open containers. I rifled through his drawers and the papers on his desk. I found a half-empty box of ribbed condoms and some pictures of the twins, naked. Nice. But no sign of Faith, pictures, cards, or a mention of her in his papers. Derek said Christopher had a laptop, but it wasn’t there. I assumed he took it and his phone with him to St. Louis. If there was any evidence of a connection to Faith, it would be there. Moreover there was no food, certainly no food that could’ve been contaminated with bacteria and eaten by the kids. Damn. Now I had a new possible crime and no evidence in the old one. Fantastic. Job well done.

  “Are you finished?” asked Derek, looking vaguely disappointed.

  I was missing something. I should’ve found some sort of clue. It was there. It had to be.

  “Sadly, yes. I’m not seeing anything.”

  We left the room and headed back down the stairs. Now I’d have to look into the rape. No avoiding it. Someone hated Christopher Berry and who was a better candidate than a possible rape victim? Nobody. That’s who. Crap on a cracker. I’d rather dive head first into a dumpster than find evidence that Donatella’s son was a rapist.

  “Wait,” I said. “We have to go back.”

  “Why?” asked Derek.

  “Dumpster.”

  “Huh?”

  “Where’s the trash? Did you see a basket in Christopher’s room?” I asked.

  “Oh shit!” Derek ran up the stairs past me.

  I chased him yelling, “Don’t touch it!”

  Derek stopped in the middle of Christopher’s room with his hands up. He listened to me. That was so rare, I was speechless for a minute.

  “I didn’t touch anything,” he said.

  “Wow. Good.” I looked around, not seeing any trash basket or any trash. “He had a basket or can, right?”

  “I think so. Should we look?”

  “Yes, but I have a feeling. There’s—”

  “A Tommy Watts kinda feeling,” said Derek, buzzing with excitement.

  “You’ve heard about my dad’s intuition then?”

  “It’s legendary. You have it, too?”

  “Sometimes. If we find the trash, don’t touch it.”

  Derek and I went through the room systematically, starting at the window and working our way to the door. I found it at the foot of the bed. The covers had been thrown off and draped over the footboard. In the corner was a small wire trash basket, full but not overflowing.

  I got out my phone and snapped several pictures. So did Derek, to my amusement. There wasn’t much to see: four crushed beer cans, a couple of Red Bulls, and lots of crumpled paper.

  “Anything?” asked Derek.

  “Not so far.” I used my pen to shift the contents. Under the cans, I saw a bit of pleated paper. A little more shifting revealed crumbs.

  “Do you see something?” Derek loomed over me, blocking the dim light from the overhead lamp.

  “Cupcake wrapper.”

  If that cupcake was our culprit, the kids must’ve split it. That thing must’ve been loaded with bacteria to have the effect that it did.

  I took a close shot of the wrapper and encouraged Derek to do the same. He was so happy and I started to get why Dad loved mentoring. Derek was so damn excited.

  I dug out Truesdale’s card and texted him a picture of the cupcake wrapper. He called me in two seconds flat. You gotta love cellphones.

  “Don’t touch it,” he said as an opener.

  “I’m not going to touch it. Do you think I’m an idiot?”

  Truesdale ignored that question and pelted me with others about how I found it, how I got in, etc…

  “Look, I didn’t do anything illegal. One of Christopher’s frat brothers let me in. We found the wrapper together. I was in his company the entire time. Remember, I’m not an agent of the police. I’m doing a favor for a friend. This is clean.”

  Derek beamed at the word “we.”

  Truesdale grumbled a bit and then said a unit was on the way. Tulane wasn’t in his jurisdiction. The New Orleans cops would handle it.

  “Do you have good cooperation with them?” I asked.

  “Sure. I sent Vicky Cortier over. She was part of the Gator Bait case, too. Sit t
ight.”

  “We’re not going anywhere.” I hung up and gave Derek a recap.

  “So what do we do now?” he asked.

  “Nothing. Cortier will collect the evidence and we’ll tell her what happened.”

  His face fell. “What about us?”

  “What about us?” I asked.

  “What do we do next?”

  We? Oh, right. I said “we.” Great.

  “You are going to figure out what to say to Toby. He’s going to be pissed that you let me in.”

  I expected him to get all worried, but instead he said, “I don’t care. Someone tried to murder Chris’s family and we just found a clue. Toby can suck it.”

  “Alright then. No fear. I like that.” And I did, too. Unfortunately, it meant I had another guy to deal with. Chuck and Stevie were bad enough. But Derek was a good kid and intimidating if you paid attention to his size, not his pimples. There was the hoodie guy to worry about and it might not be a bad idea to have someone in tow as long as it wasn’t the two I’d left behind. Neither of them took orders. “Okay. I’m going to call Donatella to ask Christopher about this cupcake. You’re going to see if you can find out where Faith Farrell lives.”

  “No problem. I’ll call my friend Olivia. She’ll know.” He went into the hall to track down Olivia and I girded my loins to call up Donatella.

  Please don’t let her be crying. And please don’t let me make her cry.

  Donatella answered with a surprisingly strong voice. I went ahead and told her about Christopher’s trashed room, because I had to tell her at some point, and she took it well. I guess, compared with everything else she had to deal with, a vandal in her house was a minor annoyance. I asked to talk to Christopher and she handed the phone over to her oldest child.

  “Hello,” he said in deep husky voice.

  “Hi. Are you in a room with your mother?” I asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “Step outside where she can’t hear you.”

  “Why?”

  “Just do it. We’re going to talk about Faith Farrell.”

  Silence and then he whispered, “Okay.”

  “Did you do it?” I asked in an angry voice that surprised me. Was I angry? I didn’t know.