by Graham Smith
‘When was she killed?’
‘We haven’t spoken to the coroner yet but she was found yesterday evening.’ I shrug. ‘He’ll need to establish a time of death and we’ll need to check people’s whereabouts. As will Lieutenant Farrage.’
The wrinkles on his brow deepen. His hands shake as he spreads them wide. ‘I’ve been working my usual hours. You know how late I usually work, Jake. You can vouch for me, can’t you?’
I do know how late he works. His garage is across the street from the Tree and I often see his lights still on when I leave at the end of a night.
That doesn’t mean I can guarantee he is innocent. But it does mean I can stand as a character witness and state with hand on heart that Lunk can often be found working long after midnight.
It also means I can testify he is a night owl, who is often awake when the night is at its darkest. Perhaps he’ll be safer if he keeps me out of it. If asked in a courtroom about Lunk’s character, my honest answer would do his defence far more harm than good.
He hasn’t been allowed into the Tree since the time he left oil stains on a stool and grubby fingerprints on a barmaid’s ass. This doesn’t stop him hanging around outside so he can ogle the girls and try his sexist lines on them.
I can understand his fear. With no one at home to verify his movements he’ll have no alibi other than being seen to be working. Somewhere deep in his brain he must realise nobody believes a word he says and at best, the girls all think of him as a creep.
We throw questions at him for a while but get nothing incriminating or exonerating. He has no alibi, but then again, he doesn’t seem to have a reason to kill her.
Sure, Kira may have rebuffed his advances with a withering put-down, but I’ve seen him take enough verbal batterings from potential conquests to know he has skin thicker than a rhinoceros.
It all boils down to what the coroner has found. If Kira had been sexually assaulted before she was murdered, Lunk will have a tough time ahead of him.
As we prepare to leave, an unmarked sedan comes to a screeching halt inches from the SUV Lunk has been working on.
The sedan’s doors fly open, disgorging Lieutenant Farrage and one of his detective buddies.
Farrage grabs Lunk, spins him round and slams him face first against the SUV. Handcuffs are snapped onto Lunk’s wrists and a breathless Farrage begins to read him his rights.
‘You got a warrant for his arrest?’
I keep my tone mild, but Farrage is too keyed up to be sensible. Like the imbecile he is, he’d have seen Kira’s spending history and put two and two together. The problem is, he’s not capable of making four. He’d be lucky to make five or three.
‘Butt out, Boulder. This isn’t your business.’
Farrage squares up to me. All posture and no substance, he knows I can kick his ass, but won’t because of the badge on his belt.
At least that’s what he thinks. I know he’ll only push me so far before I snap and hit him. Today wouldn’t be that day though; his incompetence is more amusing than annoying.
Waving a hand in front of my nose as if his breath stinks, I turn to Alfonse. ‘You’re a licensed private detective aren’t you, Mr Devereaux? Did that look like a legally made arrest to you?’
‘Not for a minute. Lieutenant Farrage assaulted the suspect before ascertaining his identity. Then he arrested him without a warrant. A half-drunk law student could get this case thrown out long before it gets anywhere near a courtroom.’
Farrage’s body tenses at Alfonse’s criticism of his professional behaviour. I can see his hands have balled into fists and hope he’ll be stupid enough to throw a punch at Alfonse. That will give me all the justification I need.
However, I recognise the need to calm things down rather than escalate them, so I take a couple of steps to my left, positioning myself at Alfonse’s shoulder.
Getting the message loud and clear, Farrage turns and barks an order at his subordinate. The man possesses enough sense not to get embroiled in the situation and releases Lunk then returns to the car. His silence throughout the exchange is more damning than anything Alfonse or I can say.
Alfonse isn’t finished with Farrage though. ‘I trust you know you have to have your suspect’s name on the warrant when you come to arrest him.’
The scowl from Farrage is a thing of beauty insofar as a twisted expression of hate can be.
It’s a masterful move by Alfonse as Lunk is no more than a nickname, but I’ve never heard of anyone who knows Lunk’s real name. Known only by the nickname, his given name has been lost in the sands of time.
‘Thanks, guys.’ Lunk massages his wrists as he walks us back to the Mustang.
‘If I was you, I’d call my lawyer. It’s only a matter of time before Farrage returns with a warrant.’
Chapter 9
Our next point of call is the Coroner’s Office. As we drive across town, Alfonse gives me his opinion of Farrage for what must be the hundredth time. Repetition doesn’t make his assessment any kinder.
The Coroner’s Office is located at the east end of town, a half block from the hospital on Route 40. A modern building with a glass and aluminium siding frontage, there is a small car park at the front for grieving relatives and a discreet back entrance for undertakers, ambulances and the coroner’s vans.
We enter the front entrance and speak to the receptionist. Her calm manner and relaxed nature will make her perfect for dealing with distraught families.
‘Doctor Green told me to expect you.’ Her left arm points along a white corridor. ‘Her office is around the corner and second on the left.’
Walking towards the doctor’s office, I marvel at the lack of antiseptic smells. I’d expected to get whiffs of formaldehyde and the strong chemicals used for cleaning; instead I’m getting lavender. Whoever designed the building must have made a deliberate effort to consider the sensibilities of the bereaved.
I knock on the doctor’s door as a technician in scrubs exits from a door encased with rubber seals. A waft of the missing smells emanates from the man until the scented air conditioning regains mastery.
When the door opens I have a split second to get the surprise off my face. Judging by the wide smile on Doctor Emily Green’s face, I’m not sure it’s long enough.
‘Hi, Jake, Alfonse.’
Emily is a regular at the Tree and, although I know she is a doctor, I hadn’t bothered paying enough attention to find out specific details. Alfonse and I had double dated once or twice with her and a friend, but, distracted by my own date, I had done little more than make small talk with her. If memory serves me right, he split with her because she became too clingy.
Hearing Alfonse’s laugh behind me, I know he’s set me up. It is the kind of childish thing we do to each other on a regular basis. Neither of us are looking for a big advantage or prolonged humiliation. Just another mark on the endless scorecard good friends keep.
I hold my hands up in supplication and let them have their moment. Alfonse somehow manages to maintain a friendly relationship with his exes, whereas I either crash and burn or never let them get close enough to be hurt.
‘I got a call from Chief Watson this morning. He told me I’ve to answer your questions.’
At work she is brisk and businesslike, the inane chatter replaced with clipped sentences arrowing to the points she wants to make.
‘That’s nice of him.’ I mean it too. Chief Watson could have paid lip service then ignored me. Instead he’s kept his word and opened up some of the investigation streams. ‘Have you performed Kira Niemeyer’s autopsy yet?’
‘I finished up a half hour ago.’
‘What did you find?’
‘She had seventy-three different knife wounds on her body. All concentrated on her chest and abdomen.’
‘Jesus.’ From the corner of my eye I can see Alfonse crossing himself.
‘How many of them were deep enough to be fatal?’
‘Just one. Whoever killed her p
ierced her heart to deliver the coup-de-grâce after slashing at her like a madman.’
Alfonse takes over the questioning while I consider the news Emily has just given us.
‘Are you sure the fatal wound occurred last?’
‘Positive.’ Her tone is filled with professional confidence. ‘Although her other wounds would have caused her to bleed to death if left untreated.’
‘Have you any thoughts on the knife used?’
‘The edges of the incisions were rough so my best guess would be the knife used was a typical domestic knife with slight serrations along the cutting edge.’
‘Can you tell if the killer was left or right handed?’
‘Right handed.’ She answers without hesitation, confident in her assessment.
‘What about any sexual activity? Had she been raped or molested?’
Emily consults her notes. ‘There were recent signs of vigorous intercourse although it appears to have taken place two or three days prior to her death.’
Thinking about Kira’s dungeon, I hesitate before asking my next question. ‘Did she have any other marks on her?’
Emily gives me a funny look. ‘She had what looked to be slight rope burns on her ankles and wrists. Just like the vaginal and anal bruising, the marks appeared to be days older than the attack.’
She doesn’t offer anything else. She is following the chief’s dictate to answer our questions without offering anything more.
‘What else should we be asking you?’ Alfonse’s question brings a smile to her face. He’s realised the politics involved and has found a way to get past them which won’t cause her problems.
‘If I was you, I’d be looking at where she died.’
‘Did you examine her where she was found?’
A nod.
‘In your professional opinion, was that where she was killed?’
A shake.
‘So what you’re not saying is that she was killed elsewhere and dumped there.’
‘Exactly.’
Alfonse jumps in again. ‘Is there anything else we should be asking you?’
‘You’ve covered the main points. But there is one thing.’ A thousand-watt smile beams towards Alfonse.
He doesn’t get it, so I get my revenge for his earlier prank sooner than expected. ‘Alfonse was wondering on the way over here if you’re still single. If you are, he said he was going to ask you out to dinner.’ I look at Alfonse who is trying to tell his face to behave. ‘Weren’t you?’
Et tu, Brute.
He nods.
‘Great.’ She hands him a card. ‘I’m free tonight.’
Chapter 10
After dropping Alfonse at his house to check if the software has finished its task, I go on to my apartment and change into running clothes.
I do my best thinking while running and right now I have a lot of thinking to do. There is so much of Kira’s life that has been kept secret from the world.
After doing a few stretches I set off at a brisk pace, keeping my breathing steady as I wait for the burn to kick in.
The S&M dungeon doesn’t correspond with my memories of her. Whenever we’d hooked up she’d been neither dominant nor submissive. Just normal.
There’d been no suggestion of anything kinky, just two friends bumping uglies to fill a void or sate a need.
The clothes in her spare room are also way out of character. Kira might make a booty call with no underwear, but she wasn’t the kind of girl who flaunted herself around town in micro skirts and low-cut tops. The majority of the clothes in that particular closet were, at best, slutty. At worst, they were the clothes of a cheap hooker.
The exceptions were some very classy dresses bearing expensive tags. Even so, they were a lot more revealing than the bohemian clothes Kira usually wore.
Also present were a selection of sex costumes. The lingerie in the drawers followed the same pattern, either expensive and classy or cheap and slutty.
The obvious conclusion is that Kira was hooking, but she didn’t need the money. I knew first hand she had an active libido, but she was pretty enough to have her desires filled by almost any man she chose.
She had no need to sell herself unless it was a self-esteem issue.
I’d have said she was someone’s mistress, had she not been known to live the carefree independent lifestyle she did.
While the MacDonald blood in my veins eschews the American habit of seeing a therapist, I know one might be able to give us some insight into her life.
As the burn from my run announces itself, I concentrate my mind on the places where Kira might ply her trade and leave my body to look after itself.
Casperton is too small a town for someone as well known as Kira to keep hooking a secret. Therefore, she must be entertaining people from out of town.
The nearest large cities like Salt Lake City and Denver are over two hours away, so whoever her clients were, they must be wealthy and in a position where they could disappear for hours, or a day at a time, without getting awkward questions from their wives or girlfriends.
Next I worry about how she attracted clients, if that is the right word for them. The obvious answer is via the internet, hence the InPrivate browsing. That, however, is Alfonse’s problem to deal with.
My best guess is Kira’s clients must either travel to her place or she left town to see them. I consider checking the local hotels before realising the futility of that course of action. Looking for someone whose name I didn’t know, who possibly stayed on dates I’m not sure of, will get me laughed out of every hotel reception in town.
As I turn onto Constitution Avenue, I slow to a jog when passing Kira’s house. Farrage and one of his buddies are on the lawn holding a small cardboard box.
Altering course I trot over to them, only for Farrage to manoeuvre himself so he’s blocking my view of the box.
‘What you got there?’ Trying not to manhandle or touch him in any way, I strain to look over his shoulder.
His buddy isn’t quick-witted enough to react in time, giving me a look in the box before he whips it away.
An iPhone and a platinum Amex are all it contains.
‘Keep your nose out, Boulder. This is police business.’
‘Haven’t you heard? We’ve been hired by Kira’s father.’
I can see from his reaction he already knows.
‘Maybe so. But we’re the police.’
His posturing gets to me more than it should, making the MacDonald blood seethe in my veins for a split second. ‘A hundred bucks says we identify her killer before you.’
Uncertainty flickers beneath the buzz cut before the bravado returns. ‘Deal. You’ve got no chance, Boulder. It’ll be like taking candy from a baby.’
I leave him to it and navigate my way home so I can take a shower and call Alfonse.
Chapter 11
Twenty minutes after calling Alfonse I am showered, changed, and heading west at ninety-five miles an hour.
Having got past the InPrivate setting he’s discovered Kira was hooking. A quick look through her search history saw him find login details for a site called Fantasy Courtesans. Alfonse found pictures of her on there, along with rates and services offered. Clients made bookings with her through the site.
He’s also found a secret bank account which funded the Amex and the extra iPhone Farrage had found. A quick look at the statement for the Amex told Alfonse she used it to buy sex toys, some of the clothes in her spare room and the occasional flight to LA.
Alfonse had tried digging into her client history on the site but hadn’t been able to identify any of her client’s identities. He has though, managed to trace the owner of the site and get me an address for him.
As the Mustang eats up the miles, I drive on autopilot while creating a mental list of the questions I need answers for.
Upon reaching the outskirts of Salt Lake City, I thread my way through the afternoon traffic, then take the fifteen north until I’m at Feltingville. The
traffic is light so I make good time.
I want to do this interview and get back to Casperton as soon as possible. Unless I learn something that takes me further afield.
After pulling over at the side of the road, I fire up my GPS and feed in the required zip code. Before setting off, I check my iPad and see my membership application for Fantasy Courtesans has been accepted.
Having paid a membership fee, I am now part of the club. I scroll through a few pages and try to book an appointment with Kira, or Candice as she calls herself on the site. I get an automated response saying she will get back to me within forty-eight hours.
With the MacDonald blood lava-hot in my veins, I swing the Mustang back into the flow of traffic and carry on.
Feltingville is smaller than Casperton, but being a satellite town for Salt Lake City, it plays home to some of the city’s seedier elements. My destination is a strip club called Bourbon A Go Go.
Located halfway along a dead end off State Street, Bourbon A Go Go is open just as Alfonse told me it would be.
I reverse into a parking bay in case I need to make a rapid exit, and walk towards the club. A doorman gives me a bored look I return with interest. All steroidal muscle, he’ll be too slow in the face of a determined opponent unless he manages to get the first blow in.
As my eyes adjust to the dim lighting, I buy a beer I have no intention of drinking and take a seat at the edge of the room where I can survey things.
The pounding music is too modern and too loud for my tastes, its thumping bass makes my beer vibrate on the table.
I cast my eyes round the room again and find three visible cameras, several hidden ones and a half dozen perverts. If things get exciting, I’ll have to make sure it doesn’t happen in here.
A short girl carrying thirty extra pounds is gyrating on the stage in a poor imitation of eroticism. What little appeal she has is ruined by the disinterest on her face.
‘You fancy a private dance, honey?’
I turn to focus on the girl speaking to me.
