Crushed

by Kate Watterson

  Tall and thin with gray hair, Mr. Morris tried to be helpful. He led them into a living room that had furnishings to match the place and quickly used a remote to switch off the television. “I don’t know why I watch the news. So darned depressing, or most of it is anyway.”

  Mr. Morris settled back into a worn recliner, and Ellie and Santiago had no choice but to sit on a plaid couch that had seen better days.

  “We’ve taken to walking in the mornings.” The man looked almost apologetic. “We thought the exercise would do us good. That young woman looked like she was napping, but then again, she wasn’t moving and it was chilly out. We were worried. She was just wearing that thin blouse and a skirt. I had on a coat and a hat. She only had on one shoe and I didn’t see the other one anywhere. I honestly didn’t want to look closer, but in good conscience, I had to. I think we both realized pretty quickly she was dead. My wife started crying. I know this is ridiculous, but I took off my jacket and put it over that poor girl. She looked so cold.”

  That was hardly good news from a forensics standpoint, but he had been trying to be nice. Ellie wasn’t very happy but kept it to herself. “You didn’t see anyone? Nothing at all?”

  He considered the question. “A few joggers are usually out, but it was early. We don’t jog because we’re a little old for that. We do walk. It’s good for your heart.”

  She’d already taken him off the suspect list. “I’m sure it was upsetting to find her. Nothing else caught your attention? No one was around?”

  The man’s eyes went unfocused and then he said, “Well, maybe. One runner. Not as tall as Detective Santiago here, but close. He stopped, running in place, and asked us if we needed help. I’d called 911 by then, so I told him no. We could see there was nothing we could do.”

  Ellie and Santiago exchanged a glance.

  “Describe him.” Santiago had out his phone, ready to take notes.

  “I’ll try. I was pretty rattled. Let’s see … brown hair, I remember that much.”

  “Young? Race?”

  “Young? To me, yes. Maybe he was in his late twenties or so. Could have been older, but not by much. I tend to think everyone is young. Just wait until you get to be my age. White, I’d say. Not black or Hispanic or Asian. Is he important?”

  She could explain that some killers liked to hang around their victims so they could get some sort of rush when the body was discovered, just like the arsonist will join the crowd after he’d set a fire, but chose not to mention it. If this nice old man found that the news was upsetting, knowing he might have come face to face with a killer wouldn’t make his day brighter. “We’d like to talk to him to find out if he saw anything. What was he wearing? Did you see any tattoos or anything like that?”

  Mr. Morris frowned. “Jogging clothes … black pants and sneakers. I don’t remember a tattoo.”

  Santiago rose and fished out a card. “Call if anything else comes to mind. We’d appreciate it.”

  When they walked out to his truck, her partner said with resignation, “Put his coat on her? Oh great, there go any fibers that forensics might find on her clothes. I suppose at least we know now they could be from his jacket. Brown hair isn’t all that helpful either. I bet there’s hardly any Caucasian males in this city with brown hair.”

  She beat him to it and opened her own door. “We don’t know that person wasn’t just a passerby.”

  “No, but that’s about the only lead we have right now and it’s damn thin.”

  He was unfortunately right.

  “If you have any other ideas, I’d love to hear them. Otherwise, we’re going to have to wait until we find out who she is.”

  He slammed his door after he got in and started his truck. “I wish we had even the vaguest flippin’ idea of where she went to down those drinks. That dropped shoe is evidence. Maybe it’s in the back of his car, but maybe it’s in a parking lot somewhere that could lead us back to where she was before she ended up right here.”

  Ellie agreed, but talk about a long shot. “No one is going to report a lost shoe. Ever seen one lying by the side of the road and wondered how it got there? I have. I think I’ve had nightmares about shoes on the side of the road, wondering about the story behind it.”

  “You’ve got too much imagination, MacIntosh. Hey, you should tip Grantham off that there’s a lost shoe story waiting to be written.”

  Ellie wasn’t interested in Santiago’s caustic comments about her failed relationship with Bryce Grantham, who had moved to New York and seemed to be having some decent success in his career as an author. Bryce wasn’t a mistake, he was just a complicated man, and their romance had no doubt been doomed from the beginning because they were nothing alike.

  None of Santiago’s business, but he brought it up now and then anyway.

  “I think he can come up with his own plot ideas.”

  He surprisingly let it go. “I understand about the nightmares. We’re obsessive about our jobs, which isn’t good for the mental health of any person. I don’t know about you, but I heard as a kid there was no such thing as monsters, and you and I know that’s not true. Last but not least, we spend too much time looking at dead people. That’s a fast ticket to Nightmare City, right there.”

  The sky had turned a brilliant blue—spring was a fickle mistress. Ellie agreed. “I wish now and then I could turn it all off, but my subconscious tends to win the day.”

  “Yeah, but look at the bright side, now and again we remove the monsters from the picture.”

  That last point was valid.

  * * *

  Jason knew he had a darker side that reminded him of his father. Not the parent who had contributed to his existence on this earth, but the one who had raised him. His biological father was a career criminal, but the man he’d lived with as a child was his mother’s second husband and had been a drunk who hadn’t been shy about using his fists. That meant Jason had a real problem with happiness because he always felt like it was something for other people.

  He didn’t embrace this knowledge, he just knew it existed. He’d been that scared kid, walking on eggshells, and then he’d turned into that tough kid, who secretly wished someone was baking him cookies and making his bed but would never admit it.

  His tendency to brood didn’t do him any favors, and he was doing it now, feet up on a table that had never been used for coffee—he’d bought it at a flea market for five dollars just so he could put his feet on it—beer in hand. The beverage wasn’t even cold, but that was his fault for not putting any in the refrigerator. In the state of Wisconsin it was not a crime to drink cheap beer lukewarm.

  But some things certainly were a crime. Like murder.

  So what point was there in getting a young woman drunk and then killing her by putting a pillow or something like that over her face? Yes, she’d been robbed to the extent she didn’t have a purse with her identification, but that could be just so there was a bigger time lapse between the murder and the investigation.

  He wrote down longhand on the back of his electric bill envelope: Smart killer or opportunist? Was he just in the bar and followed her, or was this planned?

  Good question.

  Did he keep the shoe on purpose or did it just fall off?

  It could be he’d kept it. Since the brain of a psychopath was hard to dissect, Jason didn’t understand it, but sometimes criminals kept trophies.

  Who is she?

  No one had yet reported her missing. Single.

  Fairly young and well dressed. Professional.

  He was mulling it all over when his cell phone rang. “Detective Santiago? This is Thomas Morris. I hope it isn’t too late to call.”

  It was eight o’clock. He was thinking of ordering a pizza or some Thai delivery because all he had in the cabinet was canned soup. Jason sat up abruptly and took his feet off the coffee table. “No, not at all.”

  “I was talking to my wife and she remembered something about that jogger.”

  “I am a
ll ears.”

  “He was wearing a sweatshirt that had a square shape on it. She thinks maybe a company logo was printed in the middle.”

  He was scribbling on the envelope again. “Any chance she caught what logo that could be and could describe it?”

  “Something with wings. I did ask her, but she was upset at the time, and, well … that’s all she really remembers. She does think she’d recognize his face. Despite our age, she has a very good memory usually.”

  Talk about a deflated balloon. It was such a long shot anyway he just took in a breath, because this was how it went. Hammett examined bodies and he examined crimes. Most people had poor memories when it came to a scene if they weren’t thinking about paying attention because they were shaken up. “I appreciate you calling, sir.”

  “He also had an earring. My wife thinks that is just wrong on men, so she remembered it.”

  None of that would help them find the person who probably couldn’t help anyway, but it was always nice when someone cared enough to go out of their way to be helpful. “Thanks very much.”

  He called Ellie right away. “Our dead end skidded up to the cemetery and dumped into an open grave. Have you eaten yet?”

  “Actually, no, but there’s a way to get a girl’s attention. Open grave? What are you talking about?”

  “It depends on the girl, right? I have yours now. One tidbit of information that probably means absolutely nothing is the bait. How about Thai food? I could order some curry chicken and that noodle thing you like.”

  She was at loose ends since splitting with Grantham and he knew it. Jason was not above shameless exploitation. What he really wanted was to see her, and it got old sitting and eating alone anyway.

  “At your place?”

  “Morris called my cell. I’ve had a couple of beers. I don’t want to drive anywhere, but if you want to come over so we can talk about it, you’re invited for dinner and in luck, since I’m not cooking.”

  She hesitated, but then agreed. “Good call on the not driving. I’ll come over.”

  “You want the spicy stuff?”

  “Sure do. I could pick it up.”

  “Are you kidding? That’s damn selfish. The delivery guy won’t be able to put his kids through college then. I’m on a first-name basis with every delivery person in a ten-mile radius. If I called in for carryout, everyone in the kitchen would faint and then we wouldn’t get our food.”

  She was at least laughing when she hung up the phone.

  Ellie arrived right before the food, wearing a soft pink blouse and jeans. She didn’t look like Detective MacIntosh, but more like a college student, and that alone was worth the tip he gave the guy who handed him the bags.

  He had only three dinner plates, but luckily, two were clean. He got them out of the cabinet, told himself maybe buying a real set of dishes wouldn’t hurt, though he wasn’t going to host a dinner party anytime soon. Or ever. Social events were not his specialty. He’d grown up eating off paper plates and using plastic forks, and then gone into the military where the ambience wasn’t much better. His ex-live-in girlfriend had helped smooth some of the rough edges, but then again, Kate had also left him after carefully explaining his level of emotional detachment was more than she could take. He vowed to himself then and there that it was off his list to ever date a graduate psychology student again.

  But, thanks to her, he actually had some place mats she’d forgotten to pack up. The relationship hadn’t been a total loss. He wished they didn’t have flowers all over them, but what the hell, they were a gesture at being civilized.

  He caught Ellie’s amused expression as he set them down and explained with one word: “Kate.”

  “I wondered. I was picturing you in the household goods aisle and picking out violets and it wasn’t flying. You’d be more likely to choose gorillas or lions eating a gazelle.”

  “Do they make place mats like that? I’ll have to pick some up. There are matching violet napkins in this set, but I draw the line at some point. You’ll be stuck with those paper ones that came with the food. While we eat, I’ll tell you about the phone call.”

  She sat down at his small table and opened a container. “That’s why I’m here.”

  No, not entirely, and he had a feeling she knew that. He plunked down and reached for the curry. “Morris called to say his wife remembered that the jogger had a sweatshirt on with a logo and he also had an earring. She was all worked up, so she can’t remember more than that. Maybe she will after thinking about it. He did say she might be able to pick him out from a lineup.”

  Ellie took a bite, and after she swallowed said, “Since when did you change into Santiago the Optimist? We’ve still got nothing.”

  “Not so.” The curry was hot, and sitting at the table was nice—he ate in front of the television way too much. “If we could get a line on a suspect, she could help us out. Her husband thinks she’d recognize him.”

  “It’s better than nothing,” Ellie agreed, but looked skeptical. “Maybe he saw something.”

  “I just have this feeling he’s important. Maybe he was just a runner, but maybe not.”

  “I usually trust your gut instincts … so go on.”

  He would have. Gladly. But he didn’t really want to talk about the case. He didn’t do sensitive well, but he was good at honest. What he was about to say was more for his own sake than for hers. Getting it off his chest would just be a relief.

  “We have other problems.” He said it with an edginess he wished didn’t exist, but it did. “You’re my partner. I’m in love with you. What the hell are we supposed to do about that?”

  Chapter 3

  He was a novice.

  He’d always known he’d wanted to learn what it would be like. It had been there all along following him like a dark shadow. He was an analytical person, or so he thought.

  Why?

  That was more difficult.

  Attention? It could be. The growing obsession was eating up a lot of his time. There was some measure of resentment no one noticed and that also annoyed him. It was the story of his life. No one cared. At times he felt insignificant and slighted.

  The first time he’d seen her had been just a photo in an article. But she’d haunted him in a tantalizing way.

  He was determined to have Ellie MacIntosh wake up and realize he was there.

  * * *

  There was no note with the vase of tulips on her desk.

  Good. The very last thing she needed was some poetic card. The cheery brilliance of pinks, reds, and bright yellow were beautiful, but not something to handle before she had a second cup of coffee. She was still processing Santiago’s very frank declaration.

  He shouldn’t send her flowers. Especially not at work.

  Ellie dumped in sugar and some nondairy creamer—what was in that substance anyway? No, wait, she didn’t want to know—and went to sit down with an inner sigh.

  “Secret admirer, MacIntosh?” Lieutenant Carl Grasso walked up, and she wished she could say yes. No longer a secret to her. It wasn’t as if she didn’t think things were headed that direction, but Jason Santiago had said it.

  I’m in love with you.

  “No comment.”

  It had better be a secret to everyone else, she thought darkly, but then wondered if she wasn’t just dreaming. Damn him. Maybe she was more upset over that than anything else. Secret was acceptable. The blunt approach was not, but he wasn’t hard to read, and truth be told she had some pretty mixed feelings about him just saying it out loud. Maybe it was best to just get the tension off the table. “What’s up?”

  Grasso, older and well dressed as always, leaned a hand on her desk, his silver eyes holding false sympathy. “I think you’re about to get real busy. Just a heads up as a token of my affection. I was in a meeting with Metzger when he got the call.”

  “What call? Why?”

  “You are about to find out. Just my luck. All I have is a shooting over on Lincoln that I pro
mise you is gang related. My chances of solving that one are in the null-and-void set. Those people are not cooperative. I’ve worked these before.”

  He walked away and she spotted Santiago coming toward her desk. As usual, his contrast to Grasso’s perfect suit made her want to shake her head. He looked like maybe he’d just gotten back from an all-night rock concert.

  She didn’t wait but gestured at the vase. “Don’t do that again. Not here at work. But thank you, they’re lovely.”

  He frowned. “Those flowers? Give me some credit. I wouldn’t do that here at work.”

  That was probably true now that he pointed it out. If he ever had sent flowers in his life it would be a surprise, and certainly not tulips.

  Her partner didn’t look happy to see them. He plucked one out and twirled it in his fingers. “My guess is Grantham isn’t as convinced it’s as over as you are. I hate to break it to you, but thoughtful romantic gestures are not in my skill set. You won’t find me singing under your balcony either, but that is a thoughtful gesture if you’ve heard me sing. A frog croaking is more on key. Forget the flowers, we need to get going. We have another visit to make to that very same park bench. It has a new occupant.”

  Second victim?

  No wonder Grasso thought they were going to get busy.

  Ellie reached for her jacket, immediately distracted and dismayed. “Are you serious?”

  “This guy has some balls putting another body in the same place.”

  If she wasn’t used to it by now, Ellie might have said something about his choice of words, but she’d given up a long time ago. “I agree he’s taking chances. Who’s driving?”

  “You. I left my gym bag in my truck accidentally a few days ago. It has a certain funky odor even I noticed.”

  “Enough said,” she agreed as they exited the building.

  They drove to the scene without mentioning the flowers again. Ellie could tell he was tense about it, and she was as well. The last thing she needed was Bryce deciding to try to resume their relationship at this point. She was past it now, but it had taken some effort. Those tulips had not been a bonus to her day. Beautiful but unwanted.