He was finishing his second cup of coffee as the waitress shuffled back to offer a refill. The two workers had paid and left. There was just him and the old man still seated at the bar, which made it as good a time as any.
“Do you remember the girl that went missing? Janet Hilton?” he asked, trying to look friendly. “I understand she and her friend came in here after the play. Were you working that night?”
The waitress blinked. She seemed surprised, maybe wondering why he was interested. Most likely, it had been years since she’d been asked this.
“Yes. I work every night except for Mondays. We’re closed then.”
Jimmy pulled out his wallet, extracted one of his shiny new cards to show her.
“I’m investigating the case for the Hilton’s. Is there anything you can tell me about that night?”
“Nothing I haven’t already told the police.”
“I’d appreciate it if you would go over what you remember.”
Jimmy noticed the old man was watching him keenly. He guessed there wasn’t much excitement in the old guy’s life and to be there when a PI did an interrogation made for an eventful day and an enviable story to regale his friends with.
With a deep sigh that symbolized how much work awaited her in the kitchen and there wasn’t time for this, the waitress began her story. “The two girls came in around ten, when the play was over. I was surprised to see them in here; they weren’t the usual type.”
“What type is that?”
“My usual clientele is a bit rougher,” she said with a little laugh. “Girlfriends to the foundry boys, gals running with married men, women that know how to put away booze. Hard drinkers are my bread and butter. These little girls wanted a cocktail, not a beer, if you know what I mean. I figured at the time that they were out slumming. Seeing how the other half live.”
Jimmy nodded. He knew the type. In fact, he thought he’d married one. Ada had always been out of his class. And too much for his wallet.
“Did you notice anything strange? Anything at all? Like they were being watched by a customer? Anything that made you suspicious?”
“No, nothing. It was a quiet night. They were the only ones to come in from the play. I got a few of my regulars in a little later. Pretty poor night, actually. It’s getting harder and harder to make the mortgage. Wouldn’t want to buy a bar, would ya?”
She smiled at Jimmy, but he could tell she was more than half serious, and also had the suspicion that she was flirting with him. He noticed for the first time that his earlier assessment, most likely caused by hunger and headache, was incorrect. She was an attractive woman, about his age. Except for looking exhausted, she really wasn’t half bad. Of course, she couldn’t hold a candle to Abby. Or was it Izzy? Funny that he couldn’t seem to get the young woman out of his mind. She was just a baby and already in a relationship. But she had definitely captured his interest.
“No, thanks. I’ve got troubles enough of my own.”
After conferring on the poor state of the economy and that neither thought it would improve anytime soon, Jimmy paid his bill, leaving a generous tip along with his card. It always paid to be good to working people. They would remember him and call with any recollected information. He smiled and winked at the woman, who at one point had given him her phone number, and then headed for the door, positive he’d made an impression. He couldn’t help the strut that found its way into his steps. It seemed that some women found his new look impressive and it was good for his ego.
***
The bowling alley that evening was a total waste of time. Jimmy got nothing out of the proprietor and bartender that weren’t already in the police report. He didn’t learn one thing that would aid or help in his investigation. Those interviewed merely repeated the same answers, sounding as if they were scripted. He supposed after the passing of so much time that they might as well be. It would be impossible to actually remember what happened. All they could recollect would be the answers they’d given at the time. These would now be gospel. It was all that was left in their memory banks. None of it had been useful then, and it wasn’t now.
After taking two more extra-strength pain aids, Jimmy went back to his office to go over his notes. He couldn’t help feeling discouraged. Even though he had cautioned Hilton about the futility of the search, he’d still had faith in his own ability. Faith in the dogged determination that he’d always exhibited in everything he did. Faith that every little piece of evidence, no matter how trivial, would eventually lead to success. It was early in the investigation, too early to give up. But it wasn’t looking good. In his innermost thoughts, he knew that he would have to face Hilton and his wife and tell them that they would never see their daughter again. And that they wouldn’t even have her remains to bury. He dreaded that. He didn’t want to see the haunted expressions their eyes would hold when he told them he’d failed.
Chapter 8
Abby glanced at Izzy, trying to determine the mood she was in. A few months before, when Paul moved in, Izzy had gotten very angry, yelling that she was jumping from the frying pan into the fire. Her words. But possibly true. Abby just hoped they weren’t prophetic. Her sister had refused to talk about it since.
Abby was almost positive that Paul had planted the hair ornament and the undergarment in her bedroom. Even the week before they had not been in Grant’s jewelry box that he kept hidden behind boxes on the closet shelf. It didn’t make sense that Grant would have moved them there now when he’d had them stashed them someplace safe. Not now, when he was under suspicion. After she’d destroyed his alibi, telling Paul that Grant hadn’t been home when Janet went missing, then that brought up a probable cause to search her home. And just before that was when he supposedly moved his trophies to where they could be found? No, not likely. No. Paul put them there.
The question was - why? When he first paid attention to her, she was flattered. Handsome, with those jersey-cow brown eyes, and tall at six-foot-two, she was drawn to him like a fly to honey. It hadn’t mattered that she was married to Grant. She’d fallen out of love with her husband, not that she’d truly ever been. He was seductive when she was young; she'd been barely eighteen when they’d married. Not so much now. And he’d become physically abusive, also emotionally; to such an extent that she was not even allowed the choice of what clothing she could wear.
Later with Paul, after the early thrill had worn off, she’d thought more about the position she’d rashly placed herself in. The foremost question was where would Paul have gotten evidence from the Bathtub Girls’ murders? The only way was if he knew the killer and was trying to protect him, or that he himself was the killer. She would have liked to believe the former, but suspected the latter.
It was easily apparent to everyone, no matter how observant, that she wasn’t real lucky with men. Her track record was running parallel to her mother’s. Abby’s dad had run off when he’d first learned of the impending child, had vanished without ever seeing his child, or rather, the twins girls their mother had delivered.
“I understand you had some company the other day?” Abby threw the question out just to see where it went. She wondered why Izzy hadn’t mentioned the P.I. and why she’d had to learn about his visit from Paul. Being fully aware of Izzy’s opinion of men, she thought for her to keep quiet and not to rant and rave about how stupid the man was meant that this one was different. The question was how?
“Yeah. Jimmy Warren, Private Investigator. He’s checking into Janet’s disappearance.”
“That’s what Paul told me.”
Izzy didn’t reply. Her opinion of Paul was already established. And it was that he was pretty, all right, but that he was hazardous to Abby’s health. She stood there, her attention elsewhere, but not bristling at the moment. Abby took this as a good sign and pushed ahead with her questioning.
“Tell me about him. I feel I should kno
w what’s going on. I don’t know why you didn’t tell me. I am your sister, after all. ”
Izzy glanced around, the irritation that was always near the surface now readily apparent.
“What’s this with everybody giving me the fifth degree? First Eleanor and now you? Jimmy’s just a chunky, middle-aged man with a job to do. I don’t know why everyone’s making such a big deal about it.”
Abby raised an eyebrow. She wasn’t aware that Eleanor had questioned Izzy about the P.I. And since when did Izzy feel the need to defend a mere man? This was so out of character, it really piqued her interest.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize that I was hitting a nerve. This Warren fellow (Jimmy you said?) must be quite the guy for you to like him.”
“I didn’t say I liked him. But I didn’t say I didn’t either. He’s just a guy. He seems nice, but I don’t really know him.” Suddenly aware of the raised eyebrows and amused expression, Izzy realized she ‘doth protest too much’. She turned and grabbed her sweater from the back of the chair. “This is bull! I don’t want to talk about it. I’m going out for a few hours.” As she exited, she slammed the door, leaving the living room windows rattling in the wake.
Abby’s mouth dropped open. Izzy was always volatile, given to raucous humor and just as easily aggravated. But why a middle-aged private detective should arouse any emotion in her at all was beyond understanding. She decided to question Paul more about Jimmy Warren. There had to be something about the situation, or the man, that she wasn’t aware of. Something that would make Izzy act so oddly. Abby didn’t give a thought to the possibility that another man hanging around would anger Paul and of the probable consequences that would ensue. She didn’t consider Izzy’s interest as being connected to her, because she never dwelled on the fact that her sister only existed in her. To Abby, Izzy was her own person, with her own likes, dislikes, and a fully complete, functioning personality. When forced to confront the facts, she knew Izzy, the baby, had died. But in her daily life, Izzy was there, and played a big role in it.
Abby wasn’t known for thinking things through.
***
Izzy needed to get out of the house. First Eleanor and now Abby, both asking questions that she didn’t know the answers to, and that was bewildering and frustrating. Just who was Jimmy Warren? And why would he cause her such confusion? She didn’t like feeling this way. She certainly wasn’t used to it, unlike Abby who’d had her share of dealings with men, Izzy hadn’t had much experience. And never with any that she actually liked. She hadn’t thought that possible until now.
Izzy pulled the card out of her jeans pocket and read it over again.
She knew what she had to do.
***
Jimmy sat at his desk, deep in thought, thinking about the next step in his investigation. He was considering whom to interview next. The best idea would be the grandparents. But his face wasn’t conducive to that choice. He hadn’t thought it possible, but he looked even worse than he had the day before. The pretty purple and green were now joined strongly with yellow; every square inch of his cheek from the temple down to the jawbone was colored with a raging jaundice tint. The eye was open again, but unfortunately, this allowed even more blood red around the iris to show. He wasn’t very good-looking at the moment. Not that he had ever been. Jimmy was aware of his limitations. He had been a good detective. He was thorough, even meticulous, in his work. On a personal note, he considered himself kind, protective, and upstanding. But good-looking? No, that wasn’t a quality he associated with himself.
He twirled the pen he’d been using to check off interviewed witnesses around his fingers baton style. This was a habit of his; one he was not even aware he was doing until the pen went flying, ricocheted off his knee, and skidded under the desk. Deciding it wasn’t worth the effort and that he would save the retrieval for later, Jimmy opened the center drawer for another pen. Darn! That was his last one. He mentally added pens to a list he would pick up later at the dollar store. Even though his shoulders and knees hurt from the cruel treatment he’d suffered at the hands of the Thug Brothers, he knew he needed that pen. It was indispensable to his thought process.
After sliding back the faded old leather office chair (he hadn’t replaced that, the sofa and occasional chairs had cost enough), Jimmy carefully lowered himself to the floor, feeling the aches and pains he’d known such action would give him. Damn those Velasquez brothers! Inconsiderate brutes. Of course, they were only doing what their father asked, and all for the benefit of their sister. Still, he felt they could have gotten his attention another way. He would have been cooperative if they’d asked nice.
Maybe. Jimmy was also fully aware of the maligned mood Ada had left him with. Maybe he wouldn’t have cooperated. Cooperation wasn’t something he was particularly famous for. Especially when he dug his heels in like the jackass his opponents rightly considered him to be, which would have most likely been the case. He thought his brothers-in-law knew him pretty well. Fortunately for them, he wasn’t one to hold a grudge. As macho as he still felt, he might hurt them.
The pen was way to the very back of the opening. It appeared even farther back because the drawer was still open, but Jimmy, not trusting that he wouldn’t pinch his fingers from his position below the drawer on the floor, deigned not to close it. He would just have to be careful not to bang his head, which was already bruised enough. He still had the remnants of that nasty headache, although, thankfully, the pain aids had helped.
The floor was dusty underneath in the dimly lit cave the drawer and inside walls of the desk created. Jimmy wiped away some of the dust bunnies with his hand, so as not to allow them to take up residence on his slacks. These bunnies had been doing what rabbits do. And that was multiplying very efficiently. He would really have to speak to the maid. Considering that was he, he wasn’t sure what to say. You’re fired? Seemed about right. Not that he expected a response. The maid certainly made non-payment an issue; deserving every zero dollar he’d given himself.
At that moment, when he was wondering if there was even a broom in the closet, he heard the door to the office open. No knock, just a quick twist of the handle and the door firmly thrust inward. Suddenly fearful that the Thug brothers had returned, he tried to jump to his feet only to bang his head on the top of the opening where the drawer should have been. As he bellied out, falling to the floor, something pulled his hair, spiking a thick, unruly lock into a stand up position. His first reaction was to rub his bruised head; the second was to look up.
Taped to the bottom of the desktop was an envelope. It seemed by the yellow coloring and the fraying on the envelope corners (having been rubbed and blunted with each opening and closing of the drawer) that it had been there several years.
Jimmy was intrigued, but knew his curiosity would have to wait. He instinctively knew the envelope was important and that he couldn’t risk it being spotted by whoever had entered the office.
Rising from his embarrassing and vulnerable position, he was further dismayed to see the beautiful girl from the other day standing in front of the desk. She seemed amused with his clumsy attempt to brush the cobwebs from his hair and dust from his knees. He held his pen up in a weakly triumphant manner.
“Got it!” he exclaimed, wondering at the self-conscious tone to his voice. This woman must think him the fool. It was irritating. He never managed to hold onto his dignity around her. No matter how pretty she was, he told himself, she was just a girl and shouldn’t be messing with him so badly. She was at least fifteen years younger, and was way out of his class. Like Ada had been. It was a good thing he wasn’t looking for a replacement for his wife. Someone like this girl would be at the top of his list. Jimmy knew himself well, and one thing he was sure of was that he would never learn when it came to women. What did they say? There’s no fool like an old fool.
“Congratulations are in order
,” she said, smiling.
Jimmy wasn’t sure for what, until it dawned on him that she meant his capture of the elusive pen. “Oh, yeah. Thanks.”
Jimmy’s hand went to his head and he was suddenly very aware of his now-spiked hairdo, the dirt on his hand and hair, and the colorful shading to his face. He swiped at his hair quickly, trying to right the wrong, and succeeded in plastering it in place with the help of the dirty spider web. The woman didn’t seem to notice; he didn’t know why. To him, his garish and disheveled appearance spoke volumes. He was surprised she didn’t rush screaming (or laughing) from the room.
But she did something worse. She just stood there calmly. Smiling indulgently.
“Have a seat,” he said finally, after valiantly struggling to regain control. “How can I help you?”
“I’ve been thinking back to the time that Janet went missing.”
Jimmy instantly focused on the case. All thoughts of the woman’s beauty and his feeling of inadequacy around someone like her vanished. The case was what was important. His one-track bull-headed cop’s mind could only concentrate on one thing at a time. And cases were his life; they were what he was good at.
“Did you remember something?”
“No, not specifically.”
“Anything at all, no matter how trivial. It might be the break to solving the case,” he said hopefully.
Izzy looked with wide-open, fully seeing eyes at the man seated across the desk. He looked so earnest and … ‘comfortable’ was the word she groped for. The dust in his hair, the terrible bruising that colored one of his cheeks and eye, and the bedraggled way he wore his polo shirt with the buttons undone, which allowed the dark curly hair on his broad chest to show, were endearing. They seemed to tug at her heart. But it was his eyes and the friendly, yet somehow sad, smile that won her over. She wanted to push his hair out of his eyes, to touch, to hug him. Hell, she wanted to climb in his lap and snuggle. She had to fight not to do just that.
“I have a few ideas,” she said quickly, surprised with her emotions, and blushing unexpectedly. “ But I want to help.”
A Cincinnati Cold Case Page 5
