A Cincinnati Cold Case

by R. W. Nichols

  After several minutes, Daisy wiped her eyes and turned her wet face up to his.

  “Do you remember the police are still looking for a guy named Grant Mason for the murders?”

  “Yes, vaguely. I haven’t paid close attention. Something about leaving a wife behind when he ran and that the police don’t think she’s involved?”

  “Yeah, that’s right. Well, the kicker is, I don’t think it was him. The photo they put on the TV didn’t look like the guy that attacked me. He was tall and dark like him, with a similar build, but those were the only resemblances. The news showed a new murder in Indianapolis that’s pretty similar to those. Scary like what happened here, and too close to be a coincidence. I think he’s at it again.”

  “It could have been a different freak. Are you sure it was the same man?”

  Daisy nodded her head. She was sure.

  “Then you should go back in. If you can remember what he looks like, you need to sit with a sketch artist. I’m sure you can do it without your identity becoming known. I’ll go with you.”

  “Oh, I remember what he looks like. I’ll never forget. But I’ll go alone. I don’t want you caught up in this. If the papers get hold of it, it will be a real mess.”

 

 

  Chapter 21

  After receiving the call, Jimmy wasted no time checking out the names and addresses the attorney had given him. Glenn Purdue had been one of Wurtsmith’s bodyguards. He lived on the north side of the city. If Jimmy remembered the subdivision correctly, it was respectable, not high-end, but safer than most. Bodyguards must be paid well.

  Patricia Lorenzo was a nurse. She lived in a rundown area, not too far from downtown. If she’d been paid to keep her mouth shut, she hadn’t been paid much. Jimmy thought about that. If, indeed, the document was legitimate, what was her motive? What would she have gained by not coming forward? Or, from a different perspective, had she been threatened? Was that the reason she hadn’t told? On a separate note, just how ruthless were the other families? Jimmy realized he would have to do a little digging on each of Wurtsmith’s children and ex-wives. This case would involve several hours of work and he hoped the attorney was aware of that fact. If not, he would make it clear with his first report. The case was interesting, but he wasn’t about to do it for free. He could see that some jobs contained the possibility of risk. Especially where there was a lot of money involved. And there was enough here to make even the mildest mannered person dangerous.

  Sitting in his car, staring at the list was accomplishing nothing. He leaned forward and turned the key in the ignition, having decided on a course of action. He would call on Ms. Lorenzo. Jimmy decided to wait to interview Purdue until later; he’d start with the nurse. She would be the easiest nut to crack. An over-muscled, probably short-tempered bodyguard would be considerably harder without a sledgehammer, or the clout he used to have when he was on the police force. He wished now he had the protection a cop’s badge provided. Thinking of the possible danger that investigators risked alone with no backup, gave him pause to wonder why he had never given them much respect. Funny how when the shoe was on the other foot things felt different.

  The new GPS found the woman’s home without much trouble. Jimmy was glad he’d bought the device. Although quite familiar with Cincinnati from living here for many years, there were still streets and alleys that he couldn’t place. Poplar Street had a familiar ring to it, but off the top of his head, he hadn’t remembered that it was only four streets off the main drag. It was close enough to hear a steady stream of ambulances and cop cars’ sirens blaring with barely a pause between. And close enough, because of the streetlights and neon lights, for night to never be truly dark. It would be hard to live in an area like this.

  Patricia Lorenzo lived in an apartment building with limited parking, in a building that had seen better days. Jimmy wondered how fat the rats were. Probably very. There had to be enough cockroaches in the walls to keep their coats shiny, their bellies full, and their dispositions contented, although he expected they still gave the tenants problems. Not that he blamed them. What self-respecting rat wouldn’t prefer Twinkies and gnawing on the homeowners’ stash of weed to bugs with crunchy shells?

  It was 1:45 p.m. Ms. Lorenzo would either be going to work or coming home soon. Jimmy decided to sit in the car and watch the apartment entrance. He didn’t have to wait long, maybe twenty-five minutes, before he saw a gray compact pull into a parking space. A small, dark complected woman in a nurse uniform got out of the car and walked toward the entrance to the building. Jimmy jumped out and hurriedly walked up behind her, rushing the last few steps to be the doorman and motion her through. She smiled, grateful that she wouldn’t have to juggle her purse and grocery bags, and unaware that he’d used her to get inside. She seemed lost in thought and wasn’t paying close attention to her surroundings.

  Jimmy discreetly followed her up the stairs to the second floor, careful to stay back several feet so she wouldn’t become suspicious. Living in a place like this the woman would be alert to many forms of danger. He hoped his appearance didn’t raise a red flag. Although he’d been told he had a comforting way about him, he could only hope that was true. It could make things easier.

  As she slid the key into her lock Jimmy stepped forward and spoke.

  “Ms. Lorenzo?”

  “Yes?” she asked, startled. Her expression changed from preoccupied to one of apprehension. She cringed against the door, suddenly aware that she was alone in the hall with a strange man, one who knew her name. She rolled the door key around the palm of her hand, the action showing how badly she wanted to be inside her room. It also clearly showed her vulnerability.

  Jimmy noted her reaction without changing his carefully manufactured, placid expression. He murmured in a soothing voice, “Ms. Lorenzo, I work for an attorney.”

  That didn’t help. He watched her face tighten more. It had been the wrong thing to say. If anything, she was now even more nervous. Apparently she didn’t like attorneys. There was a good chance she’d had a bad experience with one; which wasn’t surprising. Jimmy sympathized. He expected to know real suffering by the time Ada’s attorney was done with him.

  It was sad, but everything came back to Ada, the divorce, or money. He sighed over the unfairness of life and started again, “I’d like to talk to you about a Last Will and Testament that belonged to Mr. Darren Lee Wurtsmith. I understand that you worked for him?”

  “Yes, I did. But that was over ten years ago. I don’t see what that has to do with me now.” She was leery and clearly resented his intrusion.

  “Could I come inside? I only have a few questions. I promise it won’t take long.” Jimmy pulled one of his cards from his wallet and held it in front of her face.

  The short dark-haired, dark-eyed woman wavered and soon gave in. It was apparent Patricia was one of those people resigned to always being in the wrong, one never allowed to be the one to choose. She was a pushover who went through life agreeing with others because it’s easier, because she simply didn’t know how not to. Jimmy felt a quick empathy for the plump, tired-looking woman. Obviously, she worked hard, but by the looks of her surroundings, accomplished little. Sadly, short of a miracle, there was no way anything would change. She probably would never be able to stand up for herself and was destined for a life of drudgery.

  Jimmy entered behind her and waited near the door as she set the bags on the round, scuffed kitchen table. He glanced around, noticing that the floral sofa and matching overstuffed chair were shredded on each corner. Strings and scraps of fabric hung to the floor. It took him a few seconds to realize what he’d observed were the effects of an energetic, possibly schizophrenic, cat. By the height of the claw marks on the edge of the table, the animal was large. He looked around anxiously, hoping it wasn’t prone to attack. He’d heard they did sometimes. He definitely di
dn’t need cat hair, or worse, teeth marks, on his clothes and legs. But he didn’t see it and hoped it was locked in one of the bedrooms. He was afraid of cats. Not old lazy, sleepy cats. His fear was of young, strong, athletic cats. The kind that stared into your eyes so intently that the hair on the back of your neck stood up. He hated that kind, even though he knew his fear stemmed from an unreasonable, stupid phobia. One that most people would disregard, but one that he couldn’t shed.

  Patricia Lorenzo was staring at him, silently urging him to get on with it. She was tired and wanted to rest and be left alone. He understood completely and felt guilty that he was adding to her problems. But he had a job to do. Odd that he had never felt so much commiseration when he was a police detective. Must be he’d felt he had right on his side? He wondered what her reaction would be to the questions he needed to ask and hoped she wouldn’t scream and order him out. He’d never worried about that when he was a cop. This job was turning out harder than he expected.

  “Ms. Lorenzo, do you remember witnessing a document along with a Mr. Glenn Purdue? It would have been a will that declared Bryan Lee Ervine one of the legal heirs to Darren Wurtsmith’s fortune.”

  Patricia started and caught her breath. She looked about as guilty as anyone had in Jimmy’s experience. He was amazed and now satisfied that the will was legit. Who would have thought that he could stumble upon such an important piece of evidence? It would prove that the boy, Bryan Ervine, had a legal right to his share of a very large fortune and would really make Avis Clough’s day. It was no telling how long the whole thing would be tied up in court. The attorney would be raking in dollar after dollar, filing a brief, then depositions and appeals. He would be a happy, happy man.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Patricia lied. She wasn’t a good liar; she chewed on her bottom lip and stared to her left, down at the floor. Classic signs of someone not being truthful. Jimmy wondered if she’d been subpoenaed ten years earlier, but doubted it. Even the densest attorney would have seen right through her. As for a subpoena, there would have been no reason to. No one that mattered knew about the will.

  “Sure you do,” he said, keeping his voice low and soothing. “This was before the old man died. He wanted to make sure that Bryan’s mother, Alicia, had enough money to raise her son. I don’t know if he belonged to the old man or not. In fact, the court proved he didn’t. But he had him written into the will, and then signed with his own hand.”

  Patricia shook her head vehemently. “No, I don’t know. What you’re saying doesn’t make sense. That boy wasn’t Darren’s. He belongs to some cab driver from Pakistan, I think. Alicia was always talking about him. How good looking he was, how sweet to her. Well, he wasn’t sweet when she ended up pregnant. He threw her out; he just didn’t care that she’d be all alone. She had to move in with her mother.”

  “It doesn’t matter who the kid belongs to,” Jimmy said again, still gently. “Wurtsmith left him some money and he’s entitled to it.”

  Patricia clamped her lips together. She was not accepting that.

  “Why didn’t you come forward? You had to know that the will the court recognized was older than the one you’d witnessed.”

  “I told you, I don’t know what you’re talking about. In fact, I think it’s time that you left. I’m busy and haven’t got time for this crap.”

  Jimmy turned to go, but turned back with an afterthought. “Here’s my card. If you happen to remember witnessing the document, or anything else that might pertain to the case, I’d appreciate a call. I’m sure Ervine’s attorney will be in touch and you should expect to be subpoenaed. This isn’t going away. Anyone that cooperates with the court will find himself or herself in a better situation. There could be charges filed for obstruction and willfully falsifying testimonies. If found guilty, those charges involve jail time.”

  Jimmy watched the woman’s face pale; her already dark eyes turn to black in her Latino face. She was frightened and would think about what he’d said. Hopefully, she would change her mind and call him before many days had passed.

  “Thank you for your time.” Jimmy turned his back to the woman and walked to the door. As he reached his hand out, he was unexpectedly hit behind the knees, causing them to buckle and his body to lurch forward. He saw the door panels rush toward his face, felt, and heard a crunching noise as he crashed into a surprisingly hard door. The door must be steel and not the hollow core wood that he’d thought. Because it was such a shoddy apartment building, he would have expected something more flimsy, something that might give a bit. But no, the door was steel. There followed a sudden flash of pain and then nothing.

  ***

  When Jimmy came to he knew he’d broken his nose again. There was a cold, wet rag streaked with blood being held to his face. Patricia knelt beside him, her face a contradiction in emotions. He read concern, dislike, and a bit of fear. This hadn’t made her day either.

  Jimmy moaned. Not from pain but from frustration and embarrassment. He was afraid he was never going to look normal. Everyone that saw him for the next few weeks would believe he’d gotten the worst in a fight. Again. This was becoming a regular, and totally unwelcome, habit. It wouldn’t do much toward establishing a reputable reputation. Would anyone trust a private detective with the face of a pugilist? Especially one that always lost?

  Jimmy tried to roll onto his side and found he couldn’t. Something heavy was holding him flat on his back. He looked up into narrow green eyes that stared unblinking into his and he heard a rumble that sounded ominously like a warning growl. Obeying his instincts, he abruptly ceased moving, except for his neck hairs, which he couldn’t control. They twitched. Whiskers tickled his face and warm, smothering breath smelling of tuna covered his. It was the furniture-destroying cat and its face was inches from his.

  The animal was huge, at least twenty pounds. To his startled eyes it appeared three feet long. Ominously pitch black with a broad head and heavy paws planted firmly on Jimmy’s chest, it seemed to dare him to move. He fearfully wondered how a panther could be allowed free rein in an apartment building. Didn’t the neighbors complain?

  “Umm, nice kitty,” Jimmy ventured, trying to keep the question out of his voice. It wouldn’t do for the cat to know that Jimmy wasn’t sure if he was nice or not. He was trying for positive reinforcement.

  “I’m so sorry,” Patricia said, flustered, nervousness causing the hand holding the cloth to tremble. “Teeny likes to surprise people and he’s really fast. I didn’t have time to warn you. He must have been hiding behind the couch. I thought he was asleep in the bedroom.”

  “Teeny? Uh, nice name,” Jimmy said, reaching up and putting his hands around the chest of the purring feline. The vibrations in the animal’s chest felt like he had grabbed onto a running chain saw. Disregarding the protesting mew, he firmly lifted the cat off his rib cage and set it on the floor. He sat up and then struggled to his feet, feeling the blood begin to seep from his nose again. He leaned against the door, dizzy, waiting for the lightheadedness to pass.

  Patricia exchanged another damp cloth for the red saturated one. She didn’t seemed fazed by the amount of blood he’d lost, seemed almost matter-of-fact, like this was something that happened in her apartment every day. If you had to be injured, Jimmy thought it was always best to do so in the vicinity of a nurse.

  “Really, I’m sorry. He’s never hurt anyone like this before. He must have really caught you unawares.”

  Jimmy thought it was her way of hinting that he should have been paying closer attention; that he was some kind of dope for allowing a cat to get the best of him. He grinned ruefully. Now even little women were making excuses for him. What next? He could feel what little pride he had left begin to dissipate.

  This had been one hell of a week.

  “It’s all right. I broke my nose a few days ago, so it’s prone to
re-break,” he tried to explain. “Any little bump would do it. It’s my fault; I wasn’t watching for him. I should have.”

  Jimmy again turned toward the door.

  “You should sit for a few minutes. That was a nasty accident. I think you were knocked out briefly. Just sit until your head clears,” she said, but Jimmy could tell she didn’t really want him to hang around, that she was just being the good nurse. But that was all right. He had no intention of staying longer; he was embarrassed enough.

  “I’m fine,” he said. “Actually, I’m in a hurry. And I don’t want to get blood on your carpet. Back when I was a cop, I had considerably worse than this. I’ll get out of your hair now. Remember to call if you think of anything.”

  As Jimmy left, pulling the door shut behind him, he did his best to focus, looking beyond the fuzzy edges of his surroundings. He held his head up, pretending nonchalance as he made for the stairs, made difficult because of the rag he had to hold to his nose. He knew the woman’s eyes were riveted on his back through the door’s peephole. Unfortunately, his honor was at stake. Counting each stair step until he’d gone down seven, he finally allowed himself to stop. Holding onto the rail, too dizzy to continue, he waited as nausea battled the metallic taste of blood that was running down his throat. Finally both unpleasant sensations faded and his head cleared enough to continue.

  He should have taken the lady up on her offer and sat for a few minutes. It would have been the smart thing to do. Jimmy wondered why arrogance caused him to do so many stupid things. Was it just him? Or were there other people out there cursed with such ignorant stupidity?

  By the time he crawled into his car his nose had quit bleeding. Gingerly removing the rag, he surveyed his reflection in the mirror. Not good. His nose looked twice its normal size and there were streaks of blood on his cheeks and chin. Using a clean spot on the washcloth, he wiped away the worst of it, hoping to get back to his office to handle the rest. With his luck he’d be stopped by a traffic cop and would have to try to explain why he looked this way. He could hear it now – “Officer, there was this cat --.”