Keri Locke 02-A Trace of Muder

by Blake Pierce

  “Pretty good. Ms. Skraeling’s tough—but in a good way. The girls are nice. Mostly I just like being able to be awake in the day and sleep at night.”

  Keri nodded, trying to ignore the catch in her own throat. She remembered that this girl had spent almost every night of the last few years walking the streets, satisfying the grotesque urges of men three and four times her age. The thought made her want to cry, gag, and punch someone all at the same time.

  “That’s good,” she managed to say with an even voice.

  “How’s the other girl doing, the one who was taken—Ashley?” Susan asked.

  “Oh wow. I haven’t had a chance to check in on her either. She was hurt pretty badly, especially her leg. But I know she was recovering well physically. The doctors said she’d even be able to surf again at some point. I should really go see her too. Maybe I’ll do that later today.”

  “I worry about her,” Susan said with a sincerity that took Keri’s breath away.

  “I do too, sweetie,” she said. “But she’s like you, tough. She’ll be okay.”

  “Speaking of tough, you promised me you’d teach me some of that Krav Maga stuff you used to take down Crabby. I know you’re too sore right now. But when you’re feeling better, do you think you could come back and show me some moves?”

  “You bet. But for now, I think couch time is the way to go.”

  Susan laughed again, giving Keri a jolt of energy that seemed to make her aches and pains fade, at least for a moment. The girl looked at her shyly before working up the courage to ask the question that had obviously been in the back of her head.

  “When did you decide to become a detective?”

  “Ah, I see you’re reading Nancy Drew. Got detectives on the brain, huh?”

  Susan didn’t answer but waited quietly. She wanted a real answer and wouldn’t be diverted. Keri decided to respect her enough to give her the truth.

  “Well, it was a few years ago. I was a professor who taught about crime and criminals. One day in the park my daughter was abducted, right in front of me. I felt so helpless. And I really fell apart for a while after that. To be honest, I’m still not all put back together. I lost my job. My marriage broke up. But a detective friend of mine convinced me that with my experience, I might make a good detective myself. And I started to think that he might be right. I thought that it might be a way to help other people in trouble, even if I couldn’t help my own little girl. So that’s what I try to do now. Help people, especially missing people, find their way back home.”

  She finished speaking. Susan took her hand and squeezed it. Neither of them spoke for a long time. Finally, Susan broke the silence.

  “I think you should come to visit me a lot. I don’t want you to be lonely.” Her voice was full of genuine concern. Keri didn’t know whether to chuckle or cry.

  “How about this?” she replied. “Why don’t we make this a weekly thing? With this job, I can’t make too many promises. But I’ll try to visit every week to discuss whatever you like. We could even turn it into a Nancy Drew book club. I’ll read the same one as you and we can talk about it when I come by next. What do you think?”

  Susan nodded, holding up the book title so Keri could write it down. It was called The Secret of the Old Clock.

  Then the girl got quiet again, as if lost in thought.

  “What is it, sweetie?” Keri asked. “Are you okay?”

  After several more seconds, Susan looked up at her and spoke with great solemnity.

  “I think I’d like to be a detective one day too,” she said.

  “I have a feeling you’d be a great one.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

  Keri was so lost in thought that she barely noticed the freeway signs or the traffic around her as she headed back from Redondo Beach. Then something seemed to suddenly click inside her, like she’d been in hibernation until now and had only just woken up.

  Instead of getting off the 405 freeway and returning to the houseboat, she continued north. Her conversation with Susan had reminded her of something.

  No matter how screwed up my own life is, I am good at what I do for a living because I care. I fight for those who can’t fight for themselves. That’s what I do. And that’s what I’m going to do for Kendra Burlingame.

  Something had been eating at Keri, nibbling at the edges of her brain. But she’d been ignoring it because it didn’t seem worth pursuing. But that’s what she did—pursued leads wherever they took her. And that’s what she would do now.

  Twenty minutes later, she arrived at an unimpressive-looking three-story building in Culver City, literally thirty feet from the freeway. It housed Los Angeles’s best known alternative weekly newspaper, Weekly LA. It was also, much to Keri’s surprise, the workplace of Margaret “Mags” Merrywether.

  Keri checked in at reception and was met in less than a minute by Mags herself. She wasn’t wearing an evening gown this time, but even her regular work clothes were stunning. She wore a loose cream blouse unbuttoned well past where Keri felt comfortable, fitted black slacks, and a pair of heeled sandals that clomped loudly as she walked. Her flaming red hair was pulled up into a messy but somehow still elegant bun.

  “This is a magnificently unexpected surprise,” she said, a broad smile on her face.

  “Hi, Mags. It’s good to see you. You mind if we talk privately?”

  “Of course not. Is this a ‘go down the street to the coffee shop’ chat or a ‘closed office door’ discussion?”

  “The latter, I think.”

  “Oh dear. Well, come on back then.”

  She led the way down the hallway, seamlessly navigating the boxes piled everywhere and the occasional stray desk or chair. Eventually they arrived at an office only slightly larger than Keri’s galley with a view of cars zipping by, dangerously close, on the freeway. It was packed to the gills with stacks of neatly organized papers piled high. Every bookshelf was full. The walls were covered with photos and framed front pages of the paper.

  “Please excuse the mess. I’d like to say it’s unusual. But it’s not. Have a seat.”

  Keri closed the door behind her and maneuvered herself into the small wooden chair in front of Mags’s desk.

  “What exactly do you do here?” she asked.

  “I write a column under the name ‘Mary Brady.’”

  “That’s the muckraking column—the one that got the deputy mayor indicted and exposed the payoffs in the sanitation department. That’s you?”

  “Guilty as charged,” Mags said, her eyes gleaming with delight.

  “Based on the other evening, I wouldn’t have taken you for a ‘power to the people’ ink-stained, shoe leather type.”

  “Yes, well, I guess we’re all full of secrets, aren’t we? So what’s up, Detective? Have you made any progress in finding Kenny?”

  “Almost none. Despite what everyone she knows says, everything suggests she left town of her own accord. In fact, my being here would probably annoy my boss, since he probably rightly thinks the case is ready to be closed.”

  “And yet, here you are,” Mags noted.

  “That’s right. I was talking with Kendra’s sister yesterday—”

  “Oh yes, Catherine. A woman of pure contentedness if ever I met one,” Mags said in a tone that could be interpreted as both insult and compliment.

  “Yes, well, she said something that I haven’t been able to get out of my head.”

  “What’s that?”

  “She suggested that Kenny might have gotten a little bored with her life as Mrs. Jeremy Burlingame. She didn’t know just where that boredom might lead, but said that you might, as you and Kenny were closer than the two of them these days. So is there anything to that? Did Kenny’s boredom ever send her down an unexpected path?”

  “Ah, Catherine, always chafing at being seen as the less principled Maroney sister. How clever of her to hint that Kenny might not be as proper as everyone thinks without saying it outright. Impressively passive-
aggressive, don’t you think?”

  Keri stared hard at Mags. She liked her, probably more than she should like someone she was questioning. She could imagine how fun it would be to have a friend like Margaret Merrywether. The woman was like a modern-day Dorothy Parker.

  But it was dangerous to get sucked in too much by the charm of any interview subject. It made it easy to miss things. And she got the distinct sense that Mags was trying to snow her.

  “You know, Mags, I noticed that amid all those linguistic flourishes, you never answered my question.”

  “Didn’t I?”

  “Well, maybe I missed it amid all the ‘passive-aggressive’ psychobabble. So let me ask you a little more directly. To your knowledge, was Kendra Burlingame having an affair?”

  “Oh my, so all our cards are being laid on the table, are they?”

  Keri didn’t answer, refusing to let Mags talk her way out of this one. Finally, she dropped her head and let out a big sigh. When she looked up again, the playfulness had left her eyes.

  “Detective Locke, do you recall how I shared the information about Kenny’s photo shoot with you on the condition that you keep it quiet if at all possible?”

  “I do. And I believe I honored that request.”

  “I’m going to make the same request of you again. Will you agree to it?”

  “As long as what you tell me ends up not being relevant to the case, I’ll do my best. But I can’t make any promises.”

  “I understand. And as before, your word is good enough for me. Five years ago, Kenny learned that she couldn’t have children. She took it hard at first. But eventually she started thinking about adoption or a surrogate. Unfortunately, Jeremy wasn’t interested in being a parent, no matter how the child came their way. He said it would be too disruptive. She decided that if they weren’t both committed to the idea, then it wasn’t a wise choice. But she was unhappy. I’d go so far as to say depressed.”

  “Did she take anything for it?”

  “She did. And I think it helped. But she was still a bit lost. And I think she resented Jeremy a bit too. It was right around that time that she met a man in her yoga class.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Alex Crane. She told me he’s an illustrator for children’s books, very in touch with his emotions—the antithesis of Jeremy. And he’s a little younger. When they met, Kenny was thirty-three and I think he was in his late twenties. Also apparently he’s gorgeous and buff and you know, all of it.”

  Keri nodded. She knew the type. Mags continued.

  “Anyway, they started out just talking, getting coffee after class. And extremely long story short, she ended up having a brief fling with him, maybe six weeks. I’m not even sure she enjoyed it, she felt so guilty. We’d talk and she’d just torture herself. She was betraying her husband, her principles, her very perception of who she was as a person. Anyway, she stopped it.”

  “How did Alex react?”

  “Not especially well. I think he’d fallen in love with her. I mean, could you blame him? He called her and tried to see her a few times. But eventually he got the message and moved on. I know he’s married now and has a baby.”

  “Did Kendra ever say that she was worried he might be dangerous?”

  “She never used that word. She called him passionate. Sometimes I think she meant more than that though.”

  “Do you think Jeremy ever found out?”

  “I never saw any indication of that. She considered telling him, just coming clean. But she worried it would hurt him too much and that he wouldn’t look at her the same way afterward. Plus, she decided that telling him would be just a way to lessen her guilt. It wouldn’t be for him.”

  “She was probably right,” Keri said, speaking from painful personal experience.

  “To be honest, I think Jeremy was oblivious to even the possibility that she might do something like that. I’m not even sure he knew she was taking yoga classes. He’s so in his own world much of the time, focused on his work, that I think he just doesn’t notice details like that.”

  “Okay, Mags. Thanks for this. Is there anything else I should know about Kenny? Now’s the time to tell me. I won’t be so accommodating if you hold back again.”

  “That’s it, Detective. Kenny is a good person. She’s made some bad choices, but not many. And she beats herself up for them more than anyone I know. I just don’t want her good name dragged through the mud.”

  “I understand. But my priority is protecting her life. Her good name is secondary.”

  “Of course. It’s just…it’s hard to find really good friends out here. And Kendra is a great friend. The thought that she might be gone…” Mags trailed off.

  For the first time, Keri saw real emotion behind the tough-broad façade.

  “I’ll do my best for her,” Keri promised.

  Mags nodded, grabbed a tissue, and dabbed at what almost looked like a tear.

  “So now that we’ve completed the ‘closed door’ part of your visit,” she said, regaining her composure, “did you want to join me for that coffee?”

  “I actually would. But I can’t right now. I’ve got to be somewhere.”

  “Somewhere exciting, I hope?”

  “I guess it depends. Do you consider interrogating buff, yoga-loving, kids’ book–illustrating home wreckers exciting?”

  “I do actually,” Mags said.

  “Yeah, so do I.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

  Keri was a little ashamed of the anticipation she felt as she knocked on Alex Crane’s apartment door. But her salacious curiosity about the man who’d made Kendra Burlingame stray had gotten the better of her.

  Unfortunately, Alex wasn’t as exciting as Keri expected. When he opened the door to his Mar Vista apartment, he was paunchier and balder than she’d anticipated. He wore loose jeans and an extra large maroon T-shirt. Keri could hear a baby squealing unhappily in the background and a female voice trying to soothe the little one.

  “Can I help you?” he asked

  “I think so. My name’s Keri Locke. I’m a detective with LAPD Missing Persons. I need to talk to you about Kendra Burlingame.”

  Crane’s expression turned panicky and he quickly looked over his shoulder to see if his wife was close by.

  “Do we have to do this now?” he whispered.

  “Who is it?” his wife called from another room.

  “I’m afraid we do,” Keri told him firmly.

  “It’s no one,” Crane shouted back over his shoulder. “Just some woman whose car battery died. She’s asking if I can give her a jump. I’ll be right back.”

  “Please hurry, Alex,” his wife called back. “I could really use some help here.”

  “I’ll be quick,” he answered as he grabbed his car keys and stepped outside. He silently led Keri out of the complex and down to the street, where he actually opened his trunk and started to reach for jumper cables. Keri noticed a crowbar suspiciously close and her right hand automatically went to her holster.

  “Stop, Mr. Crane. Remove your hand from the trunk and close it.”

  “But if my wife comes out, I need to have these with me.”

  “I don’t give a damn about your charade for your wife. Your hand is very close to something I consider a weapon right now. Pull it away, close the trunk, and sit down on the curb—now.”

  Crane did as he was told. After he sat down he looked up at her.

  “I wondered if someone would be paying me a visit.”

  “You could have come to us.”

  “Come on. I have a wife and child. I haven’t seen Kendra in years. I didn’t see any point in dredging up old news for no good reason.”

  “The point is, now you look suspicious, Alex. If you’d come forward, you might have earned a few brownie points. Now I have to tear your life apart.”

  “Please—I had nothing to do with this. I’ll answer all your questions.”

  “All right, let’s start with where you
were on Monday morning.”

  The flustered look on his face was almost immediately replaced with one of relief.

  “Is that when she disappeared? That’s great.”

  “That’s great?” Keri asked angrily.

  “Wait, that’s not what I meant. It’s just I was out of town then. I was on a work retreat in Ojai from Sunday through yesterday. There were at least a dozen people there the whole time. I was in like, fifteen meetings. Plus, I shared a hotel room with a co-worker. I can account for every second.”

  “What job was the retreat for?” Keri demanded, ignoring the sinking feeling that suddenly consumed her. “I thought you illustrated children’s books.”

  “I used to. But it didn’t pay enough. So I got a job as a technical illustrator. I draw the pictures for the instructions you get when you buy cabinets and desks and stuff.”

  “Really?”

  “I got married and had a kid. I needed something steady, okay? It sucks obviously. I mean, what instructional manual company requires weekend retreats, right? But it pays. And it’s where I was. So am I cleared?”

  Keri looked at him, sitting slackly on the curb, and suspected that he probably was. Alex Crane was pathetic and self-involved. But she couldn’t bring herself to buy that he was a lust-fueled abductor. He didn’t look like he had the energy for it.

  “If your alibi pans out, you’ll be fine. But you need to help yourself, Alex.”

  “What do I have to do?” he asked eagerly.

  “Call Detective Manny Suarez at this number,” she said, handing him a card. “Tell him you spoke to me and that you’re making a statement. Tell him everything—the affair, the Ojai trip, and anything else he wants to know. Do it now. Got it?”

  He nodded and pulled out his phone right then. Keri left him sitting there and headed back to her car.

  Crane may not be my man but there’s still someone else who might be. Unfortunately, to find out for sure, I’m going to have to break that promise to Mags.

  *

  Jeremy Burlingame’s Marina del Rey medical practice was in a twenty-story glass tower within walking distance of Keri’s houseboat. She’d driven by it countless times without ever really noticing it. But now, as she rode up in the glass-sided elevator, she marveled at the view of the entire marina. Even her piddling little place, just a dot in the distance, looked respectable from this height.