Gross Sarcastic Homicide: (A Private Investigator Mystery Series) (Mary Cooper Mysteries Book 3)

by Dan Ames

  Even though Jacob Cornell was a solid detective, a vivid imagination wasn’t one of his qualities. But even Jake could picture what she might have in mind.

  Chapter Five

  “I ordered you a beer,” Jake said. He was a big guy, with broad shoulders and a narrow waist. He had sandy brown hair that was never perfect, but rarely messy. Jake stood when Mary approached the table and kissed her on the lips. She glanced at the table where two margaritas the size of punch bowls awaited them.

  “Margaritas?” Mary licked her lips. “I thought you tasted a tad saltier than normal.”

  “Hey, when in Juarez,” Jake said, sitting down and hoisting his enormous margarita. Mary sat opposite him and hoisted her own glass monstrosity.

  “Cheers,” she said.

  They had decided to meet at Mi Pueblo, a funky little Mexican restaurant halfway between Beverly Hills and Santa Monica. The food was fresh, cheap, and close enough to authentic for Mary.

  She looked across the small table at Jake. He had on a light blue shirt with a new red tie. He looked so All-American.

  “So what have you got for me?” Mary said. “Besides a wistfulness located in your pants.”

  “Let’s order first,” he said. Jake loved food and worked out like a madman to stay trim. Mary waited patiently while the waitress took their orders. A big burrito for Jake, soup for Mary. With a chicken al fresco taco on the side.

  “So here’s what I know,” Jake said. He took out his notebook and read to Mary. “Craig Locher. 46 years old. Worked at a marketing firm called IdeaGen, some kind of ad agency or something like that. Single, no kids, only thing on his record is a DUI about three years ago.”

  Mary took a drink from her margarita, watched a waiter clear the table behind them.

  “Get to the good stuff, Sugar Shorts,” she said.

  “Died from blood loss. One stab wound accounted for most of the damage, a few other superficial cuts, including a pacifier stapled to his chest.”

  “A pacifier? Like the things babies suck on?” Mary said.

  “Some people call them binkys.”

  “How the hell would you know that?”

  He shrugged his shoulders.

  “Who’s handling the case?” Mary said. “Where was he found?”

  “A new team, but I know them well enough to get the information I need.”

  Mary thought about that.

  “Also, the vic had on a diaper,” Jake said.

  “A real one? Like a Depends?”

  “Don’t know,” Jake answered. “But his butt cheeks looked like someone had smacked the hell out of them, too. Maybe with a belt or a riding crop.”

  “Maybe a little fetish play gone too far?” Mary said.

  Jake looked at her.

  “Maybe,” he finally said. “But to go from dressing up and spanking to stabbing with a knife is pretty rare. Plus, it looked like he was the one receiving the abuse. A lot of times in that kinky stuff it’s the submissive who blows a gasket and kills the person dominating them.”

  The server appeared with their food and placed it on the table. She took away their empty margarita glasses, and Mary nodded for another one.

  “You’ve put a lot of thought into that weird sex stuff,” Mary said to Jake. “Who knew you were so kinky?”

  Jake blushed, and Mary loved him all the more for it.

  “You’re so cute when your face turns red,” she said. “I can’t wait to get you home, take out my cattle whip, and do the same thing to your ass.”

  Chapter Six

  “You know, if we lived together, this would never have to happen,” Jake said, strolling into the kitchen in Mary’s condo wearing Mary’s pink bathrobe and a pair of gym shorts that were much too small and much too tight.

  The outfit looked kind of hot, until he pulled the robe closed and cinched it tight, making the bulging shorts impossible to see.

  “Not again,” Mary said and rolled her eyes. Jake brought up cohabitating every few weeks or so, but she wasn’t ready. She liked her own space too much. However, she was slowly warming to the idea but had no intention of sharing that sentiment with Jake just yet.

  “Besides, wearing my clothes teaches you fashion flexibility,” she said. “It’s good for you. Breaks you out of your khakis-dress shirt-sportcoat rut.”

  Jake poured himself a cup of coffee and sat at the kitchen table next to Mary. When his ass hit the chair, he grimaced.

  “Was I too rough with you last night, big boy?” Mary said, a small smirk on her face.

  “That’ll be the day.”

  Mary loved it when Jake tried to be tough. The man was an overgrown kitten.

  She stood, went to the sink, and rinsed out her cup, the one that read “Everglades State Park” on the side.

  “I’m off to find out more about our big baby,” she said.

  Jake furrowed his brow for a moment, and then got the reference.

  “Oh,” he said. “What are you going to do?”

  “I’m going to the address that my client gave me. It’s supposedly where Locher lived.”

  “You’re not going to break in, are you?”

  “What makes you think no one will be home?”

  “The guy wasn’t married, was he?”

  “No, but I’m not married, and I’ve got some freak in my home wearing a pink bathrobe and girl shorts.”

  Jake sighed and drank from his coffee.

  “Look, I’ve got to run; clearly you aren’t ready to start the day yet, Precious.”

  “No, I have to shower.”

  “Okay, remember to lock up, okay?” she said. Mary was already dressed and ready to go. She went back to the kitchen table and gave Jake a kiss.

  “By the way, thanks for the information on my case last night,” she said. “Even if I had to spank it out of you.”

  “Very funny.”

  “Momma’s gotta go, baby,” she said.

  “That sounds creepy, Mary.”

  She shut the door.

  Chapter Seven

  Seven

  Craig Locher’s address was an apartment building in a neighborhood on the bubble, as the newscasters liked to say. Not quite safe, not quite lethally dangerous.

  Mary studied the building, a post Cold War structure that looked like it had been funkified in an attempt to attract the hip and cool.

  She found a parking spot a block away, then walked back and rang the doorbell. Locher’s unit was on the first floor, facing the street.

  Mary caught the flicker of light from the peephole as someone checked her out. Always a bad idea. Mary knew of a few cases where a bad guy had put his gun to the peephole and fired as soon as he sensed someone behind the door.

  Finally, the door opened a crack behind a security chain. A woman’s face looked out.

  “Can I help you?” she said.

  “My name is Mary Cooper, I’m a private investigator looking into the murder of Craig Locher. I’d like to talk to you if you have time.”

  The door remained partially opened.

  “I’m getting ready for work.”

  “It will only be a minute or two.”

  “Do you have some identification?”

  Mary whipped out her private investigator license and photo, stored in a handmade leather flip-out wallet.

  The door shut, the chain slid, and the door opened again.

  Mary stepped inside where the scent of fresh perfume was strong. The woman who faced her was short, powerful-looking with a thick neck and a chiseled jawline and thick brown hair. Maybe a bodybuilder.

  Mary stuck out her hand.

  “Mary Cooper,” she said.

  “Jenni Mulderink,” the woman responded. She gestured toward a sitting area that included a couch, two chairs, a coffee table, and a small flat-screen television sitting on a black lacquered table. “I hope you were serious about this only taking a minute or two, because that’s all I’ve got.”

  The apartment was bigger than Mary exp
ected. Beyond the sitting area was a dining area separated from the kitchen by a half-wall. Mary could make out gourmet-looking appliances, white cupboards, and a bank of windows that filled the kitchen with natural light.

  “I’ll do my best to make this quick,” Mary said.

  “Thank you, my job is more important than ever,” Jenni Mulderink said. “Now that Craig is…gone.”

  She had dark eyes that looked like they’d seen plenty of good times and bad.

  “First, how long had you been in a relationship with Mr. Locher?” Mary asked.

  “Three years.”

  “Had his behavior changed at all recently? Anything unusual?”

  The woman shook her head, and her long brown hair swung with the motion.

  “No,” she said.

  “Do you have any theories on what happened to him?”

  For the first time, the woman paused. Seemed to consider the question. “Let me answer this as quickly and thoroughly as I can. Craig was a brilliant, but troubled man. He had created and sold several companies, was acting as a consultant for his latest venture, an Internet marketing and ideation firm. Over the years, he’d been in and out of rehab several times. He traveled everywhere, kept an insane, unusual schedule. So what I’m trying to say is that he did not lead a normal life by most of our usual standards. He was a charismatic guy.”

  Her lip quivered and she wiped away a tear.

  “Was his death a surprise?” Mary asked.

  “The fact that he died an unusual death is not as big a surprise for someone like me,” Mulderink said. “Someone who knew how unique his life was.”

  “So you don’t know what happened?”

  Again, the head shake. “No. He’d had a couple of busy days, late meetings, hadn’t come home a couple times that week, which, again, wasn’t unusual. He would crash at the office, a hotel, even a friend’s house if there was a party and he didn’t feel like driving. So I hadn’t seen him for several days. But like I said, I wasn’t worried. Turns out, I should have been.”

  Mary caught the note of self-blame.

  “There was nothing you could have done,” Mary said, without any clue if that was true or not.

  Mulderink shrugged her shoulders and checked her watch, prompting Mary to be quick with the next question.

  “I know that in the past he was in therapy,” Mary asked. “Did you know if that was still the case?”

  “I think he was, but he preferred not to talk about it. He always liked to keep the mood light, and I always got the sense that talking about his mental health was a big downer to him, so he would just change the subject as fast as he could.”

  It looked like she was going to say more, and then she stopped herself.

  The next question was the tricky one, but Mary knew she had to ask.

  “I know there were some unusual circumstances surrounding Mr. Locher’s death. Do you know of any peculiar habits he may or may not have had? Fetishes involving diapers or costumes, that kind of thing?”

  The woman sighed. “No. Of course not. The police asked me the same thing and I told them the truth. He wasn’t into any of that. Trust me, I know.”

  Mary decided to let the issue drop. “Do you think you could do me a favor and call me if you think of anything strange or unusual that happened recently? Something that took you by surprise?”

  The woman shrugged her shoulders. “I will, but I don’t think anything like that happened.” She paused again and then blurted out, “One time, in the car, we were driving and scanning the radio and there was a call-in show. It was a psychologist who was taking questions from the audience. Craig acted really weird, and I got the feeling that he knew the person – the doctor. But I can’t remember who it was.”

  Outside in the hallway, a door opened and shut, a subdued voice began talking on a phone.

  “Do you remember if the on-air psychologist was male or female?” Mary prodded.

  Mulderink thought about it for a moment. “Male. Definitely a man.”

  Mary was expecting that answer, but still glad that it wasn’t Dr. Blevins, her client. It meant Locher had sought treatment from someone new. Maybe because he had something else he wanted to talk about. Different issue, different therapist.

  “What do you do for a living?” Mary said.

  “I’m a product manager at a sports development center.”

  She looked at Mary.

  “I only agreed to talk to you because I haven’t heard anything from the police. Who hired you, by the way?”

  “I’m sorry, I can’t divulge the name of my client,” Mary said. “But I can tell you that it is someone who knew Craig and cared about him, and who wants to make sure he gets justice.”

  Jenni Mulderink nodded. “Everyone who knew Craig liked him,” she said. “He took the party with him, that’s for sure.” She smiled. “I’ll show you out now.”

  “Okay,” Mary said. “But if you can think of anything, or remember the name of the doctor Craig was seeing, please, give me a call.”

  Mary handed the woman her business card.

  “I hope you find out who did it,” Mulderink said. “Craig was a good guy.”

  She closed the door behind Mary, and Mary was pretty sure she heard the woman start to cry.

  Chapter Eight

  “I’ll have what she’s having, as long as it’s an ice cold beer,” Mary said, sliding onto the tall chair next to Alice. They were in the bar area of the Oasis Hotel in Santa Monica, a new, ultra-modern construction that featured only one attraction Mary cared for: a great view of the ocean.

  Her aunt did not have a beer, instead, she had a chilled glass of chardonnay that caught the reflection from the water and cast a subtle glow to the older woman’s face.

  “What are you on, number four or five?” Mary said. “Be careful, Jason might schedule an intervention for you.”

  “That boy has had it,” Alice said. “We need to stage an intervention to stop him from staging interventions.”

  The waiter brought Mary her beer, and she clinked glasses with Alice.

  “Here’s to mud in your eyes and a stud between your thighs,” Mary said.

  “Cute, Mary,” Alice said. “Real cute.”

  “Okay, a cute stud.”

  Alice sighed.

  “So what are you working on these days?” Alice asked Mary. “Besides dealing with your old maid status?”

  “Old maid? Who even uses that term anymore?”

  “If the term fits…”

  “I landed a new case,” Mary said. “The shrink who ran that intervention hired me to look into the death of one of her patients. Weird situation. The guy got stabbed to death. But he was wearing a diaper when he died.”

  “What a way to go out,” Alice said. “Wearing your Depends. Had he shit himself?”

  Mary’s beer tasted so good she drank half of it at once. She was going to remember this one.

  “I didn’t ask if the diaper was empty or full,” Mary said.

  “And you call yourself an investigator?” Alice asked. “How could you not pose that question? It’s the first thing I would ask.”

  “For one thing, it wasn’t that kind of diaper,” Mary pointed out.

  “What do you mean?”

  “He wasn’t an old guy. It probably wasn’t a functional diaper.” Mary thought about it. “Okay, maybe it was, but he wasn’t wearing it because he was incontinent. It was most likely some kind of sex thing.”

  “A sex thing where a grown man wears a diaper?” Alice asked. “Who the hell would enjoy that?”

  “The diaper industry?” Mary said.

  “This world just keeps getting sicker and sicker,” Alice said.

  Mary thought about it. Had Craig Locher been an accidental death? A sex game gone wrong? Or had he been truly scared for his life and running down the street to get away from someone trying to kill him? The latter seemed to fit. Unless Locher had been drunk or on drugs and wandering around.

  “It
had to be drugs,” Alice said, seeming to read Mary’s mind. “The man was on drugs, got weird with his girlfriend, strapped on a diaper and died. Talk about a tragedy.”

  “Hopefully it was an accident,” Mary said.

  Alice looked at her. “When diapers are involved, accidents are bound to happen.”

  Chapter Nine

  The office of IdeaGen was classic Santa Monica – a standalone building with a sandblasted interior and poured concrete floors.

  Mary had paid the tab for her beer and Alice’s wine, then driven over, popping a piece of chewing gum into her mouth to hide the smell of the beer.

  It was important to be professional, after all.

  Mary stood at the receptionist’s desk, which was a converted pool table that had kept its felt top.

  “May I help you?” the woman said. She was a blonde with a southern accent and a pierced tongue. Mary had caught a glint in the woman’s mouth and it didn’t look like a silver filling in a back molar. Apparently IdeaGen was going for that more-edgy-than-corporate look.

  “I have an appointment with Craig Locher,” Mary said with a bright tone in her voice. “I’m one of his clients. His favorite client, at least that’s what he tells me.”

  The girl looked startled and Mary thought she heard the tongue piercing clacking against the girl’s teeth. A nervous tic, how quaint and unsanitary. Kinda creepy, actually.

  “Um, Mr. Locher is no longer with the company,” the girl said. “In fact,” the girl’s eyes darted toward the hallway off the main reception area. “He passed away last week, unfortunately.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that,” Mary said, putting as much compassion into her voice as she could. “Is there someone who will be taking over his clients?”

  The girl nodded. “Yes, let me see if Kelly is in.” The girl’s fingers tapped a small console and Mary saw a little yellow light flash on the girl’s Bluetooth earpiece. Mary also noted the girl’s fingernails – painted a teal with a border of glitter.