by Kim Pritekel
“Will do. Take it easy, Jason.”
****
Dressed casually in jeans and a heavy wool sweater, Catania ducked under the yellow crime tape and walked up to the locked front door. Extracting the house key she’d checked out from Evidence from her pocket, she inserted it into the lock and entered the deathly quiet house.
Though everything had been inventoried, photographed, and swept by the crime scene unit, she pulled on a pair of latex gloves anyway. In a case that didn’t sit well with her, she often liked to return to the scene of the crime, whether it was an alleyway, a car, or a single-family home like this one. Now that everything was quiet, the bodies had been removed, and the various departments had done their work, it was her time to listen to the scene around her, listen for the soft whispers of the ghosts left behind.
A few things were moved, some removed and put into evidence since Catania had been in the house last. Hands on hips, she stood at the center of the living room and made a slow scan of it, taking it in as it was, but also bringing up the clear mental image of what things had looked like the day of the murder. As it had the first day she’d been there, her gaze was drawn to where the five bottles of beer had been on the coffee table, since removed. She walked over to the table, able to smell the fingerprint powder used during the dusting done by crime scene techs.
Walking over to the table, she closed her eyes and brought up the image of that first day, the placement of all the bottles, and considered one of the bottles, the slight waxy discoloration of lipstick visible at the mouth. Glancing at the couch, she tried to imagine where Anastasia would have been sitting. Sinking down into the worn couch, she glanced at the bottle in her mind, reached out with her right hand as the victim had been right-handed, and adjusted herself a couple inches to the left where her reach was more comfortable and natural. She’d only consumed just under half of her beer. Fingerprints on the closest set of three—the two empty and the third nearly finished—belonged to Aaron Gomez.
Doing the same thing with Aaron’s bottles, she tried to gauge how closely he and Anastasia were sitting together. Yes, they had a child together, but from what friends and family had said, though fairly friendly before their deaths their relationship had been volatile while romantically involved. In other words, while they weren’t enemies in their co-parenting duties, they weren’t besties, either.
“So,” she murmured, glancing again at the spot where she’d just been sitting. “Why were they sitting so close together?”
Her gaze drifted over to the love seat where the third person likely sat. She remembered the beer inside that bottle had barely been touched and no prints had been found on it.
She tapped her fingers on her knees as she considered what she was seeing. “You were uncomfortable around this third person, weren’t you, Anastasia?” she said softly. “Did you know him? Or her,” she added, though reluctantly. Unless the perp was Special Ops-trained, she just couldn’t see a woman being strong enough to accomplish the carnage that was done here, as well as overpower three people, one an average-sized man.
Something else she decided she wanted to check for was the sixth bottle. It wasn’t listed in evidence as anything taken or found, but she wanted to make sure it was looked for as she’d found in research that this brand was only sold in six-packs in the area.
She pushed up from the couch and was startled when her cell phone rang. She pulled it out of her back pocket and answered the call. “D’Giovanni here.”
“Hey, Nia, we have DNA results,” the woman on the other end of the line said.
“Great, Tammy. What’cha got for me?”
“Not much. Unfortunately, the damage was just too expansive to get any sort of conclusive DNA sampling from the female to point at a suspect or anyone else that may have been there when she was killed. However, she was pregnant. Her hCG levels point at about eight weeks. The baby is not related to either Gomez or DeHererra. But, the two hairs found on the female’s body belonged to DeHererra.”
“Ah, jeez. You just threw a big ol’ grenade into my case.” Catania sighed, leaning against the coat closet door. “Anything else?”
“There was what looks to be an arm hair attached to the electric cord used with Eric, but the profile does not appear in CODIS.”
“Damn,” she said. “Okay, thanks, Tammy.” Ending the call with the woman who ran the lab they used, she tapped the side of her phone against her chin. “Well, shit. That is one seriously big ol’ fly in the ointment.”
Chapter Five
The timestamp at the bottom of the frame claimed it to be 05/13/1995. Music thumped in the distant background, heavily muffled. The shot included the shiny, reflective hood of a red car, the night beyond, and a well-lit parking lot, though where the red car was parked was more dim and full of shadows.
Two teenage boys appeared, one dressed in a dark gray tuxedo, the other in classic black. One was smoking a cigarette, the other holding a bottle of whiskey, letting out a dramatic hoot after he took a fiery sip.
“Shit tastes like fucking gasoline.” He coughed, handing over the bottle to his companion. “You gonna go to After Prom?”
“Fuck, Laurie’s mom threw a shit fit when she brought it up. ‘You have to be home by midnight or else!’,” he said, imitating a nagging woman’s voice. “You?”
“Yup.” He grinned, taking the bottle back after his friend took a long drink. “Me and Jennifer got all night.” He indicated the camera. “Why the hell you think I brought this thing?
“Lucky fuck.” The two teens stopped and turned when a tan sedan pulled into the parking lot, settling into a space halfway between the red car and the larger grouping of cars under the lot lights. “Oh, hey. It’s Alexandra. She’s hot as fuck.”
“Who?” the boy in gray asked, trying to get a better view into the car.
“Alexandra Findley. Had her in Langly’s class last year.”
His buddy laughed. “Yeah, you wish you had her.”
The two boys giggled conspiratorially, smacking each other.
The passenger door of the sedan opened and a stunningly beautiful blond young woman stepped out. Her silvery blue gown was fitted, showing off a womanly figure.
“Hey, Johnny,” she called out with a small wave, her voice soft and distant.
“Hey, Alexandra,” he replied.
“Who’s the dude?”
“Older guy. People say she’s dating her half-brother or foster brother. I don’t know. Something weird.”
The two teens moved off to the side, their voices muffled away from the camera’s direction-limited microphone. The blonde named Alexandra pushed her door closed as the driver of the car joined her on the passenger side. He wore a black tuxedo, though his bowtie matched the color of her dress.
He grabbed her by the arms, obvious indentions in the skin from the firm grip. He indicated the two teenage boys with the nod of his head, his voice too low for the camera to pick up. Alexandra looked as though she was desperately trying to explain something to him, pleading her case with quick gestures and raised eyebrows.
SLAP!
Stunned, her hand came up to her cheek, her companion who looked to be around twenty grabbing her other hand in a vice-like grip, tugging her away from the car and out of frame.
****
Oscar remained silent as he chewed on the bite of chicken fried steak he’d just put into his mouth, his expression thoughtful. Catania sat across from him, her ever-present cheeseburger and fries before her. She’d shared everything she’d learned regarding the Luhan/Gomez murders.
“So, that sixth bottle wasn’t anywhere, huh?” he asked after washing down the food with a drink of coffee.
“Nope. I went through the trash, garage, crawl space, wherever I could think of,” she said, dragging two fries through her mayo and ketchup mixture before popping them into her mouth.
“Why are you so hung on up on beer?” He smirked, stabbing some carrots with his next bite of meat. “Ain’t ev
en that good a beer anyway.”
“Because,” she said, ignoring his comment. She wasn’t a fan; to her just about every beer smelled like wet dog. “Because my gut tells me if we find that sixth beer, we’ll find our guy.”
“But, Nia,” he said, sitting back against the booth which creaked under his weight. “We have Jerry DeHererra’s DNA on Anastasia Luhan’s body, he was covered in blood when first responders arrived, he admitted it was possible he did it when you and I interrogated him, and,” he said, holding up a beefy finger to emphasize his point. “He failed the polygraph.”
“Which, as you know, is not admissible in court,” she reminded. “But even so, Oscar, consider this. You saw the toxicology report on that guy. He was higher than a damn kite on more things than the alphabet has letters for. There is no possible way he could remember the events of that day clearly to be remotely useful on either the polygraph or our little chat with him.” She shook her head as she sipped her Coke. “That dog don’t hunt.”
“Okay, so back to the beer. That beer could have been from a case from a month ago, who knows?”
“I do,” Catania said with a shit-eating grin. She grabbed her phone from the table and swiped and tapped until she was in her email. She found the right one and handed the phone to her partner.
He grabbed it and glanced up at her. “You contacted the maker?”
“Yup, who then sent me on to the bottling company.”
“I hate it when you get clever,” he groused, using his finger to scroll down. “So, this serial number series was sent to stores here in Pueblo, liquor stores, grocery stores, convenience stores, stuff like that, huh?” he asked.
“Yep. I called around this morning to see who carries the brand and came up with the two King Soopers grocery stores here, a couple of the Loaf ’N Jug convenience stores in town, and the Big Bear liquor store. They’re going to get back to me when they find when that series was sold and, if we’re lucky, to whom.”
He let out a sigh with a nod. “Alright, sounds like a plan. Be right back, gotta pee.”
Catania watched as Oscar scooted out of the booth, then turned back to her lunch.
“Here’s your check. Do you guys need anything else? Dessert, maybe?”
Catania glanced up as she chewed a bit of her burger, giving Ally a quick smile before grabbing a napkin go wipe at her mouth as she quickly chewed and swallowed. “Hey. Nothing for me, but maybe Oscar.”
“Okay. I can come back,” Ally said, tucking her order pad into the pocket of her uniform dress. Today her hair was down and pulled back from her face. Catania thought it looked so soft and silky. She gave her a smile and turned to leave only to stop and turn back to Catania. “I really wanted to thank you again for the ride home the other night. It was sweet of you and definitely helpful to get home faster since I already wasn’t going to get much sleep before I had to head to my other job.”
“Oh, absolutely. Hey, anytime you see me puttin’ around town or around here, I’ll help you out.” Catania leaned back in the booth, an arm draped casually along the back ledge. “What’s your other job?”
“I have a small business of cleaning houses.”
“Yeah?” Catania asked, ears perking up as she sat up straighter in the booth. “You got room on your roster for one more?” She grabbed the pen and pad she’d been scribbling on during her and Oscar’s brain-scratching session. She looked up at Ally expectantly, pen poised over a blank page. “Name of company? Phone number? Availability?”
Ally threw her head back as she let out what Catania thought was an adorable giggle. “I said ‘small’ for a reason. I have two houses.”
“Want a third?”
Ally tucked her bottom lip in and glanced away, looking as though she were trying not to break out into laughter. After a moment, she gave her a side glance. “Yeah. Sure.”
****
“Well,” Catania said, hands on hips as she looked at the gathered supplies. “I hope I got everything you should need.”
Ally stood next to her, taking in the veritable sea of cleaning supplies that surrounded them. “Uh, yeah. Do you always keep four different brands of floor cleaner around?”
Catania grinned at her, bringing a hand up to rub at the back of her neck. “Yeah, uh, wasn’t sure what you prefer.”
Ally nodded, seeming to take it all in. She glanced around the sparsely furnished room. “Lived here long?”
“Four years.”
“Oh.”
Catania looked around, seeing things through the eyes of a newcomer. “Well, uh...want the tour?”
Ally followed her from the living room into the kitchen. “I love these old buildings,” she commented, trailing her fingers over the exposed brick of one of the walls. “Do you know the history of it?”
“Uh,” Catania said, stopping and resting her hands on the butcher block island. “I know it used to be a textiles factory or something. You can still even see a bit of the original sign painted on the brick outside, Samson Bros. Textile, I think it says. Something like that.”
“So cool,” Ally said with a bright smile, meeting Catania’s gaze. “So much history in this building. Is it haunted?”
Taken aback by the question, Catania just blinked at her for a moment. “Uh, not to my knowledge, no.”
“I love that kind of stuff,” the waitress said with reverence as she reached out to touch some of the original woodwork around one of the windows. “Okay, sorry. I’m done geeking out. What exactly do you need?”
“Well, basically, I’m just not home that much,” Catania explained. “I grew up with a cleaning Nazi and I’m sick of hearing my mother bitch when she’s here.” She grinned. “Don’t get me wrong, I like my place clean and picked up, but with my job, that’s not exactly what I choose to do to unwind and decompress.”
Ally chuckled. “That’s funny because cleaning is exactly what I love to do to decompress.”
“See?” Catania said with exaggerated cheer in her voice. “I am so generous to give that to you plus a few bucks in your pocket.”
****
Catania glanced over her shoulder when she heard the shuffling of papers. “Hey. Be done in a sec.”
“Good, I gotta pee.” The bank robbery division detective’s voice bordered on a grumble, though a lopsided grin cut through the tone.
“Yeah, and what’s new?” she asked, chuckling at his glare as she retuned her attention back to the copier she was using. Their lieutenant preferred to have his own copy of each of their cases to go over during their brainstorming sessions where they’d also get him caught up. “How’s it going, big guy?” she asked the thirty-two-year department veteran.
“Eh, got some shoplifter,” he said, raising the few pages in his hands, which she assumed was his report to file on the issue.
“Oh, good times.” Catania gathered her copies and her originals and moved away from the copy machine. “Trade ya.”
“Not on your friggin’ life, Big D!”
She burst into laughter as she squeezed past him out of the small cubby to head back to her own desk. She was about to pass Rodney’s desk when she noticed someone sitting in the chair next to his desk, the so-called “perp chair.” She recognized the light blue and gray jacket.
“Hey, don’t I know you?” she asked the young girl who was sitting there, picking at her thumbnail. When dark eyes glanced up at her from shaggy dark bangs, she knew she had the right girl. “Rat. No, ferret? Crap, no. Some sort of rodent.”
“Squirrel.”
“Squirrel!” She hugged the hefty stack of pages she’d just copied with their originals to her chest. “You been a bad girl this year?”
The teen smirked. “Yes, Santa.”
Catania grinned. “Take care, kid,” she said, playfully smacking the girl’s shoulder with her papers. “Stay out of trouble.” She was about to walk on when something caught her eye.
She turned back to the teen, eyebrows drawing. Reaching a hand out, she gently took
Squirrel’s chin between thumb and forefinger, turning her head so the girl was in profile. The beginnings of what looked like would be a decent shiner decorated her left eye.
“Are you okay?” she asked quietly, concerned but not wanting to make a big deal out of it. Her hand dropped away. “Anything you want to tell me, or Rodney when he gets back to his desk?”
Squirrel looked away and let out a sigh. She looked as though she was about to say something when she glanced past Catania and closed her lips.
Following the teen’s line of sight, Catania saw Rodney headed their way, copies in hand. Most detectives weren’t keen on someone else talking to their perp, so she squeezed Squirrel’s shoulder and moved on.
“Hey, you ready for this?” she asked Oscar as she walked up to their desks, flapping down the original pages of her report on the corner of hers and keeping the copied pages in hand.
He glanced up at her, an eyebrow raised. “Do you really want an answer to that question?”
She grinned, fishing out a large paper clip from a container on Oscar’s desk. “Come on, big guy. Let’s get this over with.”
Oscar rose, grabbing his suit jacket off the back of his chair. “Yup,” he said, shoving his arms into the sleeves.
“You betcha.”
“Oh yeah.”
“Yes, siree,” Catania added as they headed toward their supervisor’s office.
“Definitely,” he said with a nod.
“Absolutely.”
“Let’s get ’er done.”
“Asshole,” she muttered when they hit the open doorway, her partner getting the last word this time. “Next time, Riley.”
He chuckled and stepped inside.
Fifteen minutes later, Sergeant Price’s deep baritone boomed over the large room.
