by Kim Pritekel
“How can it possibly get worse?” Catania asked, disturbed by what she was being told about her victim.
“Well, when we got her tissue results back, there was a substantial amount cellular decay.”
Catania eyed her. “Meaning?”
“Meaning, she was frozen, postmortem. Whoever did this to her had her on ice for a prolonged period of time.”
All Catania could do for a moment before she regained her composure was stare. “Wow. Any idea how long?”
Gwen nodded, pulling the sheet back up to just under the victim’s chin. That was one thing Catania greatly admired about the doctor: she always tried to maintain the dignity and grace of the people who appeared on her table.
“I don’t have that information for you today, we need to run a few more tests. But, as soon as we have it, I’ll drop you a ring. I figured I’d at least give you this information so you have something to nibble on in your investigation.”
Catania nodded, chewing her bottom lip. She studied the dead woman’s face for a long moment. “Yeah. I appreciate it. And, the sketch artist came in and did a rendering for the media, right?”
“Yep. I emailed it to you just before you finally showed up.”
Catania glared at her colleague and friend’s good-natured smile. “Alright. Anything else?”
“Nope. Good luck.”
Good luck, Catania.
She shook her head mentally to get the voice of her dream tormentor out of her mind. She smiled at Gwen and reached out to lightly squeeze her arm. “Thanks, lady. I appreciate everything.”
****
Catania perched on the edge of the small desk that rested against the wall where the long whiteboard was in the conference room. She’d made copies of the coroner’s report, her and Oscar’s reports, and the sketch artist’s rendering, and stapled them into packets that were scattered across the large table at the center of the room. She waited as those called to the meeting trickled in, chatting amongst themselves.
“Hey,” Oscar said, squeezing in between two detectives who thought catching up in the doorway was an excellent idea. He walked up to her and handed her a cup of coffee, a matching one in his other hand.
“Thanks. Did Sarah call you?”
“Yeah, she’s on her way.”
“Great.” Catania sipped from her coffee, a smile coming to her face when she saw the logo for Randy’s on the side of the cup. The image of Ally instantly came to mind. Pushing that and the cup aside, she clapped her hands. “Alright, gang. Let’s get settled and listen up.” She waited for the seven detectives to find a seat, some grabbing a packet and flipping through it. “Price asked Oscar and I to get a bit of a task force going here. Thus, your fancy invitations to join us.” She grinned. “Here’s what we’re dealing with. You can see from your packets there that we’ve got us a Jane Doe, found just under a week ago. No identification at all, no vehicle, nothing.”
“Sorry,” a woman said in a harried voice from the doorway.
Catania was glad to see Detective Sergeant Sarah Sanchez of the Missing Persons unit scurry into the room, grabbing an empty chair and plopping down into it. She gave her a small nod and smile. Sarah had been instrumental in helping her find her way and her wings in the department when she’d joined.
“Here’s the problem, guys. We don’t know when she was killed,” Catania said, glancing around the room, receiving several confused looks in return.
“Wait, what?” one of the detectives said. “She was found what, five, six days ago?”
“Yes, but she was frozen postmortem.” She wasn’t surprised by the shocked gasps and mumbled words of shock she heard.
“Jesus,” someone said.
“Yeah, pretty awful. Gwen said they can give us a pretty close approximation to the time of freezing, but we don’t have that today. So, what I’m thinking is this. If you look at the picture there of the soles of her feet, I believe she was killed or perhaps taken in either a warmer climate or during the summer or early fall. Our Jane Doe was warm enough to walk around barefoot or in sandals. If it’s the calendar we’re battling, then we need to be scouring records from bare minimum six months ago up to eighteen, thirty-six months ago. The media has been given the sketch of our lady, also. So,” she said, reaching around to grab an erasable marker from the tray that ran along the bottom of the whiteboard. “Let’s throw around some ideas.”
She looked out over the crowd of fellow investigators, noting only one or two were looking at her, the others messing with their phones or giving each other side glances.
“John?” she said, calling to one of the men on their phone who had been friendly to her at times. “Thoughts?” When he said nothing, Catania felt her anger and frustration begin to build. Before she could open her mouth, she felt Oscar step up beside her.
“Guys, wake up! We got us a lady here who is dead. Okay? She’s been murdered and stuck in a fucking freezer somewhere and likely she’s got family who has no idea what the hell happened to her.” He walked over to the table and picked up one of the packets, slapping it on the table. “Let’s get some fucking ideas on this!”
Catania cleared her throat in order not to laugh at the startled reaction from the room. Hands on hips, she raised an eyebrow. “So, John, care to try again?”
****
Catania slammed her notebook and extra packets onto her desk before she whirled on Oscar, who walked over to his desk. “What the fuck?” she demanded. “Forgive my language, but What. The. Fuck? Was it really necessary for you to step up and add to what I had already said? Was it?”
Oscar looked at her, wide-eyed. “I’m sorry, Nia. God, I’m really sorry. I was honestly just trying to get those assholes to stop being assholes because they were absolutely being assholes.”
As she looked at his reddening face, she couldn’t stop the smile that teased her lips. She understood her mistake. “No, no, I’m sorry. I said that wrong. You were amazing and I thank you for saying what you did. I just meant, why was it necessary for a guy to have to prod them in the ass to do their job when a woman asked them to do it?”
“Whew!” He let out a bark of laughter as he leaned back against his desk, the wood creaking beneath his weight. “Damn, for a minute there I thought I’d really pissed you off.” He studied her, the look in his eyes pure affection and respect. “Listen, kiddo, there are a million and one reasons I could give you why they acted like that.” He gave her a shit-eating grin as he raised his hand, thumb, and forefinger a couple inches apart. “Some pretty small reasons.”
Catania laughed, a small snort escaping in her mirth.
He chuckled in response. “But at the end of the day, there really is only one simple answer to an age-old and complicated question. Men are idiots, and why are we idiots? Because we’re missing the fourth leg of our second ‘X.’”
Catania shook her head as she continued to laugh, accepting a quick, one-armed hug from her partner and dear friend.
“You did good today, kid. Don’t let a bunch of insecure assholes get to you.”
“Thanks. Oh, are you still going to help me hang that cabinet in Matteo’s apartment?”
“Yup. Brought my screwdrivers,” Oscar said, reaching into his desk to produce the battery-powered tool. He gave the trigger a few tugs, zzzzz, zzzzz.
Catania stared at the screwdriver before meeting his gaze. “You always bring your tools to work with you?”
“Well, I figure if I had to see it in my drawer every time I opened it, I wouldn’t forget and just take off after work.”
“Chicken fried steak night at the Riley house, is it?” She chuckled and rolled her eyes at his boyish grin. “Get to work, you pain in the ass.”
Smiling at her partner’s antics, she grabbed the notebook she’d dropped onto her desk and opened the cover. Glancing up, she saw the front desk officer weaving her way through the maze of desks toward her, a woman following with what looked to be a teenage boy, assumedly her son since he looked just l
ike her.
“This is Detective d’Giovanni,” the desk officer introduced. “Nia, this young man here has some information he wants to share with you.” Duty done, she left the way she’d come, leaving the woman and teen behind.
Catania smiled at the woman who looked to be around her age, if not a little older. “Hello. I’m Nia,” she said, extending her hand out to the woman, who shook it.
“Hi, Detective. I’m Toni and this is my son, Jackson. He wanted to talk to you for a minute.”
“Jackson,” she said extending her hand to the young man who took it in a clammy, limp shake. The poor boy looked scared out of his mind. He had a short, stocky build with slightly oversized glasses and short, light brown hair. “Toni,” she said, addressing the woman “Mind if Jackson has a seat here so he can chat with me?” she asked, only one chair available in the tight space by her and Oscar’s desks.
“Absolutely. Go ahead and sit, son,” Toni said softly, nudging him forward and moving in to stand behind his chair, her hands on his shoulders for support.
Jackson got seated as Catania sat in her chair on the other side of the desk. She flipped though her notebook until she was on a fresh page, clicking her pen into readiness with a flourish and a smile.
“Well,” he began, clearing his throat when his voice broke slightly. “Um, I was driving today back to town on the highway, and I saw something.”
“Okay. Which highway, Jackson?”
“Um, Highway Fifty.”
Catania nodded, scribbling down the information. “Okay. What did you see?”
“Well,” he said before glancing back and up at his mother.
“It’s okay, honey. Go ahead and tell her.”
“Well, I saw on the news today, that lady you guys found. Um, the one in the field.”
Catania nodded to let him know she was following what he was saying. She wanted to shake the information out of him to move this along, but knew with a skittish potential witness, that was the worst thing to do.
“I saw a car parked there, along that stretch of road.”
Catania’s ears perked up. “You did?” At the boy’s nod, she asked, “And, it was the same day?”
Jackson reached into one of the side pockets in his cargo pants and pulled out his phone. He tapped and swiped for a moment before he presented the screen of text messages to Catania. “This is a text from my friend Moe.”
Catania took the phone from him and read until she found what was pertinent.
Hey, dude. Be at my place Sunday by 1:30. That’s when I told Sheila to be here.
She handed the phone back and met the boy’s eyes. “And you were coming from Canon City into Pueblo?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Okay,” she said, sitting back in her chair, doing a little mental math in her head. It took about forty-five minutes to drive from Canon City to Pueblo, so he would have left around twenty to quarter till, likely. She estimated he would have passed this mystery car around 1:10 or so. She was curious what he would say. Not that she was concerned Jackson was lying, but in her line of work, everyone was lying until they were proven not to be. “So,” she continued. “What time do you think you saw the car?”
“It was right at one twelve. I know because I thought I was going to be late so I looked at the clock in the car. When I looked at the road again, I saw it.”
“Okay,” she said, quickly jotting down what he said. “And, what did the car look like?”
“It was white. Like, old school, you know, the kind of car with the door thing you can open in the back?” he said, using his hands to pantomime the upward opening and closing.
“Like a hatchback?” Catania offered, meeting his gaze.
“Yeah! But, it was a longer car. Um…” He turned to look up at his mother. “What’s that car Dad used to have? The really ugly one.”
“The orange station wagon?” she asked, sparing Catania an apologetic glance.
“Yeah! Station wagon. It was a white station wagon,” Jackson exclaimed.
“Okay, and by ‘old school,’ what do you mean?” Catania asked. She knew to a sixteen- or seventeen-year-old kid, old school could mean 1995.
“Is it like Dad’s?” the mom asked, seeming to understand Catania’s potential problem with nailing down just exactly what “old school” meant to her son.
“Yeah, but not as old.”
“Well,” Toni said, meeting Catania’s gaze. “His father has a 1977. Maybe an eighties’ model?”
“Let’s try this, Jackson.” Catania dropped her pen on her pad and turned her focus to her computer. “I’m going to look up eighties’ models of white station wagons and let’s see if anything jumps out at you, okay?” She gave him a friendly smile.
“Yeah, great, okay,” he said, excitement in his voice.
She felt this teen was entirely credible, and going to the trouble of finding out exactly what he saw was key. She typed in her search and hit Images, dozens of thumbnails of white station wagons popping up. Turning her computer monitor so Jackson could peruse the offerings, she patiently scrolled through the lines of pictures, waiting for the light bulb to go off for him.
Finally, Jackson jumped out of his seat, partially leaning over the desk. “That one! Yeah, exactly like that.”
Catania clicked on the thumbnail of a 1983 Subaru GL wagon he pointed at, enlarging the image. She met his gaze. “You’re sure?”
“Positive. The one I saw had a little rust spot on the driver’s side fender, though.”
Catania saved the picture of the car to her computer before scribbling down the new information she’d been given. “Excellent work, Jackson. Did you see the driver? License plate?”
“I didn’t really get a good look at the person, but it wasn’t a chick, I mean, a woman. Unless it was a really big woman. I think it was a guy. And, all I saw on the plates was they weren’t Colorado plates. They were a dark color with light writing.” He shrugged sheepishly. “Really sorry. That’s all.”
“I’m impressed as all get-out, there, partner.”
Catania was surprised to hear Oscar’s voice so close. She’d been so interested in what Jackson had to say that she hadn’t noticed him perched on his own desk listening.
Jackson glanced up at him and beamed. “Thank you, sir.”
Chapter Ten
She held the cabinet steady as Oscar used his handy screwdriver to screw it into place. She looked around the piece of furniture to read his face. “Did you hear me?”
“Yeah,” he answered at length. “Okay, let go. She’s in there good.” The two of them stepped back from the mounted cabinet, the doors to be attached next. “I’m just trying to figure out what the hell all that crazy dream meant. I mean,” he said, strawberry blond eyebrows drawn. “It’s like some weird riddle. I get you’d be out on the street, I even get that teenager you seem fond of being in some sort of trouble. That’s what we do. But, what do the movie Titanic, Natalie Cole, and a cheesy romantic comedy from the eighties have in common? It’s not like you’re some nut ball fan of any of them.”
“You two are terrifically blind.”
Catania and Oscar both looked over to where Matteo sat at his computer, never missing a beat as he typed away with one hand on the ten-key portion of his keyboard as he jotted something down on a pad of paper on the table next to it.
“Care to illuminate us?” Catania asked, helping Oscar clean up the mess that they’d made after unpacking the cabinet from its packaging to get it out of the way so they could get the doors installed.
“It’s a numbers game, and your common denominator is two zero one five,” he said, never once taking his eyes off the screen of his computer.
“What?” Catania asked, her hand stilling mid-motion of handing one of the hinges to Oscar.
“Your equation is as follows: six twenty-two, twelve thirty-one and finally, seven three.” He turned in his seat and faced the two people who were staring at him, baffled looks on their faces. “Yo
u take all those numbers and put them under the numbers two zero one five. What do you get?” When there were only cricket chirps in response, Matteo slammed his palm against his thigh. “Jesus, people! They all croaked in 2015!”
“Natalie Cole died?” Oscar asked, an eyebrow raised in surprise.
“Wait,” Catania said, ignoring her friend’s question. “What are all the numbers you gave us?” At the sound of Oscar’s voice again, she turned to look at him. He held his phone, a pudgy finger tapping and scrolling.
“Amanda Peterson, actress, died July third. Apparently an accidental drug overdose. Um, composer James Horner died June twenty-second in a plane crash. Damn, that sucks,” he muttered. “And, finally Natalie Cole died December thirty-first.” He tucked his phone into his pocket. “Congestive heart failure. All died the same year, 2015.”
“In 2015,” Catania added. At Oscar’s nod, she turned back to her brother, who had gone back to his work. “How did you know all that, Matty?”
“How did you not?” he asked, hands raised in consternation.
Catania and Oscar shared a glance, both shrugging their shoulders as they got back to work.
****
After paroling Oscar from Matteo’s odd, quirky little world after they finished the cabinet, Catania spent some time with her brother before she decided to head home. She stood at the front door to Aberdeen House, shrugging her jacket onto her shoulders, when she looked down the hall, the soft sounds of pans bumping together beckoning.
