by Graham Smith
I screech to a halt outside Alfonse’s house. ‘I’ll be there in ten.’
The Mustang is left running as I dash into the house, tell Alfonse to come with me and turn back towards the car.
I am only in the house for ten seconds, but I don’t miss the auburn hair of the coroner as she lies on the couch wearing one of Alfonse’s polo shirts.
I pull away from the sidewalk before he’s even shut the car door. ‘Some of us have been working.’
‘What can I say? When I told her I was too busy to see her tonight she came round with a casserole.’ Alfonse is a sucker for home cooking and any girl who feeds him will get his full attention. ‘Anyway, it’s twenty after ten and you haven’t even told me where we’re going.’
‘To see the chief, he called just as I arrived to interrupt your lack of application.’
It’s unfair of me to criticise Alfonse’s dedication. I’ve spent most of the day jetting around while he’s been stuck in front of a computer. The anger I feel towards Weeper hasn’t left me yet and like everyone else in the world, I have a habit of lashing out at those closest to me.
Alfonse is too attuned to my moods to let it worry him, although he’ll never take my abuse without fighting back. ‘So what have you done today, Poirot? Cracked the case? Shall I assemble everyone in the drawing room so you can identify the killer?’
My scowl advises him of my progress.
He changes the subject, asking what the chief wanted to see us about.
‘I dunno. He wouldn’t say on the phone and since I was so close to your place, I thought you might as well come along so the three of us can share all our news at once. It’ll save me having to brief you both separately.’
‘I’ve a lot to tell you, so don’t sit there with your mouth hanging open like you’re trying to catch flies.’
23
When we enter the police station we find Lieutenant Farrage and one of his buddies drinking coffee and sharing a joke with the desk sergeant. Their laughter rings around the reception in a way that doesn’t feel right.
Much as I dislike Farrage, I can’t grudge him a break. Emergency service personnel are famed for the grim humour they use to alleviate the horrors they have to deal with. Everyone has to have a release, but I would think even he would know better than to do it front of house.
Chief Watson’s head pokes from his office. ‘Hey! Just for once would you use what’s between your ears and keep your dumb jokes outta the public areas.’
I manage to resist the tempting notion of applauding the chief but it is close. Only the knowledge he is our ally stops me from mocking Farrage.
‘Boulder. In here please.’ His tone has softened a fraction but his anger is still evident. He too knows a worthy ally when he sees one.
‘This is Alfonse Devereaux, my partner.’ I gloss over the fact Alfonse is the real private eye and I do little more than help him out from time to time. Chief Watson doesn’t need to know that just now.
The chief shakes Alfonse’s hand and gets right to business. ‘This Niemeyer case is exploding outwards in a way I never expected. I’ve had Captain Kirrows from Salt Lake City looking at Bourbon A Go Go. Apparently a man matching your description went there yesterday and extracted information from the owner. This man used threats and then assaulted one of the employees. Can you tell me anything about it?’
I tell him everything I left out of my previous report. In detail. How Young was running a number of hookers under the auspices of an escort agency, the ways in which Kira was degrading herself for the paying clients. I even tell him about the way Weeper had blackmailed a casting director to get himself a part in the sitcom he was currently filming.
‘Am I going to get a call from anyone in LA saying you beat up this actor?’
‘You might, but it was self defence. He sicced his bodyguard on me just like Hank Young tried to do.’ I shrug. ‘All’s I did was defend myself.’
‘Really? Because I’d have been tempted to give that douchebag what for.’
‘You could have arrested him for blackmail. I couldn’t do that so I used my own methods.’
I need to move the conversation away from Weeper before the chief realises the actor wouldn’t confess to such a crime without a little coercion from me. ‘You didn’t call me in here to ask me about something we both know all about. What’s developed?’
‘We’ll leave aside the question of how you persuaded Weeper to be so frank with you. For now.’ His tone holds a warning that he can’t cover me for my illegal doings, even though he may benefit from the information I uncover. ‘I had Mr and Mrs Niemeyer visit me today along with their son. I took the opportunity to question them about their daughter’s secret career. I’m convinced none of them knew anything about it.’
‘Fair enough.’ I trust his instincts. They will have been honed through experience. ‘How did they take the news?’
Alfonse speaks for the first time. ‘Not well. Mr Niemeyer called and asked me to go and update them. When I arrived, Kira’s mother was in pieces and her father and brother were ranting and raving at each other. It wasn’t pretty.’
I know how poor Alfonse is at managing conflict in others and hear in his voice the discomfort he felt watching the Niemeyer family tearing itself apart. For his sake, I wish I’d been there. For mine, I’m glad I wasn’t.
‘I told the Niemeyers as much as I could without going into graphic detail, but I could see their devastation increasing with every word.’
Chief Watson nods. ‘I saw the same.’
Alfonse scratches at his arm. ‘Mr Niemeyer wanted to know if Kira’s hooking was common knowledge. I told him it wasn’t as far as we knew.’ His gaze shifts from Chief Watson to me. ‘He travels in different circles to us. It’s not impossible one or two of his buddies knew about it or even hired her.’
‘I know. It’s crossed my mind too. He’s the type who’ll have many business contacts from all over the state or country. Rich men with disposable cash.’
‘I’ve seen this kind of thing before in rich families. Shortly after getting the worst news, they start to think about their reputation and family name. God knows why she was hooking in the first place.’
Alfonse pulls a sheaf of papers from the attaché case he’s brought with him. ‘I think the answer to that question may be in here. When I was searching through the clone of Kira’s iPad I found a secret folder.’
‘I’ll forego the obvious questions of why you had a clone of her iPad and why you didn’t call me with this as soon as you had it, if the information you have points me towards her killer.’
‘That’s everyone’s goal, Chief. What’s in the folder?’ I give a pointed look at Alfonse to get him to continue.
Attuned to Chief Watson’s impatience-fuelled interruptions he gets straight to the point. ‘There is a journal dating back three years. I’ve only skimmed through the latest entries as I was concentrating on her accounts of recent clients. I was hoping there’d be clues there but nothing jumped out at me.’
I try to redirect some of Chief Watson’s ire away from Alfonse. ‘Surely the police digital forensics guys have got you the same information?’
‘You’re joking. Everything like that has to be sent to West 700 in Salt Lake City. They’ve got three guys to do that job for the whole state.’ He gives a weary shake of his head. ‘They’ve promised to look at it tomorrow, although I know for a fact it’s more likely Captain Kirrows will find a more urgent task for them. If I had the resources I’d outsource it but, because of the low crime levels here, there’s almost no budget when it comes to a real case.’
‘I’m sure Mr Niemeyer will be happy to pay for anything like that.’
As soon as I finish speaking, I realise my mistake.
‘Oh yeah, and how would that look? A few weeks into the job and the new police chief is asking grieving parents to pay for their daughter’s homicide investigation. It’s bad enough he hired you two because he knows that bunch of bozos ou
t there couldn’t find their own asses with both hands. Asking him to pay for the investigation is tantamount to baring my ass on Main Street during the Holly Days Festival.’
‘You still haven’t told us why you called us in yet, Chief.’ It is Alfonse’s turn to change the subject. His words seem to add to the burden the chief is carrying.
‘You remember I told you about the guy who was found in the trunk of his car on 191?’
I nod. ‘What about him?’
‘His sister was the lady who found Kira Niemeyer’s body.’
The room falls silent as Chief Watson gives us time to process what he’s just said.
I’m the one to break the heavy silence. ‘Surely it’s nothing more than one of those nasty coincidences life throws at you just when you don’t need it.’
‘I hope so, because if it’s not, then it’s the start of something horrible.’
‘It’s got to be. What else could it be?’
‘I don’t know, but the fact is I have a bad feeling about this and I’m afraid my bad feelings aren’t often wrong.’
I cast around my mind then come up with the quote I am looking for. ‘Once is happenstance, twice is coincidence and a third time is enemy action.’
‘Huh?’
Alfonse looks blank but Chief Watson gets my reference. ‘He’s quoting from one of the James Bond books. Goldfinger, I believe. What he’s saying is that Mrs Halliburton’s run of bad luck can’t be attributed to anything other than coincidence until a third event happens to her.’
I nod. ‘You’re right, Chief, but let’s just hope your bad feeling is wrong and we don’t have any more bodies connected to Mrs Halliburton.’
24
Leaving the police station, Alfonse gives me the rundown on what little he’s learned from the journal Kira kept in her secret folder. It isn’t much use to me but I’m sure Dr Edwards would have found it fascinating.
The introspection and self-justification passages he tells me about are bland. Some may even go so far as to say they are banal. As far as I’m concerned, they sketch a broad outline of her psyche at best. Even then, the sketch is drawn by an amateurish hand.
What amuses me is the way technology has been used to store her secrets. Where once a diary or journal would have been buried at the back of an underwear drawer, nowadays it becomes another file on an electronic device.
Fair enough, she’d tried to hide the folder and had passworded it, but what she’d failed to realise was, by doing so, she’d highlighted the folder’s importance.
The best hiding places are always in plain sight. Nobody bothers looking at a folder with a boring title like ‘utilities’ or ‘household accounts’.
A secret folder protected by a password will pique the interest of anyone who learns of its existence. The fact it has been found by a professional means it will be scrutinised from every angle.
I can tell by his behaviour that Alfonse has found something in the folder. Something he’s chosen not to share in front of Chief Watson.
‘So. What else did you find in Kira’s journal?’
His reply is hesitant. ‘A few bits and pieces but there’s a recurring theme.’
‘Which is?’ Even to my ears, my sigh is filled with impatience.
‘You’re not going to like it.’
‘Grow up. I’m a big boy. I can take it.’
Silence fills the car. I guess he’s trying to find the right words.
‘Spill it, Alfonse.’
‘She was in love with you.’
‘What?’ I don’t know what I was expecting, but this wasn’t it. ‘There’s no way she was in love with me. You’re jerking me around.’
‘You can read it for yourself. But trust me, she was deeply in love with you.’ There is no deception in his voice. We know each other well enough to spot misdirection, lies and pranks. None of his usual tells are vocal. Each one remains mute.
Now it is me who falls into silence. Alfonse’s statement has knocked me sideways. I’m glad we are only a minute or two away from his place. I need to verify his claim with my own eyes.
Try as I might, I can’t recall Kira displaying anything more than a passing attraction to me. I was a toy to be picked up and put down at will. The booty call arrangement suited us both. Or at least I thought it had. If she had been in love with me, she’d kept her feelings not just hidden, but buried.
The next thing I start to consider is what bearing this news may or may not have on the case.
Her wounds suggested a frenzied attacker. Hers was the kind of assault which is driven by fury or insanity. If that’s the case, jealousy could have powered the arm holding the knife.
Yet Kira hadn’t told me how she felt. Therefore, it is a stretch to assume she’d told someone else. Her pouring her heart out to someone who also harboured feelings for me pushed the bounds of probability.
Besides, I’m not the settling down type and I’m not conceited enough to believe women are prepared to kill over me.
Reasoning it out doesn’t stop me wondering though.
As I pull up to the kerb and switch off the engine, my memory is doing a roll call of the girls I’ve dated over the last year or two.
There is only one who had been upset about me not wanting to continue the relationship. Six weeks after I’d broken it off she’d come into the Tree with one of the roughnecks from the oilfields on her arm. From what I’ve heard, the two of them are now a solid item, looking to set up house together.
I want to share my thoughts with Alfonse but I can tell he is struggling with the news. He is too respectful a person to mock the dead or speak ill of them, but I have no doubt that in any circumstances other than a murder investigation, I’d have been slaughtered with one-liners and half-assed witticisms.
He’d always liked Kira and while he’d never been intimate with her to my knowledge, I’ve long suspected he carried a torch for her.
I wait until we are in his kitchen with coffee brewing before I seek his opinion. ‘You’ve had longer to think about it than I have. What do you make of it?’
‘Without blowing smoke up your ass, my first thought was that it was a jealous rival who wanted you for herself. Then I remembered what Emily said about the manner of her death. While there were a lot of wounds to make it look like a frenzied attack, the cut that killed her was delivered with precision. That suggests a deliberate attack by someone who knows how to use a knife. My next thought was that it might be a boyfriend who’d flipped after being compared to you. Following this line of reasoning, I went through her journal looking for the names of anyone local she’d dated.’
‘And?’ The sooner Alfonse arrives at the point the better, I’m tired after a long day, and the added mental strain from learning the victim was supposed to have been in love with me has done little to improve my temper.
‘I found she’d only dated three locals in the last eighteen months. Checking the dates against my memory, I figure she only dated when you saw someone more than a couple of times.’
If what Alfonse says is correct – and I have no reason to doubt him – it appears Kira was hedging her bets whenever she thought I might be in a relationship. When my brief sojourns ran their course, she would find a reason to dump the guy.
While Alfonse’s logic may well be sound, I don’t like it. I’m not egotistical enough to think anyone would behave that way over me. I’m nothing special, just a guy who likes hanging out with his friends, reading and earning an honest buck. On the flip side I also like getting into fights and once in a while drinking until I lose days.
Not enjoying this subject, I decide to move on from it. ‘So who’d she date?’
‘Pete Lester, Terrel Upson and George Chalmers.’
I know two of the names. Pete Lester is a builder who runs a small business, Terrel Upson works in a butcher’s shop on Main.
‘Do you know anything about this Chalmers guy?’
Alfonse passes me a sheet of paper across. ‘He’s an acco
untant. Works by himself and looks after local businesses. Small time and seems to be happy with it from what I’ve learned.’
The paper has a few details on Chalmers and a picture that looks like it has been lifted from a social media site.
While not great leads, they are the best we’ve got. We agree I’m to speak with them in the morning while Alfonse continues his digital excavations of their lives.
25
He waits until the sliver of moon is hidden behind a cloud and moves from his hiding place in the manicured hedge.
Each step is hurried but silent as he crosses the garden and approaches the house’s back door. Using a set of picks, he is through the door and inside the house in less than a minute.
He knows which room she’ll be in. He’s watched the house for hours, observing her movements. A trail of lights being switched off identified her bedroom at the rear of the house.
He is striking when the night is darkest. When the target is deepest in sleep.
She fits the pattern. She will die tonight. Her death will be a quick one. Painful for a brief spell, but quick compared to the Niemeyer slut.
As he moves towards the stairs he’s startled by the angry hiss of a cat. Inside the lounge a mangy tabby with fierce eyes arches its back.
Taking two steps forward, he reaches the lounge door and closes it while the cat is still deciding whether or not to attack.
Step by step he tiptoes up the stairs, keeping his feet against the left wall to minimise the risk of a creak betraying his presence.
The strong aroma of muscle liniment fills his nose, telling him the old girl has overdone it at the gym.
Reaching the top of the stairs he identifies the correct bedroom from the gentle snores.
His gloved hand clasps the door handle and he slips into the bedroom, taking care not to make even the tiniest sound.
Three brisk steps have him towering over her bed, the scalpel in his hand poised ready to strike.
26
I swing the Mustang into a parking bay and step onto the street. Four paces later, I feel the first prickles of sweat begin to encase my body. It isn’t usually this hot at this time of year, but it’s not unknown.
