***
Seeing officers running from one end of the room to the other, random papers in their hand proves to me they are in what I like to call Police Panic Mode. It’s not a true panic mode really, but there isn’t another way to describe the rushed movement, the hurried conversations and the overall hyper energy of the place. My steps are slower, more deliberate as I follow a fast moving former Marine to the captain’s office. Sliding calmly into the chair, I watch the two men talk animatedly. It’s very interesting watching them interact. Behavior can tell you so much about the conversation. The captain’s hand keeps waving about as if it’s making some more of an impact to the conversation. Will’s arms folded defensively across his chest tell me the conversation is not going well. No wonder I always think Italians are fighting when they talk, their hands never stop moving.
“Detective Steele!” Shaking the fog from my brain, I look up to see both Will and Tyler staring at me in a not very happy way.
“Yes.”
“Do you have anything you want to add to this conversation?”
“What do you want me to add? We have three bodies. Father worked for Garrison Developments which may or may not have to do with his death.”
“Firstly, you stay out of that rabbit hole. Secondly, maybe you can explain why the hell we didn’t notice a little girl was missing!”
“We weren’t there at the time the house was cleared.”
Tyler walks around his desk and slams his door for effect. Sitting down on the edge of his desk, he slowly rubs the frustration out of his eyes. Will slumps into the chair next to me, unsure of what to do.
“Captain, we weren’t even supposed to be there. You requested we go there and we did. I’m not pointing fingers, or blaming anyone. The most important part is figuring out where Kaley is, who took her and praying we can get her back.”
“Officers are calling anyone in the home phone memory as well as the mother’s and father’s cell phones. If she is at a friend’s house, or anywhere else for that matter - we will find her. In the meantime, we are investigating the murders.” Will says calmly for the first time since we learned of the young missing girl.
“Okay,” the captain stands up and stretches his neck, “I want the two of you on this.”
“We’ve got a department to handle that, we need to focus on the three homicides, sir.” Will pipes up from the comfort of his chair.
“This was a massive fuck-up by our division, so forgive me if I expect my two best to actually focus on more than one thing.”
The captain sits back down in his chair and silence falls over the room. In all the rush to get a task force looking for the girl, something notoriously gets overlooked.
“Why didn’t she call the police?”
Will looks at me quizzically. “Kaley?”
“Yeah, if she was the target, why didn’t she call the police?”
“Maybe she wasn’t home?”
“Or he already had her and needed to remove the family?”
The captain picks up his phone and punches a few buttons. “Get me a trace on Kaley Johnson’s phone. I want to know where it was for every second of yesterday. I want a list of calls, texts - anything and everything. Dump it all.” He slams his phone down.
My phone rings and I look at the caller ID, it’s Frankie. I push the side button cutting off the new ringtone of Frankie and Chase telling me to answer the phone. It’s a constant reminder of the love I have with this great family. Plus, it’s an improvement over my old one of just Chase telling me to answer the phone. At least now that he’s a bit older, I can understand him. Well, mostly anyway.
The captain looks at me but I can’t tell if he’s annoyed or just frustrated by the situation we find ourselves in.
“I’ll have the techs comb through everything. Hopefully something pops from the last twenty four hours.”
“Will and I will ask around, look at school friends. The usual. See if anything comes up.”
“Victor have anything?”
I open my mouth to speak as my phone comes to life once again. Disconnecting the call, “not that I know of. I’m waiting on him to call.” The captain stares at me with the eyes of a parent admonishing their children. “But why don’t we just head on down there and see what’s new.”
“That would be a great idea and Jasmine you stay away from Garrison.”
“Sir, I follow the evidence.”
“If it leads there, Detective Everts will handle it. I don’t need your name attached to another member of that family. We don’t have a vendetta, understand?”
Without saying another word, I stand up and walk out of the captain’s office. My instinct tells me that the job might have nothing to do with the murders. Doesn’t mean I don’t want to ram down the door, guns blazing and demanding answers. I don’t have a vendetta against the man who killed my brother and his wife in a DWI. Nor do I have a grudge against the man who put bullets in me before Will took him down. I do not have anything against his father and everyone else that might be involved. Not at all. As a detective, I have a mission to ensure justice is served and I plan on finishing it.
***
It’s still an odd thing to me, walking down the stairs into the morgue. The big empty window looking through to another world, one we will all see eventually. Yet, when you’re on this side of the glass, that place seems so far away. I’m abnormal though. I’ve been on both sides of the glass. I remember Victor made me stand out here when he looked over my brother and his wife. Lifting my hand and placing it against the divider, I can still fear the emotions coursing through my veins, but they are calmer now.
I can feel Will watching me closely as he walks into the room looking for Victor. He’s learned when to bother me and when to let me be with my memories. When my father died, I never stepped foot in there. I didn’t want to see him like that. When my mother died, Victor emptied the entire floor. I sat in his chair, holding her hand, talking to her as if she would sit up and give me a hug. It’s an odd thing for a daughter to lose her mother, her best friend, her confidant. Sure, we move on, make friends and get married, but no one will ever come close to our mommy.
Will pops his head out of the door and looks at me. “Just thinking,” I mumble to him. He walks over and stands next to me. His arms folded, his demeanor colder.
“There’s an odd divide here. Life on one side of the door, death on the other. I didn’t get that over there.”
“It’s a strange sense of comfort, being separated. Kind of like hey it’s steak, with no thought to where it comes from.” I nervously let the words tumble out of my mouth. He chuckles a little, but I continue to stare at the white sheet covered bodies.
“Yeah, sometimes I wish we had that. One minute you’re talking to your buddy and the next minute he’s on the floor. All you can think of,” he takes a deep breath and exhales slowly, “all I could think of was where the hell the sniper was hiding. My friend was dead a few feet away from me and I couldn’t do a thing for him.”
The conversation hangs, waiting for one of us to pick it up and continue. Yet, neither of us do. We stand next to one another staring at the room of death, waiting.
“You know they aren’t going anywhere. So if you’d like to stop standing guard and come in, I would love to share with you the vast amount of nothing I found.” Victor says as he strolls past us, peanut butter sandwich in hand.
“Didn’t they fine you for eating down here?”
“My dear Jasmine, they don’t fine the master. They give him a slap on the wrist and avert their eyes.”
“I’d avert my eyes too. That smells horrible,” Will says as he waves his hands in front of his face.
“I assure you my organic peanut butter isn’t what you’re smelling.” Victor casually walks over to a body and pulls back the sheet, revealing the mother. “She had egg on her face, literally. Quite smelly stuff if left out long enough.”
“That help give you time of death?”
“No, but she was in full rigor, ergo why your maniacs with hacksaws were trying to pry the cell phone out of her hand.”
“How long are we talking, Victor?”
Victor covers the mother back up and walks back to his desk. “I’d estimate they’ve all been dead for about twelve hours.”
I look over at Will and nod my head. The captain needs to know that our time-line has not only changed, it’s pretty much disappeared.
“Expand the search and dump the mom’s phone, on it.” He rushes out of the morgue, bypasses the elevator and heads up the stairs.
“I’m sorry.” Victor looks at me, a guilty childlike expression on his face.
“Not your fault.”
“No, but I hate being the bearer of bad news.”
“Vic, you think I ever come down here expecting some chipper encounter? You cut up dead people. No matter which way you look at it, you always see people on their worst day. Hell, one day you might still be doing this and cut my body up.”
“Been there, done that.” His words silence me. “I’ll quit before I have to do that again.” Watching him slowly eat his sandwich, almost mechanically as he tries to clear the thoughts from his mind. I wish I knew what to say to help him, but the words fail me. I was dead. He saved my life, thank you doesn’t seem to cut it.
“They have a daughter.” Victor’s attention turns back to me quickly.
“That explains the mad rush upstairs.” I simply nod in response. “You think she’s gone.”
“My gut tells me this was a professional. He meticulously kills Margaret Johnson first in the kitchen, slices her throat from left to right at an upward angle. Very close and intimate.”
“So a right handed killer who is taller than the wife at…”
“She is approximately five feet seven inches.”
“So a right handed average height male, narrows it down. Next?”
“Daniel Johnson, cervical fracture due to massive torque applied to his neck. Based on bruising patterns I would guess it was another left to right movement. Considering Mrs. Johnson's injuries it would appear accurate.”
“Okay so he goes into the kitchen, kills the wife while she’s making dinner. Goes up the stairs, kills the boy.”
“Then he kills Lester Johnson. This is where it gets very complicated so just shut up and listen before commenting.”
He stares at me and I concede by nodding in response.
“He was shot, but it appears the bullet nicked an artery causing him to bleed internally. Based on the tissue, I can only guess that a knife was used repeatedly to speed up the process.”
“Okay so the bullet missed its mark and the perp finishes the job with a knife. What’s complicated in that scenario?”
“The bullet was meant to fail.”
“Okay, now you lost me.”
“The bullet disintegrated when it entered his abdomen. Based on the evidence left, frangible ammo was used to incapacitate Mr. Johnson before more final blows could be administered.”
“He wanted to be personal.”
“Based on the evidence I found, my gut tells me daddy was made out to be an example.”
“Of?”
“I don’t know, but whoever did this wanted his death to be gruesome.” Taking a few steps over to the freezer wall, my hand grazes number twenty-three. “You keep your word?”
“If I have to, yes. Frankie made it clear, lucky number and all for the afterlife. You’re awfully morbid you know? Maybe take Frankie out on a date? You know the woman who happens to be your longtime girlfriend that you should marry already? Or skip the proposal and just have a fun night?”
“I’m not morbid. I prepare for the horrific and enjoy the normal. And I do take Frankie out, but we’re taking it slow. She’s been dealing with Hadley and trying to get her back into auditioning.”
“Can’t blame the poor girl after what she went through. You might have been shot, but she was there too Jasmine. She was threatened and she watched you die from your injuries. She’s afraid and dealing with heavy PTSD from it.”
“She needs to get back into auditioning again, use the publicity for her acting career. She has to make a living too.”
“She’s doing the convention circuit. Although, you and I both know that isn’t much safer, but she feels it is. You could just call her and say hi. That might go a long way in helping her recover.” I hear Frankie and Chase’s voice scream from my cell phone. Hitting the side button, I cut it off.
“You told me she’s okay, so we’re good. I’m going to head out, call me if you find anything else.” Turning my back to Victor, I head for the elevator.
“She doesn’t blame you, even if you feel responsible. Just call her, Jasmine.” I know Victor means business when he calls me Jasmine. Like my mother calling me out on my crap. The difference is, I listened to her. My friends who I consider family, sometimes. Not now though.
Hearing the elevator ding its arrival, I enter the box and push my floor. He stares at me as if imploring me to say something. Once again, words fail me and I simply let the doors close.
***
Getting out of the elevator on the twentieth floor, I make a right and head down a hallway I know very well. My mind is full of tangential thoughts as people smile at me on the way by. Simple nodding in response, the memory of my mother informing me a nod and a smirk was impolite rushes across my eyes. It’s always interesting to me how our brains remember things and when it decides to make itself known. Opening the door to the last office on the right, I see the chair behind the desk sits empty. Closing the door behind me, I walk inside and lie down on the leather couch. I swear I could fall asleep in the safe arms of this worn thing. My eyes, heavy with thought, close on their own accord.
“Contrary to popular opinion, most people prefer the chairs. You missed lunch and didn’t answer my calls so I assume you caught a case. Either that or we have something more serious to talk about,” Frankie lightheartedly says as I hear her close the door. So many words fight for dominance to exit my mouth first, but the logjam causes a low nonsensical sound to exit my mouth. I hear her walk towards me, her steps making a distinct sound as she drags the heel on the carpet. The leather chair releases a sigh as she sits across from me.
“You want to tell me what’s on your mind? Is it the case or something else?”
“Logjam.” I can hear her chuckle just a bit at my reference. She’s been here before.
“Pick one thing and just say it.” She quietly suggests. As if it were that simple. As if I could stick my hand into my brain and just pull out one idea, somehow manage to force my mouth to understand the process and speak. Opening my eyes, I look sideways at her, my ‘You have to be shitting me’ look. She simply leans back in the chair and I see the psychologist in her is about to take over.
“Don’t give me that look. You know damn well it is that simple. Just focus on one thing, take a breath and say it. If a schizophrenic off his meds can learn to do it, I’m sure you - with no ailments whatsoever - can as well.”
Looking up at the ceiling, I take a deep breath and exhale slowly to waste time truthfully. “How is Hadley doing and I don’t mean she’s doing as well as can be expected, I mean from the shrink side of you, how is she doing?”
“You know I can’t and won’t discuss that with you. Suffice it to say she’s doing okay given the circumstances.”
“Frankie, I’m serious.”
“If it were that important to you, you would have picked up the phone and called her. Yet, here you are on my couch grilling me about our friend. I know you’re having a difficult time dealing with what happened.”
I give her my sideways glance again. She simple holds her hand up to stop my attempt to argue.
“No, I’m not a fool. I live with you. I know you come to bed after me and wake up before our alarm. You spend hours in that locked dungeon of yours, but I haven’t pressed the issue. Not because it isn’t an issue, but because I’ve learned a long time ago to
let you talk when you’re ready. You both went through hell, but the rest of us did as well and frankly Vincent and I are not going to give either of you information on the other. This is not kindergarten or spy versus spy, you’re both adults so pick up the damn phone.”
Swinging my legs to the floor, I run my hands through my hair before rubbing my eyes. Anything to give my mind a moment to catch up to the verbal lashing I just got.
“It’s not that simple.”
“Jazz, we’ve been down this road and you looked like a pin cushion at the end of it. I don’t say you have to face everything that happened, but saying ‘hello’ and ‘how are you’ is not that difficult. Stop hiding behind your guilt and be an adult.”
“This how you talk to your patients?” I try to defuse the situation with some sarcasm. She stares at me, her eyes set, arms across her middle, body language speaking to my lack of respect. My mother would have smacked the back of my head or worse take away my coffee for my horrible idea, but Frankie just looks all boss like. No wait, more like a teacher when you are caught cheating off the kid next to you. When in doubt, you change the subject or blame the person you were cheating off of.
“What kind of person kills two people with planned precision, shows mercy when killing a child but takes another as a prisoner?” She shakes her head, rubs her eyes but I can see she’s accepting my change of topic. It’s what she does because she knows me or loves me or just tolerates me. The action speaks volumes to me regardless of the reason. She lets me be as long as I understand I eventually have to talk. It’s the whole compromise thing we work on a lot.
“You want a professional or personal answer to that?”
Melting Steele Page 2
