by Michael Omer
The rug covered most of the floor, which was definitely in the room’s favor, as the flooring was gray and bland. There was a small dresser just next to the door, and it held a framed picture of Frank and a woman standing by what seemed to be a city park. The woman stared at the camera vacantly; Frank hugged her, smiling. They seemed similar to each other somehow. Brother and sister? Again Hannah thought of her uncle, then pushed the thought away.
“You should check the Roomba, Matt,” Bernard said, pointing at a small, round cleaning robot in its docking station. He was right, Hannah knew. Sometimes cleaning robots started working after the murder was committed, vacuuming up important evidence. Matt nodded, then went back to taking a photograph of the victim’s chest.
Hannah entered the apartment, examining the layout . The living room was connected to a small kitchen, and a hallway led out of the living room, probably leading to the bedroom and bathroom. She walked closer to the body, noticing some tears in the bathrobe.
“Sorry, coming through,” a familiar voice said from the doorway. Hannah turned to see Annie Turner striding inside. Annie was the city’s medical examiner, though Hannah always thought she looked more like a librarian, with her square glasses and her curly red hair. Her eyebrows were a bit high above her eyes, giving her an appearance of constant surprise.
“Hello, Annie,” Matt said. His voice was sharp, cold.
No one knew why Matt and Annie were so hostile toward each other lately. The last couple of weeks, being around the two of them was like being at a family dinner just after Mom found out Dad had bought a new sports car with their savings.
“Matt,” Annie replied shortly. “Are you done here?”
“I’m sorry that I’m such an inconvenience,” he said. “I wouldn’t want to stand in the way of your thermometer.” He got up and strode away down the apartment’s hallway.
Violet shook her head, exasperated, her eyes still on her writing pad. “Hey, Annie,” she said.
“Hey, Violet,” Annie said, the hostility melting away from her face. She turned and smiled at Hannah, then knelt by the body. “Just give me a moment.”
Hannah nodded. Bernard joined her by the body. They looked down at Annie inspecting the dead man.
“Well,” Annie said. “No rigor mortis at all. Can you give me a hand, Detective? I want to roll the body for a second.”
Bernard knelt by her, and they carefully lifted the right side of the body. Annie moved aside the bathrobe, exposing Frank’s back.
“Some very faint signs of lividity,” Annie said, pointing at some purplish marks on the skin. They carefully returned the body to its original position.
“I need to take his temperature, for protocol,” Annie said, “but he’s warm. This man died between thirty and ninety minutes ago. That would mean…” She glanced at her watch. “Between eleven-forty and twelve-forty. But I got the call from the paramedics at twelve-forty, and according to them he’d been dead for at least ten minutes, so… eleven-forty to twelve-thirty.”
“Okay. Thanks, Annie,” Bernard said.
“No problem, Detective. I’ll take the temperature and fill out some paperwork before the body is removed.”
“Let’s check out the rest of the apartment,” Bernard told Hannah.
Hannah started with the bathroom. It was moderately clean. There was a laundry basket with a pile of clothing. She carefully opened the medicine cabinet. Medicine cabinets could be a treasure trove of mundane surprises: antidepressants, Viagra, small illegal drug stashes. Not in this case. She couldn’t have imagined a more boring medicine cabinet if she’d tried. Some mild painkillers, Band-Aids, gauze. She closed it.
Bernard called to her from the bedroom. She joined him and they both stared at the open drawer in the dresser.
“So he liked to party,” Hannah said.
“Yup.”
The drawer was full of dildos, vibrators, various sexy outfits for men and women, several pairs of handcuffs, some jars of what Hannah assumed were different types of lubricants, some Fleshlights and various other things. Without touching anything, she could count at least eight packs of condoms. Either Frank Gulliepe had been a very optimistic man, or he had been getting plenty of action.
Matt walked in. “Will you two stop opening drawers and cabinets?” he asked, irritated. “I’ll let you know when you can start poking around.”
“Okay,” Bernard said in a humble voice. He gestured to the brown wallet lying on the dresser. “Can we touch the wallet?”
“Yeah, I’m done with it,” Matt answered.
Bernard opened the wallet. It had two hundred and fifty dollars in it. The credit card, driver’s license and a multitude of membership cards were all still inside; nothing seemed to be missing.
“Let’s talk to his friend.” Hannah suggested.
Hannah knocked on the door of apartment fourteen. It was opened quickly by a pale, black-haired young woman wearing a long blue shirt that reached the middle of her thighs. Pants did not make an appearance. Though it was the middle of the night, she looked wide awake—in fact, she had obviously put on some make up and done her hair.
“Hello,” Hannah said. “I’m Detective Shor, and this is my partner, Detective Gladwin.” Bernard, struck by the long bare legs in front of him, had temporarily forgotten the existence of words, so Hannah pushed on. “I understand that Jerome Piet is here?”
“Oh, yes. Poor man. He’s in absolute shock.” She moved aside and motioned for both detectives to come in. “My name is Petal,” she said as she led them inside.
“I’m sorry?” Hannah said.
“Petal. That’s P-E-T—”
“Petal? Like the petal of a flower?”
“That’s right!” Petal smiled happily at her. Hannah fought the urge to roll her eyes.
They all walked into Petal’s kitchen, where Jerome Piet sat at a small table, nursing a large steaming mug. He was a bit short, with a small orange brush-like mustache adorning his smooth, pink face. His hair, like his mustache, was orange—but it was a sickly orange, like the color of an old, wrinkly carrot. He was, in Hannah’s opinion, an incredibly unattractive man.
“These are detectives,” Petal said. “From the police.” She seemed to feel the need to clarify.
“Detective Gladwin,” Bernard said. “This is Detective Shor.”
“Detectives, do you want some coffee?” Petal asked.
Hannah decided she liked Petal. It wasn’t the woman’s fault her name was ridiculous; that was her parents’ doing. “Yes please.” Hannah smiled at her.
“Thanks,” Bernard said, and sat down next to Jerome, turning the chair a bit so his back faced the kitchen counter.
Hannah figured he was probably trying to stay focused, as Petal bustled around—preparing cups, bending to get the coffee jar from a low drawer, the hem of her shirt rising up.
“Can you please tell us exactly what happened?” Bernard asked.
Hannah pulled out a notebook and a pen. Bernard didn’t bother.
“Well,” Jerome said in a wavering voice, “Frank and I just came back from a night out. We went drinking. I just broke up with my girlfriend, and Frank was trying to cheer me up. He was a very good friend…” Jerome’s voice choked, and he took a sip from his mug. “Anyway, we came back, drank another shot of tequila, and Frank called a taxi for me. I wasn’t in any shape to drive home. After a few minutes, the taxi called to say that he was downstairs, so I said goodbye and left.”
Hannah jotted down some notes. “Do you know which taxi service Frank called?” she asked.
“No.”
“Okay.”
“Anyway, I was three floors down when I heard some yelling from upstairs. It sounded like Frank, so I turned around and started running back up. Then I heard him scream, and then there was silence. I had a very bad feeling. You know how you can sometimes tell when something really terrible has happened?”
Hannah nodded. She also knew that, nine times out of ten, that bad fee
ling was completely unfounded. It didn’t matter. People remembered the one time they were right, and walked around convinced they had a sixth sense
“So I ran faster. Then someone came fast down the stairs. He nearly ran into me!”
Both detectives tensed. If Jerome wasn’t the killer himself, then this was probably their murderer.
“Did you get a good look at him?” Bernard asked.
“No. The stairway was dark. He was a man. About my height. I didn’t catch anything else.”
Bernard sighed. “Go on.”
“Well, I got to the top. The door to Frank’s apartment was open, and he… he…”
“Was Frank still alive when you saw him?” Hannah asked
“I… I don’t think so. He seemed dead, and there was a lot of blood…”
“Do you remember if Frank locked the door when you left his apartment?” Bernard asked.
“Yeah, sure. He walked me to the door, and then closed it and locked it.”
“What did you do when you saw Frank?”
“I uh… I screamed.”
“I woke up when I heard Jerome scream,” Petal said, putting two mugs on the table in front of the detectives.
“You didn’t hear anything before that?” Bernard asked her.
“I thought I heard a crash. And maybe some yelling.”
“And you didn’t do anything about it?” Hannah asked
“Well… Frank’s place was sometimes a bit loud at night, you know?”
Hannah nodded. When using the various toys in his drawer, staying silent probably wouldn’t be on the participants’ mind.
“So I peeked out and I saw Jerome in the hallway. And I asked what was going on. And then I invited him in here. I think he was relieved he could sit here and calm down.”
“I’m sure he was,” Hannah said.
“What was the time when Frank was stabbed?” Bernard asked
Jerome hesitated. “I don’t know exactly.”
“It was twenty-five past midnight when I woke up,” Petal said. “I checked the phone.”
“What time did you two go out?” Bernard asked Jerome.
“Around nine-thirty.”
“Where did you go?”
“Leroy’s, down the street.”
Hannah and Bernard exchanged glances. They both knew Leroy’s. Patrol officers needed to break up a fight there every other night.
Hannah glanced at her watch. It was one-forty. She wondered if there was anyone still there.
“And what time did you return here with Frank?” Hannah asked.
“About twenty minutes before I left,” Jerome said. “So I’d guess… around midnight?”
“Was Frank supposed to meet someone tonight?” Bernard asked. Hannah took a sip from her coffee and let him take the lead
“He wasn’t,” Jerome answered. “He was getting ready to shower and go to bed when I left.”
“Any idea what he did before you two went drinking?”
“No. Wait, hang on. Yeah. He mentioned visiting his sister in the autistic center.”
“His sister is autistic?”
“Yeah. There’s a care center nearby. That’s why Frank got this apartment, to be in walking distance of his sister.”
“And he went there yesterday?”
“Yeah. Yesterday afternoon.”
“Does Frank have any enemies?”
Jerome hesitated again. “No.”
“Are you sure? Anything at all could be of use.”
“I don’t know of any specific enemies.”
“Anyone he owed money to?”
“Not to my knowledge.”
“Did he use drugs?” Hannah intervened.
“Probably, some. Who doesn’t, right?”
Hannah stared at him, narrowing her eyes. “Do you do drugs?”
“What? No, of course not.”
“You just said that everyone does drugs.”
“I didn’t.” Jerome looked panicky.
“You implied it.”
“I don’t do—”
“Did you do drugs this evening?”
“No!”
“Did Frank do drugs this evening? Did he offer you drugs?”
“No!”
“I don’t care about drug violations, Jerome,” Hannah emphasized. “I just want to catch Frank’s killer.”
“I didn’t do any drugs this evening.” Jerome said, his face pale.
“Any threats he received lately?” Bernard asked, stepping in. “Was he behaving strangely recently?”
“No.”
“Is there anything else we should know?” Bernard asked
“Not that I can think of,” Jerome said.
“Anything you’d like to add, miss?” Hannah asked
“Oh, I didn’t know Frank well,” Petal said. “He seemed nice. It sometimes got a bit noisy over there, but I didn’t really mind. Everyone’s entitled to some fun, right?”
“Absolutely,” Hannah said.
Both detectives stood up.
“I’ll uh… I’ll stay here a bit longer. To calm down,” Jerome said.
“If you think of anything else, please call us,” Hannah said and gave them both a card. “And Jerome… don’t leave town without calling us first. I’ll need your address and a phone number to reach you.”
Jerome gave her his details and she jotted them down.
Then she and Bernard left Petal’s apartment and returned to the crime scene.
Annie was packing her stuff, while Matt, his jaw clenched in anger, covered the dead man’s hands with plastic bags.
“Anything else, Doc?” Bernard asked.
“The temperature tells me nothing because the body hardly had time to cool,” Annie said. “The cause of death is probably a stab to the heart.”
“How can you tell?” Hannah asked.
“Well, for one, this is where the heart is,” Annie said, pointing at a stab wound on the victim’s chest. “But see those two wounds here? Note that they have almost no blood trickling out of them.”
“Yeah,” Hannah said, kneeling to take a closer look. “So he was dead when those two wounds were made.”
“That’s right,” Annie said. “That probably means he died instantly, while the attacker was still stabbing him, which would indicate that he didn’t die of blood loss. A stab to the heart is the most likely scenario.”
“I see.”
“My assistants are on their way to collect the body. You’ll have a full report tomorrow afternoon.”
“Thanks, Annie,” Bernard said.
She smiled at them both, threw a contemptuous look at Matt and walked out.
“Matt, did you find the guy’s phone?” Hannah asked.
“Yeah, but it’s locked.”
“He called a taxi service,” she said. “I want to find out which one.”
“Sorry, Detective Shor. Once I unlock it, I’ll let you know.”
“How long do you think it’ll take you to process this crime scene?” Hannah asked.
Matt thought about it for a moment. “About four more hours,” he said.
“Can you process the phone first, then?” she said. “I want to take it to the station.”
Matt frowned. “I don’t know…” he said.
“I want to catch the taxi driver before he ends his shift, Matt,” Hannah said.
He sighed. “Fine,” he grumbled, and went to try and get prints off the phone.
“What do you think?” Hannah asked Bernard.
“Let’s suppose Jerome was telling the truth,” Bernard said.
“Okay,” Hannah said. It was a good start—not necessarily true, but they had to start somewhere.
“Frank is dead, wrapped in a bathrobe, naked underneath,” Bernard said. “Jerome said he was getting ready to shower, so I guess he took his clothes off. Why did he put on his bathrobe?”
Hannah thought about it. “There are no marks of forced entry, and according to Jerome the door was locked.” she said.
“He went to open the door.”
“Yeah,” Bernard said. “Which probably means that whoever was at the door was someone Frank knew. A friend, or a neighbor—”
“Not necessarily,” Hannah interrupted him. “Whoever it was knocked on the door immediately after Jerome left, right? Frank probably assumed Jerome forgot something. After all, who else could it be at this time of night?”
“Right,” Bernard said, smiling at her in appreciation.
Hannah returned the smile.
“It wasn’t a coincidence that whoever it was knocked on the door after Jerome left,” Bernard said.
“No,” Hannah said. “Maybe he was hiding in the hallway, waiting for Frank to get back. When he saw Jerome, he decided to wait until Jerome left.”
“Or maybe he followed Frank and Jerome back to the apartment,” Bernard suggested.
“Maybe.”
They both stared at the dead man on the floor.
“Well, it’s a theory,” Bernard said.
Matt approached them, holding the phone in his hand. “I got some prints off it,” he said. “You can take it. But you’ll have to sign for it first. Let me get the form.”
“We think the killer might have hidden somewhere in the hallway outside the apartment,” Bernard said as Matt filled out the paperwork.
“Okay,” Matt said. “We’ll check it out.”
The detectives took one last look at the apartment and left.
Chapter Three
Fizz couldn’t believe his luck. He’d been flirting with Kyla for nine months now. Nine months! That was enough time to make a baby, if one was inclined to do so.
Up until tonight, the waitress had constantly rebuffed him, which had hurt his feelings. What woman wouldn’t want a piece of The Fizz, after all? He was beginning to wonder if she just didn’t swing that way, though he had once seen her leave the bar with a customer. A customer! From the street! While Fizz was clearly willing to jump in the sack whenever.
