by catt dahman
“Glasses have been wiped. No prints. Bottle the same. Seems odd that even Jennie’s prints would be gone.”
Vivian sniffed the glasses. “Straight? Yuk. Was Jennie a party girl?”
“The principal says she wasn’t, but during the last few weeks, he has wondered. He caught her with an empty pint of vodka in her locker. She was suspended two days.” Sheriff Briggs narrowed his eyes.
They decided someone came over and interrupted Jennie’s chores. The TV was turned off, so maybe the person sat with her, drank vodka, and talked. Vivian wondered who it might have been that wanted to drink with Jennie. It wasn’t a party, and it didn’t look intimate. What made two people get drunk on vodka?
Sheriff Briggs led them to the bathroom, which was off a short hallway. The pictures were finished, and only the crime scene was left to look over before the girl was removed. The coroner walked out of the bathroom so they could see better. It wasn’t a very large area.
Vivian gasped in horror.
Jennie Dome was lying in the bathtub in dark red water. Her thin wrists were sliced, cross wise, and a few marks were deep, but most looked like hesitation wounds. She had one arm draped outside of the tub.
Vivian said, “There sure are a lot of deep cuts. They would hurt like hell, so why would she have to cut so many times?”
“I don’t know.” Fin admitted. “Suicides usually are naked, but she is in her underwear. Strange.” He pointed out she was in her unmatched pink bra and dark panties. Her bra might have once been white for all they knew.
Her head was thrown backwards, so they could see she had a pretty face. Her throat was slashed deeply.
“COD her throat wound?”
“Coroner thinks so.”
Vivian mimicked the wound on her own throat, pretending to hold a knife. Her elbow was crooked. Then her wrist couldn’t turn the right way. Next, her arm was half over her head. She couldn’t get the angle right if she were cutting, but another person facing her could get it right easily.
Fin turned and faced her, drawing a line with a pretend knife. The angle fit perfectly. They nodded. That told them a lot.
Looking around, Vivian found some vomit by the toilet, but the toilet had been flushed. She guessed that maybe Jennie got sick and came in to throw up. The coroner’s exam might show that. She would let the evidence lead her and it was saying that Jennie came in here to be sick. It was saying Jennie wasn’t alone, and that she didn’t cut her own throat.
“Where’s the murder weapon?”
Sheriff Briggs winked and said, “No prints on it, and it’s on the kitchen counter with a blood pool under it. Great big butcher knife.”
Vivian frowned. The scene was that drunk Jennie came in and took her clothes off, threw them in a corner, ran water in the tub, climbed in, and then cut her own throat and her wrists. Then, she somehow got the knife to the counter without leaving blood drops or pools or without leaving water from the tub behind, wiped off her own finger prints, went back to the tub, got in, and died. The scene was staged badly. “Someone planned this but had no idea how to plan it correctly. It’s organized but poorly.”
“It’s a murder. She couldn’t have cut her throat that way. And why would she if she went for her wrists? It’s over kill. Literally.” Fin still looked around. “Her wrists were secondary.”
Sheriff Briggs added, “They cleaned up prints and focused on that and failed to make it look like a suicide. No note. No reason. Sloppy work. She drank the vodka with someone, and that person flushed the toilet, got her into the tub, and killed her.” He already had someone who checked the faucets and toilet lever for prints. They were waiting for the results and then had to match them.
Vivian called them back from the bathroom to the living room. She pointed to the glasses. “They’re wiped, but that one has smudged lipstick. Jennie wasn’t wearing lipstick.”
“A female? Hmmm,” the sheriff muttered.
Vivian went to Jennie’s room. She could always get a feel for a person by looking at a bedroom. The bed was neatly made with a cheap spread, the curtains were drawn and the blinds closed, and a lamp was on. It cast very little light, but Vivian wanted to see the room as Jennie saw it.
There were a lot of stuffed animals. Comfort items. On the desk next to the lamp was a half-finished essay. Vivian read it and shook her head; it rambled and showed no concentration. There was no diary. There were a few pictures of Jennie with friends the past school year. She was pretty and vivacious in those.
“What made you so upset and angry, Jennie? Who wanted you dead? And what did you have in common with those murdered boys?” Vivian asked softly.
The front of the closet was almost bare, but what clothing there was seemed to be large, non-descript, and plain. Baggy jeans. Big, faded tee shirts. At the back were tight jeans and fashionable blouses that would have been lower cut and fit tighter. They were in pretty colors compared to the clothes Jennie had worn lately. It looked as if she had raided her father’s closet for clothing that would bag and sag on her.
Vivian went back and found a calendar. A few items were written in on particular dates.
Cheerleader tryouts- ha!
Church picnic
Test in history
Class pictures
English essay due
Math quiz
Finish reading the book/ test next week sometime
Test day
That was the last school year. For the summer were church events, a few social events, and a beauty appointment right before school started.
Then with her new school calendar, there are notes about tests and school work. In late September and October, there wasn’t one mention of school work. Yesterday, there was nothing. Vivian went back to when the last real entry was.
Test: history
Senior Party!!!!!
Test biology: worms-gross
That was all. Vivian said aloud, “She marked upcoming tests and a party. Then nothing. Fin, she has a bunch of school work in that drawer. See if you can find a test in biology for September, mid-month. I want the grade she made then, and next go back a week and find another grade.”
“You have me curious, Agent McLendon,” the sheriff admitted.
“I have this theory that I don’t like one bit. I want to be wrong, but then I also want a break in this case.”
Fin called out, “Test in biology a week and a half before was 100. Looks like other grades were 95, 100, and 97. Then her grade is…wow. She made a 35.”
“History test? Before that date.”
He dug and searched. “All As. Math and English. After that date…F, D, F, and a D.”
Vivian was digging through everything and asked, “Do you see last year’s yearbook?” She looked all over and then dropped to her knees and pulled a year book from under the bed. It was where she expected it to be. Girls did that: read at night and day dreamed or giggled, and then shoved it away. Jennie hadn't been wealthy, but she had a yearbook; some things mattered to teen girls.
Fin sat on the bed beside her, and the sheriff watched with curious eyes.
Vivian found Jennie’s picture. It was covered by an X. Her last name was marked out and in its place was written: Do me.
“Not Dome but do me. Her name. See here? That X ?I think people called her that. No one came in here and took this out and marked her out; she did that to her own picture and wrote that as well. She was admitting that was who she saw herself as...like others saw her. She was facing some hard truth, in her own mind. This refers to her being easy or such,” Vivian said, “Jennie, do me. Not Dome.”
“That had to hurt,” Sheriff Briggs added.
“I would imagine so. Changing a name and using it as a cruel jest at her was a constant She couldn't just drop her last name.”
“In class, each time a teacher called her name, I bet there were giggles and whispers about her new moniker,” Fin said.
Vivian turned and found Jerry’s picture. There was an X there, too,
inked so hard and heavy that the paper had almost been torn. Vivian turned the pages, beginning with the first of the class. She saw Xs over several pictures, all of them football players, except for Jerry and six girls. Vivian tried to put it all together.
“The players, their girlfriends...maybe they bullied Jennie?”
“Now, that looks like she killed herself and killed those boys, too. For whatever reason. I'm just playing devil's advocate.”
“Then why leave the last boy Steve, alive? Why not take the others? The girls? And why are they marked? Why did she hate them? I accept maybe they were bullies but was no one else? I don't see other people marked out. Usually a few others will follow and be as big of bullies as the rest.”
“They called her names. She killed a few and then gave up, got drunk, and killed herself. Case closed, some would say.” The sheriff wanted the idea fully disproved so they could move on.
Fin stood and replied, “Yes, it may look that way and fit a few things, but we know she didn’t kill herself. And still the question remains, why? ”
“They made fun of her and gave her a bad nickname. So she got even and gave up. Agents, it fits near perfect. If the kids admit they teased her, then we have it all and can close this. I mean, I know better, but the townspeople will say we should. The mayor will.”
“I disagree, Sheriff, but we can hand all this over to Virgil with the medical findings and then decide. I think something terrible happened to her, and I think it is related to this party. I want to know who was there, where it was, and what went on.”
“Hmm,” was all the sheriff said. He was worried. If everything stopped, the townspeople would eagerly blame Jennie Dome, whether or not the evidence fit.
Vivian stood, and she had the look in her eyes that Fin knew. She was like a dog with a bone and was not satisfied. He agreed with her but was amused to see her so viciously tackling the case. “Ready to find the others?”
“Yes. And Jennie is dead. She can’t speak for herself, but I intend to find out exactly what the kids are hiding, and I will speak for Jennie Dome.”
Chapter Seven: Virgil, Marcus, and Nick
Deputy Cannon motioned Virgil, Marcus, and Nick to the house after they parked and got out, looking around curiously. “We had to transport both parents to the hospital. Father has heart problems and was short of breath, and the mother passed out cold. Her blood pressure sky-rocketed.”
“I can imagine. What do we know about Jerry Barber’s death?”
Deputy Cannon grinned and replied, “I heard that the less I tell you, the better you do with a case, Agent McLendon.”
“I guess he knows the word on you,” Marcus said, swiping Virgil on the shoulder and laughing.
'Stop your grab-assing and laughing, and find out what's going on here, Cannon, ya idiot,” someone yelled from the crowd.
Deputy Cannon called another deputy over and said, “We’re going in. Tell those looky-loos over there glaring at us and shouting that they don’t know even half the hell we go through with cases. When they think they can do my job better than I do, then they need to come over and damned well do it for me.” He glared back at a few townspeople who watched them with disapproval.
He led them into the house. “Jerry was predictable, and that may have been the downfall here. Every night, he went in to shower before bed, and his parents said goodnight. Last night was the same.”
“Did he talk about the recent murders?” Marcus asked.
“Yes, his folks said he was nervous and asked them what they thought and said he was sort of afraid. They asked if he wanted to talk about it, and he declined. They said he was in fair spirits when they told him goodnight.”
At the door to the roomy bathroom, Deputy Cannon introduced them to the Medical Examiner.
“Good Lord,” Nick blurted.
Jerry’s face was bloated and swollen, and his neck was puffy. He had voided his bowels and vomited and lay in the nauseating mixture. The ME swept an arm across the room and said, “Anaphylaxis. Wasp venom. The way I see it he was stung, panicked, but didn’t call for help. He may not have realized what was happening at first, but as a person knows, the pain is shocking, and if he doesn’t see the little bastards….”
“Wasps?” Marcus used a boot to poke at a dead insect lying on the floor. He hated bugs, and these fellows looked cruel and malicious.
“It took us a while before we could get into the house or bathroom. We had to have a guy come out and use a bug bomb to kill the devils,” Deputy Cannon explained.
“Jerry showered and then dried off, it looks like. Then he must have been stung. Still strange….”
“Agent McLendon, his father said Jerry had a severe allergy to wasp and bee venom. He was always very careful around them.”
“Thank you, Deputy Cannon,” Virgil said. “He reacted, then, to the venom?”
“Yeah,” the ME told them, “he got violently ill, and then almost immediately, he couldn’t breathe and was hit with cardiac arrest. It was very sudden. He died violently, and it was a long few minutes for him, but it was relatively quick. Pending my examination and the coroner’s report, sir.”
“Of course.”
Marcus side stepped the boy’s body and looked over the room from the other side. A good detective always viewed an area as a victim had. Jerry got out of the shower, dried off, and was stung. Where had they come from? He looked around the room. Behind him was a window, open by a few inches. Had they flown in? That made no sense because the deputy implied there were a lot of the creatures. “A lot of them, would you say?”
“There were several dozen. Maybe hundreds,” Cannon responded.
Marcus leaned over the tub where the shower curtain was crumpled in a blue pool. Pulling it loose, Marcus ducked quickly as several wasps flew out. A dozen spun around as the men slapped at them. The wasps angrily swooped and dove for a sting.
“Damnit,” said Nick as he threw a towel and brought two down.
Virgil used a folder and slapped at other wasps until they were dead or had flown away. “Great, Marcus.”
“Hey, I didn’t know for sure, and I sure didn’t know they were alive.” He crunched one under his boot as he looked at the grey nest in the bottom of the tub. From the window, it would be simple to throw the nest inside and have it hit the tub. From there, the insects flew out and did their damage, killing Jerry Barber.
Nick asked, “He was found this morning like this?”
“Yes. His mother found him. They assumed he went on to bed last night and didn’t hear anything. His mother feels a lot of guilt because of that.”
“Accident? Maybe the wind blew it in?”
“Was there that much wind last night? I suggest checking outside the window for prints,” said Virgil who was waiting until the deputy ran out to do that.
Nick led the way to Jerry’s room: typical of a teenager’s room with a few soda cans lined up, dirty clothing on the floor, and pictures of girls on the wall. “He didn’t play football, but he was close to those players.”
“Right,” Marcus agreed, “who is this? Jean. This is his girlfriend, I guess. Lots of pictures of them at dances. Cute couple.”
They went through the room carefully, but nothing stood out to them. In any other setting, it would seem an accident of some sort, but it wasn’t. Virgil stepped out and took phone calls, while Nick and Marcus finished up.
“These boys made someone awful mad. What could they have done to deserve deaths like these? It makes no sense,” Marcus said.
“Who knows. Sometimes their way of thinking never makes any sense. To the killer, this makes perfect sense to him. I think Jerry knew he was on the list. His mentioning his concern to his parents is telling for a teen,” Nick said. “It isn’t the whole football team, I bet, but a few boys, some of whom play ball. So it was this group of friends who made someone angry.”
“I really want to talk to the girlfriend,” Marcus added as Virgil returned.
“That’s se
t up, and we have another interview with another boy and few others, but meanwhile, I had a call from the sheriff, and he thinks the case is solved except for a knife in the wrong place. Vivian called, and she says the case is not solved at all, but she has some great leads on the case and a theory of some sorts.”
“Wow. Go, Vivian.” Marcus grinned.
“This should be interesting,” Virgil said.
They pulled out of the driveway as the deputy supervised an investigation outside of the bathroom window; the townspeople still glared.
Chapter Eight: Behind closed doors (an interlude)
Deputy Cannon was a truly good officer of the law, and he always tried to do the right things, but his brother, Ernie, was the black sheep, and was mostly ignored by the family, even though they lived in the same town. That was how it was in some families;some members did better than the others. It wasn't that Ernie Cannon was thought of poorly by his family, it was just that he always seemed to be a little sour and tense.
Ernie's wife was the one who had yelled at Deputy Cannon to get busy and stop laughing when he and the others were outside of Jerry Barber's home. It wasn't as if she really cared if the men laughed, but she was irritable and tired of the changes in town, the fear, and the outsiders. Her name was Delia.
Delia worked at the diner and was a lackluster waitress with little sense of humor or extra energy, but she was dependable and always showed up for her shifts, and she took extra ones as needed. If someone needed time off, Delia was always up for a double. She always needed the money for one of two reasons: either Ernie needed cash to buy marijuana or she had to buy bandages.
The first monetary need was for something he shared, at least if she really wanted to relax, but more often than not, she fell into bed and asleep easily after a ten hour or a twenty hour work day.
