by Karine Green
"I have an evidence processing kit in the trunk of the patrol car," he said, pointing back toward the house. "I'll be right back." He offered an 'it-figures' look as he jogged back toward the house.
Kathy nodded, as she started making a video of the scene. These weren't just any boots, only one set of boots had that tread and logo mark in the center, and it was Rocky Police boots! Other people bought them too, but because of their distinctive look and light weight they were particularly fashionable amongst police, fire, and paramedics. Basically, with anyone who would show up at your door if you called 911. They were very expensive, but well worth the price. She had seen this very style print a hundred times at crime scenes, but usually it was after the fact, and not as a matter of serious evidence.
She took a close up photo of the prints and drag mark. It looked too small to be Jason's, and she didn't notice if he walked in this area or not. She couldn't remember if Mike's foot was the same size as Jason's. They seemed to be about the same size physically.
Then she remembered, Jason said he had twelve officers, and two of them were part timers to cover the shift gaps. What about fire fighters and paramedics? In a small town like this, fire and medics were probably cross-trained to save money. There couldn't be an abundance of these boots in a men's size six running around. What about the Blanc plantation? Wasn't it a prison? She wondered if the prison guards wore them, or if they wore the dress shoe version. The dress shoe version did not have the same tread.
She put her foot next to it to confirm her belief it was a men's size six. The print was a hair bigger than her foot, meaning the foot inside would be about the same size as hers. It also had wear patterns similar to hers, except whoever wore this boot dragged the balls of his feet more so than the heel. People walked differently, making the wear patterns on the souls of their shoes unique to the way they place their feet when they walk, or more to the point, drag their feet.
"What's that?" Jason said, huffing as he returned a few minutes later.
"What?"
He pointed behind her, toward the trees. "You know, maybe ten acres is a long walk."
Kathy smiled, as she turned to look at what he was pointing at. A purple patchwork quilt was hanging on a tree branch. Her smile dipped immediately. It was a beautiful hodgepodge of fabric types, mostly of varying shades of purple, with smatterings of other colors.
"Was that there before?" Jason asked, setting the evidence kit down.
Kathy shrugged, "We must have missed it." She doubted the words, even as she spoke them. The quilt was back into the woods only a few feet. It was fully visible to anyone approaching from the plantation. Her stomach tightened, had someone snuck up behind her while she was examining the footprint? She hadn't heard anything. She could have just been killed, right now.
She walked over to it looking for footprints. "I don't see any footprints, and no branches were disturbed, nothing is out of place. How did this get here?"
Jason shrugged. "It's your property."
The quilt was meticulously hand cut, and stitched. It looked like it was made yesterday, but the style was period for the Caine murder, and their murdered slave, Dark Lady. She had seen a photo of the display in Lauren's book. The original quilt was at the museum, but it couldn't be the same quilt. This looked new.
“Hey look, this white rose bud patch is the same as the red quilt from the museum. It also has the same description the movers gave of the woman’s dress.” She pointed at the quilt, looking at Jason, "Do you have an evidence bag big enough for it? I could go get something from the house. I bought some trash bags. We could tape one up."
"Let me see." The kit only had one large bag. Stupid! He and Mike had used it at the museum, and not replaced it. He looked up, preparing to be embarrassed, and look like a hick cop, when he noticed the quilt was gone. "Hey?" he said pointing.
Kathy looked over at the quilt, "It's gone! There was a quilt there, wasn't there!" she said, feeling odd asking the question. Of course it was. Why hadn't she snapped a photo! Probably because evidence didn't normally go missing like that!
Jason nodded. "Let's just process this scene, and then get out of here."
She nodded, regretting not snapping a photo of the quilt. They collected the evidence. Kathy also found a sharpening stone in some weeds. The killer had taken the time to sharpen the arrowheads, and even replaced some of them. "What did poor Milton do to warrant this level of planning to torture him to death? Do you think he forgot a deduction? An important one?"
He shrugged and made a face. "God, what could anyone do to warrant such planning? This is like a story from Hell, and what torture they might use there."
Kathy's thoughts drifted back to the quilts, and the video's warning about the red quilt. First a red quilt, now a purple one! What did they mean to the Underground Railroad? More specifically, what did they mean to the people of the Caine Plantation who ran the Underground Railroad?
They collected the evidence while the foot print casts dried. As they were packing up when her phone rang, and both of them nearly jumped out of their skin. Maybe, she didn't like the new ghost ring after all.
"Hello, Kathy Marconi," Kathy said, smiling. She always did when she answered the phone. There was a pause, and a confused look. "What food spread?"
Another pause
"Hold on Phil. Chief Rose is right here. Let me tell him what you just said." She looked up at Jason, who was smiling at her. She was glad he seemed more at ease with her. "Phil, the contractor, says he noticed the patrol car out front, and was wondering if you could help him, otherwise he can't bring the appliances in today. Says his men were offended by the white-dress-woman who was serving food, and wearing a slave collar. Anyway, they won't come back to the house."
"I can help. Where is he now?" he said, and then mouthed, "Sounds like the same description Jack and Ramón gave."
Kathy nodded. "He's parked at the kitchen entrance by the stable, didn't know his men weren't coming until they continued to drive passed the driveway. They called him to say they weren't staying, even if he did carry out his threat to fire them."
"We'll be right there, Phil," Jason, said leaning over to the phone.
She hung up, and they walked back to the house. Jason locked the evidence and casts in his patrol car. He paused and turned to Kathy.
"Well, let's go hear it then," he said, flipping his hand toward the house.
"Hear what?"
"Whatever ghost story he is going to tell us."
"I am more interested in whoever was in my house while I was gone. I hope he got a better description of her than bleeding-eyeball-lady. Who would break in and serve food?"
Jason shrugged. "It is bizarre."
“Do you think it could be the same person who killed Milton? Time to change the locks, historic or not. This afternoon."
Jason nodded.
They got the appliances in and hooked up before asking Phil about the food.
Kathy wasn't sure she wanted to ask him about it. What if it was another 'Dark Lady' rant? "Can you tell me who served you food?"
Phil nodded, "A black lady, wearing a long old style dress, but she looked beautiful, not weird, just grossly out of fashion. She served my crew chicken, mashed potatoes, green beans, and tea with cane juice in it. The men said it was some good food. If she wasn't so strange, three of them wanted to marry her. She was...creepy...and rude."
"Creepy?" Kathy asked. "What did her dress look like?" This was indeed going to be another story about Dark Lady, but Phil seemed to have a different experience with her than the poor movers did.
"White, with rose buds, but she was wearing this offensive slave collar. Most of my men are black, so they asked her about it the first day. They were told to 'pay it no mind.' But she used this tone of voice that suggested they dare not ask about it again. Something else that was odd. They said she actually served them. Not just setting the food out, but literally, serving it onto their plates like they were children. If she i
s your house lady, you have to let her go. She is beyond offensive."
"Offensive?" Kathy resisted the urge to ask if she turned into the hideous black fog Ramon saw.
"Yeah, I have some reports that the last kitchen renovation didn't go well when my men asked her about them. She said 'Mistress' approved these renovations, and not the others, so she had run them off. She served my crew lunch every day, one masterpiece meal after another. But, on the last day, Jacques, my foremen, insisted she remove that slave collar. She said 'Massa,' wouldn't allow it, and told him to get back to minding the field hands before he was whipped bloody. But again, she didn't sound like she was afraid. She sounded like she was ordering them back to work in the most politically incorrect way one can. She also said 'Mistress should be told the purple quilt is out, but soon the Angry One will cause the red quilt to be hung out to dry again.'"
Kathy was beyond stunned. "Phil, I don't have a maid. And I am sorry I didn't consider lunch for your crew, but I have no idea who that was." She pulled out her phone and texted Jason even though he was next to her. 'Purple Quilt! How did he know that?'
Jason looked at his phone. "Phil, we just found a purple quilt at a scene that had murder evidence in it. How could you know that?" He rested his hand on his gun belt, being careful to avoid the butt of his gun.
"Oh man! It was her wasn't it! I knew it!" Phil was nearly yelling. His eyes widened and he looked around the kitchen like something was going to jump out at him.
"Who," Jason asked, but he already knew what Phil was going to say.
"The Dark Lady! I am going to...uh...get back to my deliveries...Don't want to...uh...miss...my crew at the next job. Murder, Jesus!" Phil inched toward the door, muttering about eating ghost food, and suddenly looking ill.
"Phil. It must have been an eccentric neighbor. There are no ghosts," Kathy said, trying to remain calm, although she could understand why he was upset. There was no telling what was in that food.
He whined, and continued to inch toward the door, frowning, "She only let us in, because you said it was okay. What would she have done to us, if she disagreed with you?" Panic was rising in his voice. He spun on his heel and nearly ran to his truck, without getting Kathy's delivery signature, and drove away as quickly as the delivery truck would carry him. Any thoughts of disciplining his crew for running out on him were gone.
Both Jason and Kathy stared at him as the taillights turned out onto the road.
"What do you think he knows?" Kathy asked.
"Nothing, he was here working, and prior to that he was loading the truck at Turners' Appliances." Jason fanned his arms at the finished kitchen, and then point to the invoice on the counter. "He simply didn't have time to put that quilt out. Someone told him though. I can get him to write a statement when he calms down and realizes the ghost story is nonsense."
"Who do you suppose was talking to him?"
"Who knows?" He shrugged, "Can I drive you to get new locks, after we turn in the new evidence?"
"Yup, and if you could show me where the grocery store is that would be great. Nothing like refrigeration." She opened the fridge door, and shut it.
"It would be my pleasure, Mistress."
She paused. "This isn't a flip house is it? No one will by it. This is my home now, isn't it?"
"Appears so," he said looking around. "Could be worse. It could be a bayou cabin."
Kathy smiled, "No, it couldn't be better."
Where is the Red Quilt
Jason made copies of some reports, and dug out a blank witness statement form. Milton's wife was at the station to give her statement.
He had picked up Kathy earlier, and then went to get Mrs. Lawrence at her mother's house. He had been lucky this morning, Mike had an appointment with his wife for an ultra sound. That meant roll call had been free of chatter about how he should ask Kathy out, and things like, 'oh, by the way here is a tray of Starbucks to drive fifteen miles out of your way to deliver.'
He thought Kathy was funny and beautiful, and he was interested in her, but there was something with the Randy Bell thing back in New York that she was holding back on. He had enough crazy...bitches... in his life. He hated to think like that, but it was truth. As the Chief he seemed to get trapped in one knee deep bog of need after another when it came to romance.
Ellen Lawrence sat in his office with Ms. Marconi. He closed the door as he entered, and then closed the blinds to the outer office for privacy.
Ellen glared at him. "I can't believe this is happening. You surely don't suspect me. I am lucky to bench press seventy-five pounds...one time. There was no way I could drag and tie up Mil," her voice began cracking with emotion, "He's at least a hundred and seventy pounds." She stopped talking and clasped her hands in her lap. The strain on her face suggested it was all she could do to keep from bursting into tears.
Kathy smiled at Ellen, "Of course not, but we still need to talk to you."
She drew in a deep breath, ignoring Kathy, "Jason, I really don't know why I am here."
"You refused to talk to us, so I thought you might be more comfortable without your mother hanging over you, telling you what to say," he said, leaning on his desk.
He had explained to Kathy earlier that one of the advantages of being the Chief of Police in the small town he grew up in was that he knew who needed to talk at the station, and who could talk at home. Judging from the look Ellen just contorted her face into, he was right.
She burst into tears. She had had enough, of everything in her life. "Everyone abuses or controls me, except Milton. This is so not fair! You have to find the sick bastard who did this!" She was nearly screaming in his face. It was like all of her pent up emotions were coming out at once.
"We understand this is extremely difficult. We have a few questions for you. Do you think you can help us," Kathy asked kindly, with patience in her voice.
Silent, bitter tears ran down Ellen's face. She nodded, yes.
"We have found no one who thinks ill of Milton...," Kathy started.
"Mil, everyone calls him Mil," she said, through her tears.
He handed her a box of tissues. She took the entire box and put it in her lap. He glanced at Kathy, eager to see how she handled this.
Kathy continued, "No one thinks ill of him, but we don't have access to everyone he knew like you did. Can you think of someone who may have been angry with him? A client? Anyone?"
She shook her head, no, and wiped tears away. "He was obsessed with this video he made when he was a kid. He even wrote a letter about it and hand delivered it to Lauren. She was supposed to give it to you when you closed on the house. Why didn't you call him?"
Kathy shook her head. "Lauren just gave me the closing papers. No personal notes. I don't know anyone from here. I'll go through the papers again, but I am sure there was no note in the stack. It was just a packet of official real estate papers-documents."
He stifled a smirk. It would be inappropriate, and send the wrong message. He knew Lauren well, she was one of the bitches he thought of earlier. Except he had never dated her. Lauren just moved to the top of the list of people he wanted to talk to today.
Then he remembered something Sandy the Curator said. Lauren and her had gone to New Orleans to see what they could salvage of the tour season. Regardless, the main tour companies needed to be aware of what happened, because angry reviews would cause the towns' sites to be removed from the tours. After all, they still had Rainier Riverboat, the town fish fry, alligator wrestling, and some of the smaller plantations.
Ellen wiped her face with a tissues, and nodded, "He kept saying there was a homicide detective he was supposed to talk to. He was supposed to tell her the next quilt is red."
"What does that mean?" she asked, with more than a bit of hope in her voice.
Ellen shrugged and nodded. "He didn't know. I was hoping you could tell me." She pulled out some more tissue.
"Do you have the original video he took?" Kathy sounded deflated. He knew she
was hoping to find out what that quilt had specifically meant to the Caine slaves who were Marissa's agents.
She nodded and pulled it out of her purse. Kathy took it and set it on his desk. It was an old compact cassette. They would probably have to send it to the lab to view it. Unless someone still happened to have the equipment around. Perhaps Sergeant Saline would have something.
"Someone told me it was an angry spirit. Do you think that is possible?"
"Angry spirit? Who would say such a thing?" Kathy looked scandalized, like she was going to find this person cuss him out!
He stifled a smile at Kathy, she was a rescuer, not a bog of need. He refocused, scolding himself, no…she was a terrible distraction.
Ellen wiped her face. "One of the neighbors said he saw you looking at a red quilt on my deck."
"Yes, we assumed it was drying there?" Jason said, struggling not to close his eyes in anticipation of what was coming next. And here it comes...again!
She shook her head no. "I don't have a red quilt."
Kathy pulled out her phone showing them to him as she flipped through the photos she took. The little girl's comforter was on her bed. Milton's was under his body on the bed. She flipped to the one on the deck. There was no quilt in the photo. It was just a photo of the deck railing. She handed Jason her phone.
He stared at it, and then sat down at his desk, logging into his database with the Sheriff's department's crime scene processing unit. "The photos should be available." They came up slowly. He turned the screen so Ellen couldn't see them.
