by L. M. Fortin
Jeremy looked relieved. "So, what does everyone think? Do we continue on with Skinner Days and the pageant or do we cancel the event?"
The room was silent. Jorna spoke up. "You all know what I think. Unless something else happens, we should move forward as planned. We've spent about 70% of the total budget on our marketing and equipment rental fees. Those are sunk costs--whether the show goes on or not, that money is gone. The only real costs we have left to pay for are the day of costs such as security and set up. I know it's not all about money, but I just want you to be aware of what we have to lose. Plus the fact we'll have no entry fees to offset all the money already spent. It will be a total loss."
Marty nodded. "I agree with you Jorna. Maybe we can add a short memorial to our lost contestant as part of the pageant."
Kathleen wriggled in her chair. "Callie, do you think you could come up with something to add to the pageant?"
"Sure, I could do that," said Callie. Maybe she could ask Steven Felson for some more information about what type of person Alexandra Herrman was. Creating a memorial would also give her a reason to check out the neighborhood where Alex had lived.
Dot looked around and said, "Then we're agreed. Skinner Days and the Slug Queen Pageant will both go forward as planned with the addition of a memorial to Molluska."
Callie wondered if any of the committee members actually knew Molluska's real name or that she was a woman. "Ok, so we will have our next practice tomorrow. Who's going to be the emcee for the pageant? It would be great if we could get them there for our run through."
"Our emcee this year is Kit Carter from KVAL news. He's the weatherman," said Jeremy. "l'll contact him and see if he can make it."
Like the mayor, Callie didn't see the point in driving the few blocks to the building that housed both City Hall and the police station. She walked, enjoying the sunny August day that was featuring the weather Callie loved the most about Skinner. Sometimes during the winter or spring, there seemed to be an endless line of repetitive gray days, some with rain, some without. But they were all worth it on the days where the sky was filled with white puffy clouds on a background of endless blue. She passed the mayor's community garden and waved at Jacob, still occupying his corner.
The City Hall building was not a building one thought about as lovingly as blue sky days, thought Callie. While it might have seemed rather modernist at the time it was constructed, now it seemed to resemble a WWII bunker with gray cement columns blockily broken up by narrow windows Callie didn't think let much light into the building. She walked up the broad stairs and reported to the police sergeant behind a glass partition.
"I'm not sure who I'm to ask for, but I need to give my fingerprints to someone," said Callie.
"Who's told you that?" asked the desk sergeant. He was a rather stocky young man with dark hair.
"Oh, of course. Scooter, I mean, Detective Scott McMillan, asked me to stop by," said Callie.
The desk sergeant pointed to some chair whose dark salmon plastic also seemed to spring from the 1960's. "I'll let the fingerprint folks know you're here."
To Callie's surprise, it was Scott himself who came out of the security doors at the end of the hallway. "Callie? Can you please come with me?"
Callie walked through the doors which closed with an ominous metallic clang. Scott was wearing the same shirt and slacks she had seen him in this morning, but he had his jacket on and now looked much more formal. His black hair looked as if he had been running his hand through it all day.
"We've looked at the piece of glass you found backstage and I'm not sure we're going to be able to get any useful prints off of it. It's pretty small and the spiral design of the glass doesn't really allow for a full set of prints," he said.
"Has Wade come by?" she asked.
"Yes, he was here an hour or so ago."
"I'm sorry I missed him. They've decided to go forward with Skinner Days as is," she said. "I would have liked to talk with him about it. We never got the chance to chat about how we're going to take the pageant from indoors to outdoors. I guess I'll see him at practice tomorrow."
"I didn't think this would stop Skinner Days. It's gotten to be bigger than just one or two people. I'm sure a lot of money and effort has already gone into it."
He led her to a small room where there was a machine that looked like a copy machine to Callie. "Sgt. Stanton, can you get Miss Stone's fingerprints?" The technician turned the machine on. Having Callie stand behind it, he rolled each one of her fingers over the plate on the top of the machine. Callie laughed nervously. "I don't know--I guess I expected an ink pad and one of those cards. This seems like a much better system."
Scott nodded. "It is. The prints get automatically logged which saves us a step and there's no way we can smear a print with too much ink or get an unclear reading with too little."
The fingerprinting was over in a few seconds. Callie smiled at Scott, unsure what to say. "Is there a place we can chat for a few minutes? I mean, I know you're busy, but I have one or two things to tell you."
Scott took her out of the room and down the hallway to a small office. There was room for a table in the middle with one chair on each side. "Very cozy," said Callie, sliding into the far chair. It was of the same '60's vintage as the dull pink chairs out in the front lobby.
The confines of the room sat them face to face making Callie feel claustrophobic. "Yes, our interrogation rooms can lack a little ambiance. Still, it gives me more privacy than I'd get in the investigation room with all the other officers about.”
“Do you know what killed Molluska yet?” asked Callie.
"It looks as if she died of a meth overdose. I'm guessing she was taking a hit with the coffee, but the dose was too strong."
"But wouldn't she realize that and get help? That's not instantaneous, right?" Callie asked.
"That's where the bump on the back of the head comes in. After she drank the coffee, someone knocked her out, then the meth went into action and it gave her a heart attack. That’s really all I can say about it at this time. What did you want to talk to me about?”
"I ran into Steven Felson this morning."
"Oh? And where did you do that?" he asked somewhat suspiciously. Callie knew she had to tread carefully here as he had already warned her not to meddle in the investigation.
"I was at the library. I was thinking of getting a temporary library card while I'm here in town."
He nodded slowly, looking her in the eyes the whole time. "Good. That's just plausible enough that I might buy it." He leaned back in his chair. The increased distance between them was a relief to Callie. "What did Steven have to say that might interest me?"
"I get the feeling you were already aware Alex Herrman was actually Alexandra Herrman?"
"Yes," he said. "I was aware of the fact." Callie noted to herself that he didn't apologize for not letting her know about it.
"Well," she said, hurrying on, "were you aware that Steven and Alex were an item? That they'd been dating for several months?"
"And he told you that? We spoke with him for over an hour last night and he never mentioned it."
"I think he was still in a state of shock last night. This morning, he seemed, I don't know, almost resigned to people finding out. He said he had only entered the Slug Queen pageant because Alex had wanted him to. He said he didn't think Dot had known, but I'm not so sure," said Callie.
Scott regarded her solemnly. "Now we're getting to those areas of the conversation that smack of investigation. I'm going to ask you why you think that, but don't take that as encouragement on my part. There's a murderer out there and I don't need any civilians thinking they're Nancy Drew."
"It's nothing concrete, more like intuition. I mean, why did Dot come to the practice? It seemed to me from her body language she wasn't happy with Molluska's talent performance. And Dot herself admitted she didn't know why Steven had entered the competition. Her reactions just have a wrong feel to them. And her shoes are al
l wrong."
"Her shoes?" He shook his head at this abrupt change of topic. "Wrong? How so?"
"She's the mayor of Skinner. She's known for being environmentally astute and yet she's wearing shoes that cost her more than a week's pay and scream elitism. It's just out of pattern with what she's supposed to be."
Scott let silence fall for a few seconds. "And that's it? Poor reactions and expensive shoes?" he asked.
"Yes."
"Well, I'll take those thoughts into consideration. Was there anything else you wanted to speak about today?" he asked. Callie could already see him moving on mentally to whatever was his next project and he started to get up. She almost didn't speak, especially as this was even less substantiated intuition.
"Yes. It's about Audrey."
He stopped and sat back down. "What about her?"
"I had lunch with her today at her house. Don't worry, I didn't mention anything about you."
"How did the girls look?" There was an almost hungry look on his face and Callie wondered how often he got to see them. Probably not often enough.
"They look fine. You have a couple of beautiful kids there."
He nodded, indicating to her that she should go on. "It's Audrey. I don't pretend to have a vast experience with drug use, but I think she could be using the same things Molluska was using. Again, it's just intuition and maybe I'm wrong. It just seemed too important of a thought not to let you know."
He didn't say anything for so long that Callie wondered if she had insulted him beyond recall by suggesting his ex-wife was a drug user, but finally he looked up. "Maybe your intuition is better than I give it credit for. I know she's been using and I've been trying to find out who her dealer is for a couple of months now."
"Why? Can't you just go and stop her?" she asked.
He grimaced. "Who, me? The policeman rumored to either have beaten up or slept around on his wife? She doesn't even let me in the house when I get to see the girls, but brings them out to my car. It's not like I can search her house. If you don't remember, on top of that, her dad is a fairly important lawyer in town, so if I go after his daughter for drug use, I'd better have proof. If I can get the dealer, I can get proof. I thought I had a line on him 2 months ago, but then he ups and disappears. Falls totally off the radar, so I had to start the investigation over in a sense."
Callie shook her head. "Scott, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said anything. You already knew all this was going on. I honestly don't mean to meddle."
He grabbed her hand from across the table. It was warm and dry where it rubbed against hers. "No, Callie, it's nothing you've done. Somehow what happened between Audrey and me led to this. She had started drinking before we split, but I figured it would go away with all the advantages of her new life. All the things I couldn't give her. I don't think she's beyond help if I can just get her supplier. Once I have proof, I can get her dad to help. Now I have a question for you."
She looked at him suspiciously. "What?"
"How exactly does this intuition of yours work?"
She shrugged. "I usually call it intuition because people seem to believe that better than the facts I use--sometimes when I need to get a decision made it's better to seem intuitive than to drag out all the proof in a long explanation. In my business I'm always looking for problems. Something out of pattern with the norm. If I see it once, I solve the problem and go on. If I see it twice, it's a trend and something that needs a more comprehensive solution. Otherwise you end up solving the same problem again and again."
He looked curious. "Can you give me an example?"
She thought for a second. "Well, say you have staff people running a registration desk. One person comes by and asks directions to a meeting room and they have to turn their attention away from their main job to help that person. A second person comes and asks the same question. What happens if you notice that and instead of answering each individual question, you make a sign pointing people to the correct room?"
"Your registration people get to work uninterrupted, yet people still get the info they need."
"Exactly," said Callie. I mean, all I'm doing is trying to separate out what's random from what is purposeful behavior. You just have to have enough experience to realize once is an accident, twice is a trend. The key is recognizing a pattern has been broken whether or not you know what the original pattern is. It could be the addition of something or the absence of something."
"So how does the mayor fit this pattern theory?"
"Again, if it was only one thing--the odd attendance at the pageant practice or the expensive shoes, I might just ignore it. But both things make me think her behavior is not normal or what I'd expect of the mayor. I could be wrong or it could be that I just haven't figured out what pattern she's breaking out of."
He was silent for a second. "And Audrey?"
"When I saw Molluska, she looked so thin she was almost ethereal. Then she seemed to be shaking during the performance which I put down to nerves at the time. I saw the same things in Audrey, plus bruises on her arms she was trying to hide. One of a thing is merely inconsistent, two is a pattern. Audrey and Molluska had the same symptoms so it seemed as if they fit the same pattern."
Scott pursed his lips. "I am scared to say that you are actually making some sort of sense. Maybe I'll spend some time looking into the mayor's shoe fetish."
Callie couldn't tell if he was joking with her or not. She asked a question that was based on intuition alone. "Who does Consuela work for?"
He let go of her hand and looked her in the eye again. "Why do you ask?"
She looked away. "It's part of your pattern. You're a police officer whose children are living with a drug user. You're not the kind of person who sits by and does nothing. You are a problem solver. You have foresight. It's what I'd do if my loved ones were in a place I couldn't get them out of."
"I hope it's not that obvious to everyone else," he said. "In my mind, she works for the girls. I may have known her before and encouraged her to apply for the job. She doesn't give me updates or anything, but let's just say she knows my number if any trouble occurs."
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Callie left the police station in a thoughtful mood. What had led her to explain all that to Scott? He probably thought she was crazy with all her talk of broken patterns and intuition. It wasn't something she explained to all that many people. She remembered the warm feel of his hand on hers. She worried for his daughters and for Audrey.
It was mid-afternoon and Callie thought she had time to swing by Alex Herrman's apartment before heading back home. Guiltily, she thought of Scott's admonitions, but she wasn't really investigating, just trying to get a feel for the memorial piece she'd have to create for the pageant.
As she had thought from the address on Alex's application, the apartment was located on the West side of the university campus. The area was sprinkled with fraternity and sorority houses and a myriad of former single family homes that had been subdivided into low rent apartments for students.
Alex's apartment was one of a set of four small brown row houses with a large shared grassy area in the front. Callie saw that the door to Alex's had been sealed with crime scene tape and an official do not enter sign, but she hadn't wanted to go there anyway. She went to the apartment next door and knocked. The door was opened by a woman Callie judged to be in her mid-twenties, wearing tight gray shorts and a black tube top. Privately, Callie thought she looked about 30 lbs. too heavy for either, but maybe she was dressing for the warm weather. It didn't look as if the row house had air conditioning. The woman's bleached blonde hair was scraped back into a high pony tail and Callie could hear a baby crying in the background.
The woman looked at her suspiciously. "Can I help you?"
Callie nodded. "This is going to sound totally inappropriate, but I wondered if you knew the person who lived next door here, Alex Herrman?"
"What, are you a reporter?"
"No. My name is Callie. I worked w
ith Alex for the slug queen competition. Did you know she was performing in the pageant?"
"As a slug queen? How could you miss it? She and that boyfriend of hers would come out of there wearing more sequins than Dolly Parton."
Callie nodded encouragingly. "Yes, that's it. Because she's passed away, we'd like to do a sort of tribute at the pageant. However, I don't know much about her and I was hoping you or someone else here could give me an idea what she was like as a person."
The baby in the background cried louder. "Nice to meet you, Callie. I'm Sarah. Hold on a minute, will you?" Sarah closed the door. In a minute she returned and opened the door with the baby in her arms. "Grab two of those chairs from the table and let's sit outside. It's god awful hot in here."
Callie went in and grabbed two chairs from the yellow Formica table and brought them out to the grassy area next to the cement landing in front of the door. "It is pretty nice weather out here, isn't it?" she asked conversationally.
"I just wish I had some air conditioning for night. It's nice enough right now, but if there's no breeze none of us can sleep. That's how we all got to know Alex. Everyone comes out to the lawn in the evening to escape the heat."
"What was she like?" asked Callie. "I know she wasn't from around here."
"Yeah. She came from some foreign place. Someplace odd, not like France or Germany. When she spoke her own language it was a real jaw breaker. But she'd just do that for fun. It's not like any of us could understand what she said."
"I believe she was from Estonia. So she was proud of where she came from?"
"Nah. All she wanted to be was an American. She lived here almost a year and was studying for the citizenship test from day one. That's why she moved here. I mean, the rent was cheap, but it was close to the library at the university, so she could study there."
"You said she had a boyfriend. What's he like?"
