Twisted: A Tracy Turner Murder Mystery Novel (The Tracy Turner Mystery Series Book 1)

by Keyla Hunter

  Frank spat at Doug and walked out of the bar. The rotund man said nothing. He wiped his face with the back of his hand, laughed, and continued with his duties. After going over the clip for the third time, the details were embedded in my memory. I also noticed something I had not seen before. It was a thin figure lurking in the back room of the bar.

  I noted the time stamp: 10:57 p.m. Glad that I took a video editing course in college, I went back to the location and watched the clip in slow motion. This time I was certain it was Mike standing there. He had probably taken in all that had been said. Yesterday, when I had asked him specifically about the incident, he feigned ignorance, but why?

  According to Brett, when Doug was questioned about his whereabouts at the time of Frank’s death he had said he was at home with his son. What if this was not true? Doug was an insomniac; he left the bar in the wee hours of morning and was back to work a couple of hours later. He was known as a dedicated and exemplary employee for his diligence and some even questioned whether he slept at all.

  I knew that Frank had been killed sometime during the morning and began to work through the footage looking for Doug during those early hours. Then a scratching sound startled me. Was Brett back? Should I hide? I looked around the room, but where? I went to the door and peered inside his room. No one and the door was shut fast.

  I heard the sound again. Now it came from beyond the door that was opposite this one. Was it Mike? If he came back in, he would stop me like he did before, assuming the previous time was not an accident as he made out. I had a strong hunch and needed to find out if there was evidence to back it.

  With my ear to the door, I listened again. Someone was in that room. I heard the sound of footsteps heading for the door. Grabbing one of the computer chairs, I wedged it under the handle of the door and dragged a smaller filing cupboard pushing it against the chair to add some weight behind it. I locked the cupboard’s wheels in place.

  The handle began to turn, but the door didn’t budge. I knew it would hold for a while, but I had to work fast. I heard a loud curse from the other end. It sounded like Mike, but his voice was muffled so I couldn’t say for sure.

  I worked through the next set of clips. The handle turned again. This time it was followed by a soft blow on to the door and a grunt. In the next selection of clips I found Doug at the bar—the time when he told the investigators that he was home with his son. I went back in time and using the auto-forward function sped forward. He had been at the bar the entire time before and after Frank was killed. So he had lied, the question was why?

  The handle jangled and then a heftier weight rammed against the door. The chair began to give. I spotted a thin white hand inside the room. From the corner of my eye I noticed someone entering the bar at 7:54 a.m. It was Mike, frazzled and wide eyed, carrying a golf bag, and ran into the back room.

  His father, red faced and puffed out, ran behind him wringing his hands and calling, “What happened?” The barricade gave way a bit more. There was no footage of the back room.

  The door was now a quarter way open and I spied Mikes’ profile in the other room. Did he see me? I couldn’t be sure. I froze the recordings and ran out.

  I had seen all that I needed to see.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Once I was outside Brett’s door, I heaved a long sigh of relief. I was safe and found what I was looking for. Doug couldn’t have killed Frank. According to the footage, he was at the bar at the time, so Frank must have been killed by someone else. What about Katherine? The same gun had killed them both. It was safe to assume that it was the same killer.

  Doug was also illiterate, so he couldn’t have sent me the threatening text. He was innocent. Then why did he lie about his whereabouts at the time Frank was killed? Could he be covering up for Mike?

  The cameras didn't put Mike in the bar with Doug at the time of Frank’s murder. He was upset when he ran in so there was a strong likelihood that he had done it.

  I needed more than a possibility though. I needed to find concrete evidence. That’s what Brett had told me. What about that bag he was carrying when he came into the bar? What if he carried the gun in that bag?

  If I found the bag, I would find the gun, and I would have my guy.

  At the elevator I realized that I had not keyed in the code. I also should have checked out the framed photograph on Brett’s table. Should I turn back or carry on? I decided to go back and key the code in. It would take me a couple of minutes and save me the trouble of Brett finding out that somebody had been snooping about in his office. I couldn't stand the thought of getting another lecture from him. The photograph would have to wait for another day.

  As I punched in the code, a dark silhouette emerged from down the hall. I flattened my back against Brett’s door. It was Mike, gaze trained on the carpeting, muttering to himself. He carried a sleek briefcase in his clenched fist. I was relieved that I followed my instinct and had come back to lock the door.

  I waited till he turned the corner at the corridor, and with the stealth of a tigress slinked in his direction. I stopped behind one of the pillars and watched. He was on his way down but had to wait for the elevator parked on the twelfth level. Glancing at the time, he tapped his foot on the floor.

  He looked at his watch again and then banged his hand on the elevator door. Red faced, he dropped the briefcase and hopped about as he nursed his hand. The case had a rounded leather handle and its edges were reinforced with gold rivets. It was complete with two shiny gold locks. There was no mistaking its brown monogrammed canvas fabric; it was a Louis Vuitton and it was a beauty. Not something that Mike would be able to afford on an intern’s salary. So where did he get it and what did it hold?

  The ringing of a phone broke the silence in the corridor. Instinctively, I reached into my bag. My heart stopped beating. Had he heard it? I clicked the phone into silent-mode and waited. There was a second ring. This time it was a louder. He cursed and put his injured hand into his pocket and gingerly pulled out his phone.

  “Yes, yes, I’m coming,” he said. He transferred the phone to his other hand and waved the injured one about.

  “Give me a few minutes. I know I said half past eleven. I got held up. There was something I had to do.”

  “No, it’s not an excuse. I’ve got it.” He grimaced and held the case close to his body.

  “Yeah, the boardwalk. That’s what I said. I thought you knew. There’s only the one.”

  I waited till the elevator indicated he was on the ground floor. Then I took the service elevator down too. I didn’t mind him getting a head start; I knew where he was going and I had been there many times before. The adrenaline began to pump. What was in his briefcase and who was the mysterious stranger Mike was going to meet?

  The Butterfly Room was a sanctuary for winged wonders. Located on the border of the resort, it was a popular tourist attraction that was open to the public all year around.

  Room was a misnomer; the reservation spanned several hundred acres. There were a number of designated areas for butterflies enclosed by fiberglass mesh netting that rose over the tree line and up into the sky. It was the perfect tropical paradise setting—a lush haven for the creatures to freely flit about. Its visitors enjoyed the outdoors that included picnic spots and campsites amongst pops of color.

  There was a paved walking trail that followed its perimeter and an old boardwalk that ran across. In the last month it had been closed to the public for repairs. At first I was surprised they had agreed to meet there. Then I realized not everyone worked on a Saturday. Most people had a two-day weekend. The isolated location in the dense foliage would be the perfect place for a secret rendezvous.

  Were they meeting at the north end or south? Had he mentioned it in their conversation? I racked my brains and tried to recall what I had overheard. It was not coming to me, but I couldn’t let him out of my sight. The area was too vast.

  We entered through a little known gate closest to the resort. The gate wa
s unmanned and we slipped in without being questioned. As he approached the bridge, he began to take longer strides. I hurried to keep close and stumbled on some loose gravel. He stopped and looked behind. I ducked under a giant leather fern. Did he hear me or did he sense that he was being followed? It was hard to tell from where I was.

  Reaching the south side of the bridge there was no sign of construction except for a five-foot wide caution notice. Work must have begun from the other end. It would be a couple of months before they moved through on to this side. He glanced at the sign mounted across the walkway. He bent over and through as smoothly as an elastic band. I watched through the thicket impressed by his flexibility.

  I waited for him to walk. Then I stepped on to the wooded path, and the sound of my pointed heel on wood echoed in my ears. As I crouched down, I felt the blood rushing into my head. He was out of sight and mercifully out of earshot. I kicked off my heels, shoved them into my sling bag, and vowed to start wearing sensible shoes.

  The rotting floor beneath was warm and tickled my bare feet. I’d take a splinter over a bullet any day. I ran, light footed, to keep up with him.

  I stopped to catch my breath and leaned over a railing overlooking a bubbling river twenty feet below. Rushing and gurgling, it was in a mighty hurry to end its long journey to the sea. The railing creaked and the wooden floor felt soft and crumbled beneath me. I gasped and moved on.

  Not able to spot him, the curving path ahead was all I could see. I took two turns and sensed that he was closer now. The foliage was thicker, the air cooler, and I was overwhelmed by the sharp smell of rotting wood. The path, a combination of moss and moisture, was slippery, but I had to keep going.

  I took a sharp bend and glimpsed his white cotton shirt. The floor beneath disintegrated and I stumbled. A sharp shriek escaped my lips. He turned back. I leaped into the thicket as he glowered into the wilderness.

  A curlytail lizard, who was an alien to the area, looked surprised by its unexpected guest. The footsteps grew heavier and louder. The lizard tossed its head, waved its spiraled tail in the air, and danced onto the boardwalk. I said a silent prayer. Mike spotted the creature and stopped, giving his second visitor of the day a glare. The stalk of a Chaya plant was between us, my face level with his knee. I stopped breathing. He raised his polished leather boot and with a loud curse kicked the unsuspecting critter up into the air. It went flying across into the trees beyond.

  His phone rang again. Muttering, he picked it up. “I’m here. I said, I’ll meet you on the big bridge. You’re already there? Good.”

  He turned back and retraced his steps. I knew the bridge was not too far away. I got there in time to see Mike handing the suitcase over to a man who was about a foot shorter than himself. Safe behind the trunk of a Ficus tree, I couldn’t make out his features.

  The mystery man had a white cloth bandage on his wrist. He opened the case, raised it up to his nose, and smelled it as if it were a rose. Smirking, he licked his lips and rubbed his hands together then balanced the suitcase on the railing. Inside were stacks of what I guess were dollar notes of equal height. He began to thumb through them, counting bundles chosen at random.

  I couldn’t hear what was being said so I inched my way closer to the action. Opening my mobile phone, I focused its camera on the two men and snapped up a few photos.

  The shorter man closed the case with a thud. His forehead was wrinkled, eyes reduced to slits, and he pursed his lips.

  “You said that there’s more.” A shadow crossed his face and there was a menacing glint in his eyes.

  “There is no more.” Mike stuck out his lower lip. “There’s been a change of plans. I need some of it.”

  The older man’s eyes narrowed and he admonished with his pointer finger. “You are not rolling again are you?”

  Mike’s head was set in motion like a bobble head doll. “No, I told you. It’s not my thing. That was a mistake.”

  “Then what is it?” His voice rose in crescendo.

  Mike raised both hands up and shook them. “I just need to get away for a while.”

  “What’s your hurry?” he demanded, cocking his head. He lowered his voice into a deep growl. “You can run, but you can’t hide from me, my boy.”

  Mike took a step forward, bent over, and stared into the man’s eyes. “I’m not your boy. I’m nobody’s boy. And I’m not running from you.” With every sentence his voice grew sharper and louder.

  “Oh, I know what you are running from.” His eyes lit up and his face broke out into a broad smile. “You did it. You killed Frank Walters!”

  Mike bit his lip and averted his gaze.

  He kicked the briefcase that he had placed on the ground. “That’s where you got this and the cash.” He made a sound like he was sobbing, then he burst out laughing. His laughter evaporated and he became serious. “This was the money that Frank promised to deliver to me.” He thumped his hand on to his chest.

  “It’s not your business where I got it. You have your money. That’s more than what I owe you.” His jaw tightened and face twitched. “Leave me the hell alone. You don’t know what I’m capable of.”

  He raised his dark bushy eyebrows. “You killed Katherine too? Dear… sweet Katherine…” His voice dripped with sarcasm. “But why?”

  “Shut up.” He clutched his head in his hands and began to tremble. “Shut the…” Mike began to pace across the bridge with his fist to his lips, the man marched behind him, and they faced each other.

  “Boy…” he pulled Mike close and stared into his eyes “…I’m Bruno Burns. Nobody tells me what to do.”

  Mike shoved Bruno off and raised himself to his full height. His eyes blazed, nostrils flaring, and he puffed out his chest.

  In a flash of superhuman strength he pulled Burns up by his shirt collar. The shorter man’s legs flailed in the air.

  “Put me down! Put me down, boy!”

  Mike’s face twitched again, and he bared his teeth. “I told you before, I’m not your boy.” He pushed Burns against the rickety railing. There was a massive crunch. The wood snapped; his body was too heavy for it to bear. Single-handed, Burns hung on to a wooden panel on the floor beneath.

  “Help, please help me,” he rasped. Swinging wildly in the wind, he moaned like a stricken banshee.

  My body stiffened and my eyes clouded over. I willed Mike to do something, to save the villain.

  Mike was as calm as a monk. He walked to the edge, his boot an inch away from the dangling man’s hand. He smiled at him, bent down, and extended his arm. Burns’ free arm found the platform and he raised his fingers toward Mike.

  Mike bent his knee and raised his foot. He grimaced and brought it down hard over the older man’s knuckles. The bridge rocked under his weight but remained solid. The quiet was broken by a scream of agony.

  Burns’ arms fluttered in the air and he drifted down to the treacherous water beneath.

  The sanctuary was peaceful as always. There were the usual sounds of the birds and insects going about their everyday business. A light breeze and a rustling of leaves made for a lovely morning, except only a few moments ago terrible things had happened here, and only two people in the world knew about them.

  Dazed, I sat very still, my muscles aching and demanding to be stretched. Yet, I didn’t move. As he came closer, I shut my eyes, held my breath, and hoped my cover was adequate. He talked to himself under his breath as he passed. I waited till he was out of sight and the sound of his menacing boots was inaudible.

  It seemed like weeks had passed since Frank’s body had been discovered. So many events had been compacted into the last couple of days. So much had taken place during the time. When evil happens, the world seems to slow down, as if it wants us to savor every miserable second. Why was it not the case when were are having fun? Maybe it was our fault that we didn’t bother to slow down and enjoy the good times.

  I replayed the events over in my mind. Had Mike lured Burns to the big bridge with the i
ntention of killing him? Or was it an accident, an unintentional killing that was precipitated in a fit of rage? Why had Burns insisted on taunting him? What a fool.

  Was Burns right? Had Mike killed them both? Should I take this to Brett or Millie? That may not be the best course. After all, Mike had admitted to nothing. It would be my word against his. I still needed something concrete to pin him down to the crimes. I had to find that gun. That would be conclusive.

  Mike mentioned that he was planning on leaving town for a while. Meeting Burns before may have been him taking care of business before he left. With a third murder under his belt, he was on edge and would move fast. I had to be quicker still. Brett would only slow me down.

  The photos I had snapped through the foliage were blurred and wouldn’t be of any use. Besides, they proved nothing. If only I could find that gun. He didn’t have it with him today or he would have used it, so perhaps he had not planned on killing Burns after all.

  Brett said that the same gun had been used twice, so he didn’t do away with it after the first killing. A gun represented power; it was hard to think that Mike would part with it. He must have it with him, perhaps in that golf bag.

  He may have stashed it in the back room of the bar or in one of the cupboards, which would be near impossible to search. Doug was there virtually all the time. In any case, the easiest place to access would be his home. That was assuming he had gone back to work at the resort. I didn’t think even he would be crazy enough to bring the weapon with him to work.

  I knew what I had to do. I needed to go to his house and see what I could find. Even if I didn’t find the weapon, I could pick up some clues from where he lived.

  My heart thumped in my chest as my mind walked through what needed to be done. Elaine had said that Mike still lived with Doug. The resort provided housing for some employees on off-site premises, which was a twenty minute walk away. To save time, I decided to take my car. A quick call to Imogen told me that Mike was in the building so he was back at work and I was free to work my plan. I would check out his house and be back before anyone knew it.