His pager went off somewhere on the floor. Jake hooked his toe around his sweatpants and dragged them closer. He unclipped the pager and looked at the text message. What he read caused him to leap up and run to his bedroom to put on some work clothes. He stopped, spun around, and retraced his steps into the kitchen. His hands reverently laid her yellow panties neatly on the island, his lips creasing into a crooked grin. Bet you're regretting leaving them now that you're home, Susan love. Maybe you'll trade something to get them back.
As soon as he had a free moment from whatever work had paged him with, he would be paying a certain attorney a visit, yellow panties in hand. Maybe even tonight, if he was lucky enough that this turned out to be an open and shut call, something that could be put to bed in a snap. With that happy thought, Jake turned around to jog into his bedroom, humming the theme song from “Jaws."
* * * *
Dressed now in a suit, with his short brown hair in some semblance of order—it had been sticking up all over the place from someone running her electric fingers through it—Jake strode to Building 6 of Malvern Manner apartments, still feeling the afterglow inside his body.
The trendy 1940s brick apartments weren't the usual place for a homicide, but Jake knew that Cary Street's rougher sections were close enough that violence sometimes spilled over. Or maybe this was a garden-variety domestic killing—an instance where the wife gets fed up and kills hubby or vice versa. Whatever the reason he had been called here, with a murder rate that always ended up on the top ten list, Richmond was a great place to be a homicide detective.
A crowd of uniforms surrounded the left stairwell and Jake saw his partner, Miles Gordon, walking towards him. Gordon always beat him to every murder scene he'd ever been to. Damned if he could figure out how. The guy hadn't driven above the speed limit in his life and he never seemed to hurry, doing everything with his ever-present efficiency. It was a running joke between them that Jake would never be to a scene first.
Jake took in his surroundings with a practiced eye, noting the other stairwell only a short way down to the right, already curious about why no one was around that set of steps. The apartments were the usual rectangle format, two stories, with six apartments per floor. Gordon turned when he got to Jake and retraced his steps without a word, letting Jake get a sense of the scene without comment or distraction. They walked under the police line that had already been erected and went down into the basement, stepping around what looked like a shirt and a lone sock on the stairs.
Jake led the way down a dank hallway lit with one light and stopped when he stepped into the laundry room. Four washers lined the wall opposite the entry door. One dryer sat on the next wall of the rectangle and then three more dryers backed against the same wall that had the entry door on it. A long, rectangular folding table went down the center. A basket of dirty clothes lay spilled next to the closest washer, a couple bras visible in the tangle of shirts and jeans. As they stood there, a washer near the body buzzed to signal that the wash cycle had ended. Gordon wrote down the exact time and which washer it had been on his notepad. Jake took his own pad out of his coat pocket and did a quick sketch of the room.
“Is this the only door in here?” he asked, still sketching. Gordon nodded, not looking up from his notebook. “So you can't get to the basement using the other stairwell?"
“That one only goes up to the second floor—it doesn't go down."
“This is a dead end?"
“Yep. Other room off the hallway contains the heating and air conditioning units. We've got people canvassing the neighbors to see if anyone saw a person leave here."
“I take it the perp wasn't kind enough to hang around waiting for us?"
“I'm afraid he chose to leave the scene of the crime."
“How inconvenient."
“Umm,” Gordon agreed.
Jake looked around the well-lit room. Blood had splattered on the folding table and the walls, but hadn't been apparent at first because both were painted the dull brown mud color many institutions used to cover the grime. But on the white washers and the dryer that stood alone on the wall at the other end of the room, the blood stood out dramatically. The washer nearest to the body remained open, the white clothes sticking partially out of the top, as if the victim had been interrupted before he'd had a chance to push them down completely into the machine. The clothes showed the blood splatter like red wine spilled on a wedding cake.
The Crime Scene Unit finished up with their routine and allowed the medical examiner to turn over the body. The victim's hands had been covered in paper bags so there was a chance he had something under his fingernails from fighting his attacker off. They would find out for sure after the body was examined at the lab. Jake didn't think he'd fought, though. The folding table was light enough that a hard shove would have moved it. Two people fighting in the small space would have had a large chance of hitting the table.
CSU went through the motions of getting prints from around the room, but if the murderer lived in the building, proving they had been in the basement would mean nothing. Still, they could get lucky and identify someone with a record who wandered in off the street to kill this guy. Yeah right.
Christ, there must be 15 people jammed in here. The paramedics were leaving when he arrived. Someone must have been blind to think there was a chance this guy was alive. One glance had told him this body wasn't walking ever again. In general, paramedics tended to rearrange evidence, although today they hadn't turned over the body, which was a lucky break. Body placement could be a clue. Or not. At this point, everything and anything could be important. He wrote down some notes, trying to ignore the jam of people.
He stood still, fixing it all in his mind, mentally cataloging the room. All of the people here were leaving a little piece of themselves behind to contaminate the crime scene and mislead the detectives assigned to this case. It was one of his pet peeves about his job. Gordon had told him a hundred times he needed to accept it as a rule and not get all riled up. But that advice had only encouraged Jake to keep his thoughts to himself—it didn't stop him from thinking them. He wanted to tell everyone to haul ass out of here, but he turned his concentration to the man lying on the floor instead.
Jake and Gordon moved to stand at the end of the folding table. The victim's throat had been cut in the telltale line that meant a straight-edged weapon, usually a knife. He had numerous stab wounds visible in the bloody mass that had been his chest. Blood covered the man's shirt, pants and face. He had bled out extensively, red liquid pooling below him on the concrete floor. It was possible the cause of death was loss of blood, but he could have died from the neck wound alone. Hard to breathe when the air doesn't make it from mouth to lungs.
Jake noted the basics on the victim. Black hair, about six feet tall, maybe one-ninety. In shape but not a weight lifter. Nice clothes. Dockers and a buttoned down shirt. Forty-dollar shoes. That could mean just about anything. Jake wore the same clothes when his aunt made him come over for Sunday dinner once a month—although he spent more on his shoes than this guy had.
Gordon spoke. “A couple neighbors coming down to do their laundry found him. We should go talk to them."
Gordon didn't waste words if he could help it. Jake had known him since he was a rookie; had liked and respected on sight the sharply-dressed, no-nonsense detective. Miles Gordon was a prim, trim, black man, who was smarter than half the force, rarely wrong, and bald as a Ping-Pong ball. He was one of the few people Jake never called by his first name. It didn't seem respectful to call him Miles and he sure as hell wasn't calling him Mr. Gordon, since he was only five years his senior. So Gordon it was.
Jake nodded and followed him up the two flights of stairs into apartment twenty-five. Pausing at the open door, he noted the basket of laundry spilled to the right-hand side of the entrance. His gaze swung up to see Susan leaning against the back of her couch, her body language telling him she was badly shaken. Jake realized he'd never known where she li
ved. He'd always seen her at parties and around town.
She looked up, straight at him, as if she'd felt him come in. He recovered his surprise before she could hers and he found himself fighting a grin. He'd wanted to see her tonight and now he would. Of course, he didn't like the circumstances, but he couldn't help the wash of pleasure he felt in her presence. Her eyes flared wide then narrowed at him from across the room. Jake coughed to hide a chuckle. Gordon shot him a look that made him sober up, while Susan dropped her head into her hands.
“Ms. Rivers,” Gordon said, causing her to raise her head. “I'm Detective Miles Gordon; this is my partner Detective Matherly. May we ask you a few questions?"
Susan managed to look composed again. Avoiding Jake's eyes, she said, “I'll help you however I can, Detective Gordon."
Gordon flipped out his notebook and began to fire off questions. “Were you here all night?"
“No, I came home about nine o'clock."
“Where were you before that?"
Susan flicked Jake a small look that he was certain his partner caught. “A friend's house."
Jake opened his mouth to say it was his place, but Gordon saw him and cut him off with a small motion of his hand.
“Describe how you found the body, please."
Susan seemed to compose herself by taking a deep breath. “I didn't see him at first. When I came in the laundry room, I saw Ellie standing there frozen."
“Where is Ellie now?"
“She's next door, in apartment twenty-six. The other officer told us to wait in our apartments."
“Take me through everything that happened tonight.” Gordon stood in a relaxed stance.
Jake knew this was the I'm-putting-the-witness-at-ease pose. But Gordon was still so intense that, under normal circumstances, Jake would have jumped in to take over questioning the witness because they both agreed he tended to get more information out of people. He was less intimidating. The fact he didn't take over now would cause Gordon to assume he knew Susan in some way. That he was possibly involved with her. And he was. Just not as involved as he'd like to be.
“I went down to do laundry right after I got home. It was so late that I was rushing."
“Do you usually do your laundry at nine o'clock on a Sunday?"
Susan's gaze darted to Jake and back to Gordon. The woman had to have the worst poker face he'd ever seen. He had no idea how she could be an attorney when everything she felt was right there on her face. The blush rising up her throat to her cheeks screamed out that they had had sex.
He felt a curious melting sensation, even as he wondered why he was being such a sap. Everything inside him screamed for him to walk over and put his arms around her, to offer her some comfort. Most civilians went through their whole lives without seeing a murder victim. But then he gave himself a mental shake—he was a cop interviewing a witness. Get it together, Matherly.
“No, I don't usually do my laundry at this time. I was running late. Tonight was a fluke."
Jake knew she shot the last bit at him, although her gaze was on Gordon. Fluke, meaning it wouldn't happen again. He wanted to say something like ‘that's what you think, Susan love,’ but controlled himself with effort.
“Continue,” Gordon said, writing it all down in his notebook.
Jake liked that Gordon took most of the notes. He had developed a complex shorthand that made him three times faster than Jake. Jake watched people's faces while Gordon took the notes. It was one of a hundred things that made them an excellent team.
Gordon's tone kept Susan flustered. Her hands twisted on the sofa back, while her gaze darted to Jake. He winked at her. Her eyes grew large and her mouth dropped open. She stood straighter, her anger at his outrageous behavior taking her attention from Gordon's bedside manner as Jake had hoped. Susan looked back at Gordon.
“I walked into the room, thinking about other things, so I didn't notice the body right away. I only saw Ellie at first. It was like she had gone into a coma or something. She just stood there. And when she didn't answer me, I saw the man on the floor. And all the blood. At first, I couldn't figure out what I was looking at then it clicked. All I could think was that I had to get out of the basement, so I grabbed Ellie's arm and ran up to my apartment to call the police."
“Do you know who the victim is?"
“No.” Susan paused for a second, acting as if she thought about what she saw. “No, I'm sure I've never seen him before."
Jake felt a flutter in his gut and tried to figure out what bothered him about her last answer. The guy was face down—how could she be sure she didn't know him? He pushed back the feeling, rationalizing that Susan's action-packed evening had made her say things in a way that had his alarm bells ringing.
“Where was your laundry during all this?"
“My laundry?” She looked at the basket beside the door for a second as if she was trying to remember. “With me. It was with me."
“Why didn't you drop it in the basement?"
“I don't know. It's like I forgot it was there and it just went with me when I left."
“How did you carry it?"
Jake had been curious about this, too. It was a cop thing. Weird, small details sometimes held you up. He had to put a crime together in his mind so all the pieces fit. When the pieces didn't fit, he jiggled them around until they fell in place or turned into a clue.
“Against my hip.” Susan held her arm out from her body, demonstrating. “I held it with my left hand and pulled Ellie by my right. It's not heavy. Most of my clothes go to the dry cleaners. I only wash my workout clothes and my underwear."
Gordon still looked down at his notebook. Susan's gaze flicked over to Jake and the red rose across her face again. There was no doubt what she was thinking about. He grinned at her, and had to control a hoot of laughter that welled up when he saw her right hand uncurl from her crossed arms to flip him the bird. She might be embarrassed, but she still held her own.
“What else can you tell me? What else did you see?” Gordon's face snapped up from his notebook and his voice became the you-will-tell-me-everything interrogation voice. Jake had always been surprised at how often this tactic worked on the bad guys.
“What else did I See?” Susan was back to her earlier nervousness and Jake's gut went back on alert. “What do you mean?"
Gordon's eyes narrowed. “Any other details you can remember?"
“No. Nothing. That's all I can tell you."
Jake's gut twisted again. Something was wrong here. Like most cops, he had a good sense of when people were lying and that sense told him something wasn't exactly right about the last set of answers she had given. Why was she so nervous all of a sudden? Why did he feel like she was lying? He caught her gaze but only held it for a second before she looked away.
“Do you have an emergency number for the manager?” Gordon asked. He hadn't caught that something was off or he would have circled back. Susan nodded and went into the kitchen. She came back and handed him a card. He thanked her, shaking her hand in a business-like manner, giving her his card in return, and walked out the door.
Jake shook her hand in the same manner and jerked her forward to whisper in her ear, “We'll be chatting again very soon so I suggest you rethink some of your answers. I know something's off here, Susan.” He left her open-mouthed, leaning against the back of her couch as he shut her door.
Gordon went with Jake to talk to the neighbor, although he stayed quiet for most of the interview, letting Jake take the lead. Ellie didn't really know anything except how to hold Kleenex tissues to her face. Her inability to function caused him to think about how well Susan was holding up in the situation. Sure, she was shaken, but she wasn't a weeping mess like this woman.
The upshot of Ellie's statement was she came in right before Susan and found the body of someone she didn't think she'd ever seen before. It was her laundry that had spilled across the floor. She hadn't seen anyone around before she went down to the basement, but her dow
nstairs neighbor Mr. Parker. She didn't have much else to add, even after Jake had gotten her a glass of water to help her calm down. Gordon left her with his card and Jake made a mental note to come back and talk to her when she'd had a chance to get herself together.
They left her apartment and walked to the railing on the landing, looking out at the grassy yard and the parking lot. “I think we should hit Mr. Parker tonight."
“Agreed.” Intensity rolled off Gordon in waves.
Jake usually tried to lighten him up a bit. It couldn't be healthy to be that focused all the time. “No time like the present,” he said, his mind wandering off to dwell on Susan again.
“Why put off until tomorrow what you can do today?” Gordon asked back. Jake shook off his thoughts as they set off down the stairwell together.
“You know what they say, Gordon. An ounce of prevention beats a pound of something or other.” Jake knocked on Apartment 16. He put his cop mask on as he faced the door. He knew the look he wore gave absolutely nothing away.
The door opened to show a fifty-year-old man with what Jake called The Swoop. He had tried to hide his pattern baldness by growing one side of his remaining hair longer and swooping it over his bald spot. He wore a silk robe that in earlier times would have been called a smoking jacket. His feet were in matching silk slippers. Even through the robe, Jake could see Mr. Parker was trying hard to fight the softness that comes with age.
“Mr. Parker?” At the man's nod, Jake said, “I'm Detective Matherly and this is Detective Gordon.” He showed his badge. “May we come in?"
Parker seemed to think about this for a second, then gave a car salesman smile and said, “I don't see why not,” in a too-jovial tone. Jake knew with only those five words, he didn't like him.
“May we have your full name please?"
“Paul Ryan Parker. What's this about officers?"
“Where were you tonight, Paul?” By calling him by his first name, Jake put him in an inferior position, the way an adult would treat a child. He didn't often use this method during interviews, preferring the I-am-your-friend technique, but he didn't like Paul Ryan Parker.
True Seeing Page 3
