I slumped against the desk and frowned. "Damn. What about online stuff. Any dirt?"
Eric shook his head. "No social media accounts or website subscriptions. The only email addie is for the Hollywood Police Department. Could be he's just not digital."
"Financial, property, records?"
Eric shook his head. "Nah, I need a social for that. You don’t have that, right?"
I grumped. "Correct." I snapped my fingers. "What about that facial recognition software — did you run his picture against that?"
Eric pushed away from his desk and rocked back in his chair. "Yeah, it's running, but it’s slow as shit. I might get a nibble in a couple of days."
Another dead end. Or was the universe telling me to walk away? "Okay Eric, thanks. I'll check call you in a couple days."
"Hey Scotti?"
I turned back to him. "Yeah?"
He puckered his lips. "How's Zee?" His eyes lasered into mine. "Is she going marry that rancher guy?"
I shook my head. "Not yet."
Eric deflated. “Not yet?” he muttered under his breath. He twisted his lips and stared at the computer screen.
I felt sorry for the guy and could see he was hurting. Zee never said what happened between them, but I could guess. She wanted more but never came out and said it. He got mixed signals and didn't know what to do. So they both backed away. "Mind if I give you some advice, Eric?"
He sat up and nodded. "Yeah, shoot."
I blew out a breath. "If you care about her, you better tell her while you’ve got the chance. Otherwise, you’re just giving her to Henry."
He cringed. "That's harsh."
I shrugged. "It’s the truth and you know it."
He frowned and rubbed his neck. "But what do I say? I don’t know how to compete with that guy."
I smirked and rolled my eyes. "Oh bullshit. You know what to say. You know what she wants to hear. So grow a pair and say it." I clapped his back. "If you lose her because you chickened out, that's on you. Not Henry."
He nodded but didn't look happy. "But what if she's over it? Over me?"
I smacked him on the back of the head. "Are you a man or a little girl?"
He rubbed the back of his head. "That hurt, man."
"Relationships aren’t easy — they’re hard as hell. But if you’re lucky enough to find somebody willing to put up with your crap and love you anyway, you gotta hold onto them." I winked at him. "So man up my friend and win your woman back."
I left Eric to think it over — secretly, I was rooting for him. Of the two men, Eric was the better choice in my opinion. He was immature and sometimes childish, but he never pretended to be someone else. What you saw was what you got. With Henry, you never knew who you were talking to and if that was the real him. If there was such a thing.
Though I hadn't seen Henry in years, I never forgot how miserable he made Zelda when they were together. It took him coming on to me for her to break it off with him. And even then, she was plagued with doubts.
Zelda said Henry had changed. I believe people can change, so I was willing to reserve judgment. But if Henry was still the manipulative prick I knew him to be, Ted would kick his ass anyway. Still, I hoped Eric would step up and fight for her.
<<>>
When we got home I put Boomer in Marge's yard for a play date with Daisy. Ted texted me a pornographic 'love note,' and I ignored it. I poured a glass of iced tea and carried it to the butcher-block where the sketch pad waited for me. The copies I locked in my desk drawer for backups.
Most of the drawings were random doodles with several images sharing the same page. A bird. A tree. A skateboard. An old couple with a dog. Glimpses of Ron's world. A couple of the guys. Even one of my food truck featuring Zelda and I passing out pie, entitled: Pie Ladies. I was impressed by the accuracy and attention to detail — even Zelda's pony tail was right.
The final sketch, a very accurate drawing of Drew Fuller, made me gasp out loud. The sketch was not of Fuller alone, but a composition that painted an interesting scenario. Fuller sat on a set of porch steps, knees bent, legs apart, with a bottle of beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other. On either side of the steps were pots of geraniums and asparagus ferns. Behind Fuller on the porch was Marika Jansen smiling at Fuller's back. It was the most detailed sketch of them all, as though Ron had devoted hours to drawing it.
What I didn’t know was whether the drawing depicted something Ron saw or conjured in his own troubled mind. He must’ve known Fuller, or he couldn't have drawn the man so accurately. The drawing had the intimacy of real life, but I couldn't believe they'd knowingly pose for Ron. Maybe he'd stalked them and watched them when they were unaware. There was no way to know. But regardless of how the drawing came about it was obvious that Fuller and Marika had known each other and were probably lovers.
And then it made sense that Mike and the guys were still lying low. If Fuller was the Jody Mike had warned me about. If so, Beidemeyer’s claim of being set up was true. But Fuller was a cop. Would he take it that far? Murdering three people? That was a lot to accept.
I decided to lob the ball into Daniels court. He knew the guy. He could draw his own conclusions. I snapped a picture of the sketch with my phone and sent it to him with a text. "For your eyes only." If Daniels decided to pursue it, then that was his prerogative. My only responsibility was to pass it along.
But as the day wore on, my mind kept returning to the possibility that Fuller was Jody. I reasoned it couldn’t hurt to show the sketch to Donna. Maybe she could even offer an plausible explanation. "Hey, it's Scotti. Would you mind if I dropped by? I'd like to show you something."
Donna sighed, exasperated. "Girl, I was just going to call you and beg for help."
'What's happening?"
"I'm at Marika's, cleaning up the mess the police left. You'd think grown men could put things back, instead of tearing through like a bunch of wild children."
“I’m on my way.”
I grabbed my keys and bag then went outside to Marge's fence. The dogs were playing chase, with Boomer in the lead. Marge sat in an Adirondack chair on her back porch, reading. Her long skinny legs were propped out in front of her, and a glass of iced tea sat on the side table. "Hey Marge, can you keep Boomer with you for a while longer?"
Marge put down her paperback and shielded her eyes from the sun. "Sure honey. Anything wrong?"
"No, I just have an errand to run, and Zelda isn't back yet. Would you mind keeping him in sight? He's been digging again, and I don't want to have to send out a search party if he escapes."
Marge waved a hand. "Go do your errand, dear. We'll keep an eye on your little guy."
I thanked her and got into my car. My cell buzzed with another text from Ted. A picture of his bare behind.
Men. Do they ever get past the age of twelve?
Chapter Forty-Four
Donna wasn’t exaggerating about the state of Marika's house. It looked like the cops had driven a bomb sweeper through the place and then threw a frat party afterwards.
I found Donna in the kitchen, surrounded by bulging trash bags and throwing broken dishes into a fresh trash bag. She looked up in exasperation. "Praise the Lord, help has arrived. Bless you."
I shook my head in wonder. "Excuse my language, but what the hell? Did they suspect she was selling drugs or guns?"
Donna grimaced and leaned against the kitchen counter. "I ain't no authority on what the police suspect. But they were sure looking for something." She waved a hand around the room. "And by the looks of it, they didn't find it."
I stepped further into the kitchen. Cabinet doors hung open, canned and packaged food littered the countertops, and table linens lay on the floor. Fingerprints and handprints, dusted with magnetic powder smeared the walls, counters and doors as though an alien creature had roamed the kitchen in search of its prey. "What did they find?"
Donna pursed her lips and shrugged. "Don't know. They told me I'd be sent a list and that the proper
ty would be returned when they were done with it." She shook her head. "Like I'd want anything that belonged to that woman."
I pushed back the clutter on the kitchen table and pulled out two chairs. "How'd this delightful task fall to you?"
Donna pulled a bottle of soda from the fridge, found a couple of unbroken glasses, then joined me at the table. I took the bottle from her hands and poured the soda. She patted her short afro and leaned her elbows on the table. "I'm the next of kin. Marika didn't have nobody but us."
I scanned the room. "But you don't want any of this stuff, right?"
Donna smirked. "Excuse my language but, hell no I don't want none of it."
"Then why waste your energy? I pulled out my cell and called a few local thrift shops around town. When I found a shop that would send over a truck, I gave them the address and told them to come get it. Ending the call, I grinned at Donna. "That takes care of most of it. After they’re gone we can sweep up what’s left and dump it at the curb."
The truck wasn't due for an hour, so we went room by room grabbing anything she might need or want. Aside from a few mementos, we packed legal papers, financial information, tax returns, mortgage and insurance files and Ron's personal items. In all, we filled three boxes and loaded them into Donna's Taurus station wagon. Afterward, we went outside and waited for the thrift store truck on the front porch.
Donna leaned over the porch railing looking off in the distance. "What did you want to show me?"
I pulled out Ron's sketch pad and showed her the drawing of Drew Fuller. "Do you recognize him?"
Donna took the sketch pad and sat down with it on one of the porch chairs. She studied the drawing for a long time, frowning. Finally she handed the pad back to me. "You know Scotti, I'm just not sure. He looks familiar, but I can't think of where or why." She leaned back in her chair and sighed. "He could be an army buddy of Ron's or somebody from the VA? I just don’t know. Sorry."
I slumped against the porch post. "You haven't seen him around? Recently?"
She shook her head then smirked. "No. But it looks like my sister-in-law knew him pretty well." Disgusted she asked, "You think Marika was sleeping with him too?"
A large box truck rumbled up the street, stopped then backed into the drive. I smiled. "Looks like the real cavalry has arrived. The movers were courteous and went about their business without bothering us. We gave them wide birth and told them they were free to take anything they wanted.
The two men were big burly guys and made quick work of removing the remaining pieces of Marika's life and filling the truck. When they finished, the driver informed us they'd cleared out the place. As a courtesy, they hauled the full trash bags out to the curb for us. Donna declined the receipt and said, "Merry Christmas."
The second mover came out the front door with the last of the trash bags and said. "You want us to empty out the garage too?" His eyes were eager. "I'll bet you got plenty of stuff in there."
Donna started to give her consent, but I cut her off. "No thanks. We still need to go through those things. Maybe we'll call back after we've sorted it out."
He deposited the trash bags on the parkway and came back to the porch to give me a business card. Not for the thrift store but for a junk hauling business. "Call me any time, I'll take just about anything."
We waved as they drove off, and I ripped up the card. "Creep."
Donna chuckled and nodded. "Why'd you stop them from taking the stuff in the garage? Probably just more junk." She sighed. "I didn't think to look back there. Lord knows what the police did to it."
I looked over the railing toward the backyard. "Is the garage open?"
Donna shrugged. "I didn't open it, if that's what you mean. But that don't mean the police didn't ram through it."
I looked to the backyard and frowned. "I suppose. But I doubt it."
Donna waved her arm toward the house. "They were sure looking for something. If they didn't find it in the house, then the garage is just as torn up."
I turned to her. "There's only one way to find out."
Donna sighed and looked beyond weary. "You're right about that."
"If you're not up to it, I’ll do it. You just sit here on the porch and relax."
Donna frowned and shook her head. "Just because I'm not up to it doesn't mean it's your job." She stood. "We'll do it together. Heaven knows without you, I'd be sitting on this porch crying my eyes out."
Together, we walked to the backyard and stared at the garage for a while. Donna scowled at it like it might bite her but finally rolled up the door. She sighed. "I just knew it."
It wasn't as bad as the house but it was bad enough. Cabinet doors hung open, paint cans, cleaners, garden chemicals and yard tools were strewn carelessly about. Most of the heavier tools and equipment were jostled but probably too heavy for anyone to do serious damage to them.
Despite the mess, you could see that the space once belonged to someone who respected their tools and cared for them. On the back wall was a work bench, with a pegboard and shelves above it for tools. To the right was a peg board for yard tools and below it bins for fertilizer, insecticides, potting soil, mulch and other yard potions. Next to the peg board were a new washer and dryer set with a shelf above it for laundry supplies and detergents.
Down the center was a cleverly-devised docking station for lawnmower, compressor and generator that was largely undisturbed. On the left wall were built-in cabinets, floor to ceiling, used for storage of larger tools and seasonal items. Those were the most ransacked, although what the cops thought they'd find in there was beyond me.
I pointed to the door in the far right corner. "Where does that lead?"
Donna looked up from the mess. "The guest room Ron built." She shrugged. "A lot like the one in my place." She smiled. "My brother loved to build stuff — whether you needed it or not."
Hands on my hips I surveyed the damage. "Let’s roll in the trash bins and toss anything that's destroyed first. After we clear that out, it’ll be quick work to get the place back in order." I glanced at Donna, but she was standing at Ron's workbench holding a small woodworking tool in her hands.
I went to her and put my arm around her shoulders. "Those were his?" Donna's eyes saddened. "You should take them then. Keep them for him."
She wiped her tears and sniffled. "I still think of him as out there, you know? Just sitting under a tree and watching the world go by."
I gave her shoulders a squeeze. "Me too." To my left, I noticed another door tucked in the corner. The lock mechanism was missing but otherwise seemed intact. I pointed to the door. "Did he build matching guest rooms?"
Donna looked over and scowled. "Marika’s darkroom. She pestered him until he made it for her." She snickered. "Because she was gonna be a fancy photographer one day." She rolled her eyes. "That girl was always gonna be something one day."
I went to the door and pushed it, but it didn't budge. Donna came over and slid the door to open it. "It's a pocket door. You know, slides into the wall." She reached inside and flipped a switch to turn on the lights.
I peered inside. The room was small but cleverly fitted to hold basic equipment. Ron had also mounted three stepladder style shelf units that ran up the walls to hold film, chemicals and other supplies. I frowned. "That's weird."
Donna poked her head inside the room. "What?"
I pointed to the door. "They took the lock out of the door to open it but it doesn't look like they took anything."
Donna shrugged. "Well I gave them the key, and they drilled out the lock. Cops don’t make no sense if you ask me."
I backed out of the room. "Maybe they lost interest when they saw it was just darkroom?" I looked at her. "Where are all the pictures?"
Donna frowned. "All what pictures?"
I pointed to the room. "She had a dark room so she had film to develop, but there aren't any pictures." I glanced through the open garage door. "Were they in the house?"
Donna shook her head. "I didn't fin
d any." She smirked. "She probably never even used the dang room. Wouldn't surprise me."
I scratched my head and looked back to the garage. "Okay then this place isn't going to clean itself."
We rolled in the trash bins and started pitching everything that was broken. A few items survived and we set those aside. Tools went back on their hooks, paint cans back on the shelves, and so it went until things were put right again. I fired up the shop vac to pick up the small debris, spilled fertilizer and other chemicals, while Donna used a broom to get under the workbench and cabinets.
"Aha!"
I looked up from my vacuuming. Donna was poking at something with the broom under the workbench. I turned off the vac. "What?"
M.urder R.eady to E.at (A Scotti Fitzgerald Murder Mystery Book 2) Page 28
