When the Dead Speak

by Sandra Tooley

  Jake flipped open his cellular phone. “Why don’t I just call Chief Connelley and confirm that.” He started to punch in the number.

  Sam bristled. “You’re on the wrong side of town, Detective.”

  “And you’re on the wrong side of the law, Sergeant.”

  As though a light flickered inside her head, her eyes seemed to take on a glow, seemed to bore right through him. “You wouldn’t be blackmailing me now would you, Mitchell?”

  Jake grinned, the kind that tugged at only one corner of the mouth. “Let’s just say I’m leaving my options open.”

  “I’m the last person you want to mess with.”

  “On the contrary, Sergeant. I’m the last person YOU want to mess with.”

  Grabbing the videotape from the table, she stormed past him and into the house, slamming the patio screen door behind her.

  Jake savored the moment, although he didn’t get any answers to his questions. Grinning like a Cheshire cat, he quietly pulled out the chaise lounge and sat down. He was in the middle of a full stretch when a wet spray hit him square in the face. He jumped to a sitting position and was greeted by a woman holding an opened beer can in her outstretched hand. Jake jerked himself to a standing position and smiled at her. He gladly took the beer in one hand and reached out his other hand to her.

  “Jake Mitchell.”

  Her handshake was firm, as was his. “Hello, Jake Mitchell. I am Abby Two Eagles.” She grasped his hand with both of hers and held it for several seconds.

  “I didn’t think anyone would mind. I was just taking a walk around the patio.” He finally sat down once she took a seat next to him.

  “You work with Sam.”

  “Yes, and I have to add ... it’s quite an experience.” Jake peered over his beer can at her — eyes dark and mysterious surrounded by lines of wisdom, skin clear and bronzed, cheekbones so pronounced she seemed to be smiling even when her mouth wasn’t. Her long, gleaming hair was streaked with sparkling silver. She was average in height and weight although her skirt made her look a little thick around the middle.

  “The house looks massive. Does anyone else live here?”

  “Just the two of us. Alex lives in the carriage house out back.”

  “Alex?”

  “He does our gardening and handiwork.”

  “A house out back, too. This place must be something to look at in the daylight.” Jake pulled out a cigarette and looked at her for approval. She nodded and handed him an empty can for an ashtray.

  “Maybe you would like to stop in sometime and see the house.”

  “Thanks. I might do that.” As he took a long sip from his beer, he noticed a small buckskin pouch hanging from Abby’s neck.

  She followed his gaze and lifted the pouch. “It is a medicine bundle.” She leaned over so he could get a closer look. “It is sacred, a protector. Each is different because each contains something of importance to the individual. Mine has blackgold dust, sage, tobacco, and my umbilical cord.”

  “You’re kidding.” He felt the weight of the pouch. “Tell me something, Miss Two Eagles.”

  “Abby, please,” she insisted.

  “Abby ... Does Sergeant Casey seem a little strange to you?”

  “I’m not sure I know what you mean by strange.”

  He took a long drag from his cigarette, flicked an ash in the empty can. “She looked at a body, touched it, claimed to know how and when he was killed. That is logically impossible.”

  Abby smiled and said, “Sometimes things cannot be looked at logically.”

  Abby peered through the blinds by the front door and watched as Jake’s car pulled away. She had heard bits and pieces of his conversation with Sam, had studied him as she held his hand on the patio.

  At first glance he appeared cold and harsh. But when she spoke to him, his smile gave a devilish twinkle to his eyes. It had been a warm, genuine smile. She had felt the sincerity and gentleness in his touch.

  He gave off mixed signals, but she had seen him before. At least six months ago in a vision. It had been on more than one occasion. She was sure of it. The chiseled features, the boyish grin that changed his threatening glare to a mischievous though kind face, and his strong shoulders.

  “Finally,” Abby said in the darkened foyer as the blinds snapped shut. “I knew you would come.”

  Chapter 14

  Sam poured water on the miniature rose bush, azalea, and other assorted potted plants on the windowsill in her office. She touched one of the buds on the azalea bush as if coaxing it to bloom. She lacked Abby’s and Alex’s green thumbs. All of her office plants were usually taken home just before last rites, resuscitated by Abby or Alex, and then returned to her office only to have the whole process repeated again in four to six months.

  “Good morning, Sergeant,” Jake said. “How did you sleep?”

  Sam poured the last of the water on the wilted African violet and glared back at Jake and Frank.

  “What’s your game plan, Mitchell? I’m not a patient person.”

  “I am.” Jake pulled up a chair and sat down near Frank.

  Mick walked in requesting an update on King Tut. He leaned against the door frame while Sam retrieved a file folder.

  “We’ve confirmed that the overpass was rebuilt twenty-one years ago,” Sam explained. “The CAT-scan didn’t reveal any gunshot or stab wounds. Right now Benny’s calling it asphyxiation. He thinks the skin pads should be ready to go to the Crime Lab sometime today.”

  “I want him to do an autopsy, even if it’s a partial,” Mick said. He turned to Frank. “Any I.D. on that pin?”

  “Not yet. I showed the picture to several jewelry stores but it isn’t anything the jewelers recognize. I also checked out Decker Construction who did the work on the overpass. Business has been shut down for quite some time.” A wicked smile turned up the corners of his mouth. “Little problem with using substandard materials. Haven’t located the owner yet.”

  Jake clasped his hands behind his head and rocked back on his chair. “Maybe we should check for more bodies in the overpass.” This brought a hardy laugh from Frank.

  A commotion in the outer office interrupted the meeting. Sergeant Scofield could be heard calling out after a dowdy brunette.

  “Aw, jeezus, not again,” Mick said.

  “What’s going on?” Sam asked as they filed out of her office.

  “Camille Carter, Brandon’s wife. She’s made a couple trips here in the past to confront her husband,” Mick replied.

  “You know the rules, Camille,” Sergeant Scofield yelled. “You need a pass.”

  But the brunette kept walking. Gelatinous thighs stretched the fabric of her yellow jogging suit. Her straight pony tail swayed across her back. When she reached down into the handbag hanging from her right shoulder, every cop in the place reacted to the familiar move and headed for cover.

  “Holy, shit.” Mick motioned for the clerical staff to get down. The brunette approached to within twenty feet of Brandon Carter, who was bending over a cute blond seated in front of a computer. The blond took off for the safety of the filing cabinets. Brandon looked up, slightly annoyed.

  “I warned you, Brandon,” she cried out. Camille, Brandon’s wife of ten years and mother of his four children, pointed a .357 Magnum at him.

  “Camille, you don’t want to do this,” Scofield called out.

  “Get away,” she screamed, “all of you.”

  “I’m not moving, just stay cool.” Scofield stopped in his tracks sending his bifocals bouncing to the tip of his nose.

  “You lousy son of a bitch,” Camille yelled, a rush of tears streaking down her face.

  Sam didn’t know Brandon but she knew his type. He had Hollywood good looks and a swagger to his walk. She had seen him earlier in the break room hanging over one of the part-time clerical workers, a petite redhead with green eyes and dimples.

  He was a beat cop with aspirations for Internal Affairs. Unfortunately, no one had told him
affairs didn’t mean his own. Seeing Brandon sweat gave Sam a perverse pleasure. She cautiously approached Camille eager to get a front row seat.

  Brandon, his face red from embarrassment and anger, slowly raised his hands in front of him. Gone was the arrogant, self-assured smile, the cocky tilt to his head. Even his hair, which was never out of place, lay matted to his forehead by beads of perspiration.

  “Just take it easy, Camille. You know you haven’t been feeling well lately. Just a little PMS.” He tried a nervous laugh to ease the tension. But the room was silent, except for the droning of the ceiling fans.

  Camille raised her left hand to help steady the gun. “How the hell should I feel after your high school girlfriend called to tell me the results of her pregnancy test?”

  Gasps could be heard from some of the women crouched behind their desks. Scofield maneuvered himself to where he could be seen to Camille’s right while Sam approached on Camille’s left.

  “I’ve been true to you, Camille.” Camille’s voice mimicked him. “I’ve been faithful, Camille.” Several sobs escaped her throat. “You lying sack of shit.” She squeezed the trigger, sending a bullet directly over Brandon’s shoulder and into a picture hanging on the wall. Shards of glass sprayed in all directions.

  “Are you nuts?” Brandon yelled, moving away from the desk with sudden boldness.

  Sam smiled and casually walked up to Camille, first looking at the gun and then Brandon’s nervous face. She placed her left hand on Camille’s wrist and lowered the gun until it pointed well below Brandon’s waist. “That was a little too high, Camille. I bet if you spend some time at the range, you could improve your aim dramatically.”

  Some of the observers couldn’t contain their laughter. She could hear Frank’s deep, resonant chuckle somewhere behind her. Camille’s hands began shaking as she started sobbing uncontrollably. Sam took the gun away from her.

  Brandon walked over, smoothing his hair down. “Baby, she’s lying. You know how these teenagers are,” he whispered.

  Sam handed the gun to Scofield and turned to Brandon. “All she asks for is a little honesty. You’ve slept with half the women in this building. Why don’t you just admit it?”

  Camille let out another sob and sank into the nearest chair.“Sarge, what are you doing?” Jake asked.

  “Stay out of this,” Brandon yelled at both Sam and Jake.

  “Why don’t you just divorce the jerk?” Sam asked.

  Camille shook her head, dabbing her eyes with a tissue. “I still love him.”

  Sam threw up her hands in disgust as Murphy approached, his overpowering scent of aftershave trailing behind.

  He shook his head at Sam saying, “You’re not even here a week, Sergeant, and already you’re causing us grief.”

  Chapter 15

  Jake and Frank stood on the front steps of Sam’s house looking back at the three-hundred-foot-long brick drive.

  The home, nestled in a partially wooded area near Lake Michigan was surrounded by a black wrought iron fence with a remote control gate, which Abby rarely closed.

  A variety of colors welcomed them in the shape of peonies, potentillas, roses, and spireas. Flowering magnolias and red buds hugged the fence along the brick drive.

  Frank let out a long whistle and said, “Shit, I never knew the sarge lived in a mansion.”

  The house had been constructed with flagstone and a concrete mixture that gave it a stucco appearance. A large overhang by the front door protected them from the noon sun.

  “It certainly didn’t look this huge last night.”

  Frank gave him a puzzled look. “You were here last night?”

  Suddenly, the door pulled open and Jake found himself staring into the mysterious eyes he had met on the patio.

  “Jacob.” Abby greeted him warmly.

  “Frank Travis, Abby. My partner.”

  Abby reached out and shook Frank’s hand.

  “Nice to meet you,” Frank said.

  She turned and led them into the house. Her patterned skirt hung to within inches of her moccasins and her printed blouse was accented by some of the most eye-catching turquoise jewelry they had ever seen.

  “I’m sorry, Abby. I probably should have called first,” Jake said.

  “No problem,” she replied. “I was expecting you.”

  Frank gave Jake another puzzled look. He then inhaled deeply. “Damn, somethin’ smells good.”

  “I’ve been baking.”

  “This REALLY isn’t a good time,” Jake apologized.

  Abby patted his arm. “I just finished. And besides, I prepared lunch for you.”

  Jake could feel Frank’s quizzical eyes on him. And Jake had no way to explain how Abby knew they would be by for lunch.

  The two detectives gave a quick glance up a slightly curved staircase which led from the quarry tile foyer to the second floor.

  “I’ll just make it a quick nickel tour.” Abby led them through four-thousand square feet of pottery, sand paintings, area rugs, Navajo-style upholstered furniture, and windows with remote control blinds. She moved gracefully, as reserved as a First Lady giving a tour of the White House, yet had a casual air about her that made them feel comfortable.

  The house had been built thirty years earlier when solid oak flooring and trim were standard. All four fireplaces had been recently converted from wood-burning to gas.

  The men marveled at the intricate hand-carved designs on the fifteen-foot-long dining room table, the huge bay windows in the dining room, the restful ambiance of the Florida room.

  A fragrant breeze swept through the kitchen from the opened patio door. Jake slid open the screen and walked out onto the massive flagstone patio surrounded by a three-foot high brick wall.

  “So this is where I was last night.”

  “How much land do you have here?” Frank gasped.

  “I’m not sure. Maybe seventy-five, one hundred acres. Alex knows the exact figure. There’s a pond out back which Alex has surrounded with a variety of wild flowers and natural settings. It’s also nice that we are bordered on two sides by forest preserves and one side by the lake, so we have maximum privacy.”

  Jake turned and faced the house, wondering just why they needed so much privacy. He gazed up at the long balcony which shaded part of the patio.

  Frank whistled. “It certainly isn’t a house you could buy on a sergeant’s salary.”

  Abby led them back into the kitchen as she explained, “Mrs. Casey’s father built this house as a wedding gift. When Samuel and Melinda died, Sam inherited the house. The only expenses are insurance, upkeep and taxes.”

  It took a great deal of effort on Abby’s part to pull Frank from the full-sized gym with whirlpool and Jake from the study with its bar, entertainment center, and Sam’s computer terminal which was hooked up to Headquarters.

  The tour ended upstairs in the master bedroom. In all, five bedrooms, three bathrooms, and two fireplaces comprised the second floor.

  Jake noticed the tape recorder on the coffee table. The red message light was blinking.

  Abby checked her watch. “I really should put lunch out or you two will never get back to the office.”

  “You two go ahead,” Jake said. “I’m just going to use the washroom here.” He waited until they had left, then walked back to the recorder and pushed the PLAY button.

  Abby stopped at the top of the stairs to catch her breath. She had a better look at Jake in the daylight. He was definitely the one she had seen in her vision. His eyes were the color of doeskin, the softest brown she had ever seen. He was handsome, in a rugged sort of way. She felt as giddy as a schoolgirl. Smiling, she started down the stairs, her skirt brushing softly against the carpeting.

  Catching up with Frank she said, “Maybe some night I can have you and Jake and your wives over for dinner.”

  “My wife would just love to see this place,” Frank replied. “We’re planning on building a house and I’m sure this place could give her lots of
ideas.” His hand glided over the solid oak railing as he added, “Jake isn’t married.”

  Abby stopped and looked at Frank. She tried to sound sincere as she said, “Well, he can certainly bring his girlfriend.”

  “Nope. Jake’s kinda a loner these days.”

  She let Frank pass her on the stairs as she smiled broadly. Without realizing it, she started to whistle.

  Jake listened to Preston’s voice on the recorder. Preston had received a call from his wife informing him she wouldn’t be home for another month.

  The second call was from a Bill Simpson, who was looking for votes for a labor bill being introduced. Nothing out of the ordinary.

  “My, my, we certainly are talented.” Just as his finger touched the eject button he heard the cocking of a gun just above his right ear.

  “Don’t even think of taking that.”

  Slowly Jake straightened up, leaving the tape sitting up in the chute of the recorder.

  “Never crossed my mind.” He turned and stared down the barrel of Sam’s 9mm stainless steel Taurus. He clenched his jaw in anger. “Don’t EVER point a gun unless you plan on using it.”

  She grabbed the gun with both hands. “What makes you think I won’t?”

  Abby entered smiling. “There you are. I thought I heard you come in. Lunch is ready,” Abby announced, appearing unconcerned about Sam’s armed threat. As Abby turned to leave she looked back at Jake and said, “Don’t look so nervous, Jacob. She never keeps it loaded when she’s in the house.”

  Sam dropped her arms and shot Abby an accusing look. Jake breathed a sigh of relief. With a soft laugh, Abby turned and left.

  Chapter 16

  By the time Sam finished her phone call to the Crime Lab and glanced over the daily log, Jake and Frank were already halfway through with their lunch. On the table in front of them were the pictures from Preston’s safe.