Trevar's Team 2

by Kieran York

  “Thankfully, enough people aren’t haters.” I gave a deep, gratifying sigh. “We’ve plugged along without too much resistance. Is there anyone you suspect might have wanted Wendell dead?”

  “Curtis Rhodes is forever angry about losing what he considers to be his part of the company.” Ross rubbed his chin. “I’m uncertain why Rhodes didn’t take Wendell’s buyout offer. Please don’t mention this to anyone, but there was something going between the men. Curtis and Wendell. One had something on the other, or both had something on one another.”

  “Why do you suspect that?”

  Lowering his voice, he answered, “I study people’s reactions. Groups. Individuals. My success depends on it. A couple times, when Rhodes would be in Wendell’s office they would get loud. Usually it ended with Rhodes leaving, slamming the door on his way out.”

  “Did you ever hear what was going on?”

  “Once I heard Rhodes shout about something being in the past. It didn’t make sense to me. He said the word ‘animals’ – using it like a threat.”

  My thoughts rushed. “Has Perrault ever done testing with animals?”

  “I didn’t think they had. In fact, I seem to remember that Wendell had denied it at one time. But I haven’t been here that long. Glenda wouldn’t have gone for that. She is an animal rights activist. However, she went along with Wendell about not being supportive to other causes. LGBT, women’s rights. I know because I suggested most of our clients are women, we should back women’s shelters.”

  “That logical.”

  “Glenda was for it, and Wendell wasn’t. He always said women purchased the cosmetics, but in most cases, husbands paid for them. He also said that women in shelters don’t buy expensive cosmetics.”

  “I’m becoming less sympathetic to Wendell,” I muttered, with a slight smile.

  “He was a fairly decent guy to work with. His headset was forged decades ago. But he did attempt to make sure Glenda got her way about most things.”

  Leaning over, I placed my business card on top of the stack of papers. “Please give me a call if you can think of anything that might help with the investigation. No matter how unimportant it might seem, anything you can remember might be of assistance. I’d appreciate knowing.”

  “I’m pretty sure the police investigators have Dr. Rhodes on their radar. And me, too. That’s why I’m telling you this. Anything I said to the police just made them scrutinize me more. So, admittedly, it shut me up.”

  “I understand, Ross.”

  And I did. Chief Powers probably thought Ross and Glenda were getting up to something. I was relatively certain, they were only making up sweet words for the colors of Perrault lipstick gloss.

  Chapter 4

  I reached the hospital parking lot a little before noon. Not prepared for what was ahead, I paid little attention to the Emergency’s bay entrance. I knew it was lit up with police vehicle emergency roof lighting. While walking, my gaze swayed to the area. Several police squad cars were blocking the area. Drug related shootings were getting more and more frequent. Maybe it had been a long night in gangland.

  Curious, I decided to enter through Emergency, and the go to Rachel’s room from there. It was a surprise to see Tom Powers. “Chief,” I greeted him in the long hallway.

  “You’re already working the Perrault crime. We won’t need your help on this one, Trevar.”

  Grinning, I mentioned, “You always need the Team to give you a hand. Drug shooting?”

  “Naw. Murder. Sad.” As if struck by a light bulb idea that was pitching thunder to the ground, he whirled back around. “What a minute. Maybe you might know something.”

  “I’m listening.” I touched my ears. “Just ask?”

  “You probably know the lesbian bars here in West Palm.”

  “The two prominent ones are Purple Sand, a sports bar, and Glitters is a dance bar.”

  “Yeah, Glitters. It was in the alleyway behind there. You know that street entertainer – mime, does a little acrobat stuff? Small, mid-twenties, always wears sort of circus duds. A little tumbling, you know tossing balls in the air…”

  “The one they call Pixy?” I interrupted. Panic struck. Not Pixy, my mind corrected.

  “Yeah, that the one. She hangs out at the lesbian bars. Sells shells, juggles. She also sells roses. I don’t know if she’s lesbian. She’s developmentally disabled, or something, so nobody knows anything about her background.”

  Thoughts appeared rapidly. “She doesn’t talk. When she does, it makes very little sense. I know her. But nothing really about her past.”

  “None of you gals wanna talk much with police,” he complained. “We can’t even find her identity. No name. Maybe you can check it out. Somebody must know. They’ll talk with you.”

  “Pixy, is she okay?”

  “I was on my way to stop by and see Rachel when the call came in. I stopped here first. They brought her in earlier this morning.” His eyes were blinking, and he was visibly upset. Stalling. His expression blanched.

  “Tom, tell me.” I leaned forward.

  “They lost her on the murder scene. But continued CPR.”

  Words in my mind were fumbling. “No, not Pixy. Tom, we’ll all help. Who would want to killer her?” Disbelievingly, I shook my head. Thoughts scrambled to be understood.

  “Check around your lesbian places for me, will you? Tell Rachel I’m on a case, but I’ll drop by first chance I get.”

  “Yes, or course.” I stepped away, then turned toward the elevator. Pixy, everyone called her Pixy. My mind explored this news. Pixy was someone we all knew for the past couple years. She would stop me on the beach when I was doing my jogging and reflexive training. The Team needed to be sharp. That meant hours of training. Weightlifting, boxing, yes, but also the defensive arts. We wanted to be able to protect ourselves. With precision. Reflex, brain, brawn, and learning to anticipate was essential. It had saved us before.

  Pixy followed me on the beach sometimes. She would imitate my actions. Some of her training must have emphasized grace, and artistic talent. However, her training was as hidden as her name. We didn’t know the pertinent details of her life. Because she rarely talked, it was difficult to decipher much of this child/woman.

  She was loved by tourists, and residents alike. The small busker wandered the streets of Palm Beach and West Palm Beach plying her flowers, doing acrobatics, and miming. Miming for real. Her face was usually smeared thinly with white pan makeup. One side bore indentations – scars the length of her face and head. She was impish looking, mischievous, and her thick dark hair was cut in the old pixy style, perhaps the style movie stars in the seventies wore their hair. Everyone guessed that she was quirky because it was part of her act.

  Her name might also have been invented by her hairdo, or by her clothing selection. Over her very short, slim and limber body, she wore harem pants, with floral or geometric designs. Baggy pants, with bright neon fitted tank-tops - sometimes matching. On her head, tilted, she wore one of her several porkpie hats. Usually the brightly colored, short-brimmed hat was with its brim upturned. Her foot fashion was mostly ballet-type shoes. I’d also seen her, when out on the beaches, wearing canvas boat footwear.

  The first time I saw her in the plaza, I figured she was doing circus training. These were rehearsals for her. But as time passed, I knew she made it up as she went along. I realized it was completely improvisation. Whatever her body would allow her to do. It seemed at times both her body and mind was short-circuited. On her good days, her performance was more fluid.

  Once in a while, she would be tuned in. One day we were sitting on the sands. The beach was crescent-shaped. Cusps, the curving mounds of sand, were beside us. Such a wide sky, I’d thought. Waves lifted, surf swayed, and Pixy and I watched.

  When I looked over at her, I realized we were both sitting cross-legged. We were also both intrigued by the vast, miraculous ocean. I caught a glimmer in her eyes. “Stay,” she said when I stood.

&
nbsp; “I’ve got to get back, Pixy. I have an appointment.”

  Her hand reached, and I pulled her up. That’s when she said, “Nerves.”

  “Nerves?”

  “Nerves,” she repeated the word over and over. She finally said, “Nerves. Nerves too busy for brain.” She pointed to herself. “Nerves too busy for brain.”

  I never forgot that, because perhaps that was the explanation of her.

  Nunc pro tunc, I pulled from my legal Latin training. Now and then. Now, I wouldn’t have walked only another half hour with her. I wouldn’t have merely been half an hour late for my appointment. Now, I would have spent the day with her and cancelled the afternoon appointment. Now and then, we all have them, regret them, and wish do-overs were possible.

  My eyes teared. Both Rachel and Summer also knew Pixy. But just as with me, it was surface knowledge.

  I had been told that Rachel had been moved into a private room. As I was checking out the brass room number plates, I saw Summer.

  “Hey, Trev, I’m going out for some lunch. Want me to get you anything?” Summer offered.

  “Hold it a minute. I have news,” I said as I pulled her arm. When I told Summer what had transpired, I saw the blood draining from her face.

  “That can’t be.” Summer hit the side of the tile wall. “No. Do they have any suspects?”

  “None. Tom wouldn’t mind us snooping around. They don’t have a name, address, or anything else on her. Maybe fingerprints will get a hit. But only if she’s been reported as a missing person.” I paused. “The Perrault case is going nowhere. It’s a stand-still murder case. Maybe we can investigate both cases.”

  “Two major cases. Tough cases. We’re without our third detective.” Summer’s usual proud stand became a slump against the doorway. Her hands pressed her temple. “How can we manage?”

  “We just can. I want to see Pixy’s killer brought to justice. You’ll see, we can do it.”

  “Rach is recovering beautifully.” Summer was getting onboard with the idea. “Yeah, other than pain meds which might be a small impairment, she could work computers. You know, check reports, get information to us.” Summer’s head pressed back against the hall’s wall. “Damn, Pixy is so small. And her life was messed up with her problems. How could anyone do this?”

  “Maybe money. She could have had a good day busking on the streets. Cash. Maybe someone was desperate for cash. Needed drugs.” Inhaling deeply, I reached for Summer’s shoulder. “Look, we watched out for her when she was alive. We’ve got to watch over now, too.” I knew that both Rachel and Summer had also given her lifts around town. Watched to see if she was okay. Bought her meals, soft drinks, and given her money. “Let’s continue thinking of anything that might be relevant. Do you want to come with me to tell Rachel?”

  “No. Just tell her I’ll be back later.” Summer pushed away from the wall. It was a jettisoned kind of shove. Summer was ready for our double duty mystery solve. She gave a tough, resilient smile. “Hell, yes. How about we each check with the bars? I’ll cover Palm bars, and you can take West Palm. We can meet later at The Radclyffe and get the Pixy case set up. A file.”

  “Shouldn’t one of us stay with Rachel?”

  “Dr. Hanna Zachary is not only keeping her eye on Rachel’s lung. She has also become keeper of Rach’s heart.”

  My head shot back and my eyes popped widely open. “Really?”

  “On my honor. Hanna has taken over. She glares at me when I mention the case to Rachel. She wants her patient to rest.”

  “Rach doesn’t usually respond to being babied when she’s ill.”

  “She isn’t minding so much. Hanna has a great bedside manner.”

  Summer and I laughed loudly. “I’m happy for them both. But not so thrilled about Hanna controlling Rachel,” I said through an objection.

  “Let’s say she’ll try to control Rach.”

  “Summer, we can do this. We can work two cases. Aristotle said, ‘Law is order, and good law is good order.’”

  “Oh no, not your quotes,” Summer said as she tapped her forehead. “And Marlene Dietrich said that detectives are only policemen with smaller feet.” She glanced down at her running shoes. Her feet matched her tall, athletic build. “I have caught every perp I’ve ever chased.”

  My own deck shoes weren’t scuffed.

  Watching as Summer walked away, I thought about how we would keep two cases going. Attempting to solve two cases wouldn’t be easy. We wouldn’t want it any other way.

  I knocked on the door before entering Rachel’s hospital room.

  Rachel had taken a bullet. She appeared in the usual post-op state of being haggard. Her lovely face was washed out. Radiant auburn hair was limp, and dull. It was pressed back away from the face, but sometimes a wave or two would escape and become a curtain. With half-lidded eyes, she blinked. Her hazel eyes were stark and darkly circled, perhaps from trying to convince her body of the assault. Rachel’s complexion was tawny, still splendid, but tired.

  For a moment, I felt weakness. Perhaps she was still more critical than I thought. Then she smiled. She must have read my mind, and wanted me to be encouraged.

  “Hey, Beryl,” Rachel greeted me. “Going to catch me up one what you’ve been up to?”

  Hanna was issuing the evil eye in my direction. I responded, “Sure. Let me check with your doc. Dr. Zachary, may I go over the case. I need to tell Rachel that I’m finding nothing of interest in the Perrault case. And that we’re taking on another case.”

  “Beryl,” Hanna began, “She needs rest. She’s improving, but she needs rest.”

  “Taking on a new case?” Rachel tried to move so that she could better see me. “What new case?”

  Solemnly, I went over all the information I had about Pixy’s death. When I saw that her eyes were misting, I handed her a tissue. I could tell Hanna was perturbed.

  Finally, Hanna said, “Rachel really shouldn’t be upset.”

  “Rachel knows the young woman,” I countered. “And Rachel should determine what she’d like to do. You don’t even know Pixy.” My words were barbed.

  Hanna’s flinty eyes protruded. “I just attempted to save Pixy’s life. The first responder tech had kept her heart going. I gave the final attempt at resuscitation. I held her as she died. So, don’t you dare tell me I’m not invested.” She stormed out.

  I felt terrible for several moments. Finally, Rachel uttered, “I know you’re feeling angry about this. Me, too. And Hanna is also feeling miserable. I could tell when she walked in a while ago. Can’t you cut her some slack?”

  “You really care for her?” I questioned.

  “Yes,” Rachel responded. “She’s a decent person. She’s trying to patch me, make me better. I’ll talk with her about working on the investigation. I’ll try to do what I can via computer and phone. Sometimes my brain is a little hazy from pain medication. I’ll give it my best.”

  “I’ll bring your computer to you later. I don’t want it to be too much for you. I know now that I couldn’t make it without you, Rach.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll flirt with the good doctor. Charm her. Oh, by the way, she told me that the lungs heal quickly. Sometimes only a couple weeks.”

  “You’ll be fine in no time at all. You’re strong.”

  “And I’ve got a wonderful doctor.”

  Rachel’s eyes began to droop. Her meds were hitting. And she had just told me that she’s falling in love with her doctor. I would immediately go to Hanna’s office to apologize. Things were stacking up. I was dealing with Rachel’s nearly being killed. And with the death of a young woman that charmed our lives. The poor kid had been disfigured by some accident, and it had obviously also left her with a brain injury. Then she was beaten to death. I wasn’t certain how I could find out her backstory. But I was going search.

  I kissed Rachel’s head. Hanna was back in surgery. That meant I’d save my apology for another time.

  Meanwhile, the best place to begin the i
nvestigation was the place where Pixy’s body was found. I drove to the glitzy, rainbow colored lesbian dance bar. It was a hookup place, and usually calm. The back alley was cordoned off with crime tape stringing around the area where Pixy’s beaten body was discovered. Barely alive, one of the officers told me. Another said she was gone, but had been resuscitated on the way to the hospital.

  Another officer, a tall African American woman, restricted my way. I flashed my I.D. and explained, “Chief Powers gave me clearance.” I read her badge. “Officer Timoteo, I don’t recognize you but I’m sure one of the others will vouch for me, and let me through.”

  Her glare broke into a beautiful smile. “I recognize you. It was your partner that got shot.”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ve just transferred from Miami. My first ten years I worked records, and investigations. The last couple years I was on the streets in Miami. I thought Palm Beach wouldn’t have crime. Sorry about your partner.” She lifted the tape while I snuck under.

  “Do you know anything about what happened?”

  “Only that someone was standing near Glitter’s backdoor and heard what sounded like shouting. It was after closing time. She just looked out for a moment, then went back inside. She hadn’t seen anything.”

  Handing her my business card, I asked, “Can you let me know if you find anything out? And another case we’re working on, I would appreciate any help from you.”

  “Will do. I’m a fan of Trevar’s Team. Especially Rachel because of our cop connection. Chief Powers said we are pulling out the stops on both Pixy’s murder and the Perrault shooting homicide. I’ll ask around. And let you know anything I hear about either of the crimes.”

  “Thanks,” I said holding out my hand, I felt her firm handshake.

  “My name is Jill Timoteo.”

  Not that I’m always a good judge of character, but Officer Jill Timoteo impressed me as someone I could trust. Her eyes were intelligent, concerned, and devoted, I believed. She was helpful, and I also believed she would continue to be cooperative. Her uniform was crisp, clean, and just so. Her form was proud, yet approachable.