Kindred Killers: A Stanford Carter Murder Mystery

by Gary Starta

  Sgt. Auerbach detailed Fishburne’s investigation of Dan Collins and how bad Jay felt for the wife, Therese. The infidelity. The lying. The betrayal. Auerbach painted a compelling mural of Jay Fishburne’s internal chatter for Carter to see in his mind’s eye. The mural was filled by dashes of emotion and strokes of judgment.

  Sid continued to illuminate Carter about Jay Fishburne’s personal feelings, portraying Cheryl Thomas, in Jay’s eyes, as a sad disappointment to her family. How they’d be better if she were no longer around to bring suffering to her family, existing only as an albatross around their collective necks. Auerbach continued to dish dirt on the private feelings of a private eye. Carter clenched his hand. Did Fishburne even take the time to consider that Cheryl’s family might have been abusing her, that she might be the one who feels let down by family?

  Carter doubted Fishburne had if their initial meeting was a true litmus test of the PI’s nature. Fishburne, Carter recalled, appeared to be self-absorbed in his work. Judging Dan Collins for betraying his wife. Angry that Therese would always be haunted by Dan’s actions. But was this actual concern for people, or just the adolescent in Fishburne rising to the surface with the quick temper of a teen that was just learning that life is unfair? Was Fishburne truly sorry for Therese, or was he channeling his frustration for not making the force into sympathy for his clients? In a way, Fishburne redirected his emotions, perhaps even re-filed them into a box—like myself—as a means to deal with the cruelties of life. This man—who appears so boyish—was only disillusioning himself by redirecting his anger—because he had no idea how to bury that box, he was only shifting his anger into a more time sensitive box, one that might explode at any second when he found no amount of sympathizing with his clients would ever make him feel any better about being slighted out of a police career . . . that no matter how many times he sided with the client there would always be another box created to mask his true hatred: a hatred for cops. He saw their inability to right the wrongs of society. As a consequence, Jay Fishburne, private eye, was going to show the cops how matters should be handled . . . not in the minute detail of technicalities, or adherence of protocol—which mandated a person was too short to be a cop—but with the wisdom of a King Solomon who believed cutting a person in half was more fair than choosing sides . . . No one person should be slighted for another’s folly . . . ipso fatso there was nothing wrong in removing Dan Collins from his wife’s life—permanently . . . there was nothing cruel about extracting the weak member of family—as in Cheryl Thomas—because her blight only sickened those who loved her . . .

  Carter’s attempt to see the murders through Jay Fishburne’s eyes left him feeling nauseated. The detective felt even sicker imagining the private eye’s accomplices.

  Why did Cheryl’s parents fail to mention Fishburne was investigating their daughter’s disappearance? Carter recalled Ms. Thomas fighting to bite her lip. She was probably coached by Mr. Thomas who told her failing to volunteer information was not the same as lying. Lightning flashed again in Carter’s mind and this time he saw Jay Fishburne standing before him, trying to explain his rash. Maybe Jay was allergic to latex, the pair of latex gloves he had used to shield himself from leaving behind biological transfer at the crime scenes . . . He saw lies. Yet with those lies he saw dominoes. They were knocking each other over, the cases intertwining, overlapping each other like the footprints found at the football field. Carter realized Sgt. Auerbach had made accusations. Of course, they made perfect sense in theory: the staged murders. Needles used to tell a story about Dan Collins as Dr. Shirley theorized. Cheryl Thomas hanging from a post posed as stripper. Both had died before the killer’s handiwork was completed. As if the killer needed their death’s to symbolize what kind of person he or she judged them to be in life. Yet evidence—more aptly, a lack of evidence—challenged that perfect sense. And until he could find a way to connect Fishburne at both crime scenes Carter would have to proceed cautiously in the next few hours. He couldn’t make an arrest on supposition. District Attorney Saul Reiner didn’t prosecute arrests that were filled more with circumstance than evidence. He wouldn’t even bring it to trial. Carter knew this from experience. “A waste of the taxpayer’s dime,” Saul had told Carter more than a dozen times. “Forget tugging at the sympathies of a jury with theory because a theory is a lot like a UFO sighting. It initially peaks curiosity, then winks out of existence like a passing comet when plausibility and fact are weighed into the mix by a high priced defense attorney.” The words rang in Carter’s ears as if said yesterday. In fact, Saul Reiner had said these words some years ago, but they shaped Carter’s approach to law enforcement just as Capt. Sean Lyons had shaped Carter’s ability to deal with job stress.

  “So what do you expect me to do about this?” Carter asked Auerbach whose hands were still gripped about his cap.

  Sid Auerbach’s face paled. He crinkled his nose as if a bee had suddenly darted in front of him.

  “What . . . ? You go arrest him, that’s what. I’ve put my ass on the line here.”

  “You have your ‘ass’ on the line because you chose to be a sounding board for Mr. Fishburne. You have no one to blame but yourself, Sergeant.”

  “But you’re not getting it. There’s going to more murders.”

  “So you know about Mr. Fishburne’s next case I take it?”

  “Uh. No. I’ve cut it off with Jay. It’s all over between us. I confronted him to come forward, but he didn’t. He’s left me no other choice. I’m not only here to solve two murder cases, I’m here to save more lives.”

  “Please elaborate, Sergeant. You just said you are not privy to any more of Jay’s cases. And I remind you all of this will go into your personal records . . . ”

  “Look, I know you’ve got to report this to the Captain. You don’t have to remind me. But we’re on the clock here.” He paused to point at the watch on his wrist.

  “If you don’t somehow find a way to detain Mr. Fishburne soon I’m afraid someone who is not connected to his work might die, Detective Carter.”

  Carter nodded, eyes begging explanation.

  “There’s this woman, a hooker Fishburne has been seeing.”

  Carter raised his eyebrows. “Her name . . . ?”

  “Uh, I think it is Laura . . . no wait a minute. It’s Lucy. Yeah, Lucy, that’s her name. Jay had been telling me for the past week how he’s going to change her life, get her off the streets . . . ”

  “Commendable,” Carter injected.

  Auerbach paused a moment and said, “I appreciate your admiration for Jay. But this girl is in danger and I think Jay’s going out in a blaze of glory. He’s killed twice now. I think if this Lucy doesn’t come around to his way of thinking—he’s going to end her pain, and for Jay that means snuffing out her life.”

  Carter felt a jolt, as if someone had kicked him in the back. Auerbach’s fear for Lucy was valid. It fit Carter’s earlier mental profiling of Jay. Jay Fishburne would opt to end suffering if he couldn’t find a cure. And if Lucy was indeed balking at the offer to take Fishburne’s help, the PI just might be crazy enough to kill her in the name of mercy. But as much as this impending threat spooked Carter, it also gave him an idea. I’ve now got a way to detain Fishburne for questioning without arresting him for murder.

  Chapter 14

  From one hot seat to another, Sgt. Sid Auerbach thought.

  Now seated in front of Capt. James Eldridge, Auerbach replayed moments earlier when he had officially betrayed his friend, Jay Fishburne to Detective Stanford Carter. That had been extremely hard for Auerbach to do. Mostly because Auerbach felt Carter’s success was dependent upon having a topnotch forensics team. He could have easily collared as many scumbags and killers as Carter if only he had the resources. And now, allowing himself to become consumed by his dislike of Carter he was reminded of the bureau rumor – Jill Seacrest was being transferred. Carter’s going to lose a key player, he thinks. Let’s just see how he’ll do without her . .
.

  Sid Auerbach impulsively decided to capitalize on Carter’s misfortune. Across the room, Capt. Eldridge paced the floor, a silhouette of his shadow played off the closed blinds. And if it weren’t for the morning sun, the room would be in pitch darkness. Sid interpreted this to be a good sign. Just like when he used to chat with Jay in the dimly lit club. This is a sign of solidarity. The Captain has to interview me about my relationship with Jay merely because of protocol. He’s helped me out of a major jam before. He’ll help me now. What goes down in this room stays in this room . . .

  Confident with his assessment, Sid broke the silence.

  “Cap, I want you to know I’m sorry to hear about CSI Seacrest’s transfer. If there’s anything I can do to help out during this time . . . ” His voice was dripping with mockery.

  “Enough!” Eldridge bellowed, his voice loud enough to be heard outside the closed door. And most likely, some of Auerbach’s newbie’s were strategically placed about the vicinity of the office, pretending to go over duty rosters or case notes, sipping water from the cooler, perhaps. All the while, listening to his tongue-lashing and no doubt enjoying it. Screw them .Maybe this will be good for them. If they hear how Eldridge chews out me out they’ll think twice before making a serious fuck up themselves . . .

  “Hey, I’m talking to you,” Eldridge said, panting.

  “I’m listening. I hear you loud and clear, Cap.”

  “Don’t give me that ‘Cap’ bullshit, Sergeant.”

  Auerbach pursed his lips and let his eyes drop to the officer’s cap he was holding in his hands. Unconsciously, he had been twirling it back and forth in his hands for the last few minutes. Now, he stopped, signaling the Captain he was giving him full attention.

  “What do you have to say for yourself? And better yet, what the hell were you thinking?”

  “I know you don’t like me socializing with Jay Fishburne. I get that. But he’s a lifelong friend. He’s harmless, just a wannabe cop. You know that. And because of this relationship, I found out some things that need to be reported. Could I just sweep the news under the rug? If we protect and serve, it’s pretty clear what duty obligated me to do. And just because I’ve stepped up doesn’t mean I’m jeopardizing our agreement . . . ”

  Eldridge grabbed his leather wheeled chair out from underneath his desk and hurled it toward the wall to his left. It bounced off the wall, squeaking and groaning in protest. Sid flinched and swallowed hard.

  “Let’s get something straight,” Eldridge barked pointing a finger. You were abiding by ‘my’ rules. You ‘do’ as I say. You wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for me. Got it!”

  “Got it,” Auerbach answered sheepishly realizing his attempt to ridicule Carter had failed. Eldridge disliked Carter as much as him. Why wouldn’t the Captain take a moment to gloat at Carter? The great detective had fallen pretty hard for a CSI who ironically failed to respect details, willingly giving Eldridge the means to transfer her out of the forensic science division, the best in the country, all because she foolishly provided him with evidence, something she more than anyone should know was something only the guilty or ignorant do. Imagine, flashing her ring before him like she was some love-smitten teen or worse yet, some uppity bling-wielding yuppie. No, the Captain should have least cracked a smile at his insinuation. Captain Eldridge told him many times over a drink that he would like to take Carter down a peg or two. What bug crawled up the Captain’s ass this morning? So he willingly listened to some confidential chitchat about the pitiful lives of a few civilians. He was sure the Captain had broken protocol over the years. Probably made what he did look about as criminal as parking in front of a hydrant or failing to clear your curb of snow—come to think of it what dirt might Eldridge have hidden underneath his carpet?

  “Let he who cast the first stone . . . ” Sid began.

  Eldridge cut him off.

  “You like proverbs. Well I got one for you. How about the one that cautions people who live in glass houses? The way I see it, Sid, your house is pretty damn shaky, ready to crumble at any moment. The only reason people can’t see into your glass house is because of me. I made that glass impervious to light and more aptly, the scrutiny of those who hold protocol above any one person or any one thing.”

  “So, what you going to sick Carter on me? Over some damn sealed records? Some friggin’ damn chick’s opinion? She’s paid to make assessments. It keeps her in designer clothes and eight room mansions for Christ sakes. If you ask me, she’s the one who should be scrutinized.”

  “Fuck your insolence. We made a pact to keep our secret buried. And you better hope I can keep it that way, before it buries us both.”

  “Don’t you think you’re being a bit over dramatic? Jay’s on the hot seat, not us.”

  “People like Carter like to dig, to scratch beyond the surface of things. So you’ve given me no choice in this matter.”

  Auerbach’s eyes searched Eldridge’s. He couldn’t believe what was transpiring. He knew Eldridge had treated him like a friend, maybe even as good as a family member during his tenure with the department. Today, Eldridge was breaking an unwritten code, the one that said friends in the force watched each other’s backs. Because of this, Eldridge must have alleviated some of his guilt.

  “But first, I would like to say—on the record—that I hope your information about Fishburne saves a life. I truly do for your sake, Sid. Because today you made a sacrifice for your friend; today, you’re going to know what it’s like to be a civilian.” He held his up his right hand and waggled his fingers. “Give me your badge and gun, Sid. You’re suspended pending review.”

  Auerbach handed over his weapon and badge mulling a sad revelation. The Captain, by suspending him, was covering his own ass. And if their secret should be revealed, maybe this act of punishment would help shield Captain James Eldridge from the harsh light of his own personal judgment day. But deep in the pit of Sid Auerbach’s soul, he doubted there would be any leniency for those who spent their lives cowering in shadows.

  ***

  “So let me get this straight,” Jill said to Carter, “Plan A is to find Lucy the streetwalker and take her into custody. Plan B is to set up Fishburne for a solicitation charge.”

  “And we’ve got to move fast. I’ve got to find someone in the drug unit who might be willing to do some undercover . . . ”

  “Wait a minute. Hold the phone,” Jill said. She had spent the last twenty minutes listening to Carter’s plan, her hands folded before her, dressed in a white smock. She never once interrupted him, immersed in detail. Yet now she would intervene. She was not a third party. She was a crime scene investigator who had license to carry a weapon. She was not about to sit on the sidelines even if she was about to be transferred.

  “I’m going to go undercover for you.”

  “Jill, I admire your courage and willingness to assist . . . ”

  “Save the big brother speech. Right now as of this moment we’re still a team. Don’t treat me like I’m already gone.” Her brown eyes bore into Carter. In a way, she wanted him to feel the burn of guilt. To her knowledge, he hadn’t even protested the supervisor’s decision. It wouldn’t do any good. Still, it might make her feel a bit better if Carter would step out of his detective shoes for a moment and allow himself to feel like a human being, or better yet behave like one. Maybe if he stopped shoveling those boxes of pain down some dark Zen alleyway of consciousness he might even come to grips with those feelings. He might even behave irrationally and get angry. Every now and then a woman liked a man to behave rashly especially when it came to defending the most irrational behavior of all humans, the act of falling in love. A long moment of silence ensued. Jill watched and observed, hoping some tinge of guilt might spark an ember of anger in Carter.

  “I know the supervisor’s decision has been getting to you. You’ve done your best to bury it; to deep breathe your way through the pain and anguish. But I saw you on that football field. You were ready to break.”<
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  “But I didn’t. I’ve got a responsibility. A job.”

  “You’re missing my point entirely, detective. I want you to break. Get mad. Maybe kick up a few divots of grass in the process. We’re about to be split up over some bullshit protocol. You’ve got a right to be angry.” Jill rested her elbows on the table as she said this with hands clenched.

  “I am angry, if it makes you feel any better.”

  Jill smiled. Her eyes were glazed from tears.

  “Damn it, Stanford. You don’t have to hide from me. I’m going to be your wife.” Her lips were trembling.

  “That’s the plan. The ultimate plan,” Carter said, taking her hand in his. “If we’re going to be married then we have to . . . ”

  “Have to what? Abide by some rule written by some desk jockey?”

  “I can’t lose you. I won’t.”

  Jill grimaced and closed her eyes. When she opened them they were dry.

  “But will we be whole if we’re simply man and wife? Won’t we lose some part of ourselves, some part of our relationship if we allow them to split us up?”

  “We will never lose our selves to other’s selfishness.”

  Jill laughed, her lips still twisting as if she was going to cry again.

  “How Zen of you. Mind explaining it to an over emotional CSI who stupidly wears her wedding ring to work?”

  “Uh, I don’t know who that is. But if you point her out to me I’d be happy . . . ”

  “Okay,” Jill said, her voice softening. She pawed away a tear from her cheek with her left hand. “We won’t lose each other or ourselves, no matter what.

  “Then we’re in agreement.”

  “Yeah, but that solves nothing, you know.”

  “You’ve just taken the first step on the road to enlightenment, my love.”