by L. T. Ryan
Sam took off running. I watched him skirt behind the reporters who were still bunched up around an imaginary crime scene line. I hoped they wouldn’t see us. Last thing we needed was one of them following us back to the Miller’s residence.
Sandusky shot me a curious look.
“Just floor it, asshole.”
He dropped the van into drive. The tires spun in the dirt and kicked gravel everywhere.
“Go easy,” I said. “Gonna attract attention that way.”
He waved me off and ignored the narrow road that led to the street, instead choosing to drive through the grass.
“You know where we’re going?”
“I spent all day there yesterday, Tanner.”
Had it only been one day since Dusty Anne’s death? The episode atop the water tower felt like it lasted at least a week. How long till the calendar caught up with my brain this time?
“What do you think?” I asked.
“About what?”
One thing about Sandusky, the guy is incapable of giving a straight answer after one question. If I hadn’t been trained to go through this process, I’d have knocked him out and stole his van right then and there.
“Dusty Anne and that crime scene?”
“Who says it’s a crime scene?”
“That’s what I’m asking you, man.”
“Why would you ask me that?”
“Because you’ve processed thousands of crime scenes, so I’d like to get your opinion.”
“On or off the record.”
I’d almost had it by then. “Whatever, man, I’m just fishing for opinions, gut feelings, intuition. If the Holy Spirit came down and gave you any clues, I’d love to hear them.”
He cleared his throat as he turned the steering wheel and navigated toward the Miller’s house. “On the record, it looks like a woman, mid-thirties, fell and hit her head.”
“And off the record?”
“Signs point elsewhere, but you’ll have to wait for the ME to confirm that.”
Sandusky, despite his shaggy outward appearance and aloof mannerisms, had a tendency to be right on the money.
So he pulled the van up to the curb on the opposite side of the road. I heard Sam brake hard and stop on the other side of the street. I hopped out of the van and held my hand above my eyebrows to shield my eyes from the rain. That cursed rain. I said as much, too. We all met on the sidewalk in front of the Miller’s residence. Sam held his windbreaker over his head. The rain hit it with a dull, hollow sounding thump.
“Where’s this evidence?” Sandusky said.
“Follow me.” I walked up to the gate and lifted the latch, then kicked it open. The porch light was still on. That’s how I noticed the blood earlier that night. I headed right for it.
I stopped a foot from the hedges, and Sam and Sandusky came to a halt behind me. I frantically searched for the blood I’d seen earlier. My head jerked side to side, bobbed up and down. I probably looked like the world’s worst dancer at that moment, hands on my hips, doing some weird version of the Chicken Dance.
“Well?” Sandusky said.
“Just hold on a minute here,” I said. It didn’t matter though. The rain had washed it away. “Son of a…” I kicked my foot across the ground, breaking a few of the lower branches.
“Just point to the general area,” Sandusky said while fishing through his pockets. He pulled out a multi-tool and held it up in the light. In his other hand, he held a plastic evidence bag, upside down. “I’ll clip the branches and we can see what we find.”
“Will that work?” Sam said.
Sandusky shrugged. “Can’t hurt.”
I felt Sam grab my collar and tug me backward. It came as a surprise. Nearly took me off my feet.
“Let’s get out of the man’s way,” he said to me.
I took a few steps back and turned and started walking with Sam toward the gate. Our work was done.
“Want to go back to the office and look over the pictures?” he asked.
I did, but doing so would remind me of the blood trail we had just lost. I needed a distraction. “No.”
“How about we grab a beer?”
“Now you’re talking.”
I followed him through the gate. We passed in front of the black crime scene van. Both of us stopped when we saw Carla. She leaned against Sam’s Camaro, holding a large golf umbrella. It protected that fine, dark wavy hair. Her eyes still looked blacker than the night. To what did we owe the pleasure of a visit from the local news superstar?
“How’s it hanging, fellas,” she said.
“We’ve got nothing to say,” Sam said.
“You sure about that? It’s the day after an apparent accident, and I find you two, Philadelphia PD’s top homicide detectives, back at the scene with forensics. This after chasing the corpse’s widower up a water tower and then knocking him out?”
Neither of us said anything. Sam opened his door and got in. I walked around the trunk, past Carla.
She reached out and grabbed my upper arm. “Come on, Detective. Something’s up. At least toss me a small bone.”
I looked over at her. Our eyes met. She smiled.
“Least you can do for an old friend,” she said.
I broke free from her grasp, pulled my door open and stopped before getting in. “Go to hell, Carla.”
Her mouth dropped open an inch. I think I saw her smile. It was hard to tell in the darkness.
“And you can run that sound bite.”
Chapter 6
A little after two in the morning, Sam parked the car in front of my house. I stared out the window at the yard leading up to the two-story colonial. The weeds had been bad this year, and my failure to get them under control had drawn the ire of the neighborhood HOA. My fault, I suppose, for letting Marissa convince me to buy the place half a decade ago. I’d been happy living next to Sam in the old neighborhood. Sure, it was a bit run down. But anytime I wanted to have a beer with a buddy, he was right there. And if he was out, Jerry lived across the street.
“When you gonna ditch this place and move back home?” Sam asked.
I hadn’t sold the old place. My cousin lived there. I could kick him out any time I wanted. Not that I would.
“The memories inside there gotta drive you crazy, Mitch.”
I nodded. They did. “I can’t leave until Robbie comes home. It’s the only home he remembers. You know that.”
Sam nodded, reached over and grabbed my shoulder. “Go on inside now, my man.”
“I called her the other night.”
“Who? Marissa?”
I shook my head. “Cassie.”
“Man, you know I’m not crazy about that woman.”
“She gets results.”
“Half the time, if that. The rest of it, she’s just crazy.”
I shrugged and said nothing.
Sam took a deep breath. “She have anything for you?”
“Nah, still nothing.”
Sam reached out and squeezed my shoulder. “Go inside, man.”
I opened the door and stepped into a puddle that had formed in the gutter between the street and the curb. Cold water rushed inside my shoe and soaked my sock. I cursed the rain again. Then I started toward the front porch. In my mind’s eye, I could see both my kids playing on the porch. I knew that only Ella would be inside. It still hurt.
Before I reached the screened-in front porch, I glanced toward the garage. Maybe once Dusty Anne Miller’s case was wrapped up I could take the old ‘Stang out for a spin.
I pulled the screen door open and shuffled across the front porch. Experience had taught me that if I tried to walk at a normal clip, I’d likely trip over a toy fire truck, or a doll’s stroller, or a play shopping cart. I’d almost made it to the front door when I banged my shin against the all-weather sofa I kept out there for those evenings when the humidity was low and the temperature somewhere around sixty-five. I glanced down and saw that someone had moved the sofa a good
twelve inches to the left. I grunted and groaned as I reached for the door handle. The knob turned, but the deadbolts were locked.
I tapped my fingertips against the window while freeing my keys from my left pocket. The deadbolts slid and clicked as Lana turned them. I waited for her to open the door. The door cracked open and her perfume enveloped me. She greeted me with a smile, then a soft kiss. Her eyelids opened and shut slowly over her golden brown eyes. She wore one of my pinstripe button ups, top two buttons undone. There weren’t any pants to speak of. The shirt hid the curve of her hips and came to about mid-thigh. I admired her mocha colored smooth legs.
Lana Suarez and I had been dating for a tad over four months. Ella had taken to her pretty quickly, and now Lana gave my mother a break every now and then and watched Ella for me when I had to go out at night. Most nights she was happy to do so. She had been tonight. Until she realized why I was so late.
“You smell like beer,” she said as her eyes narrowed and her lips drew tight. I’d ignited her Cuban temper.
“It was a rough night, Lana.” I reached for her hand. She pulled away and stepped behind the door, pulling it open a few feet. I stepped inside, and said, “Sam and I hit up Schmitty’s on the way over for a couple beers. I needed an alcohol laden detox.”
“What happened?” she asked as she walked past me, avoiding contact at all costs.
We stopped in the great room and I said, “I stopped by the house from the day before—”
“The woman who fell or something like that?” The anger eased from her face.
I nodded. She knew all the details. I’d stayed up half the night telling her about it. “And on my way out tonight, I spotted something. When I turned to say something to her husband, he took off like a bat out of hell. I chased after him. He led me up inside the water tower, out onto the ledge.”
“You went out there?” She slipped into the kitchen and disappeared behind the refrigerator door.
“Yup.”
“What about your fear of heights?”
I shrugged and then fell back into my recliner. “We have the power to overrule our minds, especially when the situation dictates our beliefs to be something other than what they truly are. Truly, as defined by ourselves, for those of us who want to hang onto old habits, whether good or bad.”
“That’s deep, Mitch.” She twisted the top off a Bud Light and handed it to me.
I grabbed the cold bottle and took a deep long pull. “I know. I’ve been taking guru classes online.”
She rolled her eyes and then pointed at my bottle of Bud. “You’re almost forty, you should upgrade from that swill you like to drink.”
“I’m in my late mid-thirties, and I enjoy this swill just fine, thank you.” I took another pull and held the bottle up to the light. Half-full, at least tonight. Any other day it’d be half-empty.
I watched her as she retreated into the kitchen area and pulled the cork out of a bottle of red wine. She reached up for a wine glass. The shirt lifted as she did so, but not far enough so that I could catch a glimpse of what she had on underneath.
“You sure you want to do that this late?” I asked.
“Tomorrow’s Sunday. No school. Might not have school on Monday. Principal Bennett said it depends on what kind of damage this tropical storm does.” She came back into the room and stopped in front of me. I noticed her shirt had loosened around her chest by a couple of buttons. A tiny drop of wine had slid along the curved glass and dripped from the glass’s stem onto the cream-colored carpet. She followed my eyes and saw the red spot on the floor. “Shit, I’m sorry, Mitch.”
“It’s no problem.”
She set her glass down on the table next to me and went back to the kitchen to grab a towel, which she ran under the faucet. “I’m so careless,” she said when she returned.
“It’s no biggie,” I said. “Like I told Marissa when she chose this color, we got little kids, it’s bound to get dirty and stained.”
Lana looked up at me, eyes big and brown. I knew why she watched me. I’d said Marissa and kids in the same sentence. That never led to a happy moment.
“I’m OK,” I said, taking another drink from the bottle. I set it down next to her wine glass and slid out of the chair and onto my knees on the floor. The plush carpet felt like a foam mattress. I grabbed her hand and stopped her from wiping the floor. She rose up on her knees and pushed her breasts into my chest. I wrapped my arm around the back of her waist and pulled her in even tighter. Our lips met. I rose and pulled her up to her feet.
“You want another beer?” she asked, her mouth less than an inch from mine.
“You want to finish your wine?” I asked.
She reached for the glass, took a sip and set it down. “I’m good.”
“Then so am I.”
She grabbed my hand and turned and pulled me toward the stairs. We climbed, stopping every fourth or fifth step to kiss, and then we crept past Ella’s room. By the time we reached my room at the end of the hall, she had her legs wrapped around my waist and I supported her with my hands on her buttocks. I grabbed the handle and kicked the door open, then reversed the direction of my leg and pushed it closed. We fell onto my bed, leaving the lights off. The lightning outside provided all the ambiance we needed.
Chapter 7
The storm whipped up something fierce throughout the night and into the early morning hours of Sunday. I lay in bed with Lana draped across my chest until about eight in the morning. Her breath was hot and soothing against my neck. I lifted her arm and slipped out of bed, then went downstairs and cooked up a batch of chocolate chip pancakes for the three of us. Ella had been in the kitchen waiting for me. She helped mix the batter. I did the rest of the work. She took all of the credit. Nothing new there. The storm didn’t let up all that much, so getting out of the house was pretty much a wash. I phoned the hospital throughout the day, but Roy Miller remained unconscious.
So we stayed on the couch all day. Watched cartoons in the morning, pre-game shows until one, then football the rest of the day. Opening weekend. Every team with a blank slate with no wins and no losses. There was hope yet for my Eagles. Lana left before Sunday Night Football started. I put Ella to bed at halftime. By the end of the fourth quarter, I was asleep on the couch.
Monday started for me at five a.m. A whole hour before my alarm was set to go off. My cell phone started ringing and vibrated across the coffee table. I grabbed it and put an end to the ruckus. With my eyes closed and my mouth dry, I said, “What?”
“He’s gone.”
The words hung there for a minute until I placed the voice. Sam. Shouldn’t have taken so long, but it was five a.m.
I licked my lips and swallowed, and asked, “Who’s gone?”
“Miller.”
This caused me to sit up. “Roy Miller? Our suspect?”
Sam paused for a beat, and then said, “Yeah, that Roy Miller.”
“Son of a…” I rubbed my eyes with my left hand, kicked my legs over the side of the couch and rose. My knees popped like cap guns. “How the hell did this happen?”
“No one can tell me.” I could feel the anger in his voice. It matched my own.
“Didn’t we have someone watching over his room? Please tell me we had him on twenty-four hour watch.”
“Affirmative.”
“Okay. And?”
“Working on it, man.” Sam’s voice sounded hushed, like someone was nearby he didn’t want to hear this conversation. “Someone else is laying into the guy that screwed up right now.”
“Huff?”
“You know it.”
I didn’t envy the recipient of Huff’s tirade. Good boss? Yes. Grade-A prick? Hell, yes.
I said, “Why am I the last to know about this?”
Sam had no answer. I imagined him with his lips drawn tight, shaking his head at me.
“Where you at now?”
“On my way to the hospital.”
“I’ll see you there.”
I stepped into the kitchen and refocused. Where would Roy have run off to? Not home. Our files said he had no family in the area. Maybe a friend’s house. We could check that. The only chance we had at getting to the true cause of his wife’s death remained with him. If we didn’t find him, her voice wouldn’t be heard.
I started the coffee, which I’d wisely prepared before falling asleep during the fourth quarter of last night’s game. For a second I wondered who had won the game, then I remembered I didn’t care for either team. I could Google it later if I felt that I needed to know. I found my way upstairs and into the shower. Ten minutes later I was downstairs, pants on, shirt half-buttoned and untucked, shoulder holster unbuckled, socks and shoes by the front door.
I drank my coffee black while scarfing down two eggs fried in butter to the point where the yolk was intact but no longer runny. A bit of salt added all the flavor I needed. The doorbell rang as my laptop hung on that stupid start up screen. Five-year-old piece of crap. I thought about replacing it with one of those new laptops and giving this one to Ella. Maybe someday. Roof repairs and all were still hanging in the balance.
“Hi Mom,” I said as I opened the door.
She had on her blue robe, cinched tight at the waist. I presumed the plastic bag in her hand contained the clothes she intended to wear later that day. She yawned and stepped inside. “Coffee?”
“Already poured you a cup.”
“Two sugars and milk?”
“Two packs of Splenda and half-n-half.”
“I don’t like that stuff.” She pulled her graying hair back in a ponytail as she walked past me. She smelled of smoke.
“When did you start smoking again?” I asked.
She waved me off. “Get off my case.”
“Someone has to be on it, or you’ll be digging an early grave.”
She went to the kitchen and sat at the island. I’d set a plate of eggs on it next to her coffee. She held the mug up to her face, then took a sip.
