by J. T. Lewis
She kissed my neck passionately, whispering “lock the door.” As I turned to quickly turn the lock, she headed to the desk, starting to unbutton her uniform shirt as she turned and sat on the front edge. I quickly slid out of my jacket, throwing it in the chair as I hurried forward taking off my tie. Sliding my arms through hers, we again found each other’s lips, each of us starting to paw at the other’s clothes.
Beeeep!
The noise scared the crap out of both of us, until I figured out it was the interoffice intercom. “Yes?” I answered somewhat out of breath, our system not requiring me pushing a button to answer…unfortunately.
“There is a call for you Gabriel, a Mrs. Irene Works returning your call. Would you like me to tell her you will call her back in say… three minutes?”
Damn Ellen, how the hell did she do that?
“Just tell her I’ll be with her in a minute.”
“My, aren’t we talented,” Ellen said nonchalantly before I heard the tone indicating that she had hung up.
Betty and I looked at each other for a second before cracking up at getting caught like a couple of teenagers.
“Saved by the bell” she said as she started buttoning up, her eyes dancing as they looked at me with excitement.
As Betty finished getting dressed and left the room, I quickly went to my phone, punching the button the blinking line.
“Gabriel Celtic.”
***
“Mr. Celtic, this is Irene Works, Harold Longstreet’s sister. I’m sorry I wasn’t available for you earlier.”
I assured her that it was no problem, and that I was sorry for her loss. She thanked me and asked me about the question I had, saying she could not understand what her granddaughter had written down.
“My main question was, are you aware of any of the small items Harold might have kept on his fireplace mantle, something on the top shelf in particular?”
“It might help if you told me what was there when you looked,” Irene questioned after a pause. I ticked off the items from memory, starting with the model plane and ending with the tintype.
“That’s our mom and dad in the picture, and our grandfather’s watch is in the globe, Harold’s first pocket watch. The model plane he made in high school, he always wanted to fly but his eyesight wasn’t good enough.”
There was silence as she thought for a moment, coming back with, “the only thing I can think of is that he kept his college ring up there most of the time when he wasn’t wearing it. Did he have his ring on when you found him?”
I answered that no ring was found of any kind, asking her if he usually wore it.
“Heavens no, he only wore it on special occasions, said it was dangerous to wear it at work. He worked as an engineer at the distillery for forty years, and I think he would wear it to the Christmas parties, when he went.”
“He dated a woman named Becky for over twenty years, going to visit her whenever he had vacation, he would wear it then also. She died about five years ago at her home in Indianapolis, and I don’t think he’s even left his house much since then.”
“Is it possible he might have given it to someone as a gift, or maybe sold it?” I questioned, trying to think of other reasons it would be gone.
“Oh my, I have to keep reminding myself that you didn’t know him Mr. Celtic, but most everything that Harold owned was a treasure to him. He didn’t buy frivolous items, everything had meaning.”
“His watches, his newspapers, and his treasures; except for those twenty years with Becky that pretty much sums up his life. I know he sounds a little crazy, but he was a good man at heart, he just liked his life the way it was is all.”
I thanked her for her time, and again expressed my regret at her loss. I also promised to keep her updated on our progress.
Hanging up the phone, I regretted never having had the chance to get to know Mr. Longstreet, knowing him now only through death. That happened too much in this life; too many times we flew through life without getting to know the characters that make life interesting. I would try to keep that in mind in the future, after this investigation was over anyway.
I picked up the phone and called information to try to find a number. I was hoping the Alumni Association at Purdue might have a picture of what a 1939 engineering degree’s ring might look like. A ring that might help lead us to a murderer.
The “Ghost” may yet regret taking his trophies, at least if I had anything to say about it.
Chapter 30
March 10, 1997
The sketch artist arrived at the same time as Frank and Mr. Folke. Fred looked happy; having apparently enjoyed the free lunch by the looks of the toothpick moving up and down happily in his mouth. Betty took the two men into the conference room to work on the sketch; she couldn’t wait to get a picture of the murderer in her hands so that she could get it out to the media.
Allen entered our offices looking wrung out, having overseen the entire interview process so far at the Sheriff’s department. He waved Frank and I into his office as he passed, snapping up his messages from Ellen’s outstretched hand on the fly.
Once inside I asked if anything had turned up with anyone in the department.
Tossing the messages on the desk, he slid out of his overcoat and hung it on the antique hall tree that he kept in the corner of his office. Walking back to his chair, he fell into it with exhaustion; rubbing his face with both hands as we took seats across the desk from him.
“Nothing yet, the Sheriff and most of the deputies have been cleared, and they have started on the jailers. Jane is running them through the process like clockwork. It shouldn’t take long to finish at this rate.”
He asked if anything new had developed while he was away, and for once I had some good news to tell him. His interest was piqued when I told him of the recording from the murderer, but his eyes really lit up when I mentioned our star witness. He had a multitude of questions and I had answers for all of them for a change. What a difference a few hours can make I marveled.
I finished with the new information on the ring. Frank showed surprise at that revelation as I had not had time to let him in on it yet.
The alumni association at the university had said they should have a picture or maybe a drawing of all of the class rings Purdue had ever issued, and they would fax something as soon as they found it.
Allen sat back in his chair, markedly relaxed. “I guess I should leave more often” he said with satisfaction and relief.
“By the way, Zeke is still in hiding, you think it’s ok to let him go home now?”
Allen thought for a moment before replying, “I don’t think there would be any problem with that now at all. I’m glad to say my hopes seem to have been redeemed with the Sheriff and his boys. We still have no idea how the department’s evidence and equipment is leaving the building, but at least it doesn’t appear to be any one of the deputies. Lean called in a security specialist to start beefing up the building’s cameras and recording equipment. It will be a lot harder to get away with anything from now on.”
A knock on the door startled us, Allen yelling, “Come,” as he leaned forward in his chair.
Betty came in the door, carrying a drawing pad in her hand.
“The sketch artist has finished drawing up Mr. Folke’s description of the perp, and Fred is pretty happy with the results, says it’s dead on. I thought you guys might like the first look at our murder suspect.”
Laying the pad on the desk in front of us, we all stared intently at the drawing of the man responsible for our nightmare. What we saw though almost looked more like a bad drawing in a comic strip, with shadows covering most of his face.
The man’s hood contributed to the darkness of the image, but part of his mouth showed in the light, surprisingly revealing a small smile that one could almost describe as shy. The nose was sharp and prominent, being slightly large in proportion to the rest of the face. The one eye showing in the picture drew your attention eerily to it, b
eing what I would call…dead.
I closed my eyes and rubbed them for a few seconds before looking at his face once more. Again I was drawn to the eye, a gleam of death again being my interpretation. A shiver ran down my spine as I considered asking Betty how Fred had described the eye to the sketch artist to bring such a detail out in the drawing.
Shivering again I noticed the final detail exposed in the drawing, the birthmark. It was indeed shaped like a baseball bat, or maybe a club. Very small, less than an inch in length; it was nevertheless a prominent and easily identifiable feature. It shouldn’t take long for someone to identify this man once we got this out to the news hounds. I sighed in relief, realizing that everyone in the room had done the same simultaneously.
Chapter 31
March 10, 1997
The man sat naked on the bed smoking, staring at the butterfly tattoo on Gina’s butt. Unlike Gina, the butterfly was beautiful, the girl was just a washed out drug addict.
He had called Gina when he decided that he needed to take his celebration to the next level. She was always looking for a good time, especially when she could make some money to feed her habit. Unlike some of the other girls he had been with, this girl actually enjoyed sex, especially when she was high.
Plus, she was cheap.
He had called her about eleven in the morning, waking her from a dead sleep, even agreeing to an extra $25 to get her out of bed. It had been worth it. Coupled with his own high from his adventure from last night, it had actually been the best sex he had ever experienced. Both were now worn out, resting for what he hoped was the next round.
He turned on the TV while he waited; hoping to catch news of his exploits, hoping to hear mentioned the name ‘Ghost’. He had even made Gina call him ‘Mr. G’ in honor of his alter ego.
The girl was stirring, letting her hand roam pleasurably over his body as it responded in kind. He concluded this must be the best day ever.
As expected, the murder was big news with various reporters putting their own spin on the information that was available to them. The camera cut to one reporter who was at the scene, as he started pointing out this and that while trying to convince the audience that he knew what he was talking about.
A fantasy edged its way into his head where he again had sex while they were talking about his exploits on the TV, his body reacting positively to the scene playing out in his mind.
Reaching over, he pulled Gina on top of him so that he could still see the TV, the girl reacting immediately with pleasure at the man’s already hard state.
“Wow, are you happy to see me or what,” she exclaimed with pleasure, wiggling her hips easily into position as she started a slow rhythmic motion.
“Someone close to the investigation has said that they now think that this heinous crime was committed by the same person who cold-bloodedly murdered the couple on US 50 a few weeks ago.”
The man’s excitement was indeed building, as he now added his thrusts to the girl’s efforts.
“This same source, who wishes to remain anonymous, has also let us in on a little-known fact concerning the identity of the murderer, or at least the name that the murderer apparently likes to call himself.”
The man started arching his back in rhythm with his thrusts, excitement building beyond belief, his heart pounding in his chest.
“News 7 is your first source with this information, the murderer apparently calling himself ‘The Ghost’. Our source has indicated that this information was left in some form at the first crime scene.”
The man’s loud moans now filled the air of the bedroom, his fantasy coming to fruition; his name and reputation now known to everybody.
The newsman quickly held his hand to his ear for a few seconds, listening intently as someone passed on some additional information through his earpiece.
“I have just been alerted to a breaking event in this story.”
The newsman again held his ear in rapt attention, nodding periodically as he was fed the information,
“This was just released to the News 7 studios by the Major Crimes Taskforce; it should be coming on your screen now.”
The man, now in a heightened state of ecstasy as he busied himself mentally for his climax, opened his eyes to glance once again at the TV.
As his eyes finally focused on the screen; his heart suddenly stopped. He abruptly let out a yell and pushed Gina off of him with unbelievable strength. She landing on the floor at the foot of the bed with a loud thump.
“You ass!… what the hell!…” she started before looking up at the man and seeing the wild eyed look on his face.
“What you are seeing is a sketch-artist’s rendition of an eye witness description of the man we now know as the ‘Ghost’,” the newsman droned on.
The eye twitch started before his mind even recognized what he was looking at. As his brain again started functioning, he was suddenly beside himself with fear.
This was not supposed to happen, how did this happen?
The picture on the screen was hardly what he would call an accurate likeness of himself, with one blaring exception, the birthmark. Anyone that had ever met him could identify him with one look at this sketch.
“You have to leave,” the man blurted out as he lunged for the remote and turned off the television, grabbing the money and shoving it into her face.
“Right now!” he shouted as he gathered up her clothes and herded her out of the room and out the front door, slamming it behind her.
Gina just stood there, unsure as to what had just happened. Nevertheless happy to see the money wadded in her hand, she starting off down the sidewalk before she abruptly realized that she wasn’t wearing any clothes!
The realization caused her to let out a scream as she dove behind the hedge and hastily pulled on some of her clothing. Exiting the bushes, she spent a few seconds angrily swatting at some twigs and leaves that had stuck to the cloth.
“That’s the last time that bastard will see this ass,” she huffed as she stalked down the sidewalk, the red on her face matching the bra she was now carrying in her hand.
Chapter 32
March 10, 1997
The level of tension in our office seemed greatly reduced since the release of the suspect’s sketch to the media. The general feeling was that someone would see this and immediately be able to identify the man just by the birthmark alone.
Ellen walked into my office carrying a single sheet of paper, setting it down on my desk with a smile before turning to leave. Glancing at it quickly and not knowing what I was looking at, I asked “What’s this?”
“Soil report from the state, from the first murders, just came in on the Fax,” she reported.
I had almost forgotten that piece of evidence as it had taken so long to get back. Picking it up and looking over the scientific gibberish, I was at a loss as to what it meant.
AvA- Avonburg Silt Loam 78%
FcB- Fincastle Silt Loam 19%
Omz- Orthents, Earthen Loam 3%
Grabbing the phone I called the number on the bottom of the page, asking for the man whose signature was listed.
“Boris Yang,” the man announced hastily as he picked up on his end. I quickly identified myself and my problem, saying I was having trouble interpreting the data on the report.
A sigh was followed by several seconds of silence, then, “Just a minute,” as I was suddenly put on hold. I was at least able to enjoy a somewhat scratchy performance of the Beach Boy’s ‘Good Vibrations’ playing on the hold music. I was half way through ‘Light My Fire’ by the Doors when Boris came back on the line.
“Ok, I have a copy of your report, what’s the problem?”
I sighed inwardly at the realization that this guy thought I should know what was before me; all detectives of course having taken classes in the science of soil.
I pushed down my aggravation and admitted that I had always failed my science classes, but that I needed any information he as a professional scientist c
ould give me that may help solve the murder I was working on.
“Oh, ok,” he said with renewed vigor. “Well, it is 78% Avonburg Silt Loam, which is real common in your section of the state and probably won’t help you much. Orthents is used on earthen dams, but is also widespread for that application, being used all over the state. Fincastle…let me check on something here, hold on.”
‘Hey Jude’ was half way through when I entered the state’s phone system again, but before it finished Boris was back on the line.
“Ok, I might have something you can use here. There is absolutely no single location in your county that has Fincastle loam. It is rather prevalent in Franklin County, however; they have about 13,000 acres of it over there, about 5% of the county. I can send you a map if you like, showing the areas where it is concentrated.”
I replied that I would indeed be interested in a map, asking if he could overnight it to us. He happily agreed, his transition from annoyed state worker to extremely helpful partner in our investigation now complete. I thanked him for his scientific expertise, and assured him that this may help greatly in finding a murderer.
Although I knew this may help find our perp, 13,000 acres equates to over 20 square miles, still a huge area to find a single man in. Plus we didn’t know what the connection to the neighboring county really was, he may work there, live there, or maybe he just visited on the day of the murder.
Maybe our best bet would be to plaster posters with the suspect’s sketch on it everywhere in the area, when we figured out where that was. I would put in a call to the Franklin County Sheriff when we got the information, hopefully he could distribute the posters around the area for us.
I had always assumed that we were dealing with someone more local, but the next county’s mysterious possible involvement in our case probably wouldn’t hinder us greatly.
