by N. C. Lewis
For several minutes Danielle and Amy recounted their morning's events. They talked of Peter Thistle the poet, and Lizzie, and their meeting with Kitty Clawfoot along with Mr. Sartain.
The waiter returned to the table with plates of food, and for a moment the conversation died away.
Finally, Amy shook her head. "Mrs. Clawfoot had scratches on her hands and scrapes under her eyes as if she'd been in a fight."
"Is that so?" Nick leaned forward and picked up a crab stick. "When?"
"Thursday night!"
Chambers let out a low whistle. "Looks like we got our killer."
Amy shook her head. "Turns out she got into a scrap with a cat and ended up in Saint Mary's along with the cat and its owner."
Nick wrote in his notebook—another lead to follow up on, but it sounded as if Mrs. Clawfoot had a rock-solid alibi. He'd check it out. "Not much progress on our end. The security guard Duke Savage saw nothing on the night of the murder, but he pointed us to a man by the name of Marcus Inglenook."
"That's good news," said Amy in an encouraging voice. "A suspect?"
Nick shook his head solemnly. "Unfortunately, it was a dead end. Marcus was in jail on the night Mrs. Foreman was murdered."
The group fell into silence. The void was filled by the low rumble of voices drifting across from other tables, the clatter of plates, and the country music, which had been turned down low now the lunch rush was almost over.
Chambers took a gulp of iced tea. "We've spent the morning chasing our own tails, with no progress or success…and we still have our regular lollipop reports to write up. Looks like this is one murder that will remain a mystery forever."
He sounded unaccountably cheerful given they had made little progress in the investigation. It might be because his neck was not on the line, Nick thought somberly.
Chambers was picking up momentum now, getting to his main point. He took another slurp from his glass, jabbed a chubby finger in the air and shook his head as if defeated. "We may as well head back to the station. Boss, we have nothing to go on and no leads."
"Not quite," Nick replied, reaching for his cell phone. "First, we know Mrs. Foreman received threats from a person named Speakeasy. Second, the last person she spoke with was Auntie Folate. Third"—and he lowered his voice to a whisper—"We have the voice of the killer."
Amy and Danielle let out a gasp simultaneously.
Nick smiled. He had their attention. "Somehow Mrs. Foreman's recording app switched on during the struggle with the killer." Nick swiped on his cell phone. "Please listen to this; I'd love your thoughts."
The audio played through the tiny speakers.
They listened in silence.
When it was over Danielle turned to Nick. "So the Beast of MoPac or Speakeasy is a man?"
"No, a woman," corrected Amy. "That was the voice of a woman." But there was something odd about the whole business, something that bothered her, but she couldn't put her finger on it.
"That's what I thought," added Chambers. "It sounds like a woman."
Nick rubbed his chin. "I've listened to that recording more times than I care to count. The only thing I know for certain is that if we track down the speaker, we'll be one step closer to catching the killer."
Chapter 27
It was when Chambers went to the restroom that Nick updated Amy on the situation at police department headquarters.
"Danielle, what I say next is confidential, all right?"
Danielle nodded. "What happens at Jenny's Crab Shack, stays at Jenny's Crab Shack."
She was a longtime family friend and worked as Amy's only employee in her staging business. Nick knew he could trust her.
"I'm on the hook for this one." Nick glanced from Amy to Danielle, his face somber.
"How so?" Amy asked. "I thought the plan was to fly your investigation under the radar until they assign an officer to the case."
"That was the plan," Nick responded in a dark voice. "But Mr. Sartain and the city manager are good buddies. Now, suddenly, the chief is following the case, and Lieutenant Kostopoulos has put me on the hot seat."
Amy knew how much Nick wanted to get back to detective work, and the green light should have been a cause for celebration. "Why the long face?"
"The lieutenant wants a result for his meeting with the chief by Thursday."
"Are you kidding?" But she could tell by the look in her husband's eyes that he was deadly serious. "That's ridiculous!"
Danielle's eyes grew wide. "But the investigation has only just begun! Surely no one is expecting you to work miracles."
Nick let out a frustrated sigh. "The chief doesn't. Our political masters are a different kettle of fish." He rubbed the back of his neck. "Right now I've got a big fat zero. No persons of interest, no leads I can work quickly, and nowhere to go."
Danielle thought for a moment. "What about an appeal to the local news channel?"
"The chief doesn't want the press to get wind of this one."
Danielle frowned. "Why not? Surely a public appeal would help."
Nick dropped a tip on the table. "The trail is popular with tourists. Imagine what the news will do for business. Until we have a list of suspects, this investigation must stay out of the limelight."
Amy folded her arms. "What about the medical examiner's report?"
Nick shrugged. "I hope it will be in my inbox when I get back to the office." Then he glanced around to make sure no one was listening in. "I've got a bad feeling about this whole business. You can't keep a murder like this quiet for long."
There wasn't much Amy could do to help the situation. Her own investigation had led nowhere. But there was something she could say. She hoped it would help. "We are meeting with Auntie Folate a little after six this evening to help tidy up Rumpus House before Kitty Clawfoot takes possession. Most of the items will go to the animal shelter. Why don't you join us? It'll give you a chance to speak with Auntie Folate yourself."
Nick was hesitant to accept, but he knew his wife was only trying to help. "Okay," he said reluctantly. "I'll come along to lend a hand. It might do good to revisit the scene of the crime and speak with Auntie Folate." Then he added, "But I must finish the medical examiner's report first. There might be something in there that I can offer up to Lieutenant Kostopoulos to consider."
Chambers returned to the table. "Okay, boss," he said, looking back and forth from Danielle to Amy to Nick. "We better get back to the office, so you can write that report to the lieutenant." He lowered his voice as if imparting a confidential secret. "Use a large font with double line spacing and big headings…in bold…and before you know it, you'll have a fifty-page report. I call it my amplification technique. I use the trick all the time. It never fails!"
Chapter 28
"The local news station is all over the death of Mrs. Foreman."
Barbara Edwards let the words drift upward like steam from a cup of her chamomile tea. She turned to Nick, eyes narrowed. "The lieutenant is hopping mad. He is on the line to the chief right now. It's impossible!"
But Nick knew it wasn't. The police department headquarters had more holes than a Baker's sieve. Details of sensitive investigations always leaked out, eventually.
"Apparently," Mrs. Edwards said with an uneasy laugh, "someone close to the investigation informed the press." And with those words hanging in the air like a choking London smog, she returned to her office.
As Mrs. Edwards' words sunk in, Nick let out a heavy sigh. The investigation was only a few hours old. Now he considered with a sinking heart the mess he had climbed into. They would surely point fingers in his direction as the source of the leak. The accusations alone would damage his career. If they reached city hall, it would end any chance of his return to the executive protection unit or serious detective work.
"There is no point sitting here worrying about things I can't control."
The mantra didn’t cheer Nick up, but it did move him to action. He relistened to the audio of the kille
r's voice, went over his notes, and reviewed the preliminary report from the medical examiner.
There was nothing new, no clues, no sign pointing toward his next step.
Next, Nick logged into the work computer and pulled up the record on Mrs. Foreman. The file contained new images taken by a crime scene photographer. He clicked through pausing for a long moment at a photograph of Mrs. Foreman lying still and twisted and dead on the floor. Just out of her reach he noticed her cell phone. Nick's usually composed face seemed to fall apart at that. His lips tightened into an expression of horror. Despite all his years as a homicide detective, he'd never gotten used to dead bodies.
"This investigation will not end up in the cold-case files."
He'd used this mantra before.
It hadn’t always worked.
Nick's eyes narrowed and his jaw set firm.
"I'll crack this case, even if it takes an entire year."
As he spoke, one corner of his mouth twitched as if charged with electricity. His fists clenched and unclenched. He stared again, with renewed revulsion, at the photograph of Mrs. Foreman's body.
He would solve it for Amy, he would solve it for himself, but most of all he would solve it for Mrs. Foreman.
Brrring, brrring.
The stupefying clamor came from his desk phone.
"Detective King," Nick said, already knowing it was Lieutenant Kostopoulos. He was about the only person in the police department who still used a desk phone. Everyone else called Nick on his cell phone.
"King, is that you?"
The conversation was already off to a poor start. The lieutenant only called Nick by his last name when things were terrible.
"Sir," was Nick's single word response.
"You've no way of knowing this," the lieutenant began in a hushed voice, "but I've been on the phone with the chief." He paused a moment to let the words sink in.
"The chief!" Nick gasped, hoping he hadn’t overdone the mock surprise.
"The local news station is all over the death of Mrs. Foreman." The lieutenant let out a sigh audible along the phone line. "The devils have sent their head reporter, Jack Skanky, to city hall. He's asking questions, and the politicians don't have answers, yet. Not a good situation."
"No, sir."
Again he sighed. "A murder in one of those run-down apartments on the east side of town and not a peep from the likes of Mr. Skanky. But a single death on the trail, and the news media are all over it."
"I know, sir."
The lieutenant's voice dropped an octave. "Listen, I'm meeting with the chief at five tomorrow evening. What have you got for me?"
Nick sucked in air, his heart jackhammering against his chest. "I only took on the case this morning, sir. I'm still at the preliminary stage of my investigation."
The lieutenant cursed. "So you've got nothing?"
"Sorry, sir."
The lieutenant cursed again. "King, need I remind you what is at stake here?"
Nick fought to control the anger pulsating through his veins. He breathed in deeply and thought of a new angle. "The medical examiner's full report has just landed in my inbox. I'll review what they've got and type up a summary."
"I don't want the medical examiner's facts," Lieutenant Kostopoulos screamed. "What I want from you is results. Have you identified any persons of interest?"
"Not yet, sir." Nick gulped to control his rising anger.
"What about potential persons of interest?" The lieutenant sounded desperate. "People who Mrs. Foreman knew, associated with, acquaintances, friends, something for me to chew on here."
Nick was about to yell that Mrs. Foreman was good friends with Mr. Sartain, and perhaps he should bring the gentleman in for questioning, but thought better of the idea, and again switched track.
"Sir, we have details of Mrs. Foreman's last telephone call."
"Who was it to?"
"A woman by the name of Florence Folate."
"Bring her in for questioning."
"She's a seventy-three-year-old grandmother."
The line fell silent, but in the distance, Nick heard cursing.
"Sir," Nick continued, "We also have a recording of what might be the voice of the killer."
Silence.
"Sir?"
"I heard what you said, Detective King. 'Tis not so deep as a well, nor so wide as a church door; but 'tis enough, 'twill serve."
"Eh?"
"Romeo and Juliet. You've seen the play?"
"Yes, sir. At school, in eighth grade." Nick didn't appreciate Shakespearian theater.
"A recording of the killer's voice will be useful. It gives me something to push out to the media, if I have to." The lieutenant wasn't a happy camper at the best of times, but Nick detected a softening of his voice. "Detective King, identify the person behind the voice. Give me that person's name by the end of the week, and I'll be happy."
Click.
Nick breathed out a heavy sigh of relief. He had a little more time, possibly even until the end of the week. That was enough time to interview more people, gather more evidence, absorb the information in the medical examiner's report.
His confidence rose.
He could do this.
He would bring Mrs. Foreman's killer to justice, and in the process gain a few points with Lieutenant Kostopoulos, the chief, and city hall.
Brrring, brrring.
Nick picked up.
"Detective King." It was the lieutenant. "I just learned that I'm in with the chief and city manager tomorrow morning at nine. I need you and Officer Chambers in my office at seven for a debrief. I want everything you've got."
Nick blinked.
"Yes, sir."
"I'll need a full written report on the investigation to hand to the chief and city manager. Can you have that ready?" It wasn't really a question.
"I'm all over it, sir." Nick's mind raced. He'd have to use Chambers amplification technique to turn his meager facts into a fifty-page report.
"And Detective King..."
"Yes?"
"The report needs to be…large…substantial, but none of that double-space, large-font, massive-heading nonsense."
Chapter 29
It didn't matter what happened. Officer Chambers always left the office at five. He prided himself on his fastidiousness. Only once in recent times had he messed up and worked beyond his usual leave time. And that was the fault of Detective King who had sucked him into a murder they weren't supposed to be investigating.
"Five minutes before five," Chambers rose to his feet. "I'm turning in for the day. How's the report going, boss?"
Nick glanced up with a glazed expression in his eyes. He had been through the medical examiner's report three times, reviewed the updated police computer files, and racked his brain. "Chambers, I've captured the details of our entire investigation to date in a handy two-page report."
"That about sums it up," Chambers agreed with a resigned chuckle. "I guess it will be a short report even using my amplification technique, eh?"
"Extremely short."
"Well," Chambers said, rubbing a plump hand over his double chin, "there is little point us both attending the lieutenant's early morning meeting. Would you prefer it if I came in at my usual time?"
Nick opened his mouth to shout, then an idea struck him, and he wondered why he hadn't thought of it before. "Chambers, come with me," he ordered, slipping into his jacket.
"Eh?" Chambers replied glancing up at the wall clock—one minute to five.
"You're always going on about old-fashioned policing, well, we've got some old-fashioned footwork to do. And a lot of it."
That startled Chambers. He leaned to one side, grasping the side of his desk with his hands. "But what about the report? Boss, you only have two pages. The lieutenant will want more than that, so will the chief, and what will the city manager say?"
"Officer Chambers, you are coming with me," Nick barked. "Our unit has a murder to solve."
Cha
mbers face scrunched up like that of a child receiving a lump of coal on Christmas Day. "Boss, I really think—"
"Follow me Officer Chambers, and expect it to be a long, grueling night."
For the first time in a long while the five o'clock hour chimed with Officer Chambers, frustrated and sullen, still inside Austin Police Department headquarters.
Chapter 30
Nick had a hunch, and sometimes that's all a detective needed.
He planned to spend the early evening visiting bars in downtown Austin. Not the upscale, popular places frequented by tourists, but the grimy, flea-bitten dives known only to locals of a particular character.
It was a little before six, and Nick and Chambers were on their fourth bar when they walked into the Shady Grove Tavern and Nick found who he was looking for.
"No," the barman grunted, peering at the photograph, his stubbled jowls wobbling as he spoke, "I don't believe I've ever met that individual."
But there was something in his voice; perhaps it was the way he shook his head or even the nervous darting of his eyes, that alerted Nick.
"I see," Nick replied, slipping the photo into his wallet and glancing around the saloon. There were only two other individuals in the place. The first, a weedy-looking man in baggy shorts with a torn T-shirt and a bandanna wrapped tight over his hair. The second, a middle-aged man, dressed in a maroon polyester suit snoozing over a half-empty glass of beer.
The young man caught Nick's attention. He watched as the youngster threaded quarters into a slot machine. Then he turned to the barman. "Suppose you got a license for that?"
"For what?" The barman asked, eyes darting around nervously.
Nick pointed at the slot machine. "That's a gaming device, isn't it? Have you got a license?"
"Well… You see… err…"
Nick placed his hands on the bar counter. "That kid's losing his pocket money." He emphasized the word kid.
The barman's face paled. "I don't allow minors in the bar."
"Looks like a teenager," Nick said. "What do you think Officer Chambers?"
"Only one way to find out—card him," Chambers replied.
"Wait!" The barman's eyes were as wide as the quarters the kid was feeding into the slot machine but without the shine. "Show me that photo again."
