by Meg Lelvis
All were small, one story homes painted in light colors, most in obvious need of enhancement. One patrol car sat in front of a pale blue residence with shabby white shutters and a faded wooden door.
Jack parked the car behind the cruiser, and the two men hurried up a cracked sidewalk, past overgrown hay-like grass and dying shrubbery. He pounded on the door and yelled, “Bailey here, open up.”
He jerked the handle, pushed inside, and was met by Denise Williams, a veteran patrol officer, who chimed in a jocular voice, “Bailey, about time you showed up.” Her dark skinned, smiling face showcased a set of gleaming pearls. “He’s over there on the sofa. Taking a siesta.”
Moose followed Jack through the dim, gloomy entryway to the living room at the right. It lacked even minimal decor. Nothing on the colorless walls, no end tables or lights except a plain black pole lamp beside a brown threadbare easy chair. A faded gold sofa sat against the far wall, a clump of stuffing peeking out of torn fabric on an arm rest.
A male body slumped forward at the other end of the couch. An average-sized young white guy with wavy brown hair, he sat with his chin resting on his now crimson white t-shirt, as if he were taking a snooze. His left side leaned into the arm rest with his wrists crossed over his upper thighs.
Ragged tan cargos were splashed with dark red blotches, and black rubber flip flops halfway rested on his long feet. The sweet metallic tell-tale odor familiar to all cops permeated the room.
“Holy shit,” said Moose. “Made more mess than I thought from a single shot.”
“Shame to ruin this nice sofa,” Jack said as he took in the copious blood stains. “Any ideas, Williams?” He reached in his shirt pocket, retrieved another stick of spearmint gum, and popped it in his mouth. Damn, he missed smoking.
“Not much. I got here about eight minutes ago. Heard it on dispatch on my way in.” Denise tried to smooth down her wiry black hair. “Roommate was all shaky. Couldn’t talk straight. Claims he spent the night at his girlfriend’s apartment. Found the body like that this morning.”
“Where’s the roommate now?”
“Fitch was here right on my heels and took the kid to the station for further questioning. Wanted him gone before the scene got crowded. Looked about twenty to me.” After another futile attempt to smooth her unruly hair, Denise took a red scrunchy from her pocket and created a make-shift bun.
“Okay, the team’ll be here any minute,” Jack said as he leaned in, observing the body from different angles, careful not to touch. “Looks staged, almost sitting up with the wrists crossed.”
“Yeah, that’s what first struck me,” Denise added, still fiddling with her hair.
“I agree. I’ll start searching now,” Moose said. “Doesn’t look like robbery.” He fished out latex gloves from his pocket, pulled them onto his large paws, and headed left toward the kitchen. Jack frowned as he noticed darker splotches of blood on the corpse’s groin area. A sex crime? Hmm…
“No evidence of forced entry or struggle. Here’s more info.” Denise flipped open a small notebook. “Roommate’s name is Derek Walls. Deceased was Todd Kaplan. Both worked at the Olive Garden at Brazos Mall. Worked last night till 10:00 or so, and roomie and girlfriend left together. Todd supposedly went home.”
“Okay,” said Jack looking toward the front door. “Here’s the team.”
“Coming in,” shouted a voice at the front door as five squad members descended on the scene, including Kathleen. Two forensics guys opened their black cases, donned latex gloves, and retrieved instruments and cameras, while Jack pointed out the body’s private area to the team. Kathleen’s face turned a rosy pink. Another detective and a patrol officer listened as they glanced around the room.
“Secure the perimeter,” Jack instructed the officer, who immediately headed outside to cordon off the yard with yellow tape. Several neighbors congregated on the street and sidewalk, gawking with curiosity at the blue house and appearing to speculate amongst themselves.
Jack hoped one of them might have information about why someone would bump off young Todd Kaplan. The autopsy report would also tell its tale in the next day or two and explain the extra blood below Kaplan’s waist. Who was this guy?
Chapter 3
Moose returned to the living room and nodded a hurried greeting to everyone. “Who do you want to canvass, Jack?”
“You talk to the neighbors out there.” Jack waved his arm at the window. “Williams, you and Nolan start banging on doors. Follow the usual pattern.”
“Right, Bailey.” Denise took Kathleen’s arm and headed out the door. A stocky black woman in her late forties, Denise had been with RPD for thirteen years. She always seemed in control, and tolerated no disrespect from anyone. Known for her sharp tongue and confident demeanor, she took Kathleen under her wing when the young woman was hired two years ago. Jack enjoyed hearing the story of how Denise warned the other guys not to harass Kathleen, and what she’d cut off if they did.
Kathleen nodded at Jack as she hurried by him. Her blond hair was in a neat bun on the nape of her neck, in contrast to Denise’s disheveled bird’s nest.
“Tilford, you do the house search. Moose got an eye ball start,” Jack said to the other detective.
He was in no mood to take any shit from Tilford today, but the man silently followed orders with a normal attitude for a change.
Soon the room buzzed with activity and tension. One forensics guy clicked his camera while the other man scraped and tweezed various surfaces of the body and surrounding area.
After ten minutes Jack left to retrieve his log book from the car. He motioned Moose to come over, and asked if he’d lucked out learning information from the neighbors.
“Nobody heard a thing. Nobody knows nothin’ about nothin’. They didn’t know the vic. Just saw him now and then in the yard or in his car.”
“I’m shocked,” Jack answered dryly. “Was hoping someone heard a shot last night. Go catch up with Williams and Nolan. Speed things along.” Both men wiped their faces with white handkerchiefs.
Moose’s face stayed shiny and ruddy with sweat. Damn heat never let up.
“Okay, folks, that’s it. You can go home now.” Jack called to the people still hanging around by the patrol cars. The group trudged back to their lives, mumbling amongst themselves.
Jack entered the house again with the officer who earlier secured the premises with crime tape.
“See anything?”
“Not a thing. No footprints. Nothing.”
“Okay, you go help Tilford with his house search,” Jack said. “He’s in a decent mood today.”
Fifteen minutes later, Jack sat at the kitchen table making notations in his black leather-bound inventory log when the front door flung open. Two EMT’s carrying a stretcher burst in the room followed by Dr. Mark C. Mason, ME, sporting a white lab coat, medical bag in hand.
“Mason, you finally got here,” Jack said as he left the table and entered the living room.
“Nice to see you too, Jack.” Dr. Mason smiled. “I hope your guys have their photos completed so I can get started.” He pulled an elasticized blue cap over his curly red hair.
“Wouldn’t have it any other way. We aim to please our esteemed colleague.”
The doctor rolled his eyes as he bent down to open his bag. He pulled on a mask and gloves and proceeded with his examination, the CSI guys hovering near.
After ten minutes, the ME stood up. “For now, I’d guess time of death as anywhere between, oh, let me say, hmm approximately between two days ago and seven this morning.”
“Everybody’s a comedian,” Jack said. God, this guy annoyed the hell out of him.
“Okay, seriously I’d say around eleven-thirty PM to two AM. Almost full rigor. The AC’s on, plus all other things considered at this point, that’s the best I can do. As you said, single shot to the chest, bullet’s in there.” Dr. Mason straightened his mask. “Okay, boys, ready to turn him.”
Once the body was repositioned, the men could collect further evidence that previously may have been hidden under or around the corpse. The CSI men slowly turned the body sideways and then on its back, forcing the legs flat. Jack left the room to resume his work in the kitchen. As a rookie, he’d been interested in crime scene procedure, but it got old fast for someone as restless as he. The house was small enough that the kitchen was halfway visible from the living room, enabling Jack to hear most of the conversations. He called Hector and told him to notify Todd Kaplan’s next of kin. The EMT guys sat at the table with Jack, quietly waiting to transport the body to the morgue for autopsy.
By now it was past noon, and Jack’s stomach rumbled. Even sending out for lunch would contaminate the scene, and he needed to stay until the body was transported and the search and canvass completed. This afternoon he’d delegate people to question the deceased’s supervisor at the Olive Garden as well as other employees, friends, and relatives.
He couldn’t speculate on a motive, but he guessed a drug deal. Maybe his pal, Tilford, would turn something up in the search. Jack couldn’t wait until the geezer retired. He’d been a pain in the ass since Jack’s arrival six years ago, and resented taking orders from Jack, the new younger guy. Balding and gray haired with a hefty paunch, Don Tilford was pushing sixty-five, and no doubt eager to escape the force and relax at the shooting range or the Lone Star Saloon.
. . . . .
“Done for now, boys,” Dr. Mason called out after half an hour.
“Thank God, about time,” Jack responded as he arose from his chair. The EMT guys followed him into the living room to prepare the body for transport.
“Saw something that may be of interest.” The ME peeled off his gloves and placed them in a disposable bag for that purpose. “Looks like thicker blood mass around the groin. I’ll know more tomorrow after autopsy.”
“Maybe sex related,” Jack speculated as he watched the EMT’s place the requisite paper bags over the hands and feet of the corpse and cover it with a sheet. After zipping the body bag, the men lifted it onto a stretcher and headed out the door toward the waiting ambulance. Jack looked through the window and noticed a couple stragglers gawking at the moving stretcher. Why was it human nature to be morbidly fascinated with murder and accidents? An unwanted image from ten years ago flashed in his head. An explosion. He caught his breath, willed the image to fade away. Can’t go there.
Dr. Mason and the two CSI guys packed their instruments, removed their masks, and placed them in disposable bags.
“You boys going to join me tomorrow?” Dr. Mason asked the CSI men.
“I’ll send Vince over.” Jack never saw the need for CSI personnel to attend autopsies, but it was standard procedure in the RPD. The idea was to enable the CSI to uncover further evidence that was unattainable at the crime scene, but in his opinion, that was the ME’s job. However, Jack never picked this particular battle, figuring he’d save his energy for the big ones.
“Okay, Vince, see you tomorrow morning. I’ll let you know the time.” Dr. Mason ran his fingers through his carrot mop and waved farewell to everyone.
“Jack, we’ll see you later at the station for team meeting?” Vince asked.
“Right.” Jack glanced at his watch. “Grab some lunch, and meet up with us around three.”
. . . . .
Twenty minutes later squad members began trickling into the house from their outdoor tasks.
It was almost 1:30, and Jack’s gut growled in protest. Moose walked in the kitchen, pulled out a chair, and slumped down, arranging his long, gangly legs under the table.
“The women too much for you?” Jack asked.
“Yeah, Williams insisted on doing a few more houses down the next street.” Moose arranged his bear hands around a stained faded blue place mat. He glanced around at the pea-green walls and outdated appliances. “What a dump.”
“Anything turn up?” Jack asked, anticipating a negative answer.
“One older lady three houses down thought she heard a noise around midnight when she let her cat out. Figured it was a tire blow-out or firecracker.” Moose brushed his light hair away from his eyes.
“She then proceeded to tell me her cat’s name, age, how and why she got him, how he sometimes wakes her up.”
Impatient, Jack asked, “Anything else?”
“Yeah. His probable breed, his weight, his—”
“God, what is this? Everyone has a comedy act. First Mason, now you.”
“Sorry, Jack,” Moose chortled. “Couldn’t resist. Another older guy behind the back yard here said he might have heard something around the same time, but wasn’t sure. Half asleep.”
“Okay, I’ll send Williams and Nolan out again this evening to get the ones not home.” Jack unwrapped another stick of gum and slipped it into his mouth.
“That helping much?” Moose asked indicating the gum.
“Hell no, give me a Marlboro.”
“Not a chance, pal, but I’ll let you buy me lunch.”
“Yeah, I’m ready to raid even this disgusting fridge,” Jack grumbled.
The men reviewed information documented in the inventory log at the table for several minutes until Don Tilford and the patrol officer joined them.
“Tell me you found something,” Jack said.
“Yes, you’ll be happy to hear we did.” Don smiled as he held out a large plastic evidence bag containing a smaller packet. “Dime bag of regular weed plus a few blunts.”
“That all?” Moose asked.
“Sorry to disappoint you, Mr. Gustafson, but that’s all there is.” Tilford’s voice sarcastic. “But perhaps you could do a more thorough examination than an old fart like me.”
“Quit being a pain in the ass, Tilford,” Jack groused while Moose chuckled.
“Yes, sir. And now, if you’ll excuse us, we’ll take these goodies to the lab,” Tilford smirked as he walked away followed by the other officer.
“He better retire before I can his ass,” Jack said, although he knew he only had the power to complain, not to fire the old son of a bitch.
“Not much for a drug deal,” Moose said.
“Nah, the kid probably just used on weekends,” Jack agreed as he wrote more notations in the log.
Denise and Kathleen plodded in the front door and entered the kitchen. Their faces glowed with perspiration. Both women blotted their foreheads and necks with tissues.
“God, this heat’s a bitch,” said Denise. “Most people weren’t home. Work, you know. Only found a few who thought they might have heard something.” She took a long guzzle from her water bottle.
“That’s why you and Nolan need to do a repeat performance tonight,” Jack said. “Come back around seven and hit the ones you missed.”
“There go my dinner plans,” Kathleen lowered her head.
“Oh, her highness has dinner plans—” Jack began.
“Leave her alone, Bailey,” Denise said. “It’s been a hot, pain-in-the-ass day, and we’re starving.”
“Who isn’t,” Jack answered. “Let’s break for lunch. I’ve had enough of this rat’s nest.” He closed the log and carried it out the room.
“I’ll lock up. Roommate gave me a key,” Denise said as they headed for the front door. “Maybe something will turn up, but don’t hold your breath.”
Chap
ter 4
At 3:30 PM, the crime team assembled at a long table in the conference room next to Jack’s office. At one end several wide shelves displayed various manuals and files in no discernible order. A small round table at the other end held a pitcher of water, Styrofoam cups, and a stack of white paper napkins. Bare taupe walls and dark laminate floors completed the decor.
Everyone on the CID team was in attendance except Mattie Vega, the narcotics detective, who was on vacation. Jack sat at the head of the table with Hector, Moose, and Tilford on his right.
Across from them, the CSI guys, Vince and Javon, slumped in their chairs. Notebooks, laptops, paper, and pens were scattered on the table.
“We’re missing our token female, but we’ll soldier on. She’ll be back next week.” Jack rose from his chair. “You know the basics by now. Autopsy tomorrow morning.”
He headed for the small table and poured a cup of water. “Vince will attend. Possible sex crime, maybe not a drug motive, due to small amount of weed. Hector, what about the roommate you questioned this morning?” Might be early to suspect him, but possible, Jack thought.
“His name’s Derek Walls. Age twenty-one. From Richmond, graduated Travis High three years ago.” Hector got up and helped himself to water. “Both he and Todd worked at the Olive Garden at Brazos Mall to earn money for community college, Wharton branch in Richmond.” He sipped his water. “Says he met Todd Kaplan at work almost two years ago. Todd wanted a better apartment, so they found the house to rent through a friend of Derek’s mom.”
“Where were they living before?” Tilford asked.
“Derek at home and Todd at some fleabag. Don’t have the address. They lived in the current house ever since.” Hector turned a page in his notebook. “Derek left work last night at ten-fifteen or so with his girlfriend, Amy Hume, who also works at the restaurant. Todd allegedly left with them. In the parking lot he said goodnight and got in his car. Derek said he and Amy assumed Todd was headed home.” Hector arose from his chair and poured more water in his cup.
