by Meg Lelvis
‘No shit,’ Jack told a cop next to him. ‘You need an advanced degree to figure that out?’
“Yeah, Hatfield’s good. Been around a long time,” Moose said. “Anything else, Jack?”
“Turn up anything on sex offenders?” Jack asked the detectives.
“Nothing yet. I contacted three, one more to go.” Hector stood up.
“Two more on my list. Nothing.” Moose untangled his legs and pushed his chair back.
Jack looked at Tilford, who struggled to pull his ample bulk from the chair. “Well?” Jack asked.
Tilford slurped the last of his coffee. “Got three more to check.”
Hector opened his notebook. “Contacted Derek Walls, Jack. He’s at his girlfriend’s. Told him you wanted to talk to him. Doesn’t know when he’ll move back to the house. Still kinda spooked. Here’s his cell number.”
“Right, I’ll call him. Any questions? Good, we’re done. See you guys later, and Tilford, go get that coffee stain off your shirt. You look like a frickin’ slob.”
Surprised, Tilford looked down at his shirt. “Shit—where is it?”
“Gotcha.” Jack chuckled wickedly and closed the door. He heard Moose and Hector guffaw, needling Tilford as they walked away.
Jack spent the rest of the morning catching up on emails, calls, and paperwork. He contacted Derek, who agreed to come in for an interview at one-fifteen. Jack decided to grab an early lunch at home and let Boone out. He and Baumgartner had a long-standing agreement that if his car wasn’t in the driveway by 12:30, she would let the dog outside.
Jack locked his office door and turned to leave when Denise and Kathleen walked toward him.
“Out of luck, ladies, I’m heading out.” Jack jangled his keys.
“What makes you think we wanna see the likes of you?” Denise smirked.
Jack knew just how far to take the frivolity. “What can I say, a handsome guy like me?”
“I must say, the handsome guy is looking a little worn out.” Kathleen smiled.
Jack feigned a look of shock. “Why Nolan, I’m touched you care. I’ll have to take the rest of the day off.” He tried not to notice her shoulder length blond hair soft around her face, framing large blue eyes. Even if he were in the market, she was way too young.
Denise attempted to smooth her wiry black mop behind her ears. “Talked to Derek yet?”
“He’s coming in this afternoon,” Jack answered.
Denise’s wide grin highlighted her perfect white teeth. “Take it easy on him.”
“Yeah, yeah, catch you later.” Jack strode out of the station into the stifling furnace of the parking lot. Luckily, the Beemer’s AC was first rate. He wouldn’t sweat for long.
. . . . .
Two hours later, Jack was back in his office sitting at his desk. He’d enjoyed a repast of two hot dogs and a bottle of Sam Adams. Jack was no cook, but he knew the art of nuking a hot dog in a bun wrapped in a paper towel, smothered with Dijon mustard and sweet pickle relish.
He heard a knock on his door. Probably Derek Walls. “Come in,” Jack called.
The door opened and a young man around twenty stood tentatively. He glanced around, and didn’t make a move. Jack rose from his chair.
“Derek, I presume. Jack Bailey.” He held out his hand.
“Yeah, hello.” Derek hesitated. He seemed nervous, afraid.
“Come on in, have a seat. I haven’t bitten anybody for at least two hours.”
Derek looked puzzled, then chuckled. “Oh, yeah. Okay.”
Jack indicated a seat across from the desk. Derek shuffled into the room and sank down in the chair. He squirmed as if he were trying to get comfortable. The kid stood around six feet tall, was average weight, with short sandy hair and dark eyes. He either needed a shave or was purposely growing a stubble or whatever the hell they called it. Jack didn’t get the appeal, but nobody asked for his approval.
Derek wore a navy T-shirt with a white and orange Astros logo on the front, along with light denim jeans torn at the knees. Another fashion trend Jack thought belonged on skid row.
“So, you like baseball?” Jack wanted Derek to relax.
“Huh?”
“Your Astros shirt.”
Derek looked down as if he’d forgotten what he was wearing. “Oh, yeah.” He chuckled. “I go when I can. Nice if they’d start winning.” Jack didn’t mention the superiority of the White Sox.
“Look, Derek, I know the last couple days have been a shock.” Jack sat down. “But try and relax. I know you talked to Detective Reyes already, and you’re tired of questions, but please be patient if I go over the same territory. There’s more to the story than we think.”
“Okay, I still can’t believe it happened.” Derek didn’t seem to know what to do with his hands.
After rubbing his fingers together, he crossed his arms over his chest.
“I won’t ask to you relive the scene the other morning. I just want to know more about Todd. Try and figure out who’d want to do that and why.” Jack noticed the kid’s discomfort.
“Would you like a drink? Coffee, a soda?”
Derek glanced around as if looking for the offered drinks.
“My assistant will bring something if you’d like.”
“Oh, ah, no thanks, I’m good.” Derek crossed and uncrossed his legs three times.
Jack asked about Derek’s work at the Olive Garden, college plans, family, his girlfriend Amy, gradually zoning in on Todd’s personal life.
“You and Todd hang out much?”
“Not really. Spend most of my free time with Amy.” Derek hesitated. “I guess we used to get together sometimes after work.”
“Doing what. Usual stuff?”
“You know, hanging out at the house or someone’s apartment.”
“Partying?” Jack asked.
“Maybe a little beer sometimes.” Derek shrugged and jiggled his leg.
“Look, Derek, I’m not gonna bust you for drinking. You’re probably twenty-one. And I’m not worried about a little weed either. You know they found a dime bag in Todd’s bedroom.” Jack straightened a couple papers on his desk. “I just need you to be honest with me.”
Derek looked to the side. “Yeah, we smoked a little weed sometimes.”
“What about girlfriends? I hear Todd dated some girls at work.”
“Maybe a couple.” Derek squirmed, uncrossed his legs, and put both feet on the floor. Toe in place, he tapped his right heel up and down.
“Who were they?” The kid’s nervousness was obvious.
“Well, there was Lindsey Marks. She still works there.”
“Who else?” Jack was getting impatient.
Derek shrugged. “Oh shit, you don’t expect me to remember everything?”
Jack leaped out of his chair. He banged his hands on the desk and leaned toward Derek, who looked like a scared rabbit. “Listen, kid, quit fuckin’ with me. You know something, and you better come clean right now. This is serious shit. Your roommate’s been murdered, and I’m ready to book you on suspicion if you lie to me one more time.”
Chapter 10
Jack sat slowly down in his chair. Derek looked ready to wet his pants. Just what Jack intended.
“Now, for the last time, who else was Todd interested in, went out with, I don’t give a damn when it was.” He glared at the kid.
“Okay, okay. A couple years ago he liked this girl, Brooke Warner.” Derek wiped his forehead with the side of his hand. “They went out a couple times and that was it. She quit
work after that.”
“Why did she quit?”
Another hesitation. “Geez, I dunno for sure.”
“Derek.” Jack’s voice threatening.
“I dunno, he may have gotten too—”
“Friendly? Don’t worry about speaking ill of the dead. If Todd was a creep I need to know it.”
“Well, at first Todd said she wouldn’t put out.”
“Look, Derek. I’m losing patience. Now, spill it!”
“Okay, okay. Todd didn’t say much, just something about getting her high and then maybe he’d get lucky. Sounded like he’d done it before. I told him, ‘Jesus, man, you don’t have to stoop to that. Give it time.’ Then he asked about how long I’d held out for Amy, and I told him to drop it.” Derek wiped his brow again. “He kept giving Brooke drinks at a party one night and she got kinda wasted.”
“What else?” Jack asked.
“Well, it was a while ago, but I remember him and Brooke left together I think for his place, I’m not sure. She lived with her parents, so must’ve gone to his place. Before he moved in the house.”
“Anything happen?”
“I’m not sure. Amy asked Brooke about it next time at work, but she didn’t say much. Right after that, Brooke gave notice and quit the restaurant.”
“Did you ask Todd about it?”
“Naw, figured it was none of my business. We weren’t good friends, so didn’t tell each other stuff. Just roommates. Did our own thing.”
“You didn’t like Todd much, did you?”
Derek looked surprised. “Well, I mean, he was okay, but no, didn’t really like him. Something about him, kind of phony. Friendly at work, but phony I thought. Our lease is up in a few months, and I’m gonna leave, move in with Amy.”
Jack nodded. “Were Amy and Brooke friends?”
“Not really friends outside of work, but they got along pretty good.”
“Okay.” Jack felt he’d gleaned all the information Todd had to offer. Hopefully, Lindsey would reveal more details tonight at the Olive Garden.
He glanced at his watch. “This’ll be all for now, Derek. I’ll be in touch.” Jack got up from his chair and reached out to shake the kid’s hand. “Thanks for coming in.”
“Yeah, okay.” Derek stood up and shook hands. “Anything about Todd’s funeral?”
“No details. His dad’s taking him back to Lake Charles.”
“Oh. Okay.” Derek smiled sheepishly and stared at Jack, not moving.
Jack gazed back. “Anything else?”
Derek shrugged and cleared his throat. “Naw, I just, ah, you look like somebody.”
“Thanks.” Jack rolled his eyes.
“No, I mean somebody famous, maybe on TV or something.”
Jack wanted to end the conversation quickly. “Liam Neeson.”
“Oh, yeah, the guy who was in—”
“Derek, I have work to do.”
The kid chuckled. “Yeah, right, well, I’ll see ya.” He waved awkwardly and headed out the door.
Jack shook his head, rolled his eyes again, and flopped down in his chair. He rummaged through the mess of papers and files cluttering his desk, found his yellow pad, and began writing notes on the Derek interview. When he finished, he stuck the paper in a file folder.
By now, Jack had formulated a general theory about a possible motive in the murder. He suspected Todd had come on too strong with girls, and they rejected him for that, and probably other reasons as well. Maybe he went too far, and pissed off the boyfriend or someone else. Things were still unclear, but Jack planned to call RPD’s criminal psychologist, Aaron Hatfield, and pick his brain.
Maybe he’d agree to a phone consult.
Jack reached for a water bottle in a side desk drawer and took several swigs of the tepid liquid, reminding himself to look into buying a mini fridge for the office. After searching his contact list on the Rolodex he insisted on using, Jack located and punched in Hatfield’s number.
His assistant informed Jack in a perky voice that the good doctor was currently with a client and would be happy to return Jack’s call in a timely manner. Yeah, right, Jack thought, although he admitted Hatfield always followed up calls in the past.
The next two hours passed quickly as Jack tended to emails, calls, and paperwork without interruption. He even tidied up his desk and filed several folders in the gray cabinet by the wall.
His phone buzzed just as he thought about leaving to replenish his empty coffee mug.
“Jack Bailey,” he said flatly. “Oh, hello, Aaron. Yes, now would be fine.”
He settled down in his chair, feet spread under the desk , and proceeded to summarize the life and death of Todd Kaplan. Jack paused to answer several questions from Hatfield, and then listened intently. He jotted down notes as the psychologist relayed his opinions.
Twenty minutes later, Jack said, “Very interesting assessment, Doc. Thanks for the time, and I may be calling you again.”
Jack felt pleased with the Hatfield conversation, and thought the psychologist provided valuable insight regarding character and motive. He’d revealed several more pieces in the puzzle of Todd and who might want to kill him. Jack reviewed his notes, writing corrections and additions until they were understandable and ready for a new folder which he labeled, ‘Todd Kaplan: Hatfield’ in neat block printing. At least Jack retained some lessons he’d learned from the formidable nuns ruling the classrooms of St. Bridget Church School.
He reached for his Chicago White Sox mug, stood up and headed for the door. The phone buzzed.
“Shit.” Jack hesitated, but decided to answer.
“Bailey,” he growled. “Yeah, Moose. Just going for coffee. Grab Hector if you see him, and I’ll meet you here in a few.”
Within ten minutes, Moose and Hector arrived at Jack’s office for an update on the Derek and Hatfield interviews. All had fresh coffee and stale brownies from someone’s birthday celebration at lunch. They settled in their respective chairs, Moose’s long legs stretched out to the side.
“Where’s Tilford?” Jack asked.
“Out checking sex offenders,” Hector said, gulping his coffee. “I’ll tell him about the interviews when he comes back.”
Jack took a bite of his dried out brownie. “Umm, chewy.” He grimaced and drank his coffee.
“First off, Derek was wound pretty tight. Don’t know what he was nervous about. Maybe getting over the shock, who knows.”
Moose and Hector scribbled notes as Jack summarized his talk with Derek, highlighting the details of Todd’s involvement with the two girls, and how he may have wanted them drunk and vulnerable so he could take advantage.
“Sounds like a real frat boy prick,” Moose said.
“Asshole who can’t get it any other way,” Hector added.
“Yeah, now I’ll tell you what Hatfield had to say.” Jack devoured the last of his dehydrated brownie and wiped his mouth with a tissue. He opened the new file and glanced at his notes.
“Like we knew, Todd had a rough childhood. Not much money, and a lousy mother who not only neglected him, but was probably abusive. Hatfield said oftentimes if the mom’s a druggie or a drunk, she physically and verbally abuses. Same ol’ thing; kids running around acting like kids, they get on her nerves. But the thing the doc zeroed in on was the mom’s adultery and abandonment.”
“This isn’t more psychobabble bullshit, is it? Lettin’ somebody off the hook ‘cause he had a lousy childhood.” Hector scoffed and ate the rest of his crumbly brownie.
“Nobody’s letting anybody off the hook. Just maybe expl
aining why,” Jack answered. “Hatfield says a boy whose mother is a slut and sleeps around and fights with her husband about it in front of the kids, can cause a son to have anger, even rage toward women. Todd might’ve perceived his mom as someone who drank, ran around, and walked all over a passive father. The boy had no control over anything, ‘cause he was a kid.”
“Yeah, so Todd thinks all women are like his mom.” Moose swept his yellow hair off his forehead.
“Right, and since he couldn’t control his mom’s treatment, he had—” Jack searched through his notes. “Yeah, here it is, displaced anger toward girls and women in general. And after he got older and out on his own, he had more control over his life.”
“As a way of getting back at his ol’ lady,” Hector said. “He gets a girl drunk and bangs her. Only way he can get it. Makes it hard to prove she didn’t consent.”
“That’s what Hatfield’s take is,” Jack said. “He says it’s the desire for power that’s the main issue, not the sex.”
“So, we have a situation where Todd does a girl when she’s drunk, which is rape under the law,” Moose said. He brushed brownie crumbs from his blue cotton dress shirt.
“Is that enough for somebody to bump him off?” Hector asked.
Jack shrugged. “You guys both have daughters. How would you feel?”
“I’d kill the son of a bitch,” Hector said.
“Me too, that’s for damn sure,” Moose added.
“Boys, we’re on to something, but so far just speculation.” Jack drained his coffee and stood up. “Dinner time. Let’s get the hell out of here.”
Moose untangled his legs and rose from his chair. “When are you gonna talk to Lindsey?”
“Around seven. I thought about having dinner at the Olive Garden—kill two birds, but I’ll see if Baumgartner left any food today.”
“Maybe you’ll luck out with more meatloaf,” Hector said.
“God no. Still have heartburn from the last batch.”
The men chuckled and headed out the door.
