by Meg Lelvis
“Wow,” Denise said. “Can’t wait to get home to my crib after this.”
“Wonder what the husband does.” Jack was still rattled. He told himself to calm down. It was just her hair, that auburn hair.
Mrs. Warner returned with their drinks and placed them, along with coasters, atop a glass and walnut coffee table.
She sat in a leather chair across from them. “Well, let’s get this over with.”
Jack took a deep breath and attempted to focus. “We came to speak to Brooke. She’s here?”
He stared at the woman’s hair. The same light auburn, same style as—.
He heard Denise say, “Okay, we can wait.”
Damn, pay attention. He noticed Mrs. Warner’s hands fiddling with her shirt and then smoothing her pants, as if they needed it.
Jack broke the silence. “You said Brooke worked at the Olive Garden about two years ago?”
“Yes, so I don’t see why you need to talk to her about that guy, whoever he was. I’m sure she barely remembers that time.” Jack sensed she was lying.
He was curious why an affluent girl like Brooke would take a job as a waitress.
As if reading his mind, her mother said, “Brooke insisted on applying for work there when a few of her friends got summer jobs at other restaurants.”
“Was that during college?” Denise asked sipping her water.
“No, high school, after junior and senior years.” Mrs. Warner raised her eyebrows and sighed. “I found out later the older workers would buy booze and pot so the high schoolers could party. They used the excuse they wanted to make extra money, but we had enough. I have a friend whose daughter got hooked on drugs from a low-life she met on her job at Dairy Queen, for god’s sake.”
Denise shook her head. “I’m sorry to hear that, Mrs. Warner.”
Jack remembered Lindsey saying that Brooke had attended one party, but he wasn’t about to bring that up. He wondered how much Mrs. Warner knew about her daughter.
He took a gulp of water. “A routine question we need to ask. Where were you and Mr. Warner last Tuesday during the night between eleven and one AM?”
Mrs. Warner snorted, indignant. “What? You think we—”
“Like I said, it’s routine. We have to ask.”
“Good God. All right. I worked till eleven and went straight home. I’d been feeling lousy, coughing. I wasn’t even supposed to go in, but thought I was better. Anyway, my supervisor told me to go home early, but things got busy.”
Denise asked, “What about Mr. Warner?”
The woman sighed and shrugged. “I assume he was home, but I don’t know. We’re separated so he has his own apartment.”
“Okay, we’ll check with him. Does Brooke have brothers or sisters?” Jack asked.
“Yes, an older brother, Bryan. He’s home these days going to University of Houston. Stays with friends sometimes near campus. Otherwise here.” She crossed her legs. Jack noticed her pink toenails.
“Where was he last Tuesday?”
Mrs. Warner thought a minute. “He was with friends. He wasn’t around here for a few days.”
Jack took out his pocket notebook and jotted down reminders to check alibis.
Suddenly she smiled, rose from her chair and started toward the stairs. “There you are. Come on in, sweetie, and meet our guests.”
Jack and Denise stood up and turned. For the second time today, a thunderbolt hit Jack straight in the gut. He drew a sharp intake of breath.
Chapter 17
Mrs. Warner said, “Mr. Bailey, Ms. Williams, this is my daughter.”
Brooke Warner looked like something on the roll call at Auschwitz. Her dark blond hair hung in brittle strings down her back, framing a sunken face of cheekbones and round, soulless pale eyes. Her mouth stretched toward her jawline. Peach lipstick failed to enhance the girl’s startling appearance.
Jesus, what the hell, Jack thought. Meth? Cancer?
The girl smiled slightly and said, “Hello.”
Thankfully, Denise had control of her senses. “It’s nice to meet you, Brooke.”
It hit Jack why Mrs. Warner hadn’t wanted him to question Brooke. Was the girl having chemo treatments? Drug addiction? The term, ‘heroin chic’ flashed through his mind.
He cleared his throat. “Yes, thank you for seeing us.” This would be tough. Hard to kick a man when he’s down.
Mrs. Warner guided Brooke to the other matching chair. She wore a thin long-sleeved shapeless blue shirt which almost reached her knees. Gray sweat pants and white tennis socks completed the outfit. Her shoulder, arm, and knee bones were visible despite her baggy clothes. The chair swallowed her up as she settled in, her legs tucked beneath her.
Jack looked at Denise, hoping she’d start the conversation. Apparently she got the message.
“Brooke, again, we appreciate your meeting with us. Do you want to get something to drink?”
“No thanks,” Brooke answered placidly.
Denise smiled and leaned toward the girl. “Okay, I’ll get right to the point, make this as short as possible. You know why we’re here. We’re talking to people who knew Todd Kaplan, gathering information. You knew him from the Olive Garden?”
“Yeah, I met him.” She twisted a strand of hair between her fingers and shrugged.
Denise nodded. “Did you see him outside of work? Hanging out?”
“I don’t remember much.” Brooke’s voice was soft, monotone. “It was a long time ago.”
Jack asked, “Who else do you remember at the restaurant? Any friends from school?”
The girl glanced at her mother, who smiled and nodded. “A guy I had some classes with. He worked part time for a year or so.” She twirled her hair faster.
“Okay,” Jack said. He was getting nowhere.
Denise straightened up, ready to rise. “Tell you what, Brooke. Why don’t you and I go chat somewhere, maybe in another room close by. Not for long.”
Jack knew Denise wanted to get the girl away from her mother so Brooke would speak more freely. Interviewing minors got sticky when parents hung around; they inhibited their kids’ disclosures.
At least Brooke was past the age of needing a parent’s consent to be questioned. But damned if he wanted to be alone in the room with Terri Warner.
Before he could react, the woman said, “Oh, I don’t think that’s—”
Denise interrupted. “Sometimes it’s easier. Just two people talking. We won’t be long, and we’ll leave the door open.”
Brooke looked at her mother and raised her eyebrows, as if questioning the idea.
Mrs. Warner shrugged her shoulders and nodded slightly. “I guess you can go in the den.”
Denise put her hand on Brooke’s upper arm and guided her toward the room across the foyer.
Jack was sure Denise felt the girl’s bones through her shirt.
“I really don’t see why you have to—” Terri paused. “Interrogate her like this. My god, Lieutenant, it was two years ago. You’re not telling me what’s really going on.”
“Most of it’s routine, Mrs. Warner.” Jack started to get his footing back. “I’m sorry to make Brooke uncomfortable.” He couldn’t let himself turn to mush. Had to focus.
“Well, I don’t like it.” She brushed her long bangs to the side and paused, crossing her legs.
“You know, she used to be a beautiful girl.”
Jack was startled by the abrupt change of subject. Did he see tears in her eyes?
He squirmed in his chair, “She’ll be okay, I’m su
re.” Brilliant observation, he thought.
“She just came home from the hospital yesterday.”
Jack instantly regretted pushing the woman on the phone last week. “Mrs. Warner, I wish you would have told me. I’m sorry.” God, he craved a shot of Jamesons.
“I just find it so hard to talk about.” Her voice cracked. “It’s been hell for us, Lieutenant.”
She tucked several strands of hair behind her ear. Jack felt the room closing in.
“All the treatments she’s had—“ She shook her head.
Jack scrambled for something appropriate to say. “Was she having chemo?” He figured that was a safe bet.
She paused, looked surprised. “Oh no, she doesn’t have cancer. Brooke has anorexia.”
Startled, Jack hadn’t thought of that. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Warner. Must be difficult.” He didn’t know much about eating disorders. Never knew anyone who’d coped with them.
“It’s a nightmare.” She spoke softly. “She just got out of Westpark Springs. Been there twice.”
“Is that a local facility?” Jack never heard of it.
“You’ve never heard of it? It’s a psychiatric hospital that opened a couple years ago. It’s on Peek Road near Grand Parkway. Not too far.”
“I see.” Jack was tongue-tied. He fidgeted with his shirt collar. “Mrs. Warner, if you have things to do, please go ahead. I’ll wait here. Shouldn’t be much longer.” He hoped she’d take him up on the offer.
The woman shrugged and looked at Jack. “Do you have any idea who killed that guy?”
“Not yet.”
“Was there any evidence you got, like forensics?”
“The only thing I can say is we’re continuing to investigate.”
“I see.” She smiled. “Police confidentiality and all that.”
Jack drained his glass and set it on the table. “Afraid so.” He attempted to look away from that hair. Why was he reacting so strongly? Her face didn’t resemble Karen’s. But they were alike in something besides the hair; could be a self-assured, flirty attitude common to attractive, fashionable women. Even with her daughter’s problems, the woman had an air of sensuality about her.
Mrs. Warner glanced toward the foyer. “What’s keeping them? There’s not that much Brooke should—ah, can tell her. Oh, can I get you more water?” She rose from her chair, brushing imaginary lint off her capris.
Jack caught the slip of tongue. He too wished Denise would hurry up so he could get the hell out of there.
“No more water, thanks.”
“Then if you’ll excuse me, I’ll do something in the kitchen.” She sailed out of the room, Jack staring at her slim, graceful body. He willed his resurrected stirrings to retreat, but no cooperation there.
Jack wiped his brow with his handkerchief. He needed to go home for a shot of whiskey and scrounge up some lunch. He was out of bread and nothing in his fridge but cobwebs and a six pack of Sam Adams. Damn, what was taking Denise so long?
Twenty minutes dragged by, seemed like sixty. Finally, Denise and Brooke joined him in the living room. Brooke’s eyes were red-rimmed, but she looked more relaxed than before.
Jack stood up. “Are we ready?”
“Yes we are.” Denise smiled and touched Brooke’s shoulder. “You call if anything else comes up. You have my card.”
Brooke crossed her arms across her flat chest. “Yes, and thanks, Ms. Williams.”
He and Denise reached the front door when Mrs. Warner joined them. “Did you get everything you wanted?”
Jack thought she looked worried. “Yes, Mrs. Warner. Thank you for your time.” He handed her his card. “Call if you think of anything else.”
She opened the door for them. “I hope this is the end of it.”
Denise smiled and said, “Goodbye, Mrs. Warner. Have a good afternoon.”
Mrs. Warner closed the door behind them. Jack and Denise walked to the car and climbed in.
Jack fired up the engine and AC.
“Well?” he said.
“Interesting conversation, Bailey.” Denise fastened her seatbelt. “I sure could use a drink, but I know. Too early.”
No stranger to bending the rules, Jack said, “Not for me, Williams. Time for lunch. So what if we have one drink with it.”
“I guess one wouldn’t hurt. Might help.” She looked in the visor mirror and smoothed her hair.
“I know this little joint a few miles out. Small, quiet, nobody’d know us. Can’t think of the name, but we’ll be there in fifteen. They make a decent burger.”
“Sounds good, Bailey. You’re the boss.” She smiled. “Got a lot to tell you.”
Chapter 18
They drove out of the neighborhood to Plantation until they reached Harlem. Jack turned right and headed toward Alternate 90.
“Where is this place?” Denise looked around. “Didn’t think there was anything along here.”
“My well-kept secret. What took so long with Brooke? Did she tell you her whole life history?”
Denise ignored the questions. “Do you know anything about eating disorders? Anorexia?”
“Not much. That’s self-starving isn’t it? Not barfing up whole pizzas.”
“Thanks, Bailey. How am I gonna eat after that?”
“You asked. I told you.”
Denise snorted. “True. Yeah, Brooke is anorexic, so she’s not a meth head like we might have figured.”
“Yeah, the mom told me.” Jack slowed down for construction along the shoulder of the road.
“She did? I’m surprised.” Denise looked at Jack. “And what’s the deal with you when you met the woman? You know her before?”
“You ask too many questions, Williams. I told you, the heat got to me.”
“Don’t con a con man, Bailey. That’s bullshit. You know it and I know it.”
Jack looked at her. “Don’t know why I put up with you. All right, Miss Nosy. She reminds me of somebody.” He sped up the car. “End of discussion.”
Denise shook her head. “Okay, but one of these days—.”
They drove in silence for several minutes. Jack slowed down and glanced to his right.
“Should be just about here.” They passed a gas station and half a block farther Jack turned into a short driveway leading to a run-down strip of small stores, most of which were boarded up. He parked in front of a ramshackle place with a sign above the door in black lettering: Gus’s.
“What the hell is this, Bailey? The Bates motel?”
“Come on, Williams. It’s not that bad.”
Jack turned off the engine and opened the door. “See, there’s an ‘Open’ sign in the window.”
“Open for what?” Denise slowly emerged from the car. She spotted three nearby dusty old cars, one missing half a fender. “Love how you take me to high class places, Bailey.”
Jack reached the front door which, along with the rest of the store fronts, was in dire need of a fresh coat of brown paint. He held it open for Denise. “Come on, you’ll like the place. It’s got character.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.”
They entered the dimly lit room which held three tables along each wall and four in the middle area. More tables were behind a long counter which was half way across the room farther in. There were no cloths on the cheap laminate tabletops, only silverware wrapped in paper napkins. Posters of bullfighters and cowboys adorned the walls. The only things missing from the floor were peanut shells.
A burly Latino middle-aged man with saggy jowls and a black mus
tache appeared. A loose fitting tan polyester shirt covered his potbelly, and he carried two plastic covered menus.
“Hey. How are you?” He held out his hand to Jack. “Haven’t seen you in awhile.”
“Yeah, been busy. How ‘bout over there?” Jack indicated a table by the wall.
“Sure thing. Take your pick.” He chuckled at the empty room.
Jack pulled out a chair for Denise, which she studied carefully before sitting down. She saw Jack roll his eyes.
The man put the menus in front of them, took their drink orders, and left the room.
“Is that Gus?” Denise asked.
“Who knows. Can’t remember names.” He paused. “Getting back to the Warners, what gives?”
“Tell you when we get our drinks.” She looked around. “I suppose the ladies’ is in the back.”
“I should know?”
Denise got up and headed in that direction. He hoped Brooke gave her useful information.
Thoughts of Terri Warner floated around in his brain. Damn, what was happening to him?
As Denise returned to the table, the waiter brought their drinks. “Are you Gus?” she asked.
“That’s me. Ready to order?” The guy’s looks reminded Jack of Saddam Hussein, but friendlier.
Jack and Denise both ordered burgers with everything except onions.
Denise said, “I’ll have double fries and cole slaw too. Oh yeah, gimme a green salad with tomatoes. Ranch dressing on the side.”
Jack glanced at Gus. “She eats a lot for a lady.”
“Especially when he’s paying.” She smiled. Gus chuckled, took their menus, and went off to the kitchen.
Denise lifted her glass of alleged Chardonnay. “Let’s toast to a successful morning.”
Jack held out his mug of Tecate with lime. “Glad to hear the successful part. Thought you’d never get done talking to her. I about fell asleep on the sofa.”
