Moving violation, p.13
Moving Violation, page 13
Entering a large foyer beneath a huge chandelier, we dragged Mrs. Sellers past a set of sweeping staircases to a sofa in a sitting room. There we deposited our burden while other servants came to apply cold compresses and a blanket to their fallen lady.
After leaving Mrs. Sellers, I strolled back into the foyer and marveled at the opulence of the dwelling. The place was packed with antique furniture and fine art. My mind boggled at how much had been spent to decorate the place. I was shuffling through the room with stars in my eyes when I was interrupted by the butler who had helped me with the lady of the house.
“Pardon me, madam. Is there anything else we can do for you?”
Directing my attention to the man, I was surprised to find that we were looking eye-to-eye. I rarely come in contact with someone so short that I don’t need to crane my neck up to make eye contact. I found it to be kind of creepy.
“No, I suppose not,” I replied.
“Then I wonder if you might leave so that we can attend to the Missus. This has been a terrible week for the family.”
That wasn’t the way Mrs. Sellers told it. I was pretty sure I could take the guy, which made me feel a bit nettled by his curtness to someone he should assume was a friend of the mistress. I stood my ground for a good ten count, showing no signs of moving. He did the same. In the end I decided to beat a retreat rather than give the chief yet another reason to fire me.
I arrived home in plenty of time to feed Blue and the cats and then spent a good long while doing my hair and makeup and trying on my new things. When I was done even I had to admit that I was a knockout. Grabbing a silk shawl from the closet, I flitted out to the car prepared to take on the dating world.
Parking one block down from the Morningside Inn, I was walking back to the restaurant when I saw Alex locking the car door of his aunt’s pink beast. Turning, he spotted me and almost fell off the curb in shock. Again his stock went up in my opinion.
“My God, you’re beautiful,” he said, taking my hand and making me do a pirouette so that he could take in the whole outfit. “Absolutely stunning.”
“And you don’t look so bad yourself,” I replied. And he didn’t. He was wearing a nice pair of gray slacks with a dark blue sports coat. He had on a white shirt unbuttoned at the neck, sans the tie. He basically looked good enough to gobble up.
Taking my arm he led me to the restaurant where he held the door for me to step inside. I stopped just inside the foyer, my good mood evaporating as soon as I saw the company.
Oh no. It was Gordon, the lardhead, having dinner with David, the missing link between pit viper and pig. My two least favorite people in the world were in the place where Alex and I had intended to eat. Did the gods have it in for me, or what?
“What’s wrong?” Alex asked, looking from me to the table where Gordon and David sat. The man was quick.
“Would you be crushed if I said that I had a sudden craving for Chinese food?”
“Considering that you look too sick to eat here, absolutely not.” He took my arm and turned me toward the door. Usually I am a bit sensitive about guys handing me like a rag doll, but I was shaken enough to appreciate the gesture.
Alex didn’t speak until we were back outside.
“Would it be prying to ask who those men were?” he asked quietly.
“They are the two riders of my personal apocalypse,” I said. And then with a sigh I asked, “Are you sure you want to hear the story?”
“Absolutely,” Alex said, opening the passenger door and tucking me in.
So on the way to Mister Foo’s I told him the story of the worst Thanksgiving ever. That held him until we were inside the restaurant. Foo’s had a new owner, an uncle from Taiwan. He had redecorated with such an enthusiastic lack of taste that I had to wonder if he was making a deliberate parody of the old place. The food was still good though and no one would bother us. That was all that mattered.
To Alex’s credit, he did no more than blink at my story and then asked me to go on. So then I told him about Jeffrey going missing and no one in the department seeming to be genuinely concerned. I didn’t bring up my troubling theory that he had something to do with Sellers’ death.
“Jeffrey just walks out on his job without notice—okay, that’s maybe possible—but what could he be doing that would prevent him from contacting his daughter? Or me?”
Alex looked thoughtful. He did it well and I felt a tiny stab of lust. My recent erotic adventures had been reduced to what I could find between the covers of romance novels at the library and R-rated DVDs. It was natural that I would be excited by a real, live, thinking man.
“Maybe he’s simply gone on a hiatus with this girl, Helen,” he suggested. I was disappointed in his response, though it would be great to believe that Jeffrey’s absence was caused by something so innocuous.
“I wish it was that straightforward,” I blurted in frustration and then felt ashamed. Alex wasn’t a detective. He didn’t know Helen was a drunk. He probably didn’t even know who Rupert Sellers was. I never read the newspaper on vacation. Maybe he didn’t either. So there was no reason for his mind to leap to the idea of something criminal going on.
“Yes, of course,” he replied after a moment. “I was just pointing out that there may be a simple explanation for all of this.”
I had to admit that he had a point; and besides, I was getting lost in those dreamy blue eyes again. I decided to not bring up Rupert Sellers’ dying on the same night that Jeffrey disappeared, or the matchbook—or any of it.
For some time we talked about nothing in particular. We ordered too much food off the picture-only menu since both of us liked variety. As we slowly ate we continued to talk until I noticed that the proprietors of the restaurant were busy closing up shop. Looking at my watch I was surprised to find that we had spent three hours picking over our meal.
“My, but it’s late,” I commented.
“Why, it is, isn’t it?” Alex responded, checking his own very cool watch.
“I’m afraid that I have to be going.”
“When can I see you again?” He said it eagerly, which made me blush. It also pleased me that he was as enthusiastic as I was to go out again.
“What are you doing tomorrow night?” I asked teasingly.
“Taking you out to dinner, I hope.”
With the date set he led me out of the restaurant to his car. After driving me back to where I was parked—unnecessary but polite—he came around and opened the door for me and walked me to my car. That’s when we had our first truly awkward moment of the evening.
I could tell that he wanted to kiss me. And I certainly had been wanting to kiss him all evening. On the other hand, I didn’t want to seem easy and I didn’t want things to go too far too fast—meaning before I felt that I really knew him. David had taught me well what not to do.
In the end, he took my hands in his as he gave me a peck on the cheek. That was probably best, although I wanted more. Lots more.
Home again and all alone, Blue got a biscuit and the cats got Greenies. Then I set my alarm clock. I needed to be up in time to bake some cookies for tomorrow. I had the fixings for chocolate chip cookies. That would have to do.
That night I fell asleep thinking about Alex. It was the first time in days that I didn’t wonder and worry over Jeffrey. And it was nice.
Chapter 12
I skipped church. Marcie would be calling me after services to ask why, but I would let the answering machine handle it for the time being. I had a tiny amount of guilt since I had said I would be there, but she was used to my shift changes and wouldn’t be panicked.
I was reading over my Jeffrey case files when the timer went off, telling me that my chocolate chip cookies were ready. I’m a marginal cook at best, but if there’s one thing that I always seem to be able to make to perfection it’s cookies. From oatmeal raisin and butterscotch chip to shortbread, almond, and macaroon, I just love baking cookies. I adore the smell that permeates the house and the entire neighborhood while they brown in the oven, and I adore the reaction of those I give them to almost as much as I like eating them. So I was in my element as I slid the cookie sheet from the oven to let my miniature confections cool. As they settled, I went back to the case files.
My brain began ticking away, happy to have quiet and some facts to chew on. Since I would not be interrupted, I allowed myself to slip into a purely analytical state of mind. I don’t do this in public because once engaged I lose the ability to speak coherently or even process people’s words when they speak to me. They stand in front of me with their mouths moving and I don’t understand a thing. It frightens them.
My thoughts looked something like:
RETRIEVE Jeffrey from FACT BASE. Next, EXTRACT Sellers as well. Now, CROSS INDEX selected facts establishing CORRELATION.
I laid the sheets of paper side by side. In no time at all my mind was pursuing threads of interaction until it produced its inevitable, disappointing conclusion.
INSUFFICIENT DATA to ESTABLISH or REJECT CORRELATION.
At Blue’s urging, I reached for a cookie. I had made a few peanut butter and oatmeal for her.
Over the last several days I had managed to gather a great deal of useful information pertaining to the disappearance of my friend. But still, one main avenue of exploration remained uncharted. Dad was right. I needed to get inside information on the Sellers homicide if I was ever going to determine if the two cases were in fact related.
“Damn.” As I sat at my breakfast table I was more determined than ever to see the police records on the Sellers case. Though I was loath to admit it, baking cookies was the first step in my plan to get to those records. That made my crime premeditated.
After putting my case files back in order, I went on a search through the pantry for a suitable tin in which to store my sugary creations. Finding a cute one with puppies chasing a butterfly on the lid, I loaded the melty chocolate morsels inside.
For a moment, I faced the kitchen where I’d made an especially large mess. Yes, I’ll admit that I make marvelous cookies, but I’ll also have to admit that my surroundings take a terrible toll during the process, especially when I do something dumb like drop the flour canister on the floor. Deciding that I would clean up after I returned, I assured Blue that I would be home soon and pleaded with her not to let the cats track my floury mess all over the house. She said “woof” in reply, which I interpreted as agreement, before I locked the front door and walked out to my car.
My drive was short and the streets were far from crowded. Sunday is traditionally a slow day everywhere but church. Parking the car in the personnel lot at the station, I stepped out of the driver’s side door and shaded my eyes to survey my surroundings. Just as I had expected, the parking lot was almost empty. In fact the only car I recognized was that of fellow officer Lawrence Bryce. Releasing an exhalation filled with both nerves and certitude, I walked to the back door of the station and buzzed myself in.
As soon as I entered the bullpen I could see that I was up against it. Officer Bryce was indeed at his desk typing away at a report—most likely catching up on overdue paperwork, which is the bane of the job. What luck—well, planning—that I had brought his favorite edible bribe, I thought as I walked across the office space to my desk in the furthest, darkest corner of the room. There was a vending machine in the building, but it was full of odorless inedibles. He would be getting hungry for something sweet.
I cracked open the tin and let the odors waft out. Lawrence’s eyes shot up at the sound of my footsteps. He glared when he saw me—he most likely would have preferred having the place to himself.
“Hey, Boston. What are you doing here?” he asked grudgingly.
“I just stopped by to do a little paperwork. You know how it is, and with Jeffrey gone….”
“Oh.”
“And you?”
“Same. No calls today, so I can get some work done.” There was a pause. “Where’s your dog?”
“Oh, Blue?”
“Yes, Blue.”
“I left her at home. I really need to get some work done on this investigation of mine.”
Here there was a second pause. He didn’t like the I-word and was wondering whether to ignore it. In the end he asked because Bryce is not a coward.
“What investigation would that be?”
“I’m looking into the whereabouts of Jeffrey Little. He’s been gone for days now.”
Here there was an even longer pause.
“I brought in chocolate chip cookies,” I said.
“Really? What for?”
“To try and bribe you into letting me look at the Sellers case files,” I said cheerfully. Bryce has pink skin, prematurely white hair and a tidy beard. In his red polo shirt he looked a lot like Santa Claus. I didn’t feel like lying to an icon. Not on a Sunday, when I think you get double hell points for being bad.
Pause.
“What for?”
“To see if the case is related to Jeffrey’s disappearance.”
Bryce frowned. He was probably remembering all the times I had managed to find things that either he or my dad had lost. Lost things are my specialty.
“You think they might be related?”
“Yes, I do.” I made myself sound positive.
“Oh.”
Here fell the final pause in our conversation. I couldn’t tell which way it would go.
“Are those the cookies that you made?”
“Yes.”
“Like the ones you brought to the Christmas party?”
“That’s right. And they are still warm from the oven.”
“Why don’t you bring them over here?”
I walked across the room and laid the cookie tin on the corner of his desk. He sniffed and looked to the tin with longing. He then stood to address me.
“I’m going into the break room after some milk. There is bound to be some somewhere.”
“If not, they’re good with coffee,” I said. “Why don’t you make a new pot? You don’t want to sully the experience with old, bitter coffee.”
As Lawrence stepped from the room, I slid into his warm chair and opened the Sellers case file that just happened to be lying in the center of his desk. Considering that Rupert was a local celebrity and that his death was suspicious, I’d expected a thicker file. Still, what the file contained proved interesting reading.
Case Number: HF 04/23/1345
Report Type: Suspicious Death
Reported By: Officer Lawrence Bryce
Location: Community Skateboard Park, 1402 West Chester
At about 0915 hours on April 23, the officer of the watch received a call from a Mrs. Stoudemire reporting a dead body at the skateboard park. Officer Bryce was assigned to the scene where he found Mr. Rupert Sellers lying dead on the cement at the base of a skateboard ramp in a pool of his own blood.
Officer Bryce called in a report and sealed off the scene. Questioning of Mrs. Stoudemire indicated that she had arrived at 0900 hours to open the park’s gate and found the body at that time. Mrs. Stoudemire reported having seen no one else when she opened the park.
Initial visual inspection of Mr. Sellers’ body showed severe head trauma and bleeding. Additionally, a set of skateboard tracks were found running through the blood.
The initial case file wasn’t all that illuminating, and clearly Bryce needed to attend a few meetings of the Lit Wits to work on his writing skills. However, it contained some additional details that I stored in the back of mind until I needed them. I had pretty much heard everything in the report via rumor and overheard office gossip; however, the bit about the skateboard tracks was a refreshing find. I made a few notes of my own about the condition of the park and Mr. Sellers’ body position as indicated by a set of photographs included in the report. I was very glad the photos were in black and white.
Knowing I muttered when I thought hard, I made an effort to keep my voice down.
“RETRIEVE skateboard park data FROM FACT BASE. IF pool of blood CONTAINS tracks, THEN unknown person FOUND the body FIRST. IF skateboard tracks THEN unknown person IS a skateboarder. IF skateboarder FOUND body BUT DID NOT report body, THEN skateboarder IS suspect….”
The logic tree continued to build. I next did a general search and drew lines of correlation to local skateboarders, most likely kids. This wasn’t good news.
Within minutes my mind had fully assimilated the new facts. I moved on.
Case Number: HF 04/23/1345 CR
Report Type: Coroner’s Report
Reported By: Dr. Harold Overtone
Patient: Mr. Rupert Sellers
At about 1045 hours on April 23, the body of Mr. Rupert Sellers was admitted to the morgue at HFH. An autopsy was scheduled for 0900 hours the next day. Dr. Harold Overtone was the physician in charge filing this report.
A thorough examination of the body indicated no trauma or injury to any part of the body other than the head. This excludes superficial scrapes and bruises to the back and arms indicative of a fall. Severe head trauma was soon determined to be the cause of death.
Time of death is estimated to be approximately 2300 hours on April 22. Suspicion of foul play in the death of Mr. Sellers can be found in the crushing force with which he hit the ground. Such force would indicate that he was hurled to the ground rather than simply falling.
This report proved even more enlightening. I made note of the force with which Mr. Sellers had been slammed to the ground. Suspicion of murder was apparently based both upon this coroner’s observation and the skateboard tracks at the park. However, a thorough scan of the body showed no other signs of violence. The rest of the report provided additional information on the condition of the body (Sellers had gallstones and had been drunk as a lord when he died) but there was little else of interest.
