Death By High Heels (The Kim Murphy PI Series Book 1) (4 page)

“I can take care of myself!”

“Yeah, but when you need help, you’re too stubborn to ask for it!” he shouted.

“Look,” I said, trying to calm down. “I found the guy and—”

“Which is why you need to stay the hell away from this case,” Grant snapped.

“I don’t take orders from you.”

“You’d better, because if I catch you interfering in this case, I’ll lock you up.”

I had never understood what genetic defect was responsible, but whenever someone told me I couldn’t do something I became hell-bent on doing it. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Don’t tempt me. Go back to following cheating spouses and stay the hell away from my case.”

“Screw you.”

Grant moved so fast, I didn’t have a chance to get away. His hands grabbed my upper arms and pulled me to him. I was suddenly pressed up against a very angry and very hot body. What the hell was wrong with me that I was noticing his body while angry at him?

“Kim, this guy was butchered. Don’t think for a second the person responsible would hesitate to do the same to you. Stay out of this, because if I have to, I will lock you up, and I don’t care what the chief thinks.”

“My safety is none of your business.”

“I’ve decided it is since you don’t seem to be able to take care of yourself.”

Jerking out of his arms, I stomped over to my car. Twenty minutes later I was back in my office and still hadn’t calmed down.

Just who the hell did he think he was giving me orders? Oh yeah, he was a homicide detective, that’s who. I was sure Grant figured because he had shut me down I’d have no choice but to drop the case. Well, I’d be oh so happy to disappoint him. I had my own sources in the police station. The one most likely to help me was Jackie Agostino, who was married to my cousin, Anthony, on my mother’s side. For the past ten years, Jackie had worked at the police station right along with a majority of my family. She had access to anything and everything. I used her as a source when I had no other options. Unfortunately, this was one of those times.

I loved Jackie to pieces. She was family after all. The problem was what she would expect in return for her help. I would spend an entire day shopping, having lunch, getting a manicure, and watching a chick flick, which, on second thought, didn’t seem like all that bad of an idea. Before I could second guess myself, I picked up the phone and dialed.

“Lakeview Police Department, Jackie speaking.”

“Jackie, hey, it’s Kim.”

“Hey, girl, what’s up?”

“Not much. How are Anthony and the kids?”

Those were the last words I spoke for the next ten minutes. We had talked just last week, so I was truly amazed at how much she had to say.

“Oh, yeah, I heard all about you finding that body last night.”

At last, I was making progress. She was the first one who hadn’t accused me of killing the guy. “Yeah, well, I need everything Detective Tompkins has on the guy.”

“Ooh, so is it the file or Detective Tasty you want to get your hands on?” She laughed.

The truth would have been both, though, at the moment, if I got my hands on Grant, I wasn’t sure if I’d strangle him or drag him off somewhere to put an end to my sexual dry spell. Since it would have been unwise to let her know this, I kept my mouth shut. Otherwise, the second we got off the phone she’d inform the entire family I had it bad for Grant. So I lied and claimed my only interest was the file.

“Too bad. Every available female here has flirted with that man. So far he hasn’t taken any up on their very raunchy offers.”

“Really?” I said, trying to sound uninterested.

“Oh yeah. Rumor has it he’s not as single as he claims.”

What the hell did that mean? He didn’t wear a wedding band. So did that mean he had a girlfriend, or worse, a fiancée? The thought made me nauseous, especially since he’d had his tongue in my mouth. If we hadn’t been interrupted, I’d have probably dragged him to my bedroom. The jerk.

“So, is there any way you can get me that file?”

“I’m going to forgive you for doubting me, ’cause we’re family.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Besides, everybody here was so relieved you weren’t responsible for that guy being dead.”

“I’m sure they were.”

“Yeah, Anthony said you weren’t dumb enough to get caught standing over the body. Tommy figured you were smart enough not to leave any witnesses.”

“It’s nice to know my family has so much confidence in me,” I snapped.

“Look, it’s getting busy in here. Your dead guy has a record. Give me ten minutes and I’ll email you everything we’ve got.”

“Thanks, Jackie, I owe you one.”

“You bet your ass you do.”

While I waited for her email I opened the desk drawer in a desperate search for something to eat. Luckily, I found a multigrain bar and a Hershey’s Chocolate Bar. The temptation was almost too much, but somehow I found my willpower and grabbed the candy bar. When the chocolate was gone, I opened Jackie’s email. Deciding to avoid eye strain, I printed out the file and began to read.

Included in the file was contact information for Brian’s mother and sister. Conveniently, both had local addresses. The name of Brian’s parole officer and a list of his known associates were also included.

Grant had been a very busy detective, while I had been very busy doing not much of anything. Next up I read Lindsay’s statement. It wasn’t a big surprise it provided no helpful information. According to Grant’s notes, he had yet to find a connection between Lindsay and the dead guy in her apartment.

Without a better place to start, I decided to begin questioning the people on Grant’s list. It may not have seemed productive but I had found that many times I could get more from someone than the police could. Not everyone was eager to talk to the cops. I called and set up an appointment with Brian’s parole officer for Thursday morning. I was shocked but pleased he had agreed to see me.

Deciding to speak with the victim’s family, I locked up the office and headed for the south end of Lakeview and Brian’s mother’s home. I parked and made my way up a set of stairs that creaked with each step I took. I rang the doorbell and waited. The door was opened by a woman in her twenties wearing Garfield scrubs. This must be Sara Lewis, Brian’s sister. Her eyes were bloodshot and her blonde hair needed a few swipes with a brush. She also seemed vaguely familiar.

“My name is Kim Murphy. I’m a private investigator. I was looking for a Debbie Lewis.”

“What do you want with my mom?”

“Actually, I was hoping to speak with both of you about your brother.”

“No.”

“I understand this is a bad time—”

“You’re right, it’s a bad time. My brother’s dead,” she interrupted.

A woman, an older version of Sara, walked up and stood behind her daughter. Both women had blonde hair and brown eyes. There was no resemblance between them and the young man lying on a slab in the county morgue.

“Yes, I know. I’m very sorry for your loss.”

“Sure ya are. You don’t know us. We’re busy, so just get outta here.”

“Sara, the last time I checked, this was still my house and I’ll decide who stays and who goes.”

“You wanna talk to her, fine, but don’t think I got anything to say.” With that, Sara Lewis turned and walked away.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Lewis.”

“So what does a private investigator want to talk to me about?” she asked.

“I’m looking into your son’s murder and I had a few questions I was hoping you could answer.”

“Well, then, come on inside. There’s no sense you standing out there in the heat.”

“Thanks. I promise not to take too much of your time.”

I followed her through the house, past a dining room barely big enough for the table and six chairs. We ended up in a family room that felt just as hot as it had outside. Mrs. Lewis sat on the couch and gestured for me to have a seat across from her. Sara came in and stood next to the couch without saying a word.

“So, go ahead, ask your questions.”

“Aren’t you gonna ask her why she’s doin’ this? She ain’t a cop,” Sara said.

“Hush, Sara. Please excuse my daughter. This has been hard on us. Brian was such a good boy.”

“Yeah, good at getting caught,” Sara muttered.

Feeling like I owed Mrs. Lewis and even Sara some sort of explanation, I admitted to finding the body.

Mrs. Lewis gasped. “You found him? How? Where?”

Since either one of them could turn on the news and get most of this information I saw no reason to lie. “I found him inside a neighbor’s apartment. The police arrived and took over.”

“That detective told me Brian died real quick,” she said, staring at me.

God bless him. Grant may make my eye twitch, along with a few other body parts, but I was so glad he’d spared her any additional grief. So, I looked her in the eye and lied without an ounce of guilt. No way in hell was I going to enlighten a grieving mother about the last few excruciating minutes of her son’s life. Determined not to drag this out, I started firing away with questions. “Had Brian had an argument with anyone recently? Did he have any enemies?”

“No. Everyone liked Brian. He was such a good boy. He helped Mrs. Stephens with her trash cans every week.”

“What about an angry girlfriend?”

“He hadn’t dated anyone regular for a while.”

“Yeah, that’s ’cause they didn’t stick around after they figured out he was broke and had moved back in with his mom,” Sara said.

“Stop talkin’ about your brother like that.”

“What about his friends? Any of them have a reason to hurt your son?”

“No way, those boys grew up together.”

“I don’t know why you’re askin’ about those guys. None of them guys would’ve cut Brian up like that,” Sara said.

“According to his file, he did time with a few of them.”

“The boys got mixed up with a couple of creeps at that bar on County Line 32.”

There was only one bar on that stretch of road, The Spitting Parrot. It was only slightly better than a rundown hellhole. Bar fights were viewed as nightly entertainment.

Mrs. Lewis’s hand trembled as she pulled a tissue from her pocket. I glanced at Sara and was rewarded with a glare before she turned back to her mother.

“I guess that’s all I need for now,” I said, standing up.

“Miss Murphy, please find out who did this to my son,” she said as tears streamed down her face.

“I’ll do what I can.” I stood up and handed her a business card before making my way to the front door, Sara following close behind.

“Don’t come back here again!”

“I’m sorry. I’m only trying to help,” I said just as the door was slammed in my face.

“That didn’t go well. Did it?”

“Wow, my favorite reporter. What are you doing here?”

“Same as you, I suppose, visiting the victim’s family. I can do that later if you have a few minutes so we could talk.”

“Gee, let me think about that. Uh, no.”

“You can’t ignore me forever. Besides, the public has a right to know the truth. Wouldn’t you like to be the one to tell them?”

“I don’t owe you or the public a damn thing.” With that I brushed past him and got in my car without looking back.

Ten minutes later I parked in front of a duplex with green siding and brown doors. The grass should have been mowed several weeks ago. An old Ford pickup, with more rust than paint, was parked in the driveway.

I made my way up to the front of the duplex, being sure to stay on the walkway for fear of what could be lurking in the tall grass. I rang the bell and knocked several times before the door was finally opened by a young man whose unkempt appearance resembled the yard.

“Yeah?”

I stepped back a couple of feet, trying to get away from the obnoxious fumes emanating from inside. After taking a breath of fresh air, I asked to speak with an Adam Mullen.

“I’m Adam.”

“My name is Kim Murphy. I’m a private investigator and I’m looking into the death of Brian Lewis.”

“Look, I ain’t got nothin’ to say to you. I already talked to the cops,” he said before slamming the door in my face.

Undeterred, I knocked on the door again. He yanked it open and shouted, “Look, lady, you better leave or I’m callin’ the cops!”

“Go right ahead. I’ll wait right here. I can’t wait to hear how you explain the smell.”

He muttered something under his breath before inviting me in. “You got five minutes, then you get out of here.”

“No problem.”

Stupid, that’s what I was. I should have insisted on talking with him outside. With each breath I feared I was inhaling enough pot fumes to be high for a week. My only personal experience with the stuff had been in an ex-boyfriend’s dorm room our freshman year of college. I needed to ask my questions and get the hell out while I could still think straight.

I sat on the edge of the only chair not littered with food-encrusted Styrofoam containers. The surface of the coffee table was covered with empty beer bottles and two overflowing ashtrays. Fighting the urge to shower in hand sanitizer, I got down to questioning Adam. Unfortunately, he was about as useful as an umbrella in a tornado.