Hot Tea (33 page)

When I got home, I downloaded the pictures, making a separate folder, computer not manila, for each category I thought important.  I scanned the receipts into the folders with Louis’s pictures. 

I ran down to the office center in my apartment building.  Really, calling it an office center is more than generous.
 
It is a little bitty space that they shoved a fax machine, a computer that is full of viruses, an old copy machine, a rickety office chair and a lousy printer.  But they can put in their advertisements that they have an office center, and that’s what’s considered important.  The good news is, they have all the different delivery services pop in every day, so you can send things out, or have your packages dropped off in the office center instead of having them sit in the hall outside your apartment door.

Anyway, I ran down there and shipped off a DVD of all relevant information to Steven, and felt pretty professional.  I went back to my apartment and I sent off a quick email  –

Steven,

I went over to Louis’s condo today.  I was able to take pictures of the contents of the condo, and to scan a number of documents, the majority of which are current bills and such.  Due to the size of the file, I prepared a DVD that will be at your office tomorrow morning before 10. 

A gentleman named Joseph came to the condo while I was there.  Said he had come to collect a book.  I did not allow him to take anything from the condo.  He left before I could get any specific details.  He is supposed to come back to the condo tomorrow.  What would you like me to do about Joseph?

Also, I came across a locked door in the hallway, across from the master suite.  Although I was only at the condo for a short time, I did not see a key for the lock.  Shall I hunt for the key, which could take some time, or would you rather I call a locksmith?

Thanks,

Cara

One of the advantages of this career would be that people probably won’t be in a rush, and I can set my own hours.  Wonder if there is really a market for this kind of thing. 

I bet the way to do this is to go in the first time and spend an hour or so just looking around and taking pictures.  Then send all the basic information and a list of what I think needs to be done.  I could give them some options in price and services.  I could give them a little time to acclimate.  They could then decide just how detailed they want my involvement to be.  I’m pretty flexible, although I admit openly that I’ve stopped trying to get my foot behind my head, but that probably doesn’t belong on a business brochure anyway. 

I have integrity; I was honest about the foot thing.  I wonder if I would need to be bonded; that could eat up all my profit.  I’m not trying to get rich here, but I’d like to be able to afford the basics, and maybe some extra Oreos now and then.  Basically, I would provide a service, and different people could define that service differently.  Wow, that sounds a little Kitty Kat Klub. 

I wonder if I could meld the eulogy business and this business together.

I wandered around my apartment muttering to myself.  The down side of being really organized, is when there is nothing to do, there is nothing to do.  My dishes were already done, my bed was made, I could probably clean out my closet, but I didn’t really need to.

I decided that in the comfort and privacy of my own home, maybe I’d just read a little of Louis’s books.  I was feeling brave, and confident in the fact that they were actually the words of a screenwriter not some wacko.  I did a quick search on the Internet for gay serial killers, since Joseph said he’d been Louis’s partner for years.  That means gay, right?  Since Louis mentioned multiple girls in the little bit that I’d read, I looked for gay serial killers that lashed out at women, and I couldn’t come up with a single case where a gay guy was running around killing girls.  They usually kill guys.  Lots of them.  Yuck!  I admit, I didn’t do an extensive search, it wasn’t a very pleasant subject, but the more I think about it, the more I am comfortable that those leather books are a literary work of some kind.  I’m prayerful his literary work is fiction.  A book.  A screenplay.   A night class project.  Hell, I don’t care, as long as it turns out to be something benign.

I went to the kitchen and fixed myself a quick cup of tea.  What can I say, I’m Irish, tea helps any and all situations.  Although it’s never been on the list of things it can help, everything from a broken heart, to staining paper for a fourth grade school project, a cup of tea will help calm me while I read the book of what could very well be a whacko.

I got all three books and set them on the large woven hamper type basket I have beside the couch.  Makes a great end table and provides storage.

I retrieved my tea, sat down, put the tea next to the books, grabbed the top book and flipped it open, bound and determined not to allow myself to be freaked out.

It said #3 on the first page.  I assumed that meant the third book in the series, so I huffed, exchanged it for the right one, flipped #1 open, and started to read.

I feel stupid writing this down.  I’m not the type of person that writes in a journal.  This journal is tantamount to a confession, and I’m smarter than that.

The problem is human nature.  People don’t keep their mouth shut.  Crimes are solved by some asshole shooting off his mouth.  CSI shit is useful after the fool is caught.

I am writing this down for two reasons.  So I don’t miss anything.  So I don’t lose it.

If you are reading this (I assume it is you Joseph) I am under arrest, or in a psych ward.  Either way – sorry for not confiding in you.  I knew that you would be forced to turn me in and I couldn’t do that to either of us.

As I turned the page my front door almost exploded.  Someone pounded so hard I was shocked that the poor thing stayed on its hinges. 

Pissed, I stood up, setting the journal on the sofa, and stomped to the door.  True, I was pissed, but not pissed enough to slam the door open without looking through the peephole first. 

Joseph.

What the hell?  How did he know where I live?  Was he following me? 

I was just about to panic when he said, “Cara, open up.  I know you’re in there, I heard your progress all the way to the door.  I saw your shadow when you looked through the peephole.  Open the damn door!”

Like I was born yesterday?  Open the door for this whacko that was following me from a dead man’s house.  He is mentioned in the journal of another apparent whacko and I’m supposed to invite him in for tea?  Not an ice cube’s hope in Hell that was gonna happen.

I turned, this time being more circumspect about the noise level, and tiptoed toward the kitchen, where I’d left my cell phone on the counter.

Joseph said, “When you dial 911, tell dispatch Detective Joseph Branden is at your door and would like entry.”

That stopped me in my tracks.  A bluff?  A dare? 

Guess ol’ Detective Branden isn’t as smart as he makes himself out to be.  I had no intention of dialing 911.  I dialed the non-emergency number so they wouldn’t tape record me making a fool out of myself.

On the third ring, “Molly Sturgis.”

“Hi Molly.  My name is Cara.  I have a brother that works for the department.  Rory O’Flynn.  I was wondering if you could help me.  I have a guy at my door that claims to be a detective.  His name is supposedly Joseph Branden.”

“I know Rory.  Is the guy at your door tall?  Gorgeous?  Intense? Loud?”

“Yep.”

“That is the famed Detective Branden.  I suggest you let him in.  He gets cranky when people don’t do as they are asked, and if he finds out you have a brother on the force, he might take it out on him.  He is a great detective, but he can be a challenge.”

“Thanks Molly, gotta go.”

I hung up the phone and ran back to my door.  I peeped through the hole again.  The good detective was not looking amused.

The door wasn’t quite open when he pushed his way past me and entered my apartment.  Fine.  He’s a jerk.  That will put the whole good-looking thing in perspective.

“Sorry to push my way into your apartment, but having a cop standing outside your front door can complicate your life, if only to bring you to the attention of that nosey bitty in the apartment across from yours.  I’m pretty sure she’s the type that initiates a neighborhood watch program to have an excuse to be in everybody’s business.  Is she always like that?  She was watching me through her peephole.”

Ok, so maybe he wasn’t a jerk after all. 

I decided to play the innocent and see where we went, “So, what can I do for you Detective Branden?”

“Please, call me Joe.”

“I can do that.  What can I do for you Joe?”

“You can give me the book from Louis’s place.  No one has any use for it but me.  If his brother gets it, he’ll just throw it away, and years of Louis’s work will go down the drain.  I don’t want that to happen.”

“You.  A cop.   Asking me to break the law and hand over things to you that are not my property.  Things I have no authority to give you?  What then?  You arrest me for it?  I’m sorry, that doesn’t work for me.”

“No one knows about the book.  No one cares about the book.  No one is going to be arrested.”

“No one knew about the book?  What about you?”

“I guessed, you confirmed.  That is what we cops do.  Good cops document everything, even if not officially, so that the defense can’t get their hands on it, so, naturally, I assumed that Louis was documenting as he went.”

The light finally dawned, “Louis was a cop?”

“Retired.”

“Oh!”  Well, that explains that.  Not.  “Wasn’t he awfully young to be retired?”

“Medical release.  More like a forced medical retirement.  He got shot.  Long story.  I need you to give me that book.”

“I’m sorry I can’t do that, but I doubt that Louis’s brother will have a problem giving them to you.  He doesn’t seem overly attached to anything of Louis’s.”

“Steven is an ass.  He is a couple of years younger than Louis.  They were raised in a small town.  Louis was the jock.  The high school hero.  Steven could never match up.  After high school, Louis enlisted, did his time, got out and decided that he wanted to be a cop.  Migrated here.  Steven thought Louis should move back home.  Their parents were killed in a boating accident.  Steven didn’t even call until after they were buried.  His excuse was that Louis didn’t want to be home, had no interest in anything that happened at home.”