Some Degree of Murder (7 page)

“I’ll
give you Lindsay and Billings to help out with the search warrant,” Crawford said. “Let me know what you get at the motel,” he told me. He glanced down at his watch, signaling that our meeting was over.

I left his office and the major crimes unit. I found Billings at this desk in Southside General Investigative Division. He was three bites into a sandwich bulging with mayonnaise.

“Where’s Lindsay?”

He motioned to his right with his head. I glanced over and saw Lindsay standing next to the secretary’s desk. He was leaning over and laughing with her. She was about forty and frumpy and appeared to be enjoying the attention.

I called Lindsay’s name and he turned around. When he saw me, he got a look on his face like a kid who’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. I waved him over. He about fell down as he scurried toward us.

“What’s up, Tower?”

“I might have to do up a search warrant and I need some help.”

“Great! Let’s do it.” He slapped Billings on a fat shoulder and Billings gave him a dirty look. Lindsay didn’t notice. “Where’s it at?”

I gave them the details.

“Classy place,” Lindsay joked.

Billings finished his sandwich and opened a plastic baggie full of potato chips.

“You think she was a hooker?” Lindsay asked.

“Not sure. But I’ll head out there and find out if it’s even a good location for her. For all we know, she gave the patrol officer a bad address. Or she could have moved. Or the motel might’ve cleaned her out already.”

Billings nodded. “One can only hope,” he said through the crunching of his chips.

“Yeah, well, I’ll check it out and give you a call. If the room is a good scene, I’ll need you two to sit on it while I write the warrant.”

Billings crunched another chip. “It’d be a thrill.”

Lindsay picked up on his sarcasm and decided to play along. “You sure two of us are enough?”

I didn’t reply, but only smiled
tightly and left.

“Serena Gonzalez? Yeah, she rents number eight.”

The desk clerk was in her fifties and looked every day of it. Her hawk-like face held a constant suspicion. It was in her voice, too. I’d heard it when she asked if she could help me and then again when she demanded to see my badge twice.

“When did she start renting here?” I asked her.

She narrowed her eyes. “Is she in some kind of trouble?”

“No, she didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Cause she’s a good renter. And that’s a rarity around here.”

The room stunk of stale cigarette smoke. The lines around the woman’s mouth told me that she was the culprit. I glanced at her nametag and read it.

“Peggy, are you the owner?”

She snorted. “Hardly. I’m just the manager.”

“Do you always work day shift?” I asked.

“Why you asking?”

“I’m wondering if there’s a night manager. I’d want to talk to him, too.”

She reached toward the counter and her pack of cigarettes. As she picked up the pack, she glanced back at me. I thought for a moment that she was going to ask if I minded that she smoke, but she had no such inhibition. She looked me up and down as she lit up her cigarette and tossed her lighter back onto the counter.

She took a deep drag and let it out. “Mister Detective, I’m the day manager
and
the night manager. The owner of this place lives in Portland, Oregon and has only been here once. He gives me my own room for free and eight hundred bucks a month. His beady-eyed little accountant comes by once a month to check the books and since they’re just fine, I never hear from him.”

The smoke hung in the air between us.

She took another drag and finished her speech. “So if there’s something going on with one of my tenants, I think you better just come right out and tell me.”

“Peggy,” I told her, “your tenant was murdered two days ago.”

Peggy
was more helpful after that. She confirmed Serena was still a tenant and was paid up until the coming Friday. I called Lindsay and had him start out to the motel so I could go write the search warrant. Then I called Glenda and told her some of the details so she could at least get the beginnings of the warrant started. I sat in the hard chair of the small motel lobby making notes for the search warrant.

Peggy watched me while I made notes, suspicion still etched in her face. When Billings and Lindsay finally arrived, I didn’t feel guilty at all about leaving them there. The three of them deserved one another. I sped back to the station and dictated directly to
Glenda, who typed faster than I could talk. After a quick proofread and then an agonizing three minutes while Crawford looked it over and signed his approval, I hustled over to the courthouse and caught Judge Thompson still in his office. He was about to leave, but didn’t make a fuss about it. He read the warrant carefully, and then signed it without a single question.

“Good luck, detective,” he told me as he handed the search warrant across his desk.

Ten minutes later, I stood outside of room number eight of the Palms Motel. Lindsay was on the other side of the doorway, his gun drawn and at his side. Billings stood several feet behind, looking bored. Peggy, her suspicion now outweighed by curiosity, waited several doors down, watching us intently.

I considered doing a knock and announce, which was required by law. But Peggy said that Serena never had any visitors and no one else was on the room registration. The odds of surprising anyone inside were slim.

Lindsay noticed my hesitation. “You want me to announce?”

“No.” I slipped the key into the door. Then I drew my pistol and swung the door open.

The room was empty. The only place I couldn’t see was in the bathroom.

“Police!” Lindsay called into the room. “Search warrant!”

I made entry and went straight to the bathroom. It was empty, too. “Clear.”

Lindsay holstered his gun and stepped through the doorway.

I held up my hands. “Stop.”

He stopped in mid-step. “Huh?”

“I said stop. Go down to the car and grab some paper bags. Get six of each size. Have Billings maintain the crime scene there at the door.”

Lindsay’s face fell. “I thought you might want help processing the scene.”

“You are going to help me with the search. I just want to be orderly about it.” I motioned to the empty table next to the window. “We’ll use this as an evidence table.”

Lindsay nodded, then turned around and nearly ran from the room.

I suppressed a sigh and turned to the motel room.

Serena
Gonzalez was a neat and simple woman, I quickly learned. She folded her clothes and kept them in the drawers. Her empty suitcase was in the closet. She had typical toiletries in the bathroom. Nothing out of the ordinary.

I found her room key on the nightstand next to the bed. She must have forgotten it that night, I figured.

Lindsay followed me around the room with an armful of bags. I was grateful that he didn’t ask any more questions. Once it became clear that Serena Gonzalez did not have a lot of possessions to go through, I set him to work collecting her clothing and bagging it up. Since there was no next of kin to claim her belongings, we’d have to secure it at police property.

I couldn’t find a purse anywhere in the motel room. I remembered that she hadn’t had one with her when her body was discovered, either. That bothered me. I wondered if the killer kept it. Or if robbery was the motive. Maybe it started out as a robbery and devolved into an assault.
Then a rape. Then murder. Sometimes things get out of hand and it happens that way.

In the drawer beside the bed, I found a postcard. On the front was a picture of the clock tower in Riverfront Park with the city slogan.
River City. Near nature. Near perfect
. I flipped it over and saw the beginnings of a letter in feminine hand.

Queridisima Prima
, the letter began.
¿Como estas? I got a good job here, working at the grocery store. It pays well and because I speak Spanish they said they might make me a manager.

That was all she had written. I wondered if it were true for a moment, that she had started work at a grocery store, but guessed it was a lie. Who writes home and tells the ugly truth? The postcard wasn’t addressed, so that was no help.

I slipped the postcard into a small paper bag and initialed the bag near the top.

The bottom drawer of the nightstand was empty, except for the standby Gideon Bible. I almost closed the drawer, but then I noticed something. Reaching inside, I pulled out the Bible and examined it. There were two bookmarks. I opened to the first one. It was in Psalms. None of the chapters or verses were marked in any way. I flipped to the second bookmark. It was in the book of Matthew. Once again, no marked passages.

I made an X on both book marked pages, in case the bookmarks fell out and slid the Bible into an evidence bag. Wandering over to the door, I glanced outside to see where Billings was. He wasn’t at the door. I looked down at their car and saw him seated in the driver’s seat, reading a paperback. I shook my head in disgust.

“What’s wrong?” Lindsay asked. He held a bag full of toiletries and was initialing the top.

I thumbed toward Billings. “Your partner’s a lot of help.”

Lindsay stepped over and looked outside. His face showed no surprise. When he looked back at me, he said, “He’s, uh…he’s about ready to retire.”

“Ready? I’d say he already has and the paperwork just hasn’t caught up to him yet.”

“He works his cases,” Lindsay said weakly.

I gave him a knowing look. “I’ll bet he does. I’ll bet he works the hell out of them.”

“His clearance rate –“

“Let me guess. His clearance rate is satisfactory. Which means he works just enough cases to keep Crawford off his back and suspends the rest because he’s just too busy.”

Lindsay didn’t answer. I could see he was torn between defending his partner and admitting the truth. I had to wonder how much slack he was picking up for Billings, but I didn’t ask him.

There was a silence. Then I asked, “Would you and Billings mind helping me put this stuff on the books? It’ll go faster.”

He waved me off. “Don’t worry about it. We’ll get it. Go on home.”

I wished I could. But I had at least one more job to do tonight.

“Thanks, Lindsay.” I told him.

“Sure.”

We packed the bags down to their car and loaded them into the trunk. Billings didn’t look too pleased about the prospect of checking in the items at property.

I gave Peggy the key to the room and told her we were finished. She took the key from me without a word.

Lindsay and Billings drove off and I started my car. The phone booted up and I dialed. Three rings and Teri answered. Our conversation was short and she said staying with Ben was no problem. We said our goodbyes and I hung up.

The streetlights were coming on as I pulled out onto Sprague and headed east toward the Club Tip Top.

After I knocked, I could hear footsteps run to the door. The heavy wood door swung open and a young, dark-haired girl stood in the doorway. She wore tight black shorts and a black sports bra over barely forming breasts. Sweat was on her forehead and I could hear a workout program on the television in the front room.

“Natalia?” I asked.

She eyed me with suspicion.

“I need to ask you some questions about Fawn Taylor.”

Her eyes softened.

“You’re Natalia?”

“Yeah,” she said with the barest of accents. It was probably a learned trait from other household members and she’d lose it completely by the time she was an adult.

“Can I come in and talk with you?”

She shook her head. “No one’s allowed to come inside when my parents aren’t here.”

“Can we sit on the front steps then?”

She thought about it for a moment before stepping out of the house and pulling the door shut behind her. We both sat down on the concrete steps that led to her front porch. The taxi that I took to meet Natalia waited down the block, its engine running along with the fare meter.

Natalia looked me up and down, no doubt taking in the black pants, tan polo shirt and black jacket.
“Are you a cop? Because I’ve already talked to the cops.”

“I’m not the police.”

“Then who are you?”

I shrugged. “I’m like a detective. Sort of.”

Her face brightened. “Ah,” she said with a big smile. “You’re a private detective, like in the movies.”

I smiled. “Something like that. You said the police came to see you?”

“Yeah, but I didn’t like the one who came,” she said with a shake of her head. “He was mean to me.”

“Mean?”

“Yeah, I don’t think he liked me because I’m Russian. He asked about Fawn. He tried to pretend he was my friend, Fawn’s friend, but I didn’t believe it. He kept looking around my house as he talked.”

I stared at her for a moment, not knowing what to say to that.

“Are you going to find who killed Fawn?” she asked, breaking the silence.

”Yes.”

She stared at me waiting for my questions.

“Natalia, did Fawn use drugs?”

She lowered her head and stared at her white Reeboks.

“I know she was using something. I just don’t know what it was.”

She nodded without looking at me. “We use to smoke a little chronic together.”

I rubbed my hands together. “I’m not talking weed. I’m talking something harder. Something that would make her run away.”

“We went to a party with a bunch of guys we met at the mall. Fawn was really hot for this guy named Malcolm. At the party Malcolm asks us if we want to get high. We both said yeah. That’s when Malcolm took out a glass pipe.”

“Crack?”

“Yeah, I thought he was talking about smoking some dope when he said get high. So did Fawn. But when I saw it was something else, I didn’t want any part of it. I tried to make Fawn leave with me, but she wouldn’t. She really liked Malcolm and wanted to impress him. She told me she was going to stay and I left her. I ended up calling my brother to come pick me up and bring me home.”

“Did Fawn say what happened?”

“She said she got high with Malcolm and they had sex. She said he wasn’t very good at it, though.” Natalia smiled at the thought.

I rubbed my hands over my face. “Did Fawn have sex before Malcolm?”

Natalia glanced at me sideways. “We all have. Boys don’t want no girl who won’t hook up. If you don’t put out, you don’t go out. It’s as simple as that. That’s the rules.”

A tricked-out Honda sped by, its stereo pumping out bass and its exhaust system revealing the car had an after-market muffler.

“How old is Malcolm?”

Natalia leaned back on her elbows, pushing her small breasts outward. “Nineteen.”

“Nineteen? Why would Fawn hang out with someone that old?”

Natalia shook her head at me. “Because he’s hot. Because he’s got a job. Because he’s got a car.”

“Where’s he work?”

She sat up and rubbed her arms. “At the Denny’s on Sprague. He washes dishes and stuff.”

“You know where he lives?”

She shook her head.

“What’s he look like?”

“He’s tall and skinny. Sometimes he wears his hair in cornrows. Sometimes it’s picked out in an afro.”

“He’s black?”

“Oh, yeah. Fawn likes black guys. Me, I can go either way, but she really dug it.”

“Did you tell this to the cop who came and talked with you?”

“No way. He never asked about a boyfriend and I probably wouldn’t have told him anyway. You’re not going to tell Fawn’s mom are you? That would kill her.”

My mouth was dry. “Why didn’t she tell her mom about Malcolm?”

Natalia looked at me like I was stupid. “Because he’s nineteen. Because he’s black. Because she was sleeping with him.”

I stood up and walked off without saying a word.

“Are we done?” she called after me.

When I didn’t answer, I heard her say, “Asshole.” Then the door slammed behind me.

We were headed down to a Denny’s on Sprague when the driver finally spoke. “I’m pretty sure I know which one you’re looking for. It’s near the Home Depot and the Costco.”

I stared out the window as neighborhoods passed by.

“I can recommend a couple of better places to eat than the Denny’s,” the driver said. He was balding, fat and breathed heavily as he drove.

The cab hit a pothole and bounced me into the middle of the back seat. I pushed myself upright behind the passenger seat and fastened my seat belt.

“Sorry about that. Damn city never repairs their pot holes.”

When I didn’t answer him, he reminded me about his offer. “Like I said, I know a couple of better places to eat.”

My eyes shut tight as I tried to block out his babbling. He must have gotten the hint because he became very quiet. Several minutes later we pulled up to a Denny’s on Sprague near Edward Road. I paid the driver and climbed out of the taxi.

“Want me to wait for you? I’ll click the meter off until you’re ready.”

I shook my head and turned away, not waiting for an answer.

Inside the Denny’s, a wrinkled waitress with sagging breasts and a wide ass showed me to a small booth. When I realized I couldn’t see the kitchen, I told her I wanted a different booth and pointed out my choice. She crinkled her nose at me. “Makes me no never mind.
Something to drink?”

“Coffee.”

She brought a clean cup and filled it. She laid a menu in front of me. “I’ll be back for your order.”

I nodded and scanned the restaurant. Several elderly couples occupied the booths around me and a couple of single men sat at the bar eating their breakfasts. Older waitresses hurried about, helping out their customers
.

The door to the kitchen opened and a black kid walked out carrying a large grey tub. He loped over to a table and cleared it of dirty dishes and glasses. His hair was in cornrows and he had the gaunt look of someone who had seen too many long nights dancing with crack. How he managed to continue working surprised me, but by the way he looked I imagined he’d probably quit any day.

He walked by me on his way to another dirty table.

“Hey,” I said to him and held out a fifty.

The kid stopped and eyed the green in my hand. “Yeah?”

“Are you Malcolm?”

“Nope,” he said flatly but never took his eyes off of the cash.

I waved the bill in my hand. “I need to ask Malcolm a question.”

He looked around the restaurant. “Go ahead and ask.”

I shook my head and folded the bill in my hand. “Not here. Out back.”

“What’s the question?”

“Out back,” I said and got up from the table. I passed Malcolm on my way to the cashier. I dropped three bucks in front of the clerk. “I just had coffee. That should cover it and the tip.”

She nodded and took the cash.

Out back, I had just lit
a cigarette when Malcolm came out. “Can I have one of those,” he asked with a motion towards my smoke. I gave him one and lit with my lighter.

“Where’s the money?”

I pulled the fifty out of my pocket and slipped it under the lip of the dumpster next to us. “You get it when you give me an answer.”

“Then ask your question.”

“Why was Fawn Taylor down on Sprague?”

His eyes widened and he stopped midway through an inhale on his cigarette. The smoke came out in bursts as he coughed. “You five-oh?”

I shook my head. “No. I’m looking into her death as an interested party.”

“Interested party? What’s that mean?”

“It means I want to know why she was down there.”

Malcolm looked over at the cash that hung from the dumpster. “She was workin’.”

“You mean hookin’?”

“Same thing, gee.”

“Why was she workin’?”

“Girl didn’t have no cash. Couldn’t steal any from her parents. Them folks never left shit lying around.”

“Why’d she need cash?”

Malcolm looked at me. “That’s more than fifty dollars worth of questions.”

“I’ll double it then. Why’d she need cash?”

“She needed more of that cookie-cookie crack than she could afford.”

“You got her smokin’ it?”

“I didn’t make the girl do nothing she didn’t want to do.”

“Who was she working for?”

Malcolm shrugged. “I dunno. She was independent.”

“No one’s independent.”

The kid laughed at me. “Listen, this is how it worked. I hooked her up with my dealer. She wanted some of the juice but he wouldn’t give it to her for free. So she let him fuck her for a hit. He told her if she wanted more to go and earn it on Sprague. That bitch sure could fuck for a girl her age.”

“You knew she was fourteen?”

“Yeah, I did. She knew what she wanted. I just helped her find it.”

“What did she want?”

“Black dick and good times.”

I pounced on him, forcing him into the building. When the back of his head hit the concrete wall, the cigarette fell from his mouth. I punched him hard in the gut and doubled him up. My hand grabbed his face and slammed his head again into the wall. I smashed him three times into the wall and let him drop to the asphalt. He lay on the ground, moaning softly.

As I walked away I tucked my shirt into my pants and straightened my jacket. I shook free another Camel and lit it. I wandered through the parking lot of the Home Depot and entered the store.

An hour later, I climbed into a clean River City Taxi and told the driver I needed to go back to the Davenport hotel. He was a young, white kid in a pressed white shirt with a black tie. His spiky blonde hair and diamond stud earring clashed with the business attire but his attitude was professional none-the-less.

“Yes, sir,” he said when I told him my destination. “I’ll have you there in a few minutes.”

We were traveling westbound on Sprague behind a thick patch of traffic. The kid remained quiet except to ask me if I had a preference on a music station. When I told him I didn’t he turned off the radio. We rode in silence for a couple of miles when I saw it. Near Freya Street, the thing that nagged at me earlier when I was on Sprague finally worked its way into my consciousness. On one side of the street, an older white woman walked down the street in high heels and a short skirt. Across the street, a large black man walked at the same pace, his eyes always on her. His walking cane was for show and bounced lightly off the ground as he strolled.

“Do me a favor and stop the car.”

The driver looked over his shoulder at me before pulling into the parking lot of an auto detailing shop. “Sir?”

“I’m getting out here. What do I owe you?”

He rattled off an amount and I shoved some bills in his hand. “What’s your name, kid?”

“Axel.”

“Well, Axel, I want you to be my driver next time. If I ask for you by name, they’ll send you, right?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Thanks,” I said and climbed out of the cab.

Axel radioed in to his dispatcher before pulling out of the parking lot. Across the street, a dark green Saturn pulled into a parking lot near the hooker. She walked over to the passenger window and talked to the driver for a moment before she climbed in. The car sped away from the area.

The black dude that followed her on my side of the street continued towards me. His stroll was vintage pimp and his eyes scanned the neighborhood. When he looked at me, I stared back. He stopped for a moment before strutting into a bar called The Hole.