“So,” I said, “you’re thinking the girl gets up in the middle of the night and does a Lizzie Borden. That’s not much of a theory.”
“It isn’t much of a theory,” the chief said, “but I’m not much of a police chief either.”
“Nothing else you can share?”
“Someone cut off the air conditioner,” he said, “and I don’t think it was to save on electricity. They did it so the body would get hot and stink. It worked. And there is a little thing we’re holding back, so I won’t tell you that. You can just say we’re holding back some things that only the killer/kidnapper could know. That’s good enough right now.”
“Will you tell me in confidence what you’re holding back?”
“No.”
“Is it a good lead?”
“No. We’re just a Podunk police department, did I tell you that?”
“You did.”
A cop came out of the front door of the house then, and though we were a good distance away, out by the curb, an odor came out with him. The cop leaned over and threw up in the shrubbery.
“Close that goddamn door,” the chief yelled. Another uniformed cop leaped out of the yard, padded up there in his paper pullover footsies, his gloves, grabbed the doorknob and closed it.
“Everybody here, get some goddamn masks on,” the chief said. “Not just some of you, all of you. You’re wearing one around your neck, get near that house, pull it up.”
The cops scuttled about when he was finished yelling.
“I doubt murder is contagious,” I said.
“These days, so much murder going around, you got to wonder. It’s like some kind of disease. And you got the smell. A mask helps that…I know I don’t sound like much of a cop, but I don’t give a shit. I’m not much of a cop.”
“You said that already.”
“I’m just making sure the word gets out.”
“At least you showed up. I heard the old chief didn’t get out of the office much.”
“He was smarter than me.”
“What’s okay for me to print? What facts are there?”
“Well, the guy is dead. That one is a fact. The girl is gone, and that’s fact two. It’s also bloody in there and the deed was done with something big and sharp. That’s about it.”
“Sign of forced entry?” I asked.
“Nope. Front door was unlocked. One of the neighbors remembers seeing a dark-colored van parked in the drive. It could have been black, green, blue, just about any color but white. Saw it late, before he went to bed. Didn’t notice the time. Said he thought he had seen it before, sometime back. Few months back. But couldn’t be sure. Looked out the window for no other reason than he wanted to look. Saw the van and didn’t think anything of it. No reason he should. People have visitors all the time. He didn’t hear any yelling, but says his air conditioner runs loud and he had the TV on. None of the other neighbors saw or heard anything. Look, I’m going to go get a cup of coffee and worry about it later.”
“I’d like to take those photos of the outside of the house, a shot or two of you.”
“You do that, but you do it from the road. I don’t want you on the lawn. A valuable clue that we probably won’t find anyway might be there. As for me, I’m not up for pictures, and believe me, I like my picture taken, like it so much you bought some
“It’s as bloody as you said, you ought to have some shoe prints.”
“Oh, yeah. No one was trying to be careful, either because they were in a frenzy, didn’t care or didn’t expect to be caught. We got footprints, but it’ll be a Cinderella job, going to everyone with that size shoe, matching it to their foot. I might as well just put an ad in the paper begging the killer to turn himself in.”
“Cheaper than DNA.”
“I told you about our budget. What DNA? Guy doing the fingerprints, sucker took a two-day fingerprint course. He might as well have got his training off the back of a gum wrapper.”
“Was the place ransacked?”
“Torn apart, looked like the Tasmanian Devil had been in there. But that could have been a plan on the woman’s part. Make it look like murder and robbery, and her taken by the killer. She could plan on showing up later, having escaped from her killers, so to speak. That would be clever.”
He chattered on some more, finally got in his car and drove away. I walked around the outside of the house and took the photos, then I went back to the office and typed up a generic kind of report. When I finished typing it up, I filed it with Timpson, went to lunch, pulled up at the curb in front of the cafe. Before I went inside for a sandwich, I got out my cell phone and called Jimmy.
His cell went to voice mail, and I left a message: “Call me.”
27
Went all day and didn’t hear from Jimmy. I thought about going over to the university, but didn’t. I didn’t go to his house, because I didn’t want to give Trixie anything to think about. She was a smart woman. I wasn’t sure how well I could hide what was on my mind, pretend that nothing was wrong.
Belinda and I had dinner together at my parents’ place. They loved her, and Mother fussed over her and made sure she had plenty to eat and asked her all manner of questions.
Belinda was a real hit.
When we went out, I saw Jazzy in her tree. She hadn’t been there when we drove up, but now that it was growing dark, when she should have been inside, she was in the tree.
I looked up and said, “Hi, Jazzy.”
She raised her hand and waved like she didn’t really mean it.
“What’s the matter?” I asked.
“Nothing,” Jazzy said.
“This is my friend, Belinda.”
“Hello, Jazzy,” Belinda said.
“Are you still my friend?” Jazzy asked.
“Sure, honey,” I said. “We’re always friends.”
“Okay,” she said, but she didn’t act like she meant it. She turned her back to us and sat on the other side of the little platform and looked toward her own house.
“Bye, Jazzy,” I said.
“Glad to meet you, Jazzy,” Belinda said.
Without turning, Jazzy lifted her hand in a goodbye wave.
We went out to the car. When we were inside, Belinda said, “That little girl has a crush on you.”
“That’s obscene.”
“Nothing like that. She doesn’t like seeing you with me. She thinks that’s the end for her. In psych class I learned about that. She’s not used to having friends, or they leave her. Trust issues.”
“You can’t know all that meeting her once,” I said, starting the engine.
“No. But you’ve told me about her, and now I’ve met her. Didn’t you say her mother is…well, a tramp?”
I eased the car out into the street. “That seems to be the case.”
“We have to help her, Cason.”
“I know. I’ve been a little preoccupied lately. Though that’s not a good excuse. I get my head straight here in a few days, I’m going to push Child Protective Services hard. I may write a piece about their incompetence. They should have already done something. They’ve let Jazzy fall through the cracks.”
