S. Tooley: When the dead speak

“Excuse me?” The attendant pulled off the earphones. Frank repeated his question. “Sure, people have been leaving in droves.”

“Great,” Jake said. “Just fuckin’ great.”

“What the hell happened?” Frank asked.

Jake leaned over to catch his breath. “I caught someone in Preston’s office, trying to access his computer.”

Frank followed Jake around the back of the house to the basement. “Where are we going?”

I’m just curious to see how the intruder found this entrance.”

Frank followed his partner up the narrow staircase leading to Preston’s closet. “Damn. Someone knew his way around this place.” Once in the light of the office, Frank saw Jake’s torn sleeve and grass-stained pants. “Hell, that guy really decked you.”

“I only wish it was a guy. Him I could have handled.” Jake walked over to the bookcase and removed two figurines. He poked a finger through an opening on the bottom right side of the back wall. By pressing a button, a small green light turned to red.

A deep rumble started in the back of Frank’s throat. “A frail little lady did this to you?”

Jake flipped down the back of the shelf exposing a video recorder. Attached to the ceiling above the bookcase was a surveillance camera.

“Frail. Shiiiit. She was a goddam she-devil.”

Frank pounded the wall and let out a ruckus laugh.

“A woman got the best of Jake Mitchell?”

“That woman,” Jake said, as he popped out the videotape and replaced it with a blank one, was here for more than just the purpose of using the telephone.”

He slipped the videotape into the inside pocket of his tux. His mind flashed back to the woman, the short skirt that had revealed the longest legs he had ever seen, and the most intense blue eyes which seemed to pierce right through him.

They returned to the foyer and followed the hallway toward the kitchen. They located Juanita, Preston’s housekeeper.

“Mr. Hilliard?” With her slight accent, it sounded more like meester heelerd. Her black dress fit snugly around her petite frame. “He is in the living room. But I don’t think he wants you to disturb him.”

“We’ll take our chances.”

Juanita trailed after them. Jake pushed his way in without knocking. He saw the blackjack table and paused.

When Frank saw the attractive, buxom dealer, his eyes glazed over. “Lordy, lordy, am I glad I’m married.” He elbowed Jake. “I AM glad I’m married, aren’t I?”

A familiar figure turned away from the table. It was Captain Murphy. “Have a problem, detectives?”

Jake didn’t reply. He just let his eyes float over the faces of the guests, the councilmen, Judge Becker, some high profile attorneys.

“You have got to be kidding.” Jake stared at Murphy. Although Jake himself had engaged in friendly poker games, the fact that Preston had introduced a strong illegal gambling bill last spring was now laughable.

Preston grabbed Jake’s elbow and steered him back to the hallway. He turned to Juanita who was attemping a fast getaway and barked, “Stay.” Turning to Jake, he said, “I thought you were instructed to keep an eye on the guests.” Preston suddenly noticed Frank’s presence. “And where did he come from?” He ran his eyes up and down Frank’s body not taking great pains to hide the disdain on his face.

Jake tried to refrain from going for Preston’s throat. He could feel Frank pinching his elbow. “You have a very large house, too much for one person to cover. You put me in charge of security. I hired the number of people I thought were needed.”

“Well, a great many of the guests are gone now. You can leave.” He turned to Juanita and waved his hand as though he were shooing her away. “Go, go. Make sure those illegal aliens you hired for this event aren’t stealing me blind.” He disappeared behind the oak door, shutting it tightly behind him.

Jake touched the videotape in his pocket and said, “What an arrogant sonafabitch. Remind me to never work for this ass again.” As he turned to leave, his cellular phone rang.

“Beautiful job. What do you think, Frank?” Jake stepped back from the encroaching dust clouds, brushing his hands against his pants.

“It’s about a nine on my scale,” Frank replied.

They stepped gingerly through the debris covering two lanes under the 130th Street overpass. Frank flicked the rock dust from his short-cropped Afro. “Yep, this one’s a keeper. Department of Transportation is going to love it.”

In front of them was a jackknifed semi, its cab wedged against the center support beam, its trailer blocking the northbound lanes of traffic. What had started out as just an accident report had turned into a homicide once the body had been discovered.

High-beam lights had been positioned around the crash site turning darkness into day. Overhead a news helicopter circled, directing its spotlight on the semi. Jake motioned at a beat cop whose thick, curly hair snaked out from under his cap. “Rizzo, move your car around this mess and keep that reporter from getting anywhere near the scene.”

Access to the 130th Street exit had been blocked by police barricades. Rush hour traffic had ceased hours ago and only emergency vehicles were on the road.

The two detectives walked over to the driver of the semi. He was holding a Bulls cap in one hand while the other hand scratched his sweat-soaked tee shirt. An entire Lionel train from engine to caboose was tattooed up one arm, disappearing under his shirt.

“Looks like you had a bad day, buddy,” Frank said.

The driver nodded. “I had a gole dern Vette, shit ass excuse for a car, cut me off. Had to slam on my brakes.” He punctuated his disgust by spitting out a wad of tobacco.

Their gaze followed the landslide of rock and gravel, up the concrete pillar to just below where it connected to the overpass. Enough concrete had broken away to reveal mummified remains, human, perfectly preserved.

“After seven years in homicide, you’d think I had seen everything,” Frank said.

“Ain’t that a damn sight?” The truck driver ran a forearm across the beads of perspiration on his face and turned to the detectives. “So… do ya think we found Hoffa?”

Sam stood on the patio, her hands wrapped around a glass of wine. The humid, evening breeze was doing its best to dry her long, thick hair.

It had taken a hot, fifteen-minute shower to wash what felt like a pound of make-up off and bring some life back to her natural sun-streaked brown hair. Clad in a roomy sweatshirt, her favorite jeans, and a comfy pair of moccasins, she looked up at the stars as if seeking answers to what had gone wrong tonight. At what point did she start to lose control?

Her right hand followed the leather strap around her neck down to a small leather pouch. With a firm clasp she nestled the pouch in her right hand. It was a medicine bundle, a gift from her mother on her twenty-first birthday. It contained sage, pipestone, tobacco, and her umbilical cord and was believed to keep the wearer safe from harm.

Taking a swallow of wine, she thought back to the security guard who found her and wondered where he was from. With any luck he wasn’t local.

Lowering herself onto the chaise lounge, Sam picked up her cellular phone and called her client.

“I have them,” she told him.

“Thank god,” he said softly. “I’ll be in town soon.”

Sam hung up feeling pleased with herself. Preston can find some other sucker to blackmail now.

Her cellular phone rang. It was Jackie. “Hey, girlfriend. How did things go?” Jackie asked. Sam told her about the fiasco in the study. “Maybe that’s what all the commotion was about. Some security guards rushed in to talk to Preston. He escorted them out to the hallway. Did you find what you were looking for?”