P.D. Martin - Kiss of Death

Desiree hangs her head. “No. Sherry swore me to secrecy. Told me it was someone new and it was just a date.”

“Honey, why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you tell Mandy and Brian when they called this morning?” Mrs. Jones stands up and starts pacing.

I keep my voice even so Desiree doesn’t have all three of us coming down on her. “Do you know who the date was with?”

“No. It was some guy she met recently.”

“Where did she meet him?”

Desiree lets out a tearful sigh. “I’m sorry, I don’t know. She wouldn’t tell me.” She looks up at her mum. “I’m sorry, Mom.”

“But she didn’t come home, Desiree. What were you thinking?”

Desiree bursts into tears. “I thought she must have stayed over at this guy’s house, and I couldn’t tell her parents that….” She takes a gasping breath between sobs. “And…now…Sherry’s…dead.”

Mrs. Jones lets out an exasperated sigh but then kneels down next to her daughter, holding her hand. “It’s all right, honey. You weren’t to know.”

“And the Taylors called you at seven-thirty this morning?” Sloan asks.

The phone call must have been part of the missing persons report, because it’s not something we discussed with the Taylors.

“Yes. But it was so early. If she’d stayed the night with this guy…”

It’s fair enough. A Saturday-night date could easily run into the early hours of the morning.

“So you weren’t worried when her parents told you they couldn’t get her on her cell?” Sloan crosses her legs.

“No.” Desiree sweeps a chunk of hair off her face and tucks it behind her ear. “I figured she forgot to charge her cell or turned it off for, you know, privacy.”

There’s something Desiree’s not telling us and I don’t know if she’s hiding it from her mum or from us. I contemplate the direct approach. I could just ask Mrs. Jones to leave the room, tell her I want to talk to her daughter alone. But it may backfire and make Desiree clam up.

“Do you know if this guy went to UCLA?” Sloan asks.

“I don’t think so.”

I lean forward. “Did you ever see him?”

Again she shakes her head. “I’m sorry.”

The two girls seemed to tell each other everything, so it’s unlikely that Sherry would hide a date from Desiree without good reason. A married man, perhaps? Or someone from the Goth world that Sherry was hiding from her friends and family.

I take out my card. “If you can think of anything else, Desiree, about Sherry or her mystery date, please call us. It’s very important.”

Sloan and I offer our condolences again and thank Mrs. Jones for her hospitality before heading back to the street and my car.

“She’s hiding something,” I say to Sloan once we’re inside.

“Agreed. But what? And is it something that could get Sherry killed?”

Sunday, 3:30 p.m.

Todd Fischer lives with his mum in E 219th Street, Merit-Carson. Their small house is nestled between two much larger and newer properties. And while the houses on either side show off new paint jobs, new roofs and are both double-story, the Fischer residence is single-story with a pebble-mix finish that was once perhaps a high contrast of white, black and gray stones, but is now decidedly gray all over. The red tiled roof is in need of repair; however, the small front garden is neat and well kept. The house is very different from the Taylor residence.

I look at the house. “I wonder how Todd and Sherry met. Doesn’t seem to me like they’d move in the same circles.”

“No.” Sloan gets out of the car and pulls down her suit jacket, which has ridden up. “Do you think he knows?”

“Not unless the Taylors have started the ring-around. Or got someone else to start it.”

Sloan moves to my side of the car. “Let’s have a chat before we tell him then, huh?”

I nod, but feel a little torn. If Todd is our man, it makes sense to hold back and see if he hangs himself. An innocent man wouldn’t know Sherry was dead, and wouldn’t hide anything. At the same time, if he is in the clear, it’s pretty cruel to question him for God knows how long without telling him his ex-girlfriend’s dead. Still, it goes with the territory. Our duty is to Sherry Taylor.

We cross the road and knock on the door. After a minute or so a woman in her forties, dressed like she’s twenty, answers.

“Yeah?” She chews gum loudly.

We take out our ID and identify ourselves.

She narrows her eyes. “What do you want?” There’s a hint of both annoyance and concern in her voice.

“We’d like to talk to Todd Fischer. Is he home?” Carson is a long drive if Fischer’s not in, but unannounced visits are always more effective in this game.

“Todd!” the woman yells without moving farther into the house.

After a few seconds with no response she yells again. “Todd! Get your ass down here.”

Heavy footsteps sound above us, moving toward the stairs. “Mom, I told you not to disturb me.” Todd’s feet appear on the steps. “What is it?”

“Cops are here to see you.”

“Oh… Okay.” He doesn’t seem surprised.

Once he’s halfway down the stairs he comes into full view. Todd Fischer is about six-one, tall and lanky, with black hair and pale skin that looks paler against his red lips and rosy cheeks.

“Is this about Sherry?” He moves off the stairs and toward us.

His mother turns to him. “Told you no good would come out of dating some rich bitch.”

He gives his mother a scathing look. “Give it a rest, Mom.”

“Whatever.” She pops the gum in her mouth.

He turns back to us, hands shoved deep in his pockets. “She’s really missing then?”

We don’t have a chance to answer before his mum blurts, “You don’t have to talk to them, Todd.”

“I’ll handle this, Mom. You go back to…whatever you were doing.”

She gives us a sneer. “Whatever.” She chews her gum noisily and moves off to the left and the background hum of a TV set.

“We can talk in the kitchen.” Todd leads us in the opposite direction, through an extremely messy room that is presumably the dining area but is sparsely furnished and covered in old newspapers and bric-a-brac.

Following him through a swinging door, we move into a seventies-style kitchen. The decor is red and white, which makes it look almost retro rather than dated. A splash of paint and new appliances and it could look good. Certainly a few less dishes in the sink would help.

Todd looks around and sighs. “Sorry about the mess.” He shakes his head. “Can I get you a drink? Coffee?”

At the rate we’re going, I’ll be getting the caffeine shakes soon.

“Sure,” I say politely.

Todd flicks on the kettle and then starts opening cupboards, obviously searching for clean cups. “I can’t believe Sherry’s really missing.”

“Have you spoken to the Taylors recently?” Sloan takes a seat at the kitchen table. The chairs are metal-framed with patterned vinyl for your butt and a curved, thin backrest. They remind me of our kitchen set during my childhood. But ours was brand-new, and the Fischers’ is over thirty years old.

“They rang this morning. To see if Sherry was with me.” He takes three cups from the pile of dirty dishes, squirts dishwashing liquid into each of them and runs the hot-water tap for a minute before half filling each cup.

“When did you see her last?” Sloan asks.

He takes a dish brush to the cups. “Last night.”

Last night? Could Todd have been the mystery date? It seems unlikely Sherry would lie to her best friend if she was going out with her ex.

“The Taylors didn’t know that, did they?”

He shakes his head. “Sherry doesn’t want them to know.”