A Dead Sister (Jessica Huntington Desert Cities Mystery) (17 page)

“When the car hit her, she flew up in the air, hit the windshield and landed on the curb near the bushes. Chester said there was a terrible sound when she landed on the ground, like something cracking.” Tears were welling up in her eyes, and her throat was choking off her voice.

“Jessica, that’s enough. I can handle it from here. Let me tell Art the rest.” He produced a tissue, as he had done for Chester Davis earlier, and handed it to Jessica.

“At that point, Chet says he’s too scared to move so he keeps watching. The two guys who were chasing her stopped and just stood there until the driver rolls down the window. He’s pissed, speaking loud enough for Chet to hear some of it. Something like ‘What the fuck happened?’ and ‘Where the fuck is the doc?’ He couldn’t hear their answers because they had their backs to him. They had moved closer to the car window and were speaking more quietly. It’s pretty dark in the parking lot, but there was some light from lamp posts. The two men talking to the driver step back, and Chet sees the driver pounding on the steering wheel and pointing. One of them walks over to the young woman lying on the ground, takes a look, and then goes back to the driver. There’s a couple more seconds of back and forth, then those two take off again. They head back into the hotel through the same door they had exited. That time of night, they probably would have needed a key card or something to get back in, but Chet’s not sure about that.” Jessica could tell this was getting to him, too. He paused for a sip of water. Now that the restaurant was jammed with people having lunch, it was getting stuffy. Dick rubbed the side of his head, as if he had a headache.

“Chet says he wanted to leave. He says he was frozen in place, like he was stuck to the dumpster he’s leaning against. He’s sure if he moves they’ll spot him. Anyway, a few more minutes go by with the car sitting there, the engine running. Then the two men come back out the door again. This time, they’re lugging a third guy between them...and they’re moving quick, saying something like ‘the doc’s hurt,’ and ‘that bitch got him.’ The driver’s screaming, telling them to ‘put him in the goddam car,’ so they shove him into the back seat. They’re starting to get in, too, when the driver says, ‘what the fuck are you doing? Get back in there and clean that place up. I want everything out of there, everything, got it?’ So the two guys slam the car door and the driver takes off. They go back into the hotel and Chet just sits there, waiting. He’s not sure how long, a half hour—maybe longer. Finally, he gets up the nerve to move, and he goes to take a look at the girl, just in case she’s not dead.” He paused and looked at Jessica, rubbing his temple again.

“It was clear she was dead. Her eyes were open, but she wasn’t moving, and he says nobody could live with their head the way it was on her body.” Jessica stared straight ahead, wanting to weep, but not here. Not in front of these men she barely knew. It was bad enough to have to share such a personal tragedy with strangers. She was not going to let them see her cry.

Art had been quiet the whole time, taking a few notes. He looked at them both before speaking in a low, steady voice. “Well, that last part seems consistent with the coroner’s report. If it’s any consolation, the report says her death was quick. She died the moment she hit that curb. Can I ask you a couple questions before we call it a day?”

“I’m okay with that. How about you Jessica?” Dick Tatum sat up, pushing the remnants of his dessert away. Jessica wished their waiter would come back and clear the table. In the mob scene still underway, that wasn’t likely. She would probably have to stand up and shout over the noise of the crowd to get their check.

“No problem, Art. What do you want to know?”

“Well, first off, did he give you any details about the car?”

“Just that it was a big, dark colored sedan,” Dick said. “Four-door, obviously. To Chet it was ‘new and pricey’ but he didn’t know or can’t remember more about a make or model. No license plate numbers or anything like that.”

“Okay, so how about the men involved. Did he get a look at any of them? Any sort of description, anything distinctive about the way they looked or sounded like height, weight, an accent—anything?”

Jessica replied first, “He says it was pretty dark. Like I said, he did notice the men that came out of the hotel were in jackets or sport coats, like hotel staff might wear. Not a uniform like a waiter or croupier, nothing like that. Sounded more like what hotel security or a manager might wear. He thought the two men chasing Kelly were...” Jessica paused ever so briefly, realizing that they were all now in tacit agreement that it was Kelly Fontana they were talking about...“he said they were big guys. Of course, you’ve seen Mr. Davis; a lot of men could seem big compared to him. But he said they were practically running when they came out of the hotel with the doc. That tells me they probably
were
pretty big to be able to run with a couple hundred pounds hoisted between them. It sounds like the doc wasn’t doing much to help, so they were hauling dead weight. Tell me if I’m wrong, Dick, but during one rendition of the story, Chet said the doc was a lot taller than the other two men. When they put him in the back seat, they had to duck him down so he wouldn’t bump his head.”

“Yeah, that’s right.” Dick said confirming what she said.

Jessica picked up where she left off. “So let’s say the two guys who chased Kelly are average or a little above average in height, then that would make the doc a standout in the height department. It sounds like he was injured pretty badly, so maybe we can check ER and hospital admission records to see if anyone remembers an unusually tall man being admitted that night. That was a long time ago, so it’s not likely...” Jessica’s voice trailed off as an image of Kelly, the last time she saw her alive, flashed in front of her. What kind of a mess was she in that could have ended in murder?

“Who knows what sort of records might still be around about ER visits that night, or who might still be around who could remember what happened that long ago. Oh, there is one other thing, Art. Chet says the driver of the car had long, dark hair. In one version of his story, Chet says one of the guys referred to the driver by name, sort of, calling him mister “P” or mister “B”, most likely an initial of some kind. If you remember, Dick, Chet also said there was something familiar about the driver, maybe someone he’d seen before. Chet was a pretty regular delivery man at the casino back then, so maybe the driver was a regular at the casino or the hotel too. We don’t have much to go on but somebody might remember a regular with long hair who went by the name of Mister P or Mister B or a similar moniker. Casinos make a point of cultivating regulars. They do what they can to make their stay memorable, so maybe that will make this guy more memorable. We need to talk to some employees who worked the desk back then, a manager or a concierge, perhaps. I suppose it’s possible the driver and the men chasing Kelly were affiliated in some way with the hotel. Chet says when he went to see if Kelly was still alive, he recognized her. He had seen her at the hotel before. He didn’t know her by name, but he knew that hair and those eyes. He identified Kelly from a photo I brought with me.”

Jessica looked up and was surprised at both men’s expressions. Without realizing it, she had made an impression on them.

“She’s not just a pretty face, is she Arty?”

“No, she is not, Dicky. That was a concise and perceptive summary of what we have to go on at this point. And using the photo to get a positive I.D. was a great idea, Jessica. I’ve done a quick review of the old file. Ms. Fontana wasn’t found until early the next morning. The police talked to whoever was on duty at the hotel that morning and went back later to speak to staff on duty the night before. One of the grounds keepers found her as he was starting his shift. The coroner said she hadn’t been dead long, a few hours at the most. She was dressed in the hotel uniform that waitress and room service staff wear, but that wasn’t her regular job, she was officially on the books as a spa attendant.”

“Did anybody say anything about why she was dressed like that?”

“The investigators spoke to a couple coworkers who said she wasn’t scheduled to work anywhere that night. They claimed not to know why she was there. Her supervisor at the spa said she didn’t know what she was doing there, either. Your friend had missed her two previous scheduled shifts at the spa, and hadn’t been to work for several days, since she was off for a couple days before that. She said that was a bit unusual for Kelly Fontana, who was a pretty good worker, but a lot of kids her age go AWOL for a few days, so she didn’t make too much of it. It’s possible she was wearing that other uniform because she was picking up extra shifts or filling in for someone, according to her supervisor. If she was covering for a coworker, it should have been put on the schedule, but it didn’t always happen that way.” Detective Greenwald flipped through his copy of the file that he had brought with him, scanning the pages before continuing.

“Interviews with the hotel staff didn’t turn up anything about the accident, nobody heard or saw anything. That’s entirely possible, because that set of stairs leads directly outside, so they could have come and gone without being seen. Staff didn’t use that exit much. It was routinely locked by 10:00, so if Chester Davis entered the building that way without a key card, it must have been before ten.” Jessica was adding to the notes she had taken during the interview with Chester Davis.

“Chet said he used that entrance and exit for the very reason you indicated, that he didn’t want to be seen. He wouldn’t have had a key card, so it must have been before ten, when he arrived, anyway. I can’t believe it was that easy to come and go like that. Wouldn’t those areas have been monitored by surveillance cameras? Casinos are super vigilant about cameras on the casino floor...but I guess that doesn’t extend to the places where guests eat and sleep, like the hotel. The casino is across the street now, but back then, it was so close you’d think that whole area would have been monitored.”

“I didn’t see anything in the case file, but I haven’t pored over it. I presume that if something like video was available the original investigators would have taken a look. I don’t know how long they keep film on file. It’s been almost 15 years, so I doubt we’d be able to get much now anyway. It would be nice if they had a film clip or big, glossy photos of those culprits chasing your friend into the parking lot, but that doesn’t seem likely.”

“Art, it seems to me you have done a pretty good job looking through the file. It’s too bad so much time has elapsed. If Chester Davis had only come forward, maybe the investigation would have gone in a different direction. Certainly, having sort of a name and sort of a description of a couple characters like the long-haired Mr. P or Mr. B and his inordinately tall companion might have triggered recognition from employees at the hotel or casino back then. Incorporating that information into an appeal to the public might have made a difference, too. What on earth is wrong with someone like Chester Davis?”

“Jessica, he was scared shitless, still is. You saw that. He already had a track record back then, so it’s not clear how seriously his claims would have been taken if he had come forward. He would have had to explain why he was hanging around out there in the dark behind a bunch of dumpsters. Chet Davis was a coward
. I don’t condone it, but I do get it.” Dick Tatum was doing his best for his client, but that didn’t wash with Jessica or the detective. Art picked up where Dick Tatum left off.

“It sounds like there’s reason to believe some of what he says. I have to point out, however, that his track record isn’t any better now than it was back then. It’s worse, in fact. He’s got us all going, but it is still possible that he has cooked up this tall tale to get out of the serious trouble he’s in. I don’t deny that he saw something that night involving the death of your friend, Jessica. His description of the way her body looked fits with the photos taken at the crime scene. We don’t have a single bit of evidence to corroborate anything other than the fact that he found her dead and failed to report it. He may have witnessed somebody run her down, but right now all we have is his word for it that the car hit her on purpose. The stuff about a Mr. P or Mr. B and the doc sounds kind of screwy to me.”

“So what does this mean about reopening the case?” Jessica asked, her irritation with Art Greenwald stirring again.

“I’ve already said that we’ll go back through everything again. I’m taking his story on face value for the moment. But there’s no way this will go anywhere unless we have more to go on.  Who are we going to charge? Some mystery man with long hair, driving a dark sedan, nearly fifteen years ago, who may
have a name that starts with p or b? I don’t think the D.A. is going to cut Chester Davis much slack with that kind of info, either. But, what do I know? We’re up to our eyeballs in lowlifes, no place to put them all, and as far as lowlifes go, your Mr. Davis is less offensive than some. Heck, the biggest risk he poses is to himself. It costs a lot less to put the guy back out on the street than it does to put him up in jail for the rest of his miserable life. That was the main point behind Prop 36.”

“That may well be true
. I’d like to see him get another go at treatment if I can get the D.A. to agree. Where there’s life there’s hope. I’m sure Jessica would have preferred to have her friend alive, even if she was in bad shape like Chet.” Jessica had to agree that was probably true. But the thought of her beautiful childhood friend looking anything like Chester Davis after years of being ravaged by drugs filled her with despair. She was ready to end this.

“You need to go through the file yourself, Jessica. Some of it’s pretty hard to take. I’ll warn you, the crime scene photos and autopsy report are graphic. If you read through the case file, you can see why the police stopped pursuing the matter when they stalled out. As far as they could tell, it was pretty clear what happened. Despite the fact that your friend was a lovely young thing, it’s not such an unprecedented situation: an addict, who has been on a bender for a few days, is looking for a place to shoot up, gets spooked and runs out in front of
a car. Some drunk hits her and instead of stopping to help or call it in, runs for it. That’s a crime, but it’s not murder. Chester Davis could well have recognized your friend from bumping into her on one of his previous deliveries. There were track marks on her arms and a loaded hypodermic at the scene with her prints on it. A tox screen said she had a lot of drugs in her system, including heroin. If she had used what was in that needle, she would have turned up dead that night, anyway.”