Authors: William Hutchison
Fred McCallister pulled his car into the Manhattan Beach Mall shopping center, four miles south of Los Angeles International Airport. Typical of a Saturday when all the upscale Gen-Exers do their shopping, there weren’t any spaces near the North entrance where the cutlery shop was that Detective Reddick said sold the knife, the blade of which was found in the bathroom on the beach next to the murder victim. He had to park three hundred yards away near a bank, which would add to the pain in is his arches. This was the last shop on the list. The other two, one in Burbank, and one in Santa Monica didn’t keep good enough records, so they were no help at all. And he couldn’t find parking spaces in front of them either. He was dog-tired.
Fred walked into the mall and found the cutlery shop near the entrance. The whole place couldn’t have been more than 150 square feet. The glass case in front had a fine display of knives, sharpening stones, Zippo Lighters, knock off Rolex watches, and watchbands. It reminded Fred of the shops that lined St. Thomas along the waterfront when he and his wife took a cruise there before she fell ill. That memory came forth and hit Fred like a blow to his stomach.
He still couldn’t believe she was gone.
Fred regained his composure and approached the counter.
A short, rotund Middle Eastern man was sitting in a chair watching a small TV with the US Open playing.
The Arab-American, who owned the shop, saw Fred approaching and got up.
Jordan Spieth rolled in another long snake and the crowd erupted.
“Is there anything I can help you with?” he asked.
Fred reached into his pocket and pulled out an Internet picture of the Russian knife Reddick had given him earlier that day.
“Do you sell these knives?” he asked as he handed him the picture. He also reached for his badge and showed that too.
The shopkeeper studied the picture. “We don’t sell very many of them, but I have sold a few in the past year. It’s a unique knife. It’s made well and remains razor-sharp for months. Masterknife in China uses high-grade titanium to make it. It’s mostly used by hikers and people who spend time camping.”
Fred was impressed by the shopkeeper’s knowledge but wasn’t that interested in how they were made. He wanted to know who bought it. “I know all about the knife,” Fred looked at the shopkeeper’s nametag, “Hakim.” (Which sounded like Fred was saying Hah Keem.)
“Did I say that right?”
“You did.”
Fred pressed further. “Do you have records of who bought the knives? Say over the last couple of years?”
“I keep excellent records. I had my son, who graduated from ITT Technical Institute create an inventory program for me when I opened the shop three years ago. If you’ll wait a minute, I’ll go back into the storeroom and get the names.” Hakim wanted to ask why he was interested in who purchased the knives but he didn’t ask.
Even so, his eyes told a different story.
Fred realized he was in luck. It wouldn’t hurt to tell Hakim why he needed the names. Hakim was being cooperative. “I’m doing a murder investigation. A piece of a knife like this was found next to someone who was killed a few weeks ago.” Fred explained.
Hakim raised his eyebrows but remained silent. He had immigrated to the US from Syria eight years earlier. There, if someone of authority asked you a question, you didn’t ask any back.
Fred continued. “I’m getting ready to retire and am trying to help out the boys in forensics and keep myself busy until then. Any records you have would be useful.”
Hakim still said nothing, nodded and went back to his storeroom. He came back in five minutes with a computer printout. It had only one name on it.
“Here you go, officer. The person who bought this was a flight attendant. I remember it because it wasn’t that long ago. She was very attractive. She used her Master Card and I have an address. She lives in Malibu.”
Finally, he had a substantial lead.
“Did she say why she bought it?”
It was a stretch, but Fred had to ask.
Hakim remembered. “I never forget a beautiful face. She said she was buying it for her husband as a birthday gift.”
“Can you make me a copy of the receipt?”
“Already did. It’s on the bottom, along with the address.”
Fred couldn’t believe his luck. He reached over and shook Hakim’s hand. On his way to his cruiser, he contacted dispatch and told them he was driving to Malibu.
It was 1 PM when Fred left Manhattan Beach. Usually the trip to Malibu on Saturday would take only 40 minutes. However, an 18 Wheeler with a full load of chickens had overturned on the 405 between Marina Del Rey and the 10 Freeway creating a traffic jam.
Even though he was in his cruiser and had put on his lights, he couldn’t wedge his way onto the shoulder. He flashed his badge at a couple of people, but that did no good either.
No one could move until the CHP cleared the road.
He sat on the freeway for 30 minutes until finally, the Smart Car driver on his left summoned three other drivers who got out of their cars and helped physically lift the tiny vehicle and turn it sideways giving Fred an opening so he could get to the shoulder of the road. He had to take surface streets the rest of the way there and arrived at Jeff Dawson’s house at 3 PM. A typical 40-minute drive had turned into a two-hour ordeal. (God you have to love LA traffic!)
This was the day after Jeff had murdered Roxy.
Jeff was home but in the back when Fred arrived.
Fred approached the door, rang the doorbell and waited for a couple of minutes, but no one came.
Jeff was dozing on a chaise lounge on his porch, which overlooked the Pacific. The view was idyllic and contrasted with his evilness as he rested.
Fred waited another five minutes, knocked louder and punched the doorbell repeatedly. When no one appeared, he noticed that a gate on the side of the house was open and walked toward the back.
He saw Jeff, iPhone earbuds in, bourbon on the rocks next to him, asleep.
He got in front of Jeff and blocked the sun.
The shadow trick worked.
Jeff sat up in his chair.
When his eyes focused, he was staring at Fred’s badge six inches from his nose.
His heart began to race.
How could they have found him so quickly? He had been so careful last night. Little did he know that it was his previous murder where he had been sloppy that brought the law to him.
What had he done wrong?
He started to sweat, but because it was a hot day, Fred didn’t notice.
Jeff pulled his earbuds out, looked at the badge and composed himself. “Can I help you?” Jeff stammered using all of his strength to remain calm. His heart was racing like a locomotive going up as strong grade carrying a load of coal.
Fred put his badge back into his pocket. “I’m here to ask a few questions if you don’t mind.”
“Be careful, Jeff. Don’t tip your hand,” logical brain cautioned.
Fred continued. “I’m on a murder investigation, which I’m not at liberty to discuss, but a piece of a knife was found at the crime scene a few weeks ago near Marina Del Rey.”
Now Jeff’s heart was going into overdrive but when he heard it wasn’t about his most recent game, he started to calm himself. He turned away, grabbed his drink, which was a half-full glass that looked like it had old iced tea in it, and took a swig. His mouth was dry as dirt. He couldn’t speak.
He elicited his slither brain to come forward.
It coiled and rose to the occasion.
“Don’t worry Jeff. I’ll handle this. I’m crafty. I’m here. You let me take care of this. Sit back and I’ll work my magic,” Snake Brain said.
Instantly, Jeff’s logical brain took a backseat as Slither brain took over. Jeff’s pulse rate dropped, his sweating stopped, as his cold-blooded nature drove. He smiled.
“Sorry about that officer. You woke me out of a dead sleep. I’ve been working a lot of hours trying to close a big real estate deal and I had an afternoon off. I had a couple of Quaaludes and couple of shots of Bourbon and I was vegging out. What can I help you with?”
Slither brain was a smooth-tongued devil and was very believable.
Similar to the counselor who was unable to see Fred’s transformation to Snake Brain when he was fourteen, Fred didn’t see it either.
What Fred did see was that this person in front of him seemed to be a struggling to focus, which was understandable if what he told Fred was correct about taking a couple of Quaaludes and chasing them with Bourbon.
Fred reached into his pocket and took out the picture of the knife. There is nothing like the direct approach to see if he could get any reaction from the suspect—even if the suspect was loopy.
“Do you own one of these knives?” Fred handed the picture to Jeff and watched for any telltale signs of guilt.
Slither brain saw the picture of the knife but showed no reaction. He told the officer what he needed.
“Yes, I have one. My wife gave it to me as a birthday present last year.”
“Are you a camper?” Fred asked.
“No, not really. But I like knives. My dad was an outdoorsman and gave me a tortoiseshell pocketknife when I was six years old. I’ve had an affinity for knives since then. I loved my father. I still have that knife. My dad passed away years ago. I don’t know why I kept the knife, I’m not that sentimental. I guess it reminds me of my Dad.”
Slither brain had adapted perfectly. Where did he come up with that! Slither brain had done his job admirably.
Slither brain then offered to show Fred the knife, went out to his garage, got it from the gym bag, came back and handed it to him.
Seeing the blade intact and after a few more questions, Fred scratched Jeff Dawson off his list…for now.
Having been a cop for over three decades, Fred had learned how to read people. He was reading Jeff now and something didn’t ring true with Mr. Dawson. Something was eating at Fred’s craw, like a bad scallop eaten a day before. It rumbled in his tummy but was not ready to come up yet.
The heartburn lingered.
Fred crossed Jeff off his list, almost!
John Stephanie and Todd got to HBYC at 7:30 PM right after their sailing lesson.
Randy and Charlene were both behind the bar when they walked in.
The place was vacant except for the same two surfers seated at their regular place at the end of the bar and now discussing the lack of waves due to the big high-pressure system sitting off Arizona. That system flattened out the surf and neither of them had had a ride in three days. Both of them were tan, muscular, drunk and pissed about the weather. They didn’t pay any attention to the trio that walked in, sat down and grabbed a table.
Randy gave Charlene a high five. Maybe now they would make some money. The lack of waves made business during the past three afternoons as slow as molasses in the winter. Each of them had only made eight dollars in tips all day, but due to JR’s generosity allowing them to stay rent free, they weren’t bleeding out cash like they were a few weeks ago.
Charlene was wearing a white camisole and a short plaid dress. It was the ultimate schoolgirl-look. She called it her lucky outfit because when she wore it, she maxed out on tips. However, her outfit hadn’t worked its magic today due to the lack of clientele, but maybe that was about to change.
She walked over to where John and Stephanie Polluck and Todd were seated and asked them what they wanted to drink.
John Pollock spoke up. “How about three Bud Lights?”
Charlene recognized Todd instantly because he was in the bar almost every other night. “Okay, that’ll be two buds and one vodka soda tall with a twist, right Todd?”
John was perplexed.
Todd spoke up. “I’m a regular here. She knows what I need. You all get your beers. I’m getting my “Todd water,” his name for the VS with a twist.
The conversation circled around to their earlier experience with the power boater and they all had a laugh knowing the jerk was going to have to spend thousands to fix his boat because of his recklessness. That conversation lasted about 15 minutes and two rounds.
After the second round, Jeff Dawson entered the bar.
He had been coming in sporadically over the past couple of weeks after he first met Charlene. He was obsessed with her and his reptilian brain needed a Charlene fix. His wife was out of town again and he was unable to keep his urges in check. Earlier in the week, he went to three banks in the South Bay trying to find a Roxy lookalike with no luck. He had struck out on every occasion, so he opted for visiting Charlene.
She was, after all, the perfect blend of cuteness, innocence, and brains.
Thank God, she was there!
Charlene was taking the third round to the sailors and immediately saw Jeff. The sight of him made a chill go up her spine. She sensed something evil about him. It permeated the air and gave her the same feeling one gets when you walk into a very dark cave and your flashlight batteries die. It was the way he always stared at her that creeped her out. She could sense his wickedness. But at the same time, she was attracted to his outward appearance. His slate gray eyes, handsome smile, the way he dressed and carried himself dulled her sense of dread that was her initial reaction.
She served the drinks and made as brief eye contact with Jeff as she could. She made one quick glance at him, but that was enough. His eyes tracked her every move again, as they had previously.
The chills intensified. It was as if somebody was taking an ice cube and running it from the base of her spine all the way to the top of her neck. There was something about him that was just not right.
She looked away as soon as Jeff’s eyes met hers and locked on to her.
His stare was like a Maverick missile locking onto a laser-designated target.
She was the target and indeed part of her didn’t want to be. Part of her did.
He was the missile.
Charlene put her finger up and spoke to Jeff. “It’ll be a minute.”
As she got back to the bar, she leaned over to Randy. “You serve him. I’ve seen him in here before and I really don’t like being near him.”
“Really?” Randy asked. “He’s a good-looking dude.”
“Really! I’m not serving him. He’s your customer. Watch the way he stares at me. It’s creepy.”
Randy watched Jeff’s eyes follow her as she moved to the opposite side of the bar to check on the surfers. Maybe Charlene’s instincts were right. He went over to Jeff’s table mindful of what Charlene had said.
“And what can I get for you?” He probed, wanting to smoke him out. “I see you like my girlfriend. I can tell, because you keep staring at her. She is pretty darn cute if I do say so.”
He waited for a response. He wanted to see if Charlene was telling the truth about this person. She could be devious at times trying to get him jealous. It had happened more than once. Was this one of those times? Jeff was an attractive man. What was Charlene sensing? Was her intuition accurate, or was this one of her games?
Jeff caught the ploy but didn’t bite. Slither brain came forward. “Oh, I was thinking how much she reminds me of someone I used to date. Same eyes. Same hair. Same smile. I was just reminiscing. I didn’t mean to be rude.”
He broke lock with Charlene and turned his attention to Randy in spite of the fact he wanted to continue to watch her every move and dream about what he’d do to her and what she would do for him.
And then the snake struck.
Jeff lashed out.
“Listen, the barmaid knows what I want to drink. Ask her. In fact, I don’t wish to order from you. Tell her she knows what to get me.”
Jeff waited.
Randy could see that his arguing wouldn’t do anything but potentially cause a fight. He didn’t want to start anything so he backed off and went back to the bar.
After a brief discussion with Randy, reluctantly Charlene left the bar and went to Jeff’s table. It was as if she were walking with chains wrapped around about her body. Every movement was a struggle. She did not want to be where she was.
She stood in front of him, staring down at the table avoiding eye contact, lips pursed, struggling inside trying to not physically manifest the mixture of fear and attraction she felt for him.
“Okay, what is it you want to drink?”
Slither brain went into charming mode. “Oh, come on. You remember now don’t you? Or are you stupid and playing with me?”
No response.
He softened his tone and smiled at her. “Look, I didn’t mean to call you stupid. I wanted to see if I could get a rise out of you. I do that sometimes to just have fun with people. I’ll have my standard rum and coke, please. He looked straight into her eyes, pleaded with his, half-closing them and grinned again.
Charlene did not remember what he drank, but she couldn’t forget him. He was indeed handsome. And he seemed so much more sophisticated and intelligent than Randy did. In her heart of hearts, she knew she should stay away, but she was still drawn to him.
The moth is drawn to the flame in spite of the danger.
She struggled. In her core, she was scared of this man, but at the same time, intrigued by him.
He appeared professional and successful all the previous times he came in except the first time when he explained he had come from an impromptu costume party. Today he was in a three-piece Armani business suit, starched collars, silk tie that was certainly worth more than one hundred dollars, gold cuff links, and shoes so shiny she could use them to do her makeup. He was certainly more successful than Randy was or would ever be. He might be a long-term solution to her financial problems. She didn’t know anything about him, but she was willing to ignore her inner feelings of dread and find out.
Seeing her demeanor change, Jeff ventured further. He wanted her. He needed her. He needed to convince her he wasn’t threatening. “Okay, honey, make that a straight up rum on the rocks. Forget the coke. I’ve had a very prosperous day. I closed a $6 million dollar real estate deal. It’s my time to celebrate.”
This wasn’t what he usually drank, but his reptilian brain was excited and his logical brain knew that he needed a double to calm the snake down. He needed to put the snake to sleep. This girl was worth the wait and he wanted to let it play out as long as it could. The longer he took to play the game, the better the outcome.
Charlene smiled back. This man had money. He had charm. He had her with that last comment about closing the real estate deal.
Randy approached her. “Hey baby, what’s up? Is everything okay?” He didn’t understand her rapid change in attitude. Moments ago, she didn’t want anything to do with the newcomer. Now everything seemed better. Maybe she was playing him--again.
“Sorry Randy, I was being weird earlier. You were right. He seems OK. He started coming here the first week I was here. He was here two days and then disappeared. Still, when he’s here, he keeps staring at me. It’s as if he is undressing me with his eyes. It unnerved me. I overreacted earlier.”
“Hey, he’s no different than any other guy or me for that matter.” He pulled her close and gave her a hug. “Gorgeous don’t worry about him.”
She pushed him away, which was an unusual reaction, but she didn’t want to appear to lovey-dovey in front of Jeff. It might scare him off.
Just then, Todd was standing up after his third Todd water and trying to explain how to manage the sails on the boat using his hands to describe winching in the jib when coming close to weather. He was acting it out, pulling on the imaginary sheets and trying to demonstrate how the boat would list to one side while it picked up speed as the lead sail was tightened. He was over-enthusiastic in his acting. With the last tug on the imaginary sheet, he lost his balance and crashed backward onto the floor.
With help from John, Stephanie and Jeff, (who saw the whole thing while coming back from the bathroom); Todd got up from the floor and settled back into his chair. “Maybe I’ve had enough,” he said when Randy arrived with a mop to clean up the drinks that were now strewn about on the floor.
Jeff joined them and sat down opposite Stephanie.
Their eyes locked. Even though Stephanie wasn’t blonde, her eyes and the shape of her nose and mouth were perfect, mirroring his stepmom.
“Here’s trouble.” Jeff mused.
Because he had already downed three drinks, his reptilian brain was now asleep so his logical brain took over.
“So what brings you guys to this place?”
Stephanie looked into his slate-gray eyes and answered, totally ignoring her husband, who wasn’t the least bit interested in joining in. He had turned his attention to Charlene the same instant Jeff turned his attention to Stephanie.
Serpent serendipity!
Conversations droned on for an hour, but in that time, Charlene had become even more infatuated with Jeff and John had become infatuated with her. Stephanie was also extremely interested in Jeff.
They all parted company after midnight.
On his ride back to Malibu, Jeff studied the business card given him by Stephanie.
It piqued his interest.
Although she was not a blonde, she had such similar traits to his stepmother she was another potential target, and because she gave him her card and invited him down to her yacht by writing the slip number on the back of her card, he knew he would see her again.
Life is good.
He had two new potential victims.
Let the games begin.