Missing: The Body of Evidence (2 page)

Nancy
exchanged smiles with the officer guarding the apartment door. Her cell phone
sounded. She fished the phone out of her purse and took the call.

‘Nancy, when are you due back at the
station?’

She recognized Kyle’s voice, her newfound
partner in more than just crime investigation.

‘I should be back in thirty minutes or so,
unless I hit traffic. I just need to get someone to make the apartment door secure.’

‘Fire services knock it through?’

‘Nah, janitor let them in with a key.’

‘Should be no problem then. Hurry back, the
boss wants a word.’

‘What have I done now? I haven’t been
fishing around like he asked, just observing.’

‘Didn’t say, but he looks pissed.’

‘Oh thanks, it would have been nice not to
know until I arrived.’

‘No problem, that’s what friends are for.
See you soon.’

He ended the call. Information from what
she had seen inside the apartment was hitting her from different directions.
Her sense of curiosity drew her to have one last look around the apartment.
With the apartment empty, she thought it too good an opportunity to miss,
despite her boss’s instructions.

She wandered around the rooms in the
apartment. In the bedroom, she looked through some of the clothing drawers, but
found nothing of any interest. She opened a top bedside-drawer, moved a porno
mag to one side, and found a pile of salary slips.
Astral Chemicals Inc.
On
the wall, she noticed a row of framed degree certificates.
Looks like the
guy was a professional student. His salary sure makes up for all the studying
he’s done.
There was a clear oblong shape in the dust on the surface of a
side cabinet next to the phone.
Maybe it was a phone book, or a note pad and
CSI had taken it.
The bed was made; she stooped and picked up a pillow.
Holding it to her nose, it smelled of freshly laundered linen. Nancy stepped
into the en suite.

The bathroom was equally devoid of personal
items. A clean dry towel hung over the shower divide. There were no toiletries,
save for a can of expensive deodorant spray, not even a shaver, or a hairbrush.
Nancy sprayed the back of her hand with the deodorant and drew her hand to her
nose. The fragrance provided a welcome relief from the stench of the smoke, which
still lingered.

Nancy stepped back into the bedroom, opened
the closet and sifted through the shoes. Sure enough, they were all size twelve
and a half, except for a pair of sneakers at the bottom of the pile, which were
size eleven and a half. Taking hold of some beige pants from a hanger, she
placed the waistband against her waist. The trailing legs of the pants draped
on the ceramics and were at least six-inches longer than her legs. Allowing for
her heels, she reckoned the professor had been just over six foot. Nancy
re-hung the pants and ran her fingers along the rest of the pants. There were
no jeans and all the pants had front creases. One at a time, she worked her way
through the labels. They were all identical, showing the same inside leg size
and a thirty-two inch waist. Four pressed white shirts all had the same
fourteen and a half inch neck size. Nancy closed the door and mused that there
wasn’t anything in the way of casual wear.

She headed for the kitchen, swiping the
back of her hand above her top lip and sighed at the fragrance. Nothing she
found gave the impression that the apartment was used for anything other than
transitory living. The area was too pricey for mere mortals, but the
minimalistic furnishing and a lack of private papers, other than the salary
slips and certificates, seemed at odds with what you would expect from a
permanent home. She at least expected a professor to have more in the way of
books around the home, but there was not even a computer.

A mental picture of the professor formed as
someone tall and slim, probably an older person judging by his clothing and
someone who cared about his personal hygiene, considering the deodorant and the
clean bedding. The lack of other toiletries puzzled her, unless she thought he
had not intended sleeping there that night.

In the kitchen, her foot tapped the trash can
pedal. There was an empty beans can, a gum wrapper, and she found a Wal-Mart
receipt dated and timed at nine thirty-two, the night before. She picked up the
receipt by the corner, opened the fridge and moved the contents about. She
looked at the items on the receipt and double-checked the contents of the
fridge.
Odd, no lasagne.
Nancy checked the freezer compartment, the
microwave and the oven... but still no lasagne. The dishwasher was empty and
there was nothing in the sink. A moment’s pause to think and she started to
snicker.
He must have had his lasagne, washed the dishes, put them away, and
emptied the trash can in the garbage outside. Or, maybe he didn’t eat it here.
She
lifted the trash can lid, dropped the receipt inside and returned to the living
room.

Nancy wrote her notes. She took one last
glance around the room. With nothing else that piqued her interest, she picked
up the crime scene tape as she passed the dining table and headed outside to
the police officer.

‘I need the key to lock up, where’s the
janitor’s apartment?’

‘Number one, on the bottom floor.’

‘Be an angel and go and get the key for me.’

He scurried off and she tore a length of
tape, trapping both ends in the door as it closed. The officer returned with
the janitor. In his mid-fifties, his hair was balding on top and greying at the
sides. He peered over his spectacles, which were precariously perched on the
end of his large-hooked-strawberry nose.

‘I’ll lock it,’ he said.

His tone of voice and demeanour was
irreverent. The stench of alcohol on his breath caused her to avert her gaze.

‘Fine, but I’ll need the key. No one can
have access until CSI determines it’s no longer a crime scene.’

She detected a look of displeasure at him
having to hand over the key and sent a detective stare in his direction.

‘Did you see Professor Reynolds at any time
before the fire?’

‘I’ve already given a statement.’

‘Yeah, well CSI have them all and I’m
asking again. Just answer the question.’

The janitor huffed and shrugged his
shoulders.

‘The answer is no, I didn’t see him, but
his apartment is over mine. I heard him moving about around midnight.’

‘Did he have a girlfriend, or any other
visitors?’

‘None that I ever knew of, he kept himself
to his self. He doesn’t stay here often.’

‘When did you realize there was a fire?’

‘I awoke when I heard the smoke detector
and phoned 911.’

She realized they were both holding the key
and tugged it from the grip of his gnarled-grubby fingers.

‘That’ll be all.’

‘I will get it back? We’re contracted to
carry out maintenance and someone is going to need to clean up the mess.’

‘Of course. I’ll drop the key in at the CSI
Lab. Contact Tracy Gibbons after twenty-four hours.’ Nancy put the key in the
door and took out her notebook. ‘Just give me your details and I’ll pass them
on to Tracy so she’ll know who you are.’

‘Jason Kelly.’

She made her notes and then turned to the
officer and said, ‘That’s it, you can go, we’re finished here now.’

He tipped his cap to her and headed for the
stairway, followed by the janitor.

Just about to turn the key in the lock, a
firm tap her shoulder caught her by surprise.

A jolt in her chest hit her like a
sledgehammer, as if she was about to go into cardiac arrest. Waves of fear
washed through her, like a mild electric shock. It was as near an out of body
experience as she had ever experienced. She twisted around.

Two
marine types, one with blond close-cropped hair, the other with a similar
style, but with black hair, faced Nancy. Both were wearing dark suits, starched
shirts and blue ties. The one with blond hair thrust a badge in her face. The
shield had a government stamp and she could make out the letters ‘CIA.’

‘Who are you?’ Blondie asked.

The neurons in her brain didn’t seem to
want to connect with her vocal chords and she thrust out her chest to show them
her badge hanging over the top pocket of her jacket.

‘I asked who you were, not to give us a
flash of ya tits, lady.’

Bastard
. Her
quaking body returned to normality at the indignity of the remark, but she
sensed, once again, her cheeks rouging.

‘Detective Nancy Roberts, LAPD robbery and
homicide. Do you always creep up behind people?’ The bulges under their jackets
indicated they were packing shoulder holsters and they were wearing curly
communication leads running from their ears. ‘CIA gone green?’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘Just looking at those curly things running
from your ears; is that what connects a battery to your brains; except, I think
yours needs re-charging in the charm department of your frontal lobe.’

The guy with the black hair almost managed
a smile.

‘You won’t be needed here,’ Blondie said,
ignoring her attempt to get one back and he remained poker faced, ‘leave the
key in the door.’

Two guys came up behind them, wearing white
overalls and carrying aluminium cases similar to Tracy’s.

‘Forensics? CSI has already investigated.’

‘We’re carrying out our own investigation,
lady. Step aside.’

Nancy stood firm, waiting for a, ‘please.’

‘What is it... “Blue Book” stuff, because
the circumstances sure are strange?’

‘Yeah... it’s called “Mind over Matter”, as
in we don’t mind you, because you don’t matter... now heave to, lady; Logan
will confirm we’re investigating the accident.’

‘Accident?’ she said, and moved aside at
the realization the conversation was going nowhere and please and thank you
were probably outside their vocabulary range.

Nancy scurried down the stairway, took out
her cell phone from her purse and dialled Kyle’s extension.

‘What is it, Nance, the boss is waiting.
You’re late.’

‘That’s just it, I was about to leave when
some CIA goons turned up at the scene. I need to check with Logan that he knows
what’s going on here.’

‘No need, that’s what he was pissed about.’

‘Why didn’t you say earlier?’

‘Sorry, I thought you would have left
before they arrived and I was winding you up.’

‘Yeah, well, I’m wound up all right.’ She
cut the call abruptly, climbed into her car and set off for the station.
Winding
me up, is he. I’ll show him.

Nancy
dwelled on the events of the day as she pulled off the Ventura Freeway. She
headed back to the office; gradually working up to a frenzy of emotion at the
thought that no one seemed to take her seriously. The thought that she would be
better off back in uniform, where at least she had earned some respect after
fourteen years and six months on the streets of LA, festered in her mind.

She almost wiped out Detective Rydal, as
she braked hard in the station parking lot. He banged his fist on the hood of
her car and mouthed, ‘Idiot.’ Her head slumped forward and rested on the
steering wheel.

‘Grrrrr.’ She sat back and reversed her car
into a parking space, throwing shards of gravel in the process as her tyres
spun. The door slammed as she exited the car. The decision made, she strode
with a sense of purpose toward the office block, her lips tightly closed and a
menacing frown embedded on her features showed she was serious.

‘Morning, Nance,’ said Claire at reception,
but Nancy held her nose in the air and marched past her without an
acknowledgment.

At the entrance to the offices, she paused
briefly, took a deep breath, ran her hands down her jacket to straighten it,
rolled her shoulders and swayed her head from side to side. Satisfied she felt
composed, she opened the door and entered.

‘Surprise, surprise,’ rang in her ears.
Everyone stood at their desks and clapped. A banner strung across the office
read, ‘Congrats Nancy, welcome to the team.’

She felt completely disarmed. Any notion of
asking for a transfer back to uniform quickly escaped her mind.
So, this is
why Logan wanted me out of the office.
As she made her way to her station,
her fellow detectives thrust out their hands in turn and shook hers vigorously.
Her grin was so wide; she imagined it could have spanned the Hollywood Freeway.
She sat at her desk and called out to everyone.

‘Thank you, guys.’

Claire, from reception, walked over to her
with a carton of doughnuts, and a present wrapped in gold paper. Nancy ripped
at the paper, opened the box and her jaw dropped open.

‘Everyone chipped in from the department,
congratulations,’ said Claire.

It was a solid clear crystal ornament, with
a convex shape at the front and an LAPD badge etched onto the shape, with her
name and rank.

‘Sorry about earlier, Claire, bad hair day.’

‘Hey, don’t worry none, hon, we all have
those days. Only now I’m through the change, they seem to have gotten less.
Here take a doughnut, they should taste sweet, Logan paid for them. It’s the
nearest you’ll get to a welcome from him.’

Nancy, stood, held up her present and took
a bow.

‘Thanks again, everyone.’

She took a doughnut, sat down at her chair
and swivelled full circle, only to have it come to a full stop with Kyle
gripping the armrests.

‘Dinner tonight to celebrate?’ he asked,
his head slanted to one side and he displayed an impish grin that implied a ‘Yes’
was in order.

Nancy hadn’t been able to work out if he
was a player. Two years older than she, at thirty-eight, and without a divorce
in his resume, she thought maybe their kindred
no-strings-attached
relationship, with five months of him trying to date her and only one month in
the making, was getting a little on the monogamous side.

‘Sorry, I need to wash my hair tonight.’

She held a straight face and he swivelled
the chair full circle. He tried again as her chair stopped spinning with her
facing him.

‘Tomorrow, then?’ His hazel eyes, gazing at
her and pleading, were almost hypnotic. The dimple in his square jaw line and
rugged good looks cast a spell she was finding it hard to break free. She had
to fight her inner demons to make the reply.

‘Sorry, I have to dry it tomorrow.’ In the
time it took for it to spin a third time, her resolve broke. ‘Okay, tonight,
but in future don’t try ’n’ wind me up.’

Logan came up behind him and said, ‘Tonight...
don’t be making any arrangements for tonight, Kyle; I need you on a stakeout at
Bunker Hill.’

‘Yes, Chief,’ Kyle said and trundled back
to his station. He sat down, hunched his shoulders and mouthed, ‘Sorry.’

‘Nancy, my office... now.’

‘Right away, Chief.’

She followed in his wake, entered his
office and sat down, facing him at his desk.

‘Learn anything?’ he asked.

Yeah, you’re an ignorant son of a bitch,
no ladies first for you.

‘Yeah, the CSI crowd is touchy about their
crime scenes.’ Nancy was pleased the words came out different from her
thoughts.

‘Good, at least you learned something,
saves me having to chew your head off. Goodness knows how many cases have
faltered in court because of some flatfoot contaminating the scene.’

Flatfoot.
She
hated that term and wondered if he still saw her as a uniformed officer and
maybe this meeting was a prelude to her being sent back to the station without
her having to ask.
Crap, why didn’t I put the cap back on over my hair?

He always insisted his team address him as
Chief
.
She didn’t think even the chief of police would argue with him on that score.
Logan cut an imposing stature. At six-foot-six tall, with a charismatic
exterior as hard as a coconut shell and rhetoric that could cut you to the
quick, like the flail end of a leather whip biting into your ass, she thought
he would be a match for Arnie Schwarzenegger toe to toe any day of the week.

‘I guess you spoke to Tracy, then?’ Nancy
asked.

‘Yeah, and to Rob, the fire investigator...
strange case.’

‘Why is CIA involved?’

‘You bumped into them?’

Nancy fidgeted on her chair and said, ‘Sort
of. You could say we had a meeting of minds.’

He raised an eyebrow and gave her a look,
but didn’t seem to want to know any more of the subject. He averted his gaze
before continuing.

‘I’m guessing the professor must be of
interest to them, but it’s none of our concern, so forget it. It’s unlikely the
case will come down to us. It doesn’t sound like a robbery, or a homicide, just
some kinda unexplained freak event.’

Nancy thought she detected a sense of
evasiveness in his demeanour. It wasn’t like him not to look you straight in
the eye when he was talking.

‘What have you got lined up for me?’

‘I want you to partner Bill today on the
Claytons’ homicide case and do a sweep of Sunnyvale Condo. Bill should fill you
in on the questions you need to be asking the victims’ neighbours. But
tomorrow, I’ve arranged for you to meet with Tracy from CSI and Rob at the fire
investigation research laboratory at midday. They’re gonna run some test to try
and re-create what happened in the fire today. When the case team meeting is
finished, report back to me.’

‘Why me?’

‘You need to get to know them,
for a
start,
and build some sort of empathy.’ He paused and looked her straight
in the eyes. ‘Especially with Tracy.’ He raised his eyebrows again. ‘Teamwork
doesn’t start and end in the department.’

What a cow
.
Her embarrassment took the form of her entire body shaking. ‘
For a start?
’
Nancy sensed tomorrow’s assignment was more a question of curiosity on his part
at the strange circumstances surrounding fire, but she wasn’t about to question
his motives. He dismissed her with a wave of the hand and she returned to her
station and waited for Bill who was busy at the Xerox.

Nancy took out her notebook from her purse,
placed it on her desk and began drumming her fingers on the bottom of her
keyboard.
Forget it,
the words Logan had spoken ran through her mind,
but her willpower failed her and she flicked her notebook open. She typed the
details of the janitor, to search his record. No convictions recorded, but an
old entry caught her attention. At the age of eighteen, he’d been brought in
for questioning after a series of fires at his college.

She typed in Professor Reynolds details,
but it came up blank. No social security number... no driving license record...
nothing. She puzzled that it appeared he didn’t exist. A search of the letters
after his name from the card revealed that Professor Reynolds qualified as a
neurologist and as a psychologist.

‘You ready?’ asked Bill.

‘Ready? Oh, yeah… sorry.’