The Mystery of Jessica Benson (14 page)

It took a moment to adjust to the darkness in the guest
house. The silence was deafening and it smelled like pot with an
overlay of incense.
Patchouli,
Karen thought. She remembered
the scent from her early years. Her mother was a flower child in
the 1960s and people were always teasing that she got timewarped and never made the transition to the conservative world
of today. Karen couldn’t remember when, if ever, her mother
had been without a cause to champion.

Mazie’s gravelly voice snapped her from her musings.

“Feyzi! Hey! You got company.” There was no
response.
“His bedroom’s just upstairs, I’ll check on him.” Then
she stopped and looked back at Karen. “You know what? You
should come with me. The exercise’ll do you good.”
“I’m right behind you.” Karen stayed close. Even in the
guest house the appointments were exceptional. A sleek wood
banister led up a graceful curve of heavily carpeted stairs.
Mazie walked into one of the bedrooms without
announcing herself. There was a short silence and then she
bolted back out and grabbed Karen.
“Oh my God, no!” She burst into a retching cough and
Karen thought for a moment the poor woman was going to
vomit. Then she got it together and gasped, “Karen! Come! It’s
Feyzi!” And then started to cough again.
Gunpowder
. The smell of cordite accosted Karen’s
senses. Mazie stood there with her mouth hanging open, her eyes
the size of tennis balls. She reached out toward the body. Karen
blurted, “Don’t touch anything!”
The Turk was slumped forward on his bed, blood and
brains all over the wall behind him. A gun lay next to his right
hand. Karen reached into one of the compartments on her utility
belt, pulled out a pair of latex gloves and put them on. She
picked up the phone on the night table beside the bed and
punched in Will’s cell phone number.
“Will? Karen. I’m at the trainer’s house. I need you over
here, fast!”
“What the fuck? I thought he wasn’t talking to me.”
“He’s not talking to anyone. He’s dead. I’ll fill you in
when you get here. Get the lab boys over here and some
uniforms in case there’s a crowd.”
“Be there in ten.”

Three hours later Karen watched as Feyzi’s body was
loaded into an ambulance. Mazie Rose stood next to her,
smoking and spewing. She was a tough lady, and although she
was obviously devastated, Karen knew it would not be long
before she put this episode behind her and got on with the
business of life.

“I don’t understand why he would kill himself. He had a
pretty good life going here. Lot’s of money, plenty of women,
and so good looking. I don’t know what’s in kids’ heads
anymore? It’s never enough.” She took a deep drag on her
umpteenth cigarette of the afternoon and blew the smoke out in a
long, steady stream.

“I’d like some answers myself,” Karen said. “It just
doesn’t add up. He seemed so anxious to speak with me, so why
would he kill himself before I got to him?
And no note
. It just
doesn’t play right for me.”

“Well, if you find out anything, I want you to keep me
posted, please,” Mazie insisted. “I’m going to have to call his
mother and grandmother in Turkey. They’ve stayed here a
couple of times. Such nice people. Now they’ve got this
tzuris
to
live with.”

Karen looked at the heavyset woman and realized what a
toll this had taken on her. Her black mascara had smudged from
tears and her short hair lay flat against her head. The color in her
face still hadn’t returned from when she discovered the body.
She’d aged ten years in an afternoon.

“Is there someone who can come and stay the night with
you?” Karen asked. “I really don’t think you should be alone
tonight.”

“Yeah, I’ll have one of my friends come over. I’m
capable of handling this myself, though. I’m a pretty tough
broad.”

“I know. You’ve really been a brick today. It must have
seemed like we’d never get out of here.”

“So many questions. First this guy, then the next, like I’d
come up with something between rounds.”
“Listen. Here’s my card. If you think of anything,
anything at all
that might shed some light on this, give me a
call.”
“You’re a sweetie. Got a boyfriend?”
“I’m working on it,” Karen smiled.
“Well bring him around. I’ll set him straight!”
“I just bet you would. Sorry about your nail
appointment.”
“Yeah. But I’ve got such stuff to tell the girls next time.”
She winked at Karen and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek,
then turned toward the house. Suddenly she stopped and looked
back at Karen. “Come by for coffee sometime,” and then
continued back up the pathway to her door.

Will came trudging up the driveway and shouted,
“Coffee klatch over or were you planning to stay the night?”
“You’re real funny. This case just gets weirder and
weirder. We have two dead bodies now and absolutely no clues.
Tell me, oh great lead detective, what’s your take on this? What
was so bad he would’ve killed himself over it?”
Her partner shook his head and grimaced. “Hell if I
know, Karen. Hell if I know.”
The two remaining uniforms approached the detectives.
One of them was Rojas, the cop from Jessica Benson’s.
Karen said hello and asked if they needed anything from
her or Will.
Rojas shrugged. “No, everything’s okay. The crowd of
look-sees is gone, except for the reporters who’ll never give
anyone any peace. Is it alright if we get outta here?”
“Yeah, sure,” Karen answered. Then, to Will “He’s right
about the media hounds. I better go make sure Ms. Rose locks
her gate up.”
“Okay. You want to get a bite to eat? Run this through a
little?” Will asked.
“Nah, I’m beat. Tomorrow’s the Demons game. We still
on for that?”
“Shit yes! We got ourselves front row seats.”
“Look, Will. I spoke to Kyle Sands. He’s apparently
been talking around on his own and he threw out a couple of
other leads.”
“Sands called you? The smarmy little bastard. I
intimidated him, too, huh? Maybe he’ll turn up dead next.”
Will’s color had risen and Karen could see a small tic beating
under his right eye.
“Calm down. I just spoke with him this morning, for
Christ’s sake. Then the burglary at Fraga’s office, then this came
up and, well, what do you want from me? This is the first time
I’ve had a chance to talk to you about it.”
“Oh, and since it’s a tip from lover boy we better follow
it up, right?”
“Will, dammit! Take a break. I’m exhausted here and
I’m just not up for another go around about the same thing, for
God’s sake. He told me that Gloria DiAngelo, the team trainer
— I’m sure you remember her, Will? The one you couldn’t take
your eyes off during questioning? — told him she’d seen Arnold,
the security guard, arguing with Jessica the night before she was
killed.”
“How very fucking convenient that must be for the
quarterback, hmm?”
“Will, stop. Just hear me out. He and his pal Lundy went
to Arnold about it, and Arnold, in turn, had lots to say about
DiAngelo. You’ll appreciate this. His story is that he caught her
and Jessica in a lovers tryst.”
“Ha! had to be a smack to Sand’s ego. Doesn’t say
much for him as a lover does it?” Will snickered.
“Right. Whatever. What I’m trying to say is that the
game tomorrow is the perfect time to catch up with both of them.
Maybe we can get a break. God knows we need one.”
Will nodded and started toward his car. He called back
to Karen, “I’ll buzz you early and pick you up. We might as well
ride together. Game traffic’s a mess.”
“Sure,” she said. Then to herself,
together
, and headed
back toward the house to remind Mazie to lock the gate.
Mazie opened the door, before Karen could ring the bell.
“Oh, there you are, honey. Good. I was hoping to catch you.
Listen. Something’s been eating me since I saw poor Feyzi
laying there this afternoon. I got so
faklempt
from the blood and
guts — what a mess —I couldn’t catch my thoughts. But a little
while ago, I lifted my paintbrush to work out my kinks and it hit
me! I know this is really important.”
“Go ahead,” Karen prompted.
“Feyzi was left-handed.”

CHAPTER NINETEEN

G
ame Day. A lifetime of football and still his gut knotted like a
rookie’s with every game. Today it was far more complicated
than ever before. Kyle felt as though he was playing for his life.
As this season drew to a close, so it seemed did his career. And if
he had to go, he wanted to go out on top, not as a has-been who
didn’t know when to quit.

South Florida football fans are a very fickle group.
When the team is winning, the stadium is sold out and support is
solid. One wrong move, and they’ll boo the players off the field
and leave before the fourth quarter. Kyle Sands heard plenty of
boos throughout his career, but they were always short-lived,
often just until the next play. But today he feared the fans’ anger
would be directed at him as a person, not as the quarterback. It
was killing him.

The ringing phone startled him. Most everyone knew
what a basket case he was before a game, so people rarely called.
He stared at the phone, considering whether or not to answer it.
The caller ID read PRIVATE. No clues there. The ringing
stopped but whoever it was called back again. Curiosity won him
over.

“Yeah, hello?”
“
Yeah, hello
? Nice way to answer the phone. Kyle, it’s

Karen.”
His stomach flopped over and he caught his breath.
“Hey. I wasn’t expecting to hear from you this

morning.” He was apprehensive and it came through in his tone.
He swallowed hard. “There’s a problem?”

“No. Oh,
! I am
so
sorry, I should clear that up before
anything else when I call you. No new problems, relax. I guess
this is a bad time, huh?”

“Pre-game is pretty tough on me. I’m not much of a
conversationalist when my guts are controlling my brain—which
is pretty often these days.”

“Sorry. I guess I’m not helping you with that, am I?”

“God, Karen. Stop apologizing. You’re the only one
who is helping me. Just by being you, you help me.”
“Wow,” she drawled. “Way cool.”
“You sound like a teenager.”
“I don’t know,” she chuckled. “You make me feel like a
teenager, I guess.”
“Wow,” he responded. “Way cool.”
She laughed out loud, and told him she had just called to
let him know that she’d be at the stadium cheering for him.
“That means a lot to me. You know that, don’t you?”
“I try to do my part.”
An uncomfortable silence hung between them for a few
seconds—neither quite sure where to go from here. Kyle finally
said, “Will I be able to see you later tonight?”
“I can give you a definite maybe to that. We’ve got some
sleuthing to do after the game and I don’t know how long it’ll
take. Call me around seven, I’ll know better then.”
He hung up and was surprised at how relaxed he now
felt. It had been too long since a woman had soothed his soul.
Kyle liked the feeling.

He parked outside the stadium and jogged over toward
the players’ entrance. Dark sunglasses, a generic baseball cap
pulled low on his face, yet people still recognized him and
shouted encouragement. Someone yelled to him as he ducked
into the entrance, “Hey Sands! Get out there and kick some ass
today!” He tossed the fan a backward wave and breathed a sigh
of relief as the door closed behind him. It was early but he
headed for the locker room to change.

Only a handful of players had arrived before him. They
were in various stages of undress and most were sitting or
standing by their lockers alone. A couple of them were
engrossed in a conversation about another so-called terrorist who
had been captured last night. Kyle smiled to himself. He had
half-forgotten there was life outside of his problems and football.

The atmosphere was tense, as it always was before a big
game. But there were some days you could feel the crackle of
electricity, an intensity that buoyed the players’ level of
confidence to a height where they just knew the game was going
in the ‘W’ column. This was one of those days.

Kyle waited in the hallway under the stadium until he
heard “
and at quarterback, Miami’s own number 13, KYLE
SANDS
.” He took off at a full gallop through the tunnel and onto
the field. The sell-out crowd was on its feet chanting his name.
Banners hung from every level of the stadium proclaiming
approval, while the fans stood for an unprecedented three
minutes roaring in support of the beleaguered quarterback. On
the field, Kyle’s teammates high-fived and bumped helmets. As
usual, there was the obligatory butt-patting, and some of the
players even broke form and hugged him as he ran past.

“You feel it?” Lundy shouted trying to get on top of the
crowd noise.
“Shit yes, I feel it! This game is
ours
.”
“Yeah, baby, and you da
man
!”
“You’re damn fuckin’ right I am, James. Let’s move it.”

The coin toss went for the Demons. Kyle looked at the
flags at the top of the stadium and chose to open on defense. This
put the Rockets against the wind in the second half. The crowd
roared its approval.

On the first series, right tackle Jake Jackson forced the
Rockets’ running back to fumble. The Demons recovered the
ball, and on the next play Kyle put it up long, scoring the first six
points of the game. The extra point was good, and from there on
it was a non-stop trip downhill for the Rockets. The Demons
scored every way possible — offensively, defensively, passing,
running, two field goals and even a safety.

Kyle hit five separate receivers for twenty-two of
twenty-five passes, four of which were touchdowns. Three
hundred twelve yards in the air, one hundred three on the
ground. He felt invincible by the time it was over. His teammates
surrounded him, whooping and hollering, while the stadium
remained full of noisy, grateful fans long after the game ended.
Having beaten the top rival in their division, they moved into
first place. If they won next week’s game, they would earn the
division title and a bye during the first week of the playoffs. If
certain other teams lost games, the Demons might even get home
field advantage.