CHAPTER 17
Fifteen minutes later, Medora and I returned to my car. There was nothing more we could glean from the crime scene, and I needed a minute to think. Opening the door, I dropped into the car seat, leaned back, and closed my eyes. Medora gracefully slid in on her side, shut the door, and glanced over at me.
“Long night?” she ventured.
I opened my eyes and looked over. “No, I just need to gather my thoughts and try and make some sense of this.”
Medora squared to face me. “Okay, hit me.” She said. “So what are you thinking?”
I leaned back again and closed my eyes. “Take Anders being shot out of the equation for a minute.” I began. “Six months ago, Alison is murdered, no motive found, no leads at all. Fast forward to yesterday, Alison is dug up and violated. Why?”
Medora picked up the thread. “If the killer was the same person as the violator, then he must have had a reason, or a trigger. A mental break?” She suggested.
I continued. “And if it the killer and the violator are not the same person, and digging her up was just a random chance, then why was Kenneth killed and postured the exact same way as Alison? And he’s not even female!”
Medora stayed silent, and I shook my head in frustration. “And that’s not even factoring Anders’ killing into it.”
“What if, “Medora looked at me, and paused, thinking. I opened my eyes and looked at her. “Your partner’s killer wasn’t aiming for him?”
My eyes widened as I rolled the idea around in my head. “In that scenario, Alison was killed to lure me there. Anders was squatting next to me, looking at Alison. The killer missed me and hit Anders. The killer then waits six months for things to cool down, then murders Kenneth the exact same way as Alison, knowing that I would be assigned the case.”
I pause then, thinking. “But there was no attempt made.”
Medora replied, “Maybe he was scared away before he could take a shot by the men Maya sent up there.”
I nodded. “Possibly.”
Medora continued, “In which case, he’s not done. He’ll either kill again to set you up or try another way. So which begs the question, ‘who have you pissed off lately?’”
I shook my head. “Not anyone bad enough to do this. And Alison’s violation doesn’t fit here, unless we accept that it was a random act, which I don’t.”
Medora fell silent, thinking about this.
I reached for my keys and started the engine. “We’re still missing some pieces. The one common factor so far is the Wolf’s Den, they both worked there. The Den doesn’t open until eleven, so let’s do our due diligence on Kenneth until then.”
I looked over at Medora and motioned to her phone. “Were you able to look up his next of kin?”
Medora glanced at her notes. “Kenneth lived with his mother, Lisa, and his younger brother Aldon. Father apparently not around. 45 Cats Paw Lane. Know where it is?”
I grunted, as I threw the car in reverse. “Less than a mile up from Forest Hills, where Alison lived. Small town it seems.”
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The man watched from the parking lot across the street as the car containing the detectives pulled onto the road. His dark eyes followed the car as the detectives drove away, undoubtedly, off to chase down leads regarding Kenny. Because that’s what I would do.
He felt a trace of remorse over killing Kenny. He didn’t kill indiscriminately, but Kenny had had to die, there was no way around it. But Kenny, you didn’t die for nothing, he thought. The detectives are undoubtedly confused, which plays perfectly for me.
The man started his car and smiled to himself as he watched the detectives disappear into the distance. And it’s only been a day.
CHAPTER 18
Any cop will tell you that one of the worst, if not the worst, part of the job is informing relatives of a murder victim that their loved one is deceased. Pulling into the Brainwell’s cracked driveway, I began mentally preparing myself for the ordeal ahead.
Kenneth’s home was what one would expect from this side of town. The house was a small one-story bungalow, encased in peeled yellow siding, with a small, enclosed porch and cinderblock steps. An old gray pickup truck sat in front of a closed single car garage, whose door was open, exposing the jumbled piles of assorted junk inside. The front lawn was yellowed, balding, and weed-infested, with a rusting push lawn mower resting against the front of the house.
Turning off the engine, I stepped out of my car, Medora on the other side. Glancing up, the sun was starting to push through the clouds, trying to bring some warmth and positive light to the day. “Don’t bother on my account” I thought to the sun, “the day’s shot to hell already.”
Gathering myself, I began to walk up the tired driveway, Medora at my side.
“Done one of these yet?” I asked her.
Medora shook her head.
“I’ll take care of it then.” We reached the steps and approached the screen door. “Just hang back.”
I reached up and knocked on the door, causing a loud banging rattle to echo through the dilapidated porch beyond.
“Hello!” I shouted, “Anyone home?”. After a minute, I banged again, louder this time. “Hello! Mrs. Brainwell? Anybody home?”
This time I could hear what sounded like a sliding bold from behind the scratched wooden door that led to the interior. A minute later, the door creaked open, and the lined face of an older woman with rheumy eyes and gray-blonde hair poked her head out. “Yes?” She asked in a raspy voice.
“Mrs. Brainwell?”. She nodded. “I’m Detective Harper Jones, this is Detective Medora Dunning. We need to speak with you about your son. May we come in?”
“Have you seen him? He didn’t come home last night. Is he ok?”
“That’s what we’d like to talk to you about. May we come in?” I repeated.
Mrs. Brainwell looked at me apprehensively, then nodded and opened her door wider. Medora and I went through the screen door, then followed her into her house.
Mrs. Brainwell was small, maybe five two. She was wearing a threadbare white bathrobe with dark stains. Her hands, trembling slightly, were firmly gripped around a ceramic cup, which as I followed her in, was emanating a distinct smell of coffee and possibly whisky.
She led us into a main room which had an old leather couch and two bean bags facing a faded television sitting on a stack of milk crates. To the right, a pass-through counter above two barstools showed a dimly lit kitchen, with dirty dishes piled in a sink, undoubtedly contributing to the smell of mold and mildew that I detected. Two doors and a small hallway to the left led to the rest of the house.
Mrs. Brainwell turned and sat on the couch, and took a sip of her coffee. I looked down dubiously at the bean bags and then looked at Medora. She raised an eyebrow, then glanced at the barstools. I turned and dragged the two barstools over while Mrs. Brainwell waited, her eyes following us anxiously.
“Mrs. Brainwell,” I began. “When was the last time you saw Kenneth?”
“When he left for work yesterday, around 11:30 in the morning.” She replied. “He had a long shift yesterday, wasn’t gonna be home til late. Do you know where he is?”
Taking a deep breath, I took the plunge. “Mrs. Brainwell, I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but Kenneth was found dead this morning.”
Mrs. Brainwell took one veined hand from her around her coffee cup and brought it to her mouth as her eyes began to tear up. “Kenny? My Kenny? Are you sure?”
I nodded somberly. “Yes ma’am, his wallet was found on him. We’re sure.”
A small, strangled sob escaped Mrs. Brainwell’s lips as she raised her cup and took a long drink. “No! What happened to my Kenny?” she asked hoarsely.
I glanced over at Medora, who was watching Mrs. Brainwell closely.
“I’m sorry Mrs. Brainwell, but he was killed, in the alley behind where he worked.”
“Killed?” She cried. “I always told him that place he worked was no good!” She began sobbing.
Looking over at Medora again, who was just staring at her, I cleared my throat. Medora broke away and looked at me. I gave a subtle motion of my head, and Medora rose and sat next to Mrs. Brainwell on the couch and reached for the coffee cup while grasping her free hand.
“Mrs. Brainwell, we are so sorry for your loss.” She began. “But we’d like to ask you a few questions that might help us find his killer, if that’s ok.”
Mrs. Brainwell’s frail shoulders shook under her robe as she continued to sob quietly, Medora gently holding her hand. After a few minutes, her sobbing quieted, and she took a deep breath. Taking a quick glance at the coffee cup, she wiped her eyes with her free hand and nodding, looked up at me.
“What do you want to know?” She whispered.
“Mrs. Brainwell, you just said that you thought that the Wolf’s Den was no good for him. Can you explain why?”
She took a deep shuddering breath. “That place is rough, the people that go there aren’t nice. Fights all the time.” She met my eyes. “And the owner, he’s shifty, not from around here. Done heard he was involved with some bad people, mafia-like afore he came here.” She swayed slightly, as Medora steadied her.
“Was there anything that happened recently that made you feel that Kenneth’s life might have been in danger?” I asked.
She shook her head miserably. “Nothing specific. But he did call me last night from work. Left a message. I didn’t hear it until this morning.”
My ears perked up. “Can you tell us what he said? Can we listen to it?”
She nodded, and started shuffling in her robe pockets, eventually pulling out a cell phone. Fumbling, she entered her passcode, found her messages, pressed play, and handed it to me.
Mom, Kenneth’s disembodied voice came over the phone, pick up. I need to talk to you. I’m at work, and um, I’ve seen somebody that scares me. I don’t wanna walk home tonight. Can you pick me up? Call me back as soon as you can. The message ended.
I hit the End button, and the phone then showed three more phone calls after that from Ken last night that had gone unanswered.
I looked at Mrs. Brainwell. “He called three more times. You didn’t answer. Can I ask why?”
Mrs. Brainwell’s lower lip trembled as she glanced at the coffee cup, then back at me. “I wasn’t feeling well and went to sleep early. I didn’t hear my phone. Oh Kenny.” She whispered, her voice beginning to break again.
“Mrs. Brainwell?” Medora asked gently, squeezing her hand. “Is there anyone you can think of or anyone he was involved with that may have had cause to do him harm?”
She shook her head violently as she continued crying. “No. He was a quiet kid. A good boy. Didn’t have no friends, just a good boy who didn’t mean no hurt on anyone.”
I looked around the room, but there were no pictures on the faded walls. “I’m sorry I have to ask, but what about his father?”
She stopped crying for a moment and looked at me wetly. “His father? I don’t know who he is. That was a long time ago.” She closed her eyes, then opened them again. “You think he could have done this?”
“I don’t know, but we need to look into any possibilities.” I said. “Can you tell me anything about him?”
She shook her head. “I was young and wild back then. Liked to party.” She took a deep breath and looked at me guiltily. “I was not what you’d call wife or even girlfriend material.”
I nodded, understanding. “Do you know who the father was?”
She replied haltingly, “Not fer certain, but I’m pretty sure it was a guy named Mike. Kenny looks...” she paused, “looked a lot like him.”
I nodded again. “Last name?” She shook her head no. “Seen him since?” Another shake. “Where did you meet?” She raised her eyes and looked at me.
“Right there.” She said. “The Wolf’s Den.”
CHAPTER 19
We asked Mrs. Brainwell a few more questions but got nowhere. Her son, Kenneth’s brother, was fourteen and was staying with his father, who was apparently not Mike, for the past week. I passed along a counselor’s number to her and called the station to make sure someone followed up on her well-being.
“Well,” I said as I got in the car, “what do you think the odds are of this ‘Mike’ being involved?”
Medora replied, closing her door. “Doubt it. From the way she made it sound, he doesn’t even know he has a kid, and if he did, what motive would he even have to kill him?”
“Agreed.” I replied. “We’ll still have Maya run Kenneth’s DNA, on the off chance his father is in the system. Maybe something will turn up. In the meantime,” I glanced at my watch, “the Wolf’s Den doesn’t open until eleven. I want to hit there, see if we can talk with the bartender who was on last night, and if they have anything on this guy who scared Kenneth.”
Medora nodded. “So what do we do until it opens?”
“Well,” I replied pulling out onto the road, managing to deftly avoid two potholes, “let’s go visit the finer side of town, see if Little Frankie’s awake yet.”
Little Frankie lived in what is commonly known as the Beaches, a gated community a short distance to the south of the boardwalk and the main part of town. It was built around ten years ago in a land grab by an outside buyer who wanted to bring a higher level of living to Wolf’s Hollow. The community is along about two miles of pristine beachfront, and if you didn’t either earn at least seven figures annually or have one helluva stock portfolio, then you weren’t getting anywhere near it’s pearly gates. Or, in Little Frankie’s case, you had a rich family to draw from.
Medora and I pulled up to the guard gate, and a beefy guard in a snappy uniform stepped out to greet us. I pulled out my badge as he approached, casually wary, given that my car wasn’t a Mercedes or its ilk.
“Good morning!” I said as he leaned down. “WHPD. We’re here to see Mr. Manetti.”
His eyes met mine briefly, looked down at my badge, then flicked over to Medora, who gave him a sweet smile. Taking in her long legs, his gaze turned leery, and he replied, not taking his eyes off her. “What’s your business with Mr. Manetti?”
Annoyed, I snapped “Police business, which is none of your business.”
He shifted his gaze back to me, then back to Medora, then back to me as he drew away from my open window. “Is he expecting you?”
“I’m the police, does it really matter?” God, I hated rent-a-cops with an over-inflated sense of duty.
“Visitors are required to be on the list.” He replied crisply. “And I can tell you, you’re not on it.”
I was about to explode holy hell on this smart-ass entitled wannabe, when Medora leaned over me, and looked up at him with a flirtatious look. “Kevin,” she asked sweetly, reading his name plate, “could you possibly call Mr. Manetti, and explain to him that we’re here concerning some recent events that involve his club, the Wolf’s Den?”
Kevin, who had tensed up when he had seen that I was girding for a fight, relaxed slightly as he was gifted a rather open view down Medora’s blouse. “I guess I can give him a call.” He muttered, tearing his eyes away. “Stay here,” he said as he retreated to his booth.
Medora, smiled at me as she sat back up, her citrus perfume wafting pleasantly in my nostrils. “You’ve heard about the whole vinegar and honey thing, right?” She asked.
“You don’t fight fair. But I like it.” I conceded.
After a few minutes Kevin poked his head out and glared at me. “Mr. Manetti will see you. Straight in, eighth beach house on the left, number 1800. He’s expecting you.” Then he looked again at Medora as he pushed a remote, lifting the gate.
Medora smiled at him, gave a small wave and mouthed “thank you” as we sailed on through. I just grumbled and shook my head, turning down a beachfront road labeled “Midas Lane” and began the process of looking for 1800.
Each property had about two hundred yards of street frontage, and they were all bordered by six-foot walls with iron security gates, closed circuit cameras, and call boxes. Cruising slowly down the road, I silently counted the numbers. I had been here once before, right after Angie had moved out and promptly in with her new lover. I simply couldn’t believe that a tv producer could make enough to live here, and I wanted to see for my own eyes. Sure enough, he did have a place, and after I did some extracurricular digging, found that he had an inheritance from his family’s lumber business. Angie, I grudgingly had to bitterly admit to myself, had picked a good one at my expense.
Reaching 1800, I pressed the intercom, and announced our arrival. A perky female voice answered, and a short second later, there was an audible buzz, and the wrought iron gates began to swing open.
Driving through the gates, I got my first opportunity to see how the other side lived in Wolf Hollow. When Kevin had called it a “beach house”, he wasn’t doing it proper justice. The crushed shell driveway wove through perfectly manicured grass and fruit trees and led up to a circle with a marble fountain of a geisha pouring water out of a vase. Beyond the geisha was the main building, a tiered Japanese-style house that a shogun would have been proud of. The expensive wooden structure with terra-cotta tiled roofs was surrounded on both sided by exquisitely crafted bonsai trees in the shapes of various exotic animals. I pulled up to the front next to a Mercedes that probably cost more than I’d make in the next five years, and switched off my car, preparing to spar with a rich Italian who may or may not be connected to unsavory characters.
“Ready?” I asked Medora, coming around the front.
“Sure. Nice place.” She commented.
“You think?” I asked as we went up the stone steps, large koi swimming in crystal clear ponds to either side. The front double doors of Manetti’s house were seven feet tall, made of a dark hard wood, and etched with Japanese symbols. To one side was softly glowing doorbell, which I pressed, and a low gong could be heard from within.
After a minute, a latch could be heard moving, and the doors silently swung open on oiled hinges. In the doorway stood a tall, broad-shouldered man, a tailored Hugo Boss suit stretched over his muscular frame. His face was all sharp planes, his dark hair slicked back.
I produced my badge, saying “Good morning, WHPD. We’re here to see Mr. Manetti.
“This way.” The hulk pivoted silently, showing us his wide back, his coat opening slightly as he turned, revealing a weapon in a shoulder holster.
The hallway was exquisitely tiled, with Japanese scrolls and hung artwork on one side, and a coat of what looked like samurai armor and a glass casing of katanas on the other. The interior walls were made of bamboo and richly carved wood, with ferns and other greenery lining the hallway. Somewhere, water was falling, lending a peaceful serenity to the ambience.
Our escort led us straight forward, and opened a shoji, sliding wood door frames filled with translucent paper that had been inked with Japanese symbols. By now, the sun had cleared the ornery cloud cover away, and it was starting to beat down on the scene laid out before us. Beyond the shoji, we could see a tiered patio with inlaid stones, and a small free-form pool at the lowest level surrounded by bamboo cushioned deck chairs and umbrella tables. Sculpted bonsai trees dotted the sanctuary, along with other unidentifiable greenery. On one chair was a young woman, maybe twenty-five or thirty, her toned body stretched out on a towel, in a flame-red bikini and large dark sunglasses, her long blonde hair flowing back over the chair back.
Nearer to us, in the shade of the house’s eaves, sat a man, heavyset, sloped shoulders, with thinning black hair pushed wetly back to hide onsetting baldness. He was reading the local newspaper, the Wolf’s Howl, and drinking what appeared to be a Bloody Mary. He wore a monogrammed white bathrobe, opened loosely enough to show his abundance of graying chest hair, but closed far enough fortunately, to hide his paunch. When he looked up at us, I guessed he was in his early sixties. He had a stubby, veined boxers’ nose, beady eyes that squinted at us, and a ruddy complexion, evidence of someone who had, and probably still does, enjoy the finer things of life.
“Good morning Mr. Manetti.” I began, showing my badge. “I’m Detective Jones, this is Detective Dunning. We apologize for intruding on you this morning. We just wanted to ask you a few questions regarding recent events at the Wolf’s Den.”
Mr. Manetti studied us for a minute, then looked to his man servant. “That’ll be all for now Mario.” He paused, looking back to us. “Unless you would like something to drink. A Perrier perhaps?”
“Thank you, Mr. Manetti.” Medora said, taking a seat. “I think I can safely say this is the first time I’ve been in a Japanese house, being asked by an Italian man if I’d like a French beverage.”
Manetti appraised Medora for a minute, then burst out laughing, and said “Very good! Mario, please bring the detectives two Perriers.” Mario nodded briefly, glanced at us, then stepped back inside.
“Yes, Miss Dunning, I am indeed a man of the world. I find the Japanese culture gives me peace and serenity, and frankly, the French have the best sparkling waters. And wines.” He said, with a knowing wink.
As I took a seat, the young lady by the pool noticed our presence, and looked up at us, raising her sunglasses. Manetti noticed also, and called out, “It’s okay, Annika, they’re just here to ask some questions.” He turned to us. “Annika is my wife. I met her on a vacation to Stockholm.”
I looked at Annika as she regarded us for a minute, then flipped her glasses back down, and returned to soaking up the sun. I need a vacation to Sweden, I thought silently, returning my attention to Mr. Manetti.
Mario must have had the Perrier hidden in his jacket, because he was back in a flash with two bottles and two glasses with slices of lemon perched on their rims.
“Ah thank you Mario.” Manetti said. “That will be all for now.”
Mario performed a short bow, gave Medora and I a hard glance, then retreated to the main house. “Mario’s a good butler.” Manetti said as his eyes followed his man servant. “He’s been with me since I was a child.”
Butler my ass, I thought. Bodyguard first, fixer second, butler third, if I were to guess.
I turned to Franco. “Mr. Manetti, thank you for seeing us. Are you aware of an incident involving one of your employees last night?”
Manetti frowned and nodded. “Yes, I just heard about Kenneth. Horrible thing. From what I understand, he was one of my cooks. Quiet, didn’t bother anybody. Do you have any leads?” He asked.
I fleetingly wondered how he had heard about Kenneth’s death, given that there was no media at the crime scene by the time we left. I mentally filed that away to be pursued at a later time. “Not yet. Can I ask how you heard about it?” Already knowing the answer.
Franco smiled slightly and took a sip of his drink. “I hear things detective, and it did happen to my employee, behind my establishment.”
As I expected. “Did you also hear that he was killed the same way as Alison Newton six months ago, and that the scenes were identical?” I asked.
He frowned and shook his head, taking another sip. “No, I had not. Wasn’t that Newton person’s grave dug up yesterday too?”
Medora stepped in. “Yes, she was. Do you have any idea why she was dug up?”
Franco looked at her quizzically. “No, I don’t. Why would I?”
I took over again. “Mr. Manetti, the reason we’re here is that both Alison and Kenneth worked for your bar, the Wolf’s Den. And they were both killed in the alley behind your establishment in the exact same way. When I talked with you six months ago, you had nothing to say about Alison’s murder. Is there anything you can tell us now that might help us with Kenneth’s killing?”
Manetti tilted his head and looked at me, recognition dawning in his eyes. “I thought I recognized you. You were the one who’s partner was killed also. If I recall, you drilled me pretty good about his death.”
At the time, I was certain that Little Frankie was involved in Anders’ murder, but try as I might, I could find no connection. I gave him a hard stare. “Good memory. And now with Kenneth’s killing, this is going to re-open both Alison’s and Anders’ cases again. So I’ll ask you one more time, can you think of any reason why someone would kill him?”
Manetti met my hard gaze with one of his own. We stared at each other for a moment, then he looked away, and appraised Medora again. “Detective Dunning, Detective Jones apparently still has a hard-on for me, so I’ll address you. I told him before, and I’ll say it again. I had nothing to do with Alison or that detectives’ deaths. Kenneth’s death, I found out this morning. I barely knew the poor kid. Feel free to ask my staff that works there, they would know better than I.”
Medora looked at him, and asked quietly, “Mr. Manetti, just for the record, where were you last night, between 10pm and 3am?”
Manetti looked at her, then looked at me, and back at Medora. “I was home, with my wife.” He nodded down towards the pool. “We had great Italian-Swedish sex, then I went to sleep. Feel free to ask her.”
Medora colored slightly, and I interjected. “And Mario?” I asked.
Franco turned back to me. “Detective, I am well aware of what you think of me and my ‘family’ connections. I told you six months ago, and I’ll say it again. I moved here to leave my family businesses behind, to start an honest living. I bought that strip mall, and the bar, that’s all. I’m just a local businessman now.”
I looked him in the eye. “And Mario?” I repeated.
“Mario came with me and is my man servant. To my knowledge, he was here also in his apartment.” He nodded beyond the pool to a small, detached cottage. “you’re free to ask him.”
I looked at the cottage, then back at Franco.
“Anything else?” He asked, draining his Bloody Mary.
“Not at this time.” I replied rising. “Here’s my card,” I flipped a business card onto his table, “in case you lost the last one.”
Manetti looked at the card. “Thank you, detective, if I think of anything, you’ll be the first person that I call.”
Right, I thought. And that’ll be a cold day in hell.
“Thank you, Mr. Manetti.” Medora said, rising also. “We’re so sorry for your loss.”
Mr. Manetti looked confused for a moment, then his face cleared. “Thank you, Detective, I appreciate it. Mario will show you out.”
As if he had been eavesdropping, Mario suddenly appeared, opening the shoji doors. I took one last look at Little Frankie, who had a slight smile on his face. Tightening my lips, I turned and followed Medora and Mario to the front door. As we reached the door, I looked at Mario. “Mario, a quick question, where were you last night?”
Mario looked down at me, holding the door open. “Wherever Mr. Manetti said I was.” He replied.
I looked at him for a long second. “Of course.” I replied, “thank Mr. Manetti again for his hospitality.”
Without a word, Mario shut the door, and Medora and I were left at the top of the steps, looking down at the koi staring vapidly up at us.
Looking at my watch, I said to Medora. “Let’s go.” And started quickly down the stairs.
“Where are we going?” Medora asked, hurrying after me.
“The Wolf’s Den. It opens in half an hour. By the time we get there, we should be able to talk with the staff before they get busy.” I opened my door and got in.
Medora got in her side and closed the door, looking up at the magnificent mansion in front of her. “He didn’t by this on his earnings from his strip mall.”
“No, he certainly did not.” I replied grimly. “I thought he was dirty then, and I still think he’s dirty now. We just have to find a crack and pick at it.”
“Do you think he’s involved?” She asked.
“He’s involved in something.” I replied. “And if it leads to Anders, I’m gonna nail his ass to the wall.”
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