The Crime Left Behind (Casey Summit Series, #1), page 11
“Mom at work?”
“Yeah. She has a class on Friday mornings. When do you want to get started?”
“Started?” Casey echoed.
Alex sighed. “Pour yourself some coffee. Then we will talk. You’re useless to me un-caffeinated.”
Casey nodded and followed her sister’s instructions. She was completely stupid before her first cup of coffee—probably a good twenty-point deduction in IQ.
“Did you see Spain elected a woman with Downs to parliament?” Alex asked, holding out her phone to show the headline.
“No way! That’s awesome, Alex.”
Alex beamed. “They are starting to get it.” She meant people, in general, were starting to see that many of the limitations of people with Down Syndrome were not always innate, but more often imposed.
“I wish more of that was happening here, but a win is a win,” Casey said. “What time did you want to head over to the police station?”
Alex put her phone down. “Ah, she awakens! I think we should go this morning. Do we have a plan for when we get there?”
“Not a plan as much as a person to see,” she replied. “I’m working on it.”
She got up from the table, refilling her coffee as she did. Alex held her mug out to the side for it to be topped off.
Sipping slowly as she walked, trying not to spill, Casey went back into the office to have a look at the murder board.
Alex tidied up in here, too, she thought. There was no trace of the team that invaded the space the night before. Pens, paper, and whiteboard markers were all neatly placed back where they belonged. It looked like Alex had even rewritten parts of the board. The timeline was neater and more compact, and the notes around the drawing depicting the site of the murder were evenly spaced and listed in bullet points, one above the other.
Casey smiled and thought to herself that they really should be paying Alex for her work on this project. Then she reminded herself that no one is getting paid for their work on this project.
“So... Ty was nice.”
Casey jumped, spilling a couple of drops of coffee. “Jesus, Alex.”
Alex laughed. “Sorry—didn’t mean to sneak up on you.”
Casey turned to face her sister. “Yeah, Ty is nice. Why?”
“Just saying.” Alex giggled and covered her mouth.
“Anyways... why don’t you get ready, then we’ll stop in at my place and I’ll do the same, and then we’ll head to the police department?”
Alex headed off towards the bathroom at that. Casey opened her phone and scrolled through the contacts until she reached the W’s. She tapped on the entry for Grant White and clicked the green messenger icon.
The text app opened and she thought about what exactly she wanted to say.
Hey, Grant. Nice running into you the other day. Wondering if my sis and I could stop by your work and maybe take you out for lunch? Sis is interested in the police.
Casey looked at the message. Technically, it wasn’t a lie—her sister was interested in the police. Or rather, what the police had to say about the Eric Jackson murder investigation. Just like Casey was. She hit send.
It only took a few seconds before the reply popped up.
Sure! That would be great. I can take a break around 12:30. You know where we are? On Center Street?
Sure do. See you then.
After about twenty minutes, Alex appeared, dressed in blue jeans and a black t-shirt with ‘Swim like you mean it’ printed in a muted pink across the front. “Ready?”
“Ready.” They both started for the door.
“So, Alex, it looks like we can’t go to the station until twelve-thirty, but we can hang out at my place until then. We’ll be going to see my friend Grant there, and... do you mind pretending like you want to, maybe, kind of, join the police force?”
Alex spun around and looked at her sister. “Me? I don’t want to be a police officer.”
“I know that. But... perhaps you could pretend?” asked Casey. Alex cocked her head to the side and stared, not understanding.
“Okay, the thing is... I might have said you were interested in the police...” Casey trailed off, raising her eyebrows. “He doesn’t know we are helping Ty and I needed a reason for us to come and see him.”
Alex stared at her for a second, blinked a couple of times, then laughed as she understood what was going on. “This is going to be fun.”
FOR THE CAR RIDE, ALEX had downloaded the latest episode of Unbelievable Florida.
The story centered around a couple who moved from a small town in Idaho to southern Florida. The couple’s son had been born with congenital generalized hypertrichosis, also known as ‘werewolf syndrome’. This condition meant that the boy grew massive amounts of hair all over his body, basically making him resemble a small werewolf.
When the boy began preschool and then kindergarten, the teasing was already destroying his self-esteem. The couple looked online and found out that when the Ringling Brothers circus stopped its terrible sideshow tents, the individuals who had been part of the sideshow had moved to a small community outside of Sarasota. Many rare, physical anomalies were represented in this community, and as such, the people were incredibly welcoming of anyone who might not fit in somewhere else.
The couple were making a wonderful life in the community and discussed that, while the couple sometimes get looks when going to the park or the grocery store, their son never does.
“He’s just got to be a regular boy,” his mother said.
“And does he still get teased at school?” The host asked.
“Oh God no—you should see some of the kids in his class!” the father piped in, then trying to walk back his obvious gaff, he added, “Er, I mean, he has classmates with similar difficulties. They are all in the same boat, essentially.”
Alex laughed at hearing this. “Priceless, Casey. Just priceless!”
Casey smiled, loving how easy it was to make her sister laugh. And if they rewound the podcast and played that same snippet again, Alex would laugh just as hard the second time.
She got that trait from Helen and Casey marveled at it.
Casey parked the car and made sure to forewarn her sister that, number one, the apartment was a bit messy, and number two, that it may smell a bit like smoke.
“Why would you let someone smoke in there?”
“No. The other kind of smoke. Like, fire smoke,” Casey said.
Alex tilted her head down and looked up at her sister with an expression of disapproval.
“There was a small, easily contained kitchen fire the other night. That’s all.”
Alex sighed and her face instantly changed. Casey recognized the new look she was receiving as pity.
Once they entered the apartment, she took her time showering and getting ready. She knew that Alex would be busy cleaning the kitchen and tidying the rest of the apartment.
Alex can’t help herself when she sees a mess and Casey often manages to make one.
Chapter 16
Jack and Miranda drove down Mercy Drive immersed in surprisingly light lunchtime traffic. Jack was hopeful that they may have time to stop for an actual lunch before heading back to Trial Tactics for their afternoon appointments. With Casey out, Jack’s workload had almost doubled. Typically, a team would have two or three cases on their plate at one time, but with the win in Ty’s case, business quickly escalated. Currently overseeing both his own and Casey’s team meant that he was dividing his attention between nine different cases. It would be another late night tonight and—even worse as far as Jack was concerned—an early morning again tomorrow.
Still thinking about lunch possibilities, and completely tuning out Miranda as she plied him with her theories on the social lessons that could be learned by watching the TV show ‘Survivor’ (Jack had no idea how they had gotten onto the topic but seemed to remember it starting with Jack asking Miranda how her day was). Jack turned into the parking lot of a CVS Pharmacy and pulled into a spot. They were about three businesses down the street from the Speedy Lube.
“Okay,” Jack said as he put the car in park. “What’s our plan here?”
“What’s our plan? What do you mean?” Miranda asked as she flipped down the passenger side visor and slid the plastic cover to the right, revealing the lighted mirror. She checked her reflection and proceeded to unzip the purse on her lap, pulling out a tube of lipstick.
“Did you not see my outfit?” Miranda asked as she uncapped the lipstick, rotated the base, and began applying it to her lips. A deep red appeared, framing Miranda’s perfectly shaped mouth. She made a quick pucker with her lips, “I’m ready to make these boys talk.”
Jack looked his coworker up and down. Miranda had on black, peep-toe high-heeled shoes, a tight black pencil skirt, and a snug-fitting white short-sleeve, button-up blouse that Jack thought probably should have had at least one more button done up. At least. Her long curly blonde hair seemed to have the volume turned up to 11, and her makeup resembled what someone might wear going to a club, not going to work.
“Seriously, Miranda? What about, like, #MeToo? You can’t exploit yourself!” Jack exclaimed. He appreciated the eye candy as much as the next guy, but her tactic seemed a little too ‘old school detective’ for him. The whole ‘honey trap’ idea was much better suited to a Raymond Chandler story than a modern-day investigation.
“Um, yeah, I can. As long as you dogs drool over it, I’m going to use it.” Miranda returned the tube to her purse. She checked her hair and makeup one last time then slid the mirror shut and flipped up the visor.
“Besides, women’s lib means women can do whatever they like. I can’t help it if men react differently to me when I look like this compared to showing up in sweatpants and a hoodie. I use what I have and I’m not ashamed to admit it.”
Jack rolled his eyes. “Remember these guys names?”
Miranda pulled up the Notes app on her iPhone, “Mark and Larry.” Miranda frowned, “Who the hell is named Larry these days?” She shrugged and opened her door, readying herself to step out. “Be back in fifteen minutes!”
She got out of the car, closed the door behind her, and started to walk down the street towards the Speedy Lube. Jack heard at least two cars honk at her before he lost sight as she turned right, heading into the parking lot of the business.
Jack checked his phone for new messages and read a text from his mother. She had been asking to meet his new ‘girl pal’. Jack winced at the term and sent a quick reply.
Maybe we’ll stop by this weekend. Work has been crazy.
That out to hold his mother over for a few days. Indeed, he watched as a small thumbs-up appeared at the bottom of his message. In all likelihood, he and Jacklyn wouldn’t even make it to the weekend. The shiny new Ferrari vibe was wearing off and beginning to feel more like a Mazda—nice from the outside, kind of comfortable, but loud and not meant to last.
Jack sighed and undid his seatbelt so he could better search his car for something to snack on. He opened the center console and took stock: gas receipts, a lot of change—mostly pennies—and two blue pens. He shut the console. Next was the glove compartment: car owner’s manual, oil change receipts, car registration, and a pack of cinnamon gum. Jack grabbed for the gum and was pleased to see one piece left inside. He started to unwrap the piece of gum when he was startled by the passenger door being tugged open and Miranda plopping down into the. She sat down, stared straight ahead, and buttoned up two of her shirt buttons.
“What happened? That was not fifteen minutes, Miranda,” Jack said.
“Yeah, well, it looks like you’re up.” She turned to him and smiled.
Miranda explained that as she approached the building, she received the looks she was going for, and walking into the business, the guy behind the counter had a name tag on that said, ‘Larry’—she couldn’t believe her luck. It was ridiculous enough that one guy would be named Larry, let alone two? No. This must be the guy they wanted. So, she flashed her smile, tossed her hair, and asked him how much an oil change cost.
“He looked me up and down, and his first words were, ‘LOVE those shoes!’ then he proceeded to give me the price list, spending the whole time staring at one of the mechanics. That mechanic then turned to look at Larry and gave him a wink. So...I think they might need a different type of motivation.” Miranda smiled at Jack and started to look him over.
“Let me quickly fix your hair,” she said as she started to pull at the front of Jack’s hair, combing through it with her fingers, pulling pieces this way and that.
“Wait. What?! Exactly what are you asking me to do?” Jack’s voice was getting higher and he tried to push Miranda’s hands away from his head.
“Flirt, Jack. I’m asking you to do something that we all know is second nature to you. Flirt.” Miranda stopped fixing his hair and smiled at him. Jack glared at her. Then he let out a huge sigh and shoved his door open.
“Buttons, Jack! Don’t forget the buttons!” Miranda yelled after him, mimicking undoing buttons at the top of her shirt. Jack waved his hand at her, as if shooing a fly, and shook his head, ‘No.’ As soon as he rounded the corner into the parking lot and was out of sight, he undid the top two buttons on his shirt and sighed once more.
Jack approached the shop and opened the door. He sauntered in—and saunter is the right word, as he tried to slow his gait, correct his posture, and embody the best fake gay presence he could. It must’ve been effective because the clerk behind the counter—the one with ‘Larry’ on his name tag—also stood up straighter and flashed Jack a broad smile as he approached.
“How can I help you?” The man behind the counter asked, the smile growing even wider.
Jack tried to match his smile, “Well,” he made a gesture toward the name tag, “Larry, I think you might be just who I’m looking for.”
Larry smiled even broader at this and then put his elbows on the counter and leaned in, resting his head in his hand, “Oh really?”
“Yes. I’m Jack.” Jack offered his hand out for a handshake, lingering a bit longer in the shake than necessary.
“Is there someplace we can talk more privately?” He was surprised at just how easy this was, but then chided himself—why wouldn’t it be? He was, after all, the king of charm. What works with the ladies is just as likely to work with the gentlemen—red-blooded is red-blooded. Jack made sure to keep his grin a little bit crooked, feeling that was somehow more mysterious, and he ran his hand through his hair just to put the cherry on top.
Larry eyed him both suspiciously and with obvious intrigue. He checked his watch. “I am due a lunch break. But...want to tell me what this is really about, handsome?”
Jack gave a sheepish look. “It’s about Eric Jackson.”
He watched as Larry instantly went from friendly and flirty to cold and indifferent. Crap, Jack thought and broadened his smile.
“I got nothing to say about that. And I don’t talk to reporters. You better leave,” Larry stood up straight and crossed his arms.
“No, no—you have it all wrong, Larry. I’m not a reporter—not even close. I’m just trying to figure out what happened. I’m—I’m working for his family,” Jack lied. He wasn’t sure why he chose to represent himself as being on the side of the Jacksons, but it felt right for the situation. Besides, in a way, wasn’t that true? They wanted justice for Eric and that’s what the team was seeking.
“You’d be doing them a huge favor and I only have a couple of questions.” Jack held his breath as he waited for Larry to respond.
Larry softened, “For his family? For real?” Larry still eyed Jack suspiciously, but Jack saw an opening. He breathed out and flashed the smile again, continuing with his on-the-fly cover story.
“Yeah. After the acquittal, they wanted to know what happened to their son but the police have stopped investigating because they consider the case closed. We are trying to go through everything as it happened that night. You were working, right? You and a co-worker—someone named ‘Mark’—talked to the police?” Jack was hoping it sounded believable, and hoping the fact he knew the name of the other co-worker would help to sell it.
Larry stared at Jack for a few seconds, weighing what to do. Then he sighed and walked over to the glass that separated the store part from the actual ‘speedy lube’ part of the business. He tapped on the window and when the mechanic closest to the shop turned to look, Larry beckoned him inside.
“Follow me,” Larry said and he walked through a door behind the counter.
Jack looked around but hesitated for only a split second before walking behind the counter and following Larry. They started down a long corridor, plastered with posters advertising various automotive products. The two passed another worker along the way and Jack heard Larry ask him to look after the counter, and that Larry was taking his break. They ended up in a small room with peeling green paint on the walls and two small tables with three wooden chairs around each.
Larry sat down at the closest table and motioned for Jack to do the same. No sooner had Jack sat down that the mechanic he had seen through the window came into the room. His dirty blue overalls had the name “Mark” stitched above the left breast pocket.
“What’s going on, Lar? Who’s this?” Mark pointed at Jack and Jack stood up quickly, offering his hand for a shake. Mark looked down at his grease-covered hands, gave Jack a look, and Jack pulled his hand back quickly.
“He’s an investigator working with Eric’s family,” Larry said.
“Seriously? Why? I thought they got the guy who killed him,” Mark said and Jack slowly sat back down.
“You might have heard that guy was acquitted. A jury didn’t think he was ‘the guy’,” Jack said, using air quotes.
“Right. So? That doesn’t mean he wasn’t.” Mark crossed his arms and then turned to Larry, “What have you been telling him?”
“Nothing, babe. But if it wasn’t the guy, don’t you think we should help?” Larry reached out and touched Mark’s arm. Instantly Mark’s demeanor began to thaw. He gave a half smile in Larry’s direction and sat down at the table.
