https://steemit.com/writing/@medusaeffect/the-medusa-effect
https://steemit.com/writing/@medusaeffect/the-medusa-effect-chapter-two
https://steemit.com/writing/@medusaeffect/the-medusa-effect-part-two
https://steemit.com/writing/@medusaeffect/the-medusa-effect-chapter-three
https://steemit.com/writing/@medusaeffect/the-medusa-effect-chapter-four
https://steemit.com/writing/@medusaeffect/the-medusa-effect-chapter-five
CHAPTER SIX
FORTUNATO
“We’re going to get them on this.”
“How’re you gonna do that? You gonna prove they got infected from the deceased?”
"I knew it the minute I saw them scratching like a couple of pack wolves.”
"They seemed pretty normal to me.”
“They always do.” Hardy was pretty sure of himself even though Johnson told him he’d look like a fool if he brought this up to the captain. “I didn’t say I was gonna tell him about the head lice, just that I got my eye on these two. They look suspicious, that’s all I was going to say.”
“Whatever, boss.” Johnson threw a rolled up piece of paper into his hair when his TO turned around.
“That’s not even funny, you sick mother.” Hardy threw the folder onto his desk. “Did you ever see this woman, I mean when she was alive?” He thumped his chest holding the photo out in front of him, “Oh, she was a looker. I mean beautiful. Whoever put her in that lake must’ve been a real psycho.”
“What, it would be okay to murder a skank?”
“What? No, I’m just saying…you’re messing with me again, aren’t you?” He pushed him toward the door, “Get the Hell out of my office and go bother someone else. Get some real work done, you sick bastard.”
Johnson couldn’t resist one more time, he aimed for the short bristled haircut. It stuck like Velcro. Johnson watched him swatting at his hair through the window. He laughed and headed for his desk. There was a memo waiting for him, he had a young lady who wanted to talk to him waiting in the lobby. It was about the case.
He walked anxiously to the seating on the south end of the building. He spotted her sitting there picking at her face. It was too late to turn around, she already spotted him walking in.
“Hello Darcy?” He hadn’t recognize her by her real name in the note.
“Hello officer, Jim.”
“How're you doin?” He looked around nervously, “Why are you here?”
“I have information.”
“You do?”
“I told her she was playing a dangerous game, she said she didn’t care, that she might be in love!”
“A hooker that falls in love, that’s original.” He looped his thumbs in his belt.
“No, I mean it, she was talking about getting out.”
“Getting out, huh? Dumb luck.”
"Yeah, she didn’t do it for the money, ya know.”
"I know what?” He shook his head.
"Yeah, ya’ know how she messed with you,” she leaned in close whispering, “Got you in trouble with your wife?”
“Look,” he held his hands up in front of her, “I got no idea what you’re talking about, right now!” He turned and hooved it as fast as he could go.
He heard her bellowing, her voice echoing down the narrow hall, “Don’t cha’ even wanna know what happened?”
He walked to the receptionist, “Don’t let that woman near me, she’s mental.”
He went to his desk and threw the memo into the trash can. He grabbed his mug and walked to the coffee machine. He passed by the training room where her pictures of her were plastered on the wall. At first he was relieved Sylvia was dead, now he wasn't so sure.
Detective Hardy felt the loss personally. No one in the community seemed to shed much light on who she was. She was mostly remembered as nothing more than an entrepreneur. She ran a successful salon. It was well run. As a business woman she was in good standing with the community, in fact, some of the more wealthy members of the town came to her regularly.
When he asked customers why they came to her they said she was a good listener. She had a way of making you tell your story. Hardy knew first hand about her. When she cut his hair she was nearly silent. It made your mouth leak like a faucet and she never interrupted, only encouraged, smiling, making each customer feel safe, comforted. It didn’t hurt that she was easily the most beautiful female around there. Everyone wanted to look like her, use the products she recommended. There was always talk, but that could easily be attributed to jealous gossip. There was a running comment that when you left the shop, you felt like you’d been to a therapist. She was a very good listener, Hardy thought sullenly.
It was funny, when the investigation first started, everyone knew her, but no one knew her as anything more than the store owner, a widower maybe. She was at every city wide event, but she mostly sat alone. When Hardy did his interviews he asked if they ever had her over for dinner, even her employees said no, but insisted she must have had plenty of friends. That’s why the young school teacher stood out to the detective.
At the funeral she cried like a baby. Mrs. Holtz had been reported as having sat with Sylvia at the Remax tent, at her regular table, implying she knew her, although there wasn’t even one of her employees that had ever put the two of them together. It became clear to the detective that it was an unusual reaction, Bobbie Holtz falling apart like that. Still, it didn’t make the case against her, any more than the nits sewn into Sylvia’s hair did, when the victim’s body was brought in.
Laying in the morgue she still looked like a wax doll. Her perfect features cast in a light shade of gray, her marble eyes staring at the ceiling, she looked like something from Shakespeare, the untimely frost. He didn’t like the idea that she would be cut up and dissected. It seemed like a desecration. It was a waste.
He wiped his hand across his mouth. “Don’t worry,” he promised her, “We’ll get the bastard that did this to you.”
She was wheeled away from him. He watched her until they turned the corner.
“Wait!” he jogged quickly to her side, “I smelled something.” He leaned over her, “You smell something?”
“We’ll check it out, detective.” The coroner said condescendingly.
He braced his hand on the metal bar and leaned over the sheet again. He couldn’t figure out exactly what it was. He took two deep breaths trying to file it away in his memory. He sneered up at the impatient man as the detective let her go.
He told himself he would never get hard like that guy. He had his rituals for keeping his heart in the right place. He carried pictures of the victims, mementos and unlike other officers he knew, he personally visited the family members and made himself a part of the story. He had solved cases that way. This woman didn't seem to have any family.
It was too late to drive out to St. Ignace. The two lane would be slow and treacherous on the icy roads. It could wait until morning, besides it was barely a lead. It was as if she didn’t exist before she opened the salon in Marquette.
It surprised him to find out that she had never been married. He was playing with the idea that she was hiding from an ex and that was how she wound up there in the prosperous town, a transplant like so many others. The fact that she had money made her fit right in. She drove a SUV, ate at the really good restaurants, bought a respectable condo right on the water. She seemed to disappear at the end of every month, it was told to Hardy. That’s what the lead was all about. Her credit card showed a charge at the Driftwood Inn a couple hours away. She purchased wine, whitefish and a salad. What could he possibly get from that, he wondered, but he had to try? He never left out any detail.
The morning commute was surprisingly quick. He didn’t get stuck behind any truckers. He was there in only two and a half hours. Maybe he had gunned it a little. All the way there he obsessed about the haunting look on her face as she stared blankly up at him from the slab. It worked him over pretty good. When he got there he was shaken. There was a stiff breeze blowing in from Lake Huron. His ears were stinging. He took the time to readjust his hat and pull it down over his neck. Looking around there were only a few cars in the parking lot. A school bus went past on the one main road in the lake side town. It was the only noise other than the whistling of the wind across the half frozen water. He walked up to the restaurant door finding it locked.
“Holy Mother of God.” He spit into the snowbank.
He returned to his car and followed the road up to the grocery. He spotted a woman in a fur hat collecting carts in the parking lot. He grabbed the door for her.
“Thanks.”
He didn’t thinkthe small gesture would make her his best buddy, but when he tried to talk to her he was surprised she walked away from him as fast as her wet boots would allow. He followed her to the back of the store.
“Hey!”
He spun back around finding himself toe to toe with a large brown man that stepped from the aisle. Hardy never understood the two braids, one he thought looked okay, but two seemed ridiculous, even if it was a tribal thing. The man’s spotty t-shirt had an eagle on it. He guessed he was from the reservation up in Brimley. He had dark eyes and slick black hair. He was snorting from his hook nose like he was about to take the detective’s head off.
“Why are you following my Lacy?”
Hardy pulled his jacket opened and showed his pistol. The man pointed to his belt line.
“Whoa, official business!” Hardy held up both palms.
He knew he was out of his jurisdiction, not that he meant anything to the tribal members anyway. He pulled out his badge. It surprised him that the man stepped back when he showed him the picture of Ms. Braxton. The cold black eyes blinked only once before turning around.
I knew it, Hardy said to himself. You don’t get a look at that without a tell. He showed the picture to several other men, including a guy in the line who was buying Jim Bean at 8:30 in the morning. The cashier craned her neck and smiled defiantly at the detective. He was determined to talk to her, but he figured he could intimidate the hell out of the unshaved customer first. It went nowhere. By the time he went back inside the woman was gone and the manager had taken her place at the register. Hardy was told to leave, he was bothering the employees. The detective zipped up his jacket and headed toward the cruiser.
“Hey!” He heard from the corner of the building.
Alarms went off in his head. He snapped his holder open and put the loaded gun in his pocket, clicking the safety off before he trudged over to her through the wet snow. He followed the trail of cigarette smoke around the side and found her sitting on top of the picnic table. He stood with his back to the brick wall facing out at the open field.
“Why are you showing that picture all around?” She blinked at him.
“I’m conducting an investigation.”
“Wow, sounds important,” she said snidely.
“I’m investigating a homicide.”
“Figures.” She said coldly.
“Excuse me?”
“That bitch had a stick up her ass. It was only a matter of time before someone jumped her.”
Hardy tried to conceal his feelings. He liked Sylvia, he cared about her.
“Did you know her?”
“Know her? No, I didn’t know her. I met her…” The detective cleared his throat.
Hardy kept his cool, he wasn’t getting what he needed from her. It was obvious she was just curious. By the time he was ready to leave he doubted whether she had even met the victim. He stomped the snow off his boots, slipped a card onto the table and started toward his car.
“Robby knew her…” He heard her say.
When he turned back around she was standing. She took a long drag on the cigarette. She threw the butt into the snow in front of her and reached with her foot slowly crushing it into the small mound of ice.
“Okay darling, let’s have it. You obviously got something to say to me so let’s hear it.”
“I might...” She said smiling revealing a missing tooth.
“Who’s this Robby character, mister wonderful in there with the weapon?”
“I don’t know.”
He was growing impatient. “Look don’t waste my time. I’m freezing my freakin’ face off here. I saw the manager’s name tag, Robert, is that him?”
“You white people don’t belong here.” She laughed at him.
“Did you think Sylvia belonged here?”
“Oh Hell no, that skinny assed bitch. She couldn’t carry her own damn groceries to her car. Had Robby carry it out there every time.”
“You don’t think he volunteered, do you? I mean she was pretty damn good looking.”
“If you go for that sort of thing.”
“Who doesn’t?”
“I’m done.” She plodded off to the front door.
Hardy hurried to his vehicle and turned the heat on full blast. He finally had a name for the store employee with the gun in his belt.
