Missing: The Body of Evidence Page 2

  ‘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.

  Chapter 3

  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.

  Chapter 4

  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.’

  Chapter 5

  The climb up the stairs to her apartment was taking forever. The day spent trawling around the Sunnyvale condo knocking on doors had taken its toll. Her legs felt like they were carrying more than her petite-frame. She arrived at her door, opened it, and made her way to the living room. Nancy put her present on the dining table and threw her purse on the coffee table. She took off her jacket, unfastened her shoulder holster, and hung them on a coat stand before she flopped onto her sofa. Her mind was telling her to drift off to sleep as she sank into the contours of the sofa cushions, but the pain in her gut told her it was time to be eating. Zapping a ready-made meal in the microwave seemed like too much effort. She reached out for her purse on the coffee table, took out her cell phone, and called for a pizza delivery.

  Her head sank back in the cushion and she gazed at a painting hung on the wall in front of her. The painting acted like a comforter. She had bought it on vacation to remind herself of the pleasant times she had spent trekking through the countryside in the Pine Mountain area. It helped her forget the stress she encountered on the streets of LA and reminded her there was a whole different way of life out there. Each time she studied it, she would lose herself in the beauty of the nature of the scene displayed in the picture. Her mind would fantasize she was taking different routes to explore the surroundings.

  This time she focused on the log cabin set in the background, behind a creek, and surrounded by majestic-pine trees. Her eyelids felt heavy. It was as if she had tunnel vision.

  In the edges of her vision, she seemed to be travelling towards the scene so fast that the tunnel walls flooded her vision with multi-coloured lines, which changed to scenery as she slowed down. She imagined drifting to the door and entering the cabin as if she were holding a video camera. Inside, a rickety fan squeaked rhythmically as it moved the air over two young girls playing with dolls in front of a log-burning stove. A woman in her mid-thirties, around the same age as she, walked around a solid-pine table, setting dinner plates.

  ‘Put another log in the stove, it’s chilly in here. I feel like someone is walking over my grave,’ the woman said.

  She could see plumes of smoke rising from a pine-rocking chair where the man of the house was smoking a pipe and reading a book. Steam drifted from an open kitchen door, bringing with it the sound of steaks sizzling and a wonderful aroma, which masked the foul-smelling tobacco smoke. Miniature ants formed a two-lane highway on the kitchen doorframe, attempting the seemingly impossible task of emptying the kitchen of food. ‘Dinner’s ready.’ the woman called out, followed by the sound of bells sounding out Yankee Doodle in the distance and growing louder. The picture faded in tandem with the chiming sound rising. She sat up, disorientated and groggy.

  ‘Damn door chime.’

  She threw her legs over the side of the sofa, grabbed her purse, pushed herself to her feet, staggered to the door and looked through the spy hole. Pizza. She opened the door, paid the delivery guy, returned to her living room and sat at her computer desk. As she devoured a slice of pizza, she turned on her computer. The strange events of the morning began to gnaw away at the back of her mind. “Spontaneous Combustion” she typed into the browser search and hit the return key. The last thing she wanted to do was to appear to be an idiot, and thought it better to be armed with as much information as possible, however sceptical she felt about the subject.

  Nancy clicked on the links and searched the net for all the information she could find on the subject. Most of the articles seemed to be speculation, with little scientific explanation. There were only two-hundred cases ever reported
worldwide, with the last one in America in nineteen-eighty-six. The bulk of the explanations were anywhere from the favourite ‘alcoholism theory’ to ‘paranormal events.’ The alcohol theory put forward the unlikely explanation that the victim’s skin became flammable owing to the high level of alcohol in the body. Paranormal events were even more unlikely, with theories down the ages claiming sinners were being collected by Satan after striking bargains with the devil. But, what they all had in common was that the scenes they described were almost identical to what she found at the professor’s apartment. She was about to give up on her search, when she noticed an article with the heading, ‘Iranian nuclear physicist dies in mysterious fire.’ She opened the article dated two weeks ago and read on.

  In a freak accident at an underground nuclear research facility, the senior nuclear research physicist, Asad Hemmati, died in a fire in circumstances that left only his hands and feet intact. An Iranian investigator reportedly said ‘It appears to have been a freak accident, and under the circumstances, not thought to be part of the concerted effort by the West to disrupt our nuclear program.’ A spokesman for...

  Nancy closed the article and sat back. The information gleaned from her search had left her none the wiser.

  Her fingers tapped on the bottom of her keyboard and she leaned forward and typed “Astral Chemicals Inc” into the browser search. The answer came back... “Nothing found” In her peripheral vision, she noticed the telephone directory, picked it up and thumbed through it. Why would a psychologist and brain neuron expert, work for a chemical company? There was no listing for the company.

  Nancy walked over to the coffee table, opened her purse, took out her notebook and dialled the number taken from the professor’s card. An answering machine picked up the call. She left a message with her details and her phone number at the police station. Heavy eyelids, and an odour from a long day at work, told her it was time for a quick shower and bed.

  Nancy picked up her crystal ornament from the dining table, walked to the bedroom, moved some other LAPD memorabilia around on her windowsill and placed the ornament in the centre of the display. A feeling she was not alone in the room caused her to twist around. There was nothing there, but a noise from the living room she could not get a handle on seemed out of place. She craned her neck and listened. Cautiously, she re-entered the room. Her heart thumped in her chest cage. The blank screen of her computer lit up from its slumber and she took a step back.