Gone at Zero Hundred 00:00, page 8
“No,” I said. “I think I heard someone leaving the scene, but I don’t know if there are more.”
“Damn it. Stay down. Officers are on their way. I’ll be there as soon as I can, Syd.”
“Okay.”
At the same time I was disconnecting from the call, a patrol car barreled around the corner, and stopped at the end of the alley. My first thought was he must have heard the shots. Carter didn’t have a chance to put the call out. The officer stepped out of the car and marched into the alley. He was far away, so I couldn’t see his identity, but I could see the glare of metal in the glow of his headlights. He had his gun out. It was aimed forward.
I was crouched down, where he couldn’t see me. I wanted to show myself, when I heard sirens in the background. I thought the officer would hold his position and wait for the others, but he didn’t. He kept moving forward.
“Officer, it’s Sydney McSwain, friend of Detective Carter.”
He paused for a moment, but it was a very brief moment. When he continued marching forward, I started to panic, for fear he would shoot first and ask questions later, believing I was the perp.
Just then, two more patrol cars rolled up. Their headlights lit up the alley like a spotlight, stopping the officer in his tracks. It was then, that I recognized him. And I was thankful they showed up when they did.
It was the officer I saw at the club. The one I dubbed Anchor. His cold eyes glared right back at me. I noticed he was hesitant about putting his gun back in its holster, until the other officers jumped out of their cars.
Anchor yelled out, “I heard gunshots.” I guess he needed to explain why he was first on the scene.
He turned his attention to me. “Miss McSwain, are you okay?” It sounded like he was asking out of duty, not concern. Call it gut instincts, but the guy gave me the creeps.-
“I’m fine,” I said. But I wasn’t fine. I was scared to death, and wondering what just happened.
Anchor pulled his LED police-issued flashlight out and directed it up and down the alley. He was looking for something, or someone. When the light settled on the back steps of the coffee shop, his expression changed.
I followed his gaze. With the light from the patrol car, I got a clear view of what he was looking at. It was the body of a female, slumped down on the steps. Her body was distorted, her legs in opposite directions. A red wig and eyeglasses lay nearby. And blood was flowing like a river down the steps, and onto the pavement of the alley.
“Tamara…?” I started toward the body, fearing the outcome, but needing to know. I knew I’d be contaminating the crime scene, but I had to see. My eyes welled up with tears. I tried to get to her, but my legs wouldn’t move. I didn’t realize it at the time, but Anchor was holding me back.
TWENTY-FOUR
ANOTHER ROUND of patrol cars came to a screeching halt at the scene. Uniformed and plain-clothes officers stepped out of the vehicles and fanned out to handle their respective tasks. Officers did a search to see if the perp or perps might still be in the vicinity. Crime Scene techs proceeded to collect evidence and photograph the scene. Moments later, the M.E. arrived and walked to the body. I watched him put on latex gloves.
I tried to regain my composure to get a closer look. When I saw her face, pain hit me in the gut like a tire iron. She was an eighteen-year-old girl, like me. And she was dead.
Carter finally arrived on the scene and marched straight toward me with a not-too happy look on his face. “What in the hell were you thinking? Coming out in the middle of the night?”
His reaction was the last thing I expected, so I was immediately defensive. “In case you forgot I’m a sleuth - that means sleuthing, sometimes at odd hours.”
Boy, the look he gave me. Sometimes I think he believed he was my dad, just like in my old dreams. “Don’t try my patience young lady. You told me the case you were working was a simple matter. Why the heck isn’t Cody with you?”
“I told him not to come.”
“Well, why the hell not? I can’t spend my time worrying about you, too,” he said as he shook his head in frustration. “After what happened to your mom…”
It didn’t occur to me that this big, bad detective would worry like that. I always looked at him like he was a macho tough guy, that didn’t get all mushy.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“Oh, come here.” His emotions got the better of him. He grabbed me into a bear hug and held on tight. “It’s okay, now.” We stood like that for a good minute; then he walked me over to his Charger and placed me in the passenger seat so we could talk.
“Thanks,” I said, with what energy I could muster.
“Here, take this.” He handed me a thermos filled with tea. “Will you be okay for a minute, while I talk with crime scene techs and the M.E.?”
I nodded. I took a swig of the tea to warm the chill inside. My mind was in a fog. It felt like I was in a nightmare, but I wanted it to end. I looked around at the scene. Patrol cars were positioned at both ends of the alley keeping bystanders from entering the area and contaminating the scene. The M.E. had the body covered, but was conferring with the detectives before removing it from the scene. I had to face it. Another death happened. It was real.
Tamara Marquez was dead.
I went over things in my mind. Cody’s favorite phrase came to mind. WTF? Tamara called me out of the blue, asked me to meet her and she was gunned down. What was she afraid of? Why was she working with my mom? So many questions were popping up in my head, but the most important one was; who killed her?
TWENTY-FIVE
CARTER CAME back to his ride after making sure all the particulars were being covered on the crime scene.
“Feeling better?”
I nodded. “A little.”
“You up to telling me what happened?”
I took a deep breath. “The victim was a client of my mom’s.” I relived the vision in my mind of her lifeless body laying there in a river of blood.
“Who was she?”
“Her name is, was Tamara Marquez.”
He took out a notepad and pen.
“She called the house at three-thirty in the morning. She didn’t know mom was killed. She said she was in trouble, and she sounded scared. She asked me to meet her here at midnight.”
“Any ideas of what she was afraid of?”
I shook my head no.
“Or why she’d want to meet you at midnight?”
“No,” I said. “I couldn’t find anything in the file.”
“Why didn’t you bring Cody with you?”
I shrugged. “I thought it might scare her off. She said she was having trust issues.”
He looked around at the location; the fact that we were in a dark alley. “Why the alley?”
“She didn’t want anyone to see her.” A wave of emotions hit me again, as we watched the M.E. remove the body from the scene.
“So what happened when you got here?”
“I parked. There wasn’t anyone around, except for employees leaving the restaurant up the street. I walked toward the alley; then I noticed the lights were out, so I got suspicious. I took a couple of steps, and it felt like somebody was there, but I couldn’t see who. Then, someone started shooting.”
“Where were you, exactly?”
I pointed to the location. “I was crouched down directly under the lights, but the bulbs are out.”
He looked up at the lights. The glass was shattered around the bulb. A strange look came over his face; then a frown. “How many shots were fired?”
“Four. I heard two, a pause, then two more.”
“Could you tell where they were coming from?”
“Only the general direction.” I pointed to an area near the building on the opposite side of the alley. “There’s a space in between the buildings. Somebody could have been standing there. After the shooting stopped, I heard footsteps. Then, I heard the sound of squealing tires.”
“Like someone was leaving the scene…” It wasn’t a question, but a statement.
I nodded.
He barked into his radio to one of the Detectives; advising him that he would be there in a few minutes with more information. “So, you don’t know much about Tamara Marquez, or anything about her life?”
“Only what was in the file. She was a live in housekeeper for a wealthy family.”
We were both quiet for a moment. I took in the events around us; then I said, “Will you be making arrangements to notify the employer?
“That’s my job.”
“Could I tag along?” I don’t know why, but I wanted to meet them, to see if I could figure out why she hired my mom.
He gave me a long look, before he nodded. “I guess it would be okay. At least I can keep an eye on you. After that, I want you home getting some sleep. You can come by in the morning to sign a statement.”
I nodded. With my mom gone, it was good to know I still had somebody I could turn to, even if he irritated me earlier.
TWENTY-SIX
CARTER CRANKED over the engine, and pulled the vehicle away from the throng of spectators that were descending on the scene. “You said you have info on the family, where am I going?”
“Vanderbilt Drive,” I said. “She worked for Howard Grant. He has a son, Aaron. A maid and butler also live in the home.”
“So they’re loaded. I hate dealing with money.”
I didn’t say anything but I knew what he meant. People with wealth and power usually questioned every move of the detectives which made the investigation difficult.
“What does Mr. Grant do?”
“Ever heard of Grant & Levy, attorneys at law? I gave him the names of some of the firm’s wealthy and powerful clients - a few congressmen, and a senator who has hopes for the presidency.
He glanced over at me. “Oh, he’s that Grant?”
“Yes.”
“That means the media will be swarming. The housekeeper of a prominent attorney with political ties, murdered…”
“He hasn’t seen Tamara in a while,” I said. “They had problems, and eventually, she moved away.”
“What about her family?”
“The notes in the file say she came to live with the Grants at a young age. The file didn’t say why.”
I laid my head back on the seat and closed my eyes. I needed the silence. I was afraid I was just going through the motions. I couldn’t help but think I might hit overload soon. He must have sensed my feelings. He glanced over at me and put his hand over mine.
***
Howard Grant’s mansion sat on three acres of meticulous landscaped grounds. Carter pulled into the long-winding driveway, and followed it to up to stone walkway. The ivory-stucco exterior was framed with imported Italian Stone giving the home an air of opulence. They were rich - extremely rich.
“This place is something.” He glanced around at the posh surroundings.
As we headed toward the mahogany doors, I noticed someone watching us from an upstairs window, but chalked it up to my imagination. It was the middle of the night. Nobody knew we were coming, did they?
Carter rang the doorbell. A few moments passed before the butler, Jose Hernandez, answered the door. He seemed hesitant to let us in. He glanced up the stairs, almost as if he was afraid he’d be reprimanded for opening the door.
Sutter Beach Police, I’m here on official business.” He flashed his badge and identification.
Jose realized he had no choice. He pulled the door aside, and we stepped into the foyer. Italian marbled tiles covered the floors and expanded down a long hallway, and onto a staircase that went up to the second floor. In the center of the room, an imported Italian chandelier was hanging from the cathedral ceiling, directly over the staircase.
Just then, a short and plump, Hispanic woman with gray hair shaped into a tight bun, rushed down the hall. Her eyes were wide, and her hands covered her mouth as if she knew something horrific had happened.
Jose put his hands on her shoulder, and willed her to be quiet. “Margarita, it’s the police. They are here to speak with Mr. Grant.”
Margarita said a quiet prayer as Jose excused himself to let Mr. Grant know he had guests. A moment later, Margarita guided us toward the den, which was a room the size of a gymnasium.
Floor to ceiling bookcases were built into the walls, extending at least twenty-feet high. The hardwood floors were covered with expensive Persian rugs of burgundy and gold. Two off-white sofas were centered in the room opposite each other, with mahogany end tables. Leather wingback chairs sat at the corners, facing each other. It looked like a room where a lot of political discussions went on, while smoke filled the air from the cigars.
TWENTY-SEVEN
WE WAITED at least fifteen minutes before Howard Grant graced us with his presence, bellowing about having visitors at that time of night.
Carter showed his badge, again. “Mr. Grant… I’m Detective Carter with the Sutter Beach Police Department. This is Sydney McSwain. We’re very sorry to disturb you at this late hour.”
“No problem, Detective, I suppose you’re here because you have something to discuss with me.”
“It’s about your housekeeper, Tamara Marquez.” He waited a moment to observe Mr. Grant’s reaction. “I’m sorry, sir, but she is dead.”
We both watched him, looking for some display of emotion. He clenched his jaw, and turned his face away so we couldn’t see his expression. A moment later, he seemed to realize our eyes were on him. He started to pace the room. I couldn’t help but think he wasn’t exactly stunned by the news. It was almost as if he expected a visit from cops in the middle of the night.
Now, why would that be?
I was so busy watching Mr. Grant; that I hadn’t picked up on the muffled cries from the hallway. When I glanced that way, I noticed the butler attempting to comfort the maid and was trying to usher her away. She was falling apart from the news.
Carter said, “When was the last time you spoke to Tamara, Mr. Grant?”
He wouldn’t look either of us in the eye. He sat down on one of the sofas. “I’m afraid Tamara had some issues. She ran away a few years ago. I haven’t seen, or heard from her since.”
“Mr. Grant, where were you earlier this evening, around midnight?” Carter inquired. Everyone was a suspect when you were a detective. Family members, or employers, as was the case here; were the first on the list.
Mr. Grant was immediately on guard. “I was home, in bed doing a little reading. Why do you ask?”
The two men locked eyes. There was an immediate tension in the air. It was so thick you could slice it with a knife. But it wasn’t because of the conversation. It was because of the new visitor that just made his presence known.
Mr. Grant’s twenty-five-year-old son, Aaron Grant, strolled into the room dressed as if he had just returned from a night on the town. “Father, I’m sorry to interrupt, but you have an urgent phone call.”
Mr. Grant glanced at his son with a look of uncertainty. In my mind, it looked as if he was hesitant about leaving him alone in the room with us.
“Go on father. I can deal with the detective and his…um, protégé.” He glanced at me, with a look of arrogance that would make you think he was the wealthy and powerful head of the household, and not the prodigal son.
“I’m sorry,” Carter said. “And who are you?”
I told Carter Mr. Grant had a son, but I’m guessing he wanted to let Aaron know he wasn’t intimidated by his attitude.
“Aaron Grant,” he said. He offered a firm handshake.
“Detective Carter. This is Sydney McSwain,” he said motioning toward me.
Aaron leveled his father with a look. “Father, please don’t keep the caller waiting.”
Mr. Grant reluctantly, but obediently, left the room.
I couldn’t help but think the situation was contrived. Who would be calling in the middle of the night? Was Aaron trying to get him out of the room? He sat down in one of the wingback chairs, like he was lord of the manor. Without looking at us, he lit up a cigar and took a long drag as if we weren’t even there.
Carter and I glanced at each other with raised eyebrows.
“Detective, my father can’t be much help to you. You see, he and Tamara had a parting of the ways a few years ago.”
“And why is that, Mr. Grant?”
He smirked. “As you already know she was one of our housekeepers, but she wasn’t very good at her job. Naturally, my father singled her out for reprimands.”
“So she ran away?” I said, wondering what he meant by reprimands, verbal, or physical?
“Not at first. She acted out, caused tyranny within the household; then she rebelled. It wasn’t her fault, really. She was the product of illegal immigrants. Tamara’s mother couldn’t handle the responsibility of raising Tamara, so my father hired her and let her live here to go to school.”
“Did the two of you attend the same school?” Carter inquired.
He scoffed, as if the thought was preposterous. “Of course not. I attended Chadmont, a private school for the privileged; then went onto USC. Tamara went to Sutter Beach High.”
I was stunned. Tamara was my age, and we went to the same school, but I had never seen her before. Sutter Beach was a large school, but still.
“How did you do at Chadmont?” Carter said, trying to keep the conversation going.
I assumed he was trying to stall time while waiting for Mr. Grant, and at the same time, try to get a feel for Aaron’s personality.
Aaron smiled. “I was like my father - driven to succeed, excelled in academics and sports. Things came rather easily for me. So, of course, I became president of my class at USC.”
“I imagine being the son of Howard Grant helped you along the way?” Carter said, purposely trying to gage Aaron’s relationship with his father.
Aaron clenched his jaw, and took a hit on the cigar before he answered. “That honor, being his only son, granted me easy access into the law firm and connections with the financial industry. My future was set.”
