This Girl Who Was A Ghost, page 24
part #2 of Near Future Series
“Still waiting for Russo,” Maria said. “Where are you?”
“On the roof. Somebody named Steve is throwing a kegger.”
“That brings back memories. What’s the occasion?”
Sammy turned back to Purple Shirt. “Why the kegger?”
“It’s a slasher party. Didn’t Steve tell you?”
Sammy told Maria it was a slasher party, and was about to tell Purple Shirt that he and his friends were creeps, but he jogged off, saying he didn’t want to miss out on the red ale.
“Sam?”
Sammy put the phone to her ear. “Yeah?”
“This might be a story.”
“A story of creeps.”
“This’ll be your first story. If it’s any good, Jack will pay.”
“I don’t know what to do.”
“Just point the camera at them and ask questions. Pretend you have an open mind, and you want to know what they’re doing there.”
“They’re drinking ale, red ale.”
“They can drink it anywhere. Why there?”
“Because the girl is dead on the street, and they’re creeps.”
“Everyone reacts to tragedy differently. If they’re creeps, then it’ll come through, but you can’t call them out as such. You have to let them tell their story.”
“Yeah, let them tell their creepy story.”
“You’re stuck up there anyway, might as well make the best of it.”
“I was going to come down.”
“The police aren’t letting anyone out onto the street.”
“How can they do that?”
“Must be another door on the other side of the building.”
Sammy could blend and slip out, but then what?
“At least get some pictures from up top, and if you want to stretch yourself, ask the keggers some questions. Unless you’re afraid of looking stupid.”
“I know what you’re trying to do.”
“If you can see through that, then it should be really easy to ask a few good questions. You’re a smart-ass after all.”
Purple Shirt came back holding a couple of beers. “Are these red or what?”
“Sounds like you found your first victim,” Maria said. “Got to go.”
“Your friend’s coming?” He offered her one of the beers.
No, she left me with you clowns. Sammy took the beer. “She couldn’t make it, but she wanted me to capture the party for her.” She held the phone up and centered him in the viewer. “So who are you and what are you doing here?”
“I’m Rolston,” he said, thumbing his chest. “I’m here for the red ale. Steve’s got a whole keg of the stuff.” He raised the cup and took a gulp.
Sammy didn’t think that Rolston would make captivating viewing. “Let’s go see Steve.”
He nodded and took another gulp of the red ale. There were more than twenty people along the third and fourth apartment buildings’ roof, most leaning over the wall. Three or four sat back in lawn chairs. A guy sat in the middle with a straw sombrero with two girls beside him, one with a fake sword to the head and another with a red-stained T-shirt. Sammy guessed the guy in the middle was Steve.
Sammy asked Steve a few questions about the party, and he took the occasion to get all philosophical about life and death. Sammy wondered if he believed his own bullshit. She talked to some of the others with the camera rolling. Those who believed like Steve were there to witness death from a distance and to celebrate another day of life with friends, or at least that was Sammy’s take on it. Others like Rolston just came for the beer.
The girl with the red-stained T-shirt stood by the wall, looking at the draped corpse with childlike wonder. She held the beer in both hands as if the weight were taxing. She raised the cup and took a sip like a fawn drinking at a pond. “What do you think it’s like to be stalked by the slasher?”
Sammy wondered if she should stop recording but kept it on. “I’d like to see him try.”
Her face seemed to glow. “Every step he takes is another step toward death.”
“You think about that much?”
“The slasher makes you think about it. He’s not killing old people.”
There was nothing like a psycho in your life to make you dwell about the unthinkable.
“Life is like a balloon.”
Another philosopher. “Balloon?”
The girl nodded. “Life starts out like a big fat balloon, then slowly loses air and shrivels up, dropping to the floor.”
“Unless it starts out on the floor.”
“I’m talking about helium-filled balloons.” She took another sip from the beer. “Then someone like the slasher comes by and just pops it. All the lost time of shriveling up is compressed into that one moment.”
“You can pop them with a zipper too. Comes in handy when somebody walks onto a crowded bus with half a dozen of those stupid balloons.”
The girl peered at Sammy with furrowed brows. “Excuse me?”
“Nothing.”
The gaggle of reporters rushed the cop car pulling in behind the others. Russo stepped out, looking haggard. Sammy trained the phone’s camera on him, then swept it toward the covered corpse. Past that was the side of the building and a fire escape.
“I hope they move her soon. It’s got to be cold lying on the ground.” The girl turned and walked back to Steve and his philosophy.
Sammy put the phone away and dashed to the fire escape. A ladder dropped down from the roof to the basket below. A checkered tablecloth was draped over the corner. It’d give her cover to strip and blend.
She settled under the tablecloth to strip, shifting potted plants to make room. Russo ducked under the police tape. Sammy climbed down, dangling four or five feet above the ground, then dropped to a patch of dirt with a thump.
The cop closest turned. Sammy froze. The ladder was out of reach, so she wasn’t going back that way. She crept along the side, stopping about ten feet from the body. Russo was talking to two other cops, backs turned away from the reporters. Sammy couldn’t hear what they were saying, but it sounded like small talk. She crept closer.
Russo shuffled toward the covered body as though he were knee-deep in water. He looked like shit. Sammy wondered if he’d been drinking and had to sober up.
Russo stopped by the body. “What do we got?”
The taller of the two cops rattled off a name that sounded Russian and an address that wasn’t close. “Big chested like the others, but this one had some help.”
“Fake boobs?”
“‘Augmented’ I think is the term.”
“A sex worker?”
“If she is, she’s not registered.”
Russo bent down and reached for the cover.
“Found ash on her.”
The shorter cop nodded. “Like he was smoking a cigar while slashing her.”
Sammy remembered a tossed cigar by the bushes.
“Lab take samples?” Russo asked.
Both cops nodded.
The taller cop stepped closer. “Lab thinks they got some DNA under the fingernails.”
Russo peeled back the cover. “She fought back at least.”
Sammy gasped. It was Scrumptious, the Russian dancer.
Chapter Forty-Nine
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Sammy scurried along the side of the apartment to the door blocked by a cop. She lifted the nightstick from his side and dropped it. When the cop bent down to pick it up, Sammy slipped behind him through the door and up the steps.
The girl with the red-stained shirt lay still on the roof with vacant eyes. “How cold do you think she is now?”
The girl with the fake sword stood over her with her head cocked. “We should get a bed sheet.”
Most of the others encircled Steve and his keg.
Sammy dashed down the fire escape and dressed. She fished out her phone and called Maria. “I found out a couple of things.”
“About what?”
“The murder. What do you think?”
“Someone on the roof saw something?”
“No, I heard the cops talking.”
“From the roof?”
“I’m on the fire escape,” Sammy said. “Sounds must travel good up here.”
“I don’t see you.”
“I’m under the tablecloth. Do you want me to tell you or not?”
“Yeah,” Maria said with a breathy glee.
“They found ashes on her from a cigar.” Sammy waited for Maria to say something. “You there?”
“I wanted to get away from any eavesdroppers.”
Sammy peeked out from under the tablecloth. Maria was standing by the cars, a lone cop a few feet away.
“He killed her while smoking a cigar?”
“There was a cigar by the bushes when I was looking for the mask. I bet that’s his.”
“Good work, Sam.”
“I know the girl who was killed. We both know her.”
“Who?” Maria’s voice was hollow.
“Scrumptious,” Sammy said. Just saying it took her breath. “You know, the Russian dancer who told us about the Albanians.”
“You sure?”
“Unless she’s got a twin.”
“You could see her from up there?”
Maria and her stupid questions. “I used the zoom on the camera.”
“Did you get the picture?”
“Didn’t want the flash to go off.”
Maria nodded, but didn’t say anything.
Sammy ducked out from under the tablecloth to see if anyone was on the roof by the ladder. It was clear.
“Do you remember the dancer’s name?” Maria asked.
“One of the cops said it. It was one of those long Russian names.”
“I want to say Argentina, but I know that’s not it.”
Sammy sat up on the ladder rung, peering over the tablecloth. “Want me to wait for you by the cigar?”
“Yeah, but get some footage. Start from far back and don’t be afraid to get too close.”
“Of a cigar butt?”
“Viewers love that kind of stuff,” Maria said. “Then send me the footage. I have to bring Russo in on this. Hopefully, a shot of the cigar will get us some additional access. They’re starting to wrap this up. Go.”
Sammy climbed up to the roof and unblended.
Purple Shirt was pissing in the corner. “Hey, where’ve you been?”
“Ugh!”
The girl with the red-stained shirt sat next to Steve and watched Sammy pass. Her eyes held a hint of curiosity like a kid watching a bird fly over, but her face was expressionless. “The chronicler.”
Steve raised his cup. “To the chronicler.”
Everyone raised their cup and chanted, “To the chronicler.”
Sammy expected candles and pentagrams next. She rushed down the steps and out the back. She stopped by the bushes, hoping one of those green-is-clean bots hadn’t stopped by. She found the butt; a hint of its smell still lingered.
“Don’t mind me,” Sammy said to the cop blocking the street.
He glanced at her but said nothing.
She set the video rolling and followed the path the slasher took, capturing street signs, the oak tree at the corner, flashing store signs across the avenue, and transporters zipping by. Sammy slowed, bending to zoom in on the cigar butt, then clicked “send.”
Sammy walked back by the cop, searching down the block. No sign of Maria.
“If you’re thinking of running in there, it’s a bad idea,” the cop said.
She saw someone moving, but it was just another cop. “I’m waiting for somebody.”
“Back away.”
Sammy took a step back. “I know Russo.”
He leaned back against the car, looking bored and unimpressed. Her phone buzzed.
It was a message. Got it. Looks good.
“Yeah, for a cigar butt,” Sammy said.
Valentina was the name, the next message said. Talked to Cindy. She’s digging up the dirt.
Not how Sammy would’ve phrased it. She messaged, Coming?
Waiting for Russo… Shouldn’t be much longer.
Sammy put the phone away and strolled to the back by the bushes. A guy stumbled out the door. He didn’t look like anybody from the kegger party. They were probably sacrificing somebody right now with the phony sword. Sammy figured Red Stained was the overwhelming choice. Her phone buzzed again.
We’re coming.
Sammy walked back to the front by the cop. “Russo’s coming now. You know, the guy who’s running this whole operation.”
The cop turned back.
Another message. Russo’s being his usual hard-ass… Don’t say anything about Valentina.
Maria and Russo appeared under the corner streetlamp. Maria had a slight pout, her eyes stone cold. Russo looked as if he’d been dragging a hundred pounds of bricks and was more irked by each step.
“You two fighting again?”
Russo stopped a few feet away. “You should be in bed.”
“I’m waiting to be tucked in and read a story.”
Russo sighed. “Where is it?”
Maria stepped between them. “It’s in the bushes here somewhere. Hope you don’t destroy the evidence while looking for it.”
“You’re interfering with the investigation of a homicide, Santiago. Do you want to spend the night in jail?”
“We’re aiding, not interfering, Russo, and there’s still a thing called freedom of the press.”
“Once you’ve alerted an investigating officer of possible evidence, you’re required to show it.”
“And you’re supposed to help those who help you.”
“No, I’m not.”
“At least show some professional courtesy. I guess I made the mistake that you’re a professional.”
“Goes both ways, Santiago.”
Sammy turned on the phone’s camera light and pointed to the cigar. “It’s just a stupid cigar butt.”
“Why did you help him? He wouldn’t lift a finger to help us.”
Sammy put her phone away. “He wasn’t going to budge.”
“If he wants to be a stubborn hard-ass, then at least make him work for it.”
“You two should look into couples therapy.”
“Couples?” Maria hissed. “Just the thought of it makes my skin crawl.”
Sammy grinned. “The lady doth protest too much.”
Maria’s face bunched up in a fury. “You’re two of a kind.” She spun around and marched to the police car.
Russo was on the phone, calling for a lab team. He held the phone against his chest and turned to the cop. “Got any tape?”
The cop nodded and walked back to the trunk.
Russo put the phone away and grabbed the tape from the cop. “I know you found the cigar.”
Sammy looked past him at Maria checking her phone. “I guess I got a thing about cigars.”
He wrapped the tape around one of the bush branches, giving her his usual dead-eye cop look.
“I think you should tell Maria you’re sorry and give her a little news nugget to keep her happy.”
“Why the interest in the cigar?”
“Don’t you have one of those off-the-record comments you can give her?”
“Sam.”
Sammy huffed. “All cops are the same. You’re like a dog with a bone, or maybe it’s a guy thing.” She watched him unfurl the tape. “You need somebody to take care of you, Russo, because you’re not doing a good job of it on your own.”
He rolled the tape out, searching for a place to attach it. “You should be in school, not knee-deep in this shit.”
“School is just a con, and everybody knows it, but they keep playing because it’s the only game in town. The streets are the real school.”
“It’s better to play the game.”
“I’m not abandoning Cindy to be another trained seal.”
Russo waved for the cop to pull the car to the curb. “Need something to attach the tape.”
“Going through a lot of trouble for a cigar butt, must be important to the case. Do you think he was smoking it when he killed her?”
Russo held the tape by the curb, giving her that dead-eye cop look again.
“What do I know? I’m just a kid.”
He turned to the car pulling in behind him. “Sixteen going on thirty-six.”
“Are you that old, Russo?”
Russo looped the tape through the back door of the car. “Feel like a hundred and six.”
Maria hung up the phone and waved Sammy over. “The club will be closing soon. If we go now, we can make it.”
“We should take Russo.”
“He’s not a puppy dog, Sam.”
Sammy looked back. Russo bit into the tape. “He does look like one of those dogs who’s been out in the rain too long.”
“Come on.”
“Nobody is going to want to talk to us after something like this happens.”
“We’re just doing an exposé on the Russian community.”
“You didn’t tell Cindy?”
“We don’t know for sure. Did Russo tell you the name?”
“Cindy likes you, and you betrayed her.”
“It’s not a betrayal if we don’t know for sure.”
“An after-midnight exposé on someone who happened to be killed the night before. Don’t you think she’s going to figure that out?”
“Could just chalk it up to coincidence.”
“You better find a way to make it up to her.”
“Okay, we’ll come up with something.”
Sammy just stared at her.
“You’ll be there. I’ll make it right.”
“If you’re going to make it right, then we need Russo.”
Maria grabbed her arm as Sammy turned to Russo. “No, Sam.”
Russo ducked under the tape, still carrying those bricks on his back.
“Russo, the dead girl wasn’t a hooker.”
Russo glared at her. “You were listening in on police business?”
“Told you it was a bad idea,” Maria whispered from behind.
“What can I say? I got good hearing being a kid and all. We’re going to where the dead girl worked. Want to come?”
Chapter Fifty
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