part0008

Carla Mendez was a wilted flower that has hung on long past its season. White-with-specks-of-gray hair was pulled back so severely, her eyes seemed to stretch halfway around her head. A neatly pressed housecoat worked overtime to fill out the skeletal frame it dripped from.

“Mrs. Mendez,” Jake said, “you said that Miss Thomas had a guest staying with her. A man. Can you remember what he looked like?”

The tiny woman let out a puff of air, deflating her fragile body even more. “I’m sorry I haven’t been much help. It’s just, after seeing Donna that way…”

“It’s okay, Mrs. Mendez,” Henderson said. “Take your time.” Women melted when Kyle flashed those pearly whites. Even old coots in housecoats.

Carla Mendez returned the smile, smoothed her dress. “Thank you, Detective.”

Jake stifled a groan.

Carla turned to Jake. “Yes, I think I can remember what he looked like.”

Jake nodded. “Great. If you wouldn’t mind coming down to the station…”

“Beg your pardon?” Carla crowed. “What for?” Her wrinkled face wrinkled up even more, if that were possible. Thin parched lips folded into one another.

“It would be a tremendous help, Mrs. Mendez,” Jake’s partner said. “If you’d feel more comfortable, I can accompany you.”

The wrinkles smoothed, her lips unfolded and curled up. “Then I’d be delighted,” she said. “Shall I get my purse?”

“We’d like to ask a few more questions first,” Jake demanded.

“If you must.” Carla’s lips vanished again.

“How long was this man staying with her?”

Carla looked to the ceiling as if the peeling paint held the answer. “Oh, I’d guess around a month, give or take,” she said.

“When was the last time you saw him?”

“Maybe a week ago.”

“Did you ever speak with him?”

“Oh, no. I was a bit frightened of him.”

“The eyes,” Carla whispered, pointing at her own hollowed out sockets.

“What about them?”

Carla cackled. “Well, it’s probably just my imagination. They were actually very beautiful. Sky blue. Like Paul Newman’s. Oh, I just adore his films. Was he Butch Cassidy or Sundance? My memory just isn’t what it used to be.”

“I believe he was Butch Cassidy, Ma’am,” Jake said.

One thing Jake had learned over the years was to be patient with witnesses. Let them tell their story at their own pace. The problem was, he had about as much patience as a teen’s dick on prom night. “I’m not sure I understand,” Jake said. “If his eyes were beautiful, why did they frighten you?”

“It’s hard to explain,” Carla said. She looked to the peeling paint for more answers. “There was something beautiful and sinister about them at the same time. Do you boys remember that Life magazine cover of Charles Manson?”

Jake nodded. How could anyone forget that picture? He had never seen anything more terrifying. Outside of his own morning reflection.

“That’s what he looked like,” Carla said. Her eyes widened, mouth collapsed into her face. Cheeks swelled. A puff of breath escaped. “Long hair,” she continued, “scraggly old beard. And those eyes.” Carla’s own eyes narrowed. “Do you think he’s the one who did that awful thing to Donna?”

“We’re not ruling anything out yet, Mrs. Mendez. But we’d like to find him so we can speak to him. Do you remember ever hearing his name?”

Carla frowned. “I’m sure Donna mentioned it.”

“Can you remember?”

“I’m thinking,” the tiny woman barked.

Kyle chimed in. “Sometimes if I run through the alphabet, it helps me recall names.”

Carla clapped her hands together. “What a wonderful idea, young man,” she said. She began reciting her alphabet. “A… B… C… hmmm… C… D…”

She approached the last vowel. This wasn’t working.

Now I’ve said my ABCs, I haven’t got a clue for thee. “Why don’t we try a different…”

“Hold on, Jake,” Kyle said. “Mrs. Mendez, I noticed you paused at the letters C, L and P.”

“You did.” Kyle coaxed her like a mother praising her just-potty-trained toddler. “Why don’t we try those again?”

“Well, okay. Let’s see. C. Carl. No. Charles. Chuck.” Blood flooded into her face, pumping life into the ghastly gray mask. “I can’t remember.”

Kyle lulled her with his voice. “Take your time. Why don’t we try L?”

Carla sighed. “Okay, young man. I’ll try.” Jake’s impatience clicked up a notch. Carla closed her eyes, searched the blackness for the name. “Larry. Lou. Louie. Lance. Lenny.” Her eyes snapped opened. “That’s it!”

Jake leaned forward. “Lenny?”

“No. Lance,” she said proudly. “That’s it.”

“Are you sure?” Jake asked.

Carla shot daggers at him. “Of course I’m sure.” Her wrinkles softened. “Wait a minute. No, that’s not right.”

Kyle Henderson rose. “That’s okay, Mrs. Mendez. Maybe it’ll come to you later. Why don’t you get that purse and we’ll give you a lift downtown.”

“Oh, alright.” Carla Mendez swooned over the man who was young enough to be her grandson–great-grandson, if Jake could go out on a limb.

Kyle helped the shaky woman to her feet. She looked as delicate as those dandelion puffs Jake used to pluck from his great-granddaddy’s field. What are they called? Carla shuffled off in search of her purse. Jake was sure if he blew on her, she’d fragment into millions of tiny pieces and float up to the cracked ceiling, just as sure as those dandelion things–

–were going to blow clear across old great-granddaddy’s field and off into the cerulean Iowa sky.

Carla turned her head, the withered face transformed for a moment into a schoolgirl pining over her professor. The door frame swallowed her up.

Kyle grinned from ear to ear. “Jealous, Jake?”

“If you’d like, you can ride in the back seat with her, Casanova,” Jake whispered, in case those old ears still worked. “Just be careful with that support hose. Hear it’s a bitch to get off.” They roared, and abruptly stopped as Carla Mendez reentered the room toting a purse large enough to hold all six New England states, Rhode Island tucked neatly into the side pocket.

Carla furrowed her brow. “Just what are you boys up to?” she asked. Then: “Oh, by the way, I remembered the name.”

“You did?” Jake said, his eyebrows mixing with his hairline.

Carla beamed. “Yes. It wasn’t Lance. It was Chance.”

“What kind of a name is that?”

The old woman giggled. “I asked Donna the same thing. You know what she said?”