Chapter 9
Tuesday Morning
Detective Parker sat at his tidy desk with a single folder open in front of him. It was the preliminary results of the autopsy on Megan Loyola. The sections meaningful to an active investigation had been filled in with all other entries labeled “TBD” for “to be determined.” The two details that bothered him were the cause of death and the time of death. Although the victim had suffered a crushing blow to the head, the ultimate cause of death was listed as drowning.
“You asked for me?” A large head appeared around the door to Parker’s new office. A step up from his former partitioned cubicle, this office featured solid walls and a door that could actually be closed for privacy. Parker’s superior officer had designated it to him based on his case closure rate—the highest in Pinellas County. Although he hadn’t yet personalized the freshly plastered walls, Parker loved this tiny office.
“No, Officer Boulli, I didn’t ask for you specifically. You were assigned to me. That’s quite a difference, wouldn’t you agree?”
“Oh, I—okay.”
The large, bulky man edged around the door and managed to sit in the chair across from the desk without getting very close to Detective Parker. Then Boulli inched the chair back until it touched the wall. It was a feat in studied motion. “What can I do for you, sir?”
“Given our history, I thought it would be good to have a chat before we started to work together again.” Parker felt sorry for the straining buttons on the front of Officer Boulli’s uniform shirt. Could they be dangerous projectiles? Shaking his head to clear his mind, he added, “Do you agree?”
“Yes, sir.” Officer Boulli straightened up slightly and placed a hand on each knee.
“I know we have had some differences in the interpretation of Code of Conduct for a Police Officer as published by the county of Pinellas and the city of St. Petersburg. In fact, our interpretation differences resulted in your suspension of duty after the murders that occurred at Webb’s Glass Shop.”
“Yes, sir.”
“So that we are clear, I wanted you to know that my professional recommendation was that you be dismissed from your position and not permitted to return.”
Why does this man bring out the worst in me? His innate incompetence nearly got Savannah killed a few months ago. I need to handle this carefully.
“No, sir.” Officer Boulli wiped his sweaty palms along the tops of his thighs, leaving a faint streak on his uniform trousers. “I didn’t know that, sir.”
Staring at the stain, Parker attempted to relax his jaw. “That’s why I’m addressing this issue now, before we continue working together. I expect you to perform your duties with all due consideration of the Code of Conduct and Internal Operational Procedures as they are written as of this date.”
“Yes, sir.”
“What I mean is that I’m willing to start with a clean slate if you are.” Detective Parker leaned forward and folded his hands. “Repeat that for me, officer. I want to be sure that you understand my concern.”
“Sir, you are telling me to watch my step.”
“Good. Tell me what happens if I file another complaint against you.”
“Sir, you won’t have to do that. I’m going to be very careful to toe the line.”
“But since you are on probation, I want to know if you understand the consequences of another complaint.”
“Yes, sir. According to procedure, if you file another complaint, I will be removed from duty until an investigation is carried out by Internal Affairs. If they find the complaint valid, I will be dismissed from employment with the City of St. Petersburg Police Department.”
Leaning back, Parker said, “Very good, officer. We understand each other?”
“Clear as crystal, sir.”
From the right pocket of his jacket, Parker pulled out a notebook and nodded to Officer Boulli to do the same. “I have a line of investigation for you to follow in the case of Megan Loyola.”
Officer Boulli opened his notebook on his knee and patted his pockets searching for his pen. His eyes grew wider as the search grew longer. He stood up to put his hand fully into each pocket and came up empty.
“Sorry, sir. Can I borrow a pen?”
“Of course, officer.” Parker pulled open the center drawer of his desk and tossed a cheap stick pen to Boulli. “I want you to start gathering statements from each artist who had a booth in the same row with Megan.” He pulled out a yellow sticky pad from the center drawer and copied down a name and address from his notebook. “Here”—he peeled off the top sticky note—“this is the name, address, and cell number of the organizer for the Spinnaker Art Festival.”
Boulli took the sticky note and carefully stuck it in his notebook. “Yes, sir.”
“Find each artist. Interview them in such detail that I get a clear picture of Megan’s movements from Friday night through Saturday night. It’s important to be accurate with the times that each artist had any contact with Megan. We need to build a timeline for her movements during the Spinnaker Art Festival.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Aren’t you going to write that down?”
“No, sir. I’m clear about my assignment.”
“Very well. Call me every hour on the hour to report your progress. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir.”
Detective Parker stood up and waved a hand to the door. “Well, get going, then.”
Officer Boulli stood so quickly the notebook slipped off his knee and fell under the desk. “Shoot. Oh, sorry, sir.” He scrunched his bulk down to peer under the desk. “Sir, it’s right by your foot. Would you mind?” he wheezed.
Pressing his lips tightly together, Parker stepped back and moved his office chair out of the way. The notebook had fallen open and he could see the illegible scribbles and notes. Picking it up and handing it over, he stared directly at Boulli with cold eyes. “Not an especially good start.”
“Yes, sir.” Boulli took the notebook and disappeared like a schoolboy on the last day of school, leaving behind a breath of fresh air.
Detective Parker sat down and slowly lowered his forehead to the top of his desk.
“What’s wrong?”
Looking up at Forensic Specialist Sandra Grey, he grinned sheepishly. Her skirted suit accentuated her slim, athletic build. “I’ve just spent the last five minutes being a bully. I’m a hypocrite—a card-carrying hypocrite.”
“That’s impossible.” She sat down and crossed her shapely legs, showcasing a pair of black patent peep-toe high heels. “You are one of the kindest detectives I know. And I should know. I deal with the entire lot of you nearly every day. What gives?”
“I had a discussion with Officer Boulli and I came down on him like a ton of bricks. I don’t think it was particularly effective, and I believe I’m the only one in the conversation who will be affected by my rant.”
“I’m sure it wasn’t as bad as you think.”
“Oh, I’m sure it was, but on the other hand, I’m confident that Officer Boulli will be left completely unfazed.”
They looked at each other for a silent second, then both burst into uncontrolled laughter.
Sandra recovered first. “Honestly”—she caught her breath—“you couldn’t have picked anyone more perfect to bully. He is so concerned with himself, it simply doesn’t register.”
Detective Parker removed a white handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the tears from his eyes. “I hope you’re right, but it’s a good lesson for me to stop trying to be what I’m not.” He stowed the handkerchief back in his pocket. “Thanks for the best laugh of the day, but besides cheering me up, why are you here?”
“First”—she glanced at the folder on his desk—“I wanted to be sure you had the preliminary autopsy report. They get lost occasionally. Second, I wanted to confirm drinks downtown at The Canopy at six. Third, and most interesting, I’ve been examining the glass shard that was embedded in the victim’s wound. I’m not an expert on art glass, but this fragment seems quite unique.”
He smiled with his eyes. “Canopy confirmed.” Then a crinkle appeared between his brows. “How are they unique?”
“Well, they’re curiously luminous without adding what I can only call ‘shiny bits’ to the composition.”
“Okay, how does that help?”
“I think this is a new or relatively rare process in glassmaking that could be a driving motive for Megan Loyola’s murder. But I can’t find anything on the Internet about glass like this.”
“So, you’re saying that we need expert consultation?”
“Yes, we do.” Sandra rose and poked a finger into Detective Parker’s chest. “I think Savannah Webb would be very helpful as that expert.”
“Before we get ahead of ourselves, let’s go over to the murder room.”
They walked across the open seating area of the St. Petersburg Police Department’s Crimes Against Persons Unit and entered the first conference room in a bank of conference rooms. Along the back wall was a sliding panel system of corkboards flanking a whiteboard in the center of the room. The corkboards were peppered with bits of paper reports, photographs of the scene, and a snapshot of the victim.
The whiteboard took center stage and was customized for the transient nature of fast-moving investigations. Across the top of the whiteboard were the magnetic labels SUSPECT, ASSIGNMENT, and INVESTIGATOR. The first name under the Suspect column was “Savannah Webb” and under the Assignment column was written “discovered body—judge at festival—needs alibi.” Finally, listed under the Investigator column Detective Parker had written his own name.
Detective Parker stood feeling a flush creep into his face. He pointed to Savannah’s name. “I would sign her up instantly except for the very annoying fact that she is our top person of interest.”
Sandra tilted her head. “You know that’s ridiculous.”
“Yes, but until she is eliminated from the investigation, I can’t use her as a consultant.”
“What are you doing to clear Savannah?”
“Following other leads.” He grinned. “I think she’ll manage to clear herself. Unfortunately, not quick enough to serve as an expert consultant, but facts are facts.”
“Yes, but—”
He held up his hand and ticked off his fingers one by one. “One, she discovered the body. Two, she was one of the last known individuals to talk to Megan. Three, Savannah chose Megan to win the top prize. Four, her business card was found on the body. Five, she has no alibi. I have to follow the case leads no matter where they take me. In the meantime, I’ve found another local expert we can use.”
“Oh, who is it?”
“He has a glass shop in the downtown area: Frank Lattimer.”